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The last thing Harry wants to do is go to a party.
It’s been a long day in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry and his auror partner Anthony Goldstein have barely had a minute to sit. From the time they walked into the Ministry first thing that morning, it’s been one crisis after another.
It started when Madam Malkin reported a burglary at her shop overnight. They pounded the pavement of Diagon Alley all morning looking for leads, and they found the perp at Gringotts trying to deposit the stolen gold. This led to a chase through Knockturn Alley, and Harry twisting his ankle. Thankfully Anthony could still make the pursuit, and they had the burglar in lock-up around lunch.
Harry thought he’d be able to rest his ankle for the afternoon while filling out a mountain of overdue paperwork, but their boss Gawain Robards had other ideas. Robards sent Harry and his partner to Cardiff via portkey to check into some suspicious shipments coming from Morocco.
Sure enough, the shipments were magical creatures being sold on the black market, and unfortunately their discovery led to many of them being unleashed while the importers fled. Harry’s parselmouth ability came in handy as they tried to wrangle the creatures. He talked a few ashwinder snakes into helping corral the rest back into their containers, and then interviewed them to learn more about where the creatures came from.
When they got back to the office, exhausted, and Harry still limping from his hurt ankle, Robards sent them out again to cover a stakeout for another auror who called in sick. They were up on brooms under disillusion charms in the frigid air, and Harry thought about telling Anthony that he was going to go straight home once they were done.
But … Anthony was so excited about his Hannukah party, and Harry hadn’t been working closely with him for long. Harry didn’t want Anthony to think he was snubbing him – or worse, that he couldn’t keep up. He also figured he could use a drink after the day they had.
So, even though the last thing he wants to do is go to a party, he finds himself on Anthony Goldstein’s porch in the cool, early December air, barely able to stand on a throbbing ankle. And then rings the doorbell.
Anthony opens the door a minute later. “Oh good, Potter, you made it!”
“Yeah, erm, sorry I’m late,” Harry mumbles as Anthony ushers him through the door.
“No, you’re just in time!” Anthony says. “I was just about to light the menorah.”
Harry looks over at the candelabra-looking thing in the front window of Anthony’s home, and feels instantly guilty that he did zero research on Jewish traditions before attending the party.
“I was supposed to light it an hour ago,” Anthony admits quietly. “But I got caught up hosting and totally forgot.”
All Harry can think to say is, “oh.” He looks around the room, taking in the rest of the party guests. There are a few familiar faces from Hogwarts, but no one that Harry was close with.
“Can I get you a drink?” Anthony asks. “I had a helluva a time finding kosher-certified butterbeer, but it’s not bad.”
“Erm, sure.”
Anthony walks to the back of the room and through a swinging door, presumably to the kitchen, and Harry is left standing in his cloak near the entrance. He told himself he’d just stay for one drink, but that suddenly feels like an arduous task. He’d really like to sit down, but there are no seats. He hobbles over to the food table and inspects the options.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” a voice says quietly behind him.
Harry’s hand slips to his wand holster as he slowly turns around. There’s a man standing behind him who looks to be about the same age. He’s holding a plate and nibbling on some sort of jelly donut. He looks familiar, but Harry can’t place him. He’s definitely not a threat, so Harry lowers his hand to his side.
“That’s some sort of pickled fish and it’s disgusting,” the man says with a slight smile.
Harry crinkles his nose and looks back at the plate. “Noted,” he says.
“The latkes are good,” the man continues. “They have nice toppings that go well with them – but not the red one.”
“Oh … great,” Harry says awkwardly.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” the man asks point blank.
Harry grimaces, being so bluntly called out. He wracks his brain but he truly has no idea where he knows the bloke from.
It’s a shame, really, because he is a very good-looking man, and Harry doesn’t want to insult him right off the bat. Before Harry walked over to the food, he sized up the room and noted that this was definitely the most attractive guy at the party. Not that Harry intended to flirt with anyone tonight; he really just wanted to get his drink and then sneak out.
But those eyes. He could get lost in this man’s dazzling blue eyes.
He clears his throat, hoping to think of an answer that doesn’t insult the man. If they’re around the same age, they might have attended Hogwarts at the same time, so he goes with that.
“Uh, from school, right?” Harry asks tentatively.
The man rolls his eyes before sticking out his hand. “Theodore Nott,” he offers.
“Oh,” Harry says, recognizing the name.
He reaches out to shake the man’s hand, and his heart sinks. The wildly attractive man is a Slytherin. He vaguely remembers Nott being in the background of Draco Malfoy’s taunts, but can’t recall ever having a conversation with him. It’s strange to be meeting him all these years later, at a party no less.
“Um, Harry Potter,” he says, before releasing Nott’s hand.
Nott sighs. “I know.”
“So … which ones are the latkes?” Harry asks.
The question is a bit of an olive branch. For some reason, he doesn’t want Nott walking away thinking that he’s a prick. He wants to salvage the conversation, which Nott started by bringing up the food. It seems to work, as Nott’s neutral expression becomes excited again.
“These,” he says, pointing to a serving platter.
Harry gets a plate and starts filling it with fried potato goodness. Nott reaches around him and pulls a plate of bowls toward him.
“And you have to get –” Nott starts to say.
“– the toppings,” Harry interrupts. “But not the red one.”
Nott laughs, and it’s very distracting. His whole face lights up and his blue eyes twinkle. Harry feels like he’d like to keep making this man laugh.
“Very good,” Nott beams. “You actually listened.”
Harry has gotten lost in Nott’s eyes, and has to close his own tightly in order to break out of the spell. He looks down at the sour cream and applesauce, and starts spooning them onto the plate. Nott’s arm grazes his as the other man simultaneously fills his plate with latkes and toppings.
Harry is so aware of this other man that it is almost embarrassing. He wants to keep filling his plate and knocking into Nott’s arm, just to keep him close. He breathes in his scent, and listens for every slight movement he makes. He starts to feel warm all over, his heart rate climbing.
But then Nott steps back from the table, and the removal of his body heat jerks Harry out of his trance. He grabs a fork and stuffs a huge bite of latke into his mouth. Nott does the same, but in a much more poised way. They both groan at the taste of oily fried potatoes, and Harry blushes because it sounds almost sexual.
“Mmm, this is good,” Harry says with a mouthful of food.
Nott just nods, also looking a little pink in the cheeks. They stand in companionable silence for a minute, just eating their food separately and yet, somehow together.
Anthony comes back into the room – without butterbeer, Harry is disappointed to note – and heads toward the window. He raises his wand to his throat and his voice overtakes all other conversation.
“Attention, everyone,” he says. “It’s time to light the menorah.”
“Yay,” Nott mutters under his breath.
Harry catches his eye and smiles.
“I’m not sure how much everyone knows about Hanukkah,” Anthony continues. “but it is also known as the Festival of Lights. It is eight nights of celebrations, such as this one – so thank you all for being here.”
Anthony points to the menorah in the window.
“As you can see, there are nine candles. This one in the middle is used to light the others – and I prefer to do it the muggle way. It’s the fourth night of Hanukkah, so I will light four candles.”
Harry again feels guilty that he doesn’t know anything about the Jewish holiday. Surely the candles represent something important, and he vaguely remembers something that Hermione said a while ago about an oil lasting longer than it should. Apparently in those times, they didn’t have spells for lighting candles.
Anthony starts speaking in another language, but Harry gets distracted when Theo raises a finger to his lips and sucks a bit of applesauce off of it. The man has very nice lips, and they look soft. He can’t help but to think about other things passing through those lips, such as his tongue or his –
“Alright there, Potter?” Nott whispers to him.
“Fine,” Harry says, licking his lips reflexively.
He turns his head back toward Anthony, but he’s missed the lighting entirely. Anthony steps away from the menorah and a few of the other guests start clapping. Harry’s still holding his plate, but he slaps a hand on his thigh a couple of times just to add to the noise.
“Now … who wants to spin the dreidel?” Anthony asks with great enthusiasm.
He turns off the spell that is projecting his voice and starts gathering some people around at the coffee table. The party gets loud again, with everyone going back to their conversations.
Harry can’t quite see what they’re doing, but thinks he might be able to capitalize off of the distraction. Oddly, the other guests have been leaving him alone but he knows it’s just a matter of time before they start coming up and asking him probing questions.
What was it like going up against You-Know-Who?
Did you really ride a dragon out of Gringotts?
What’s next for the ‘Chosen One’?
Could you help me with …?
And his personal favorite, so … you’re a poof?
Harry’s done a good job of keeping his private life out of the papers lately and he’d like to continue the streak. They only stopped reporting on his break-up with Ginny and subsequent coming out as homosexual when Ron and Hermione broke up, and that was a while ago. Maybe he’s been a bit of a shut-in of late, but his ankle really does hurt and he never got that butterbeer.
Harry takes the last few bites of the latkes, nods to Nott, and heads for the kitchen, where he hopes either there is a back door or he can apparate out easily. He sets the empty plate in the sink and grabs a butterbeer from the fridge that he’s only planning to sip from before he ducks out. As he closes the door, he realizes he’s not alone.
“Can you grab one for me too, please?” Nott asks.
So much for Harry’s auror skills; he had no idea Nott was following him.
“Sure,” he says as nonchalantly as possible.
He reaches back into the fridge and grabs a butterbeer for Nott, then hands it to him. He opens his own bottle and downs as much as he can in one sip.
“You sure are thirsty,” Nott says.
“Yeah well … I only came for one drink,” Harry says honestly.
Nott frowns. “That’s not very festive.”
“Oh, sorry to offend you if you’re …” Harry trails off.
“Jewish?”
“Yeah,” Harry says sheepishly.
“I’m not,” Nott says with a shake of his head. “I’m … not anything, honestly.”
“You’re … Nott?” Harry asks with a smile.
Nott rolls his eyes. “Ha ha, I’ve never heard that one before.”
“Sorry, low-hanging fruit,” Harry chuckles. “And me neither. I’m not Jewish or … anything else. This is always a weird time of year for me. I just try to get through it.”
“Me, too,” Nott says quietly.
The Nott in the living room wore a dazzling smile, but the Nott in the kitchen seems sad underneath it all. Harry thinks of some probing questions of his own, but keeps them to himself.
“Well, I should go,” Harry says.
He takes one more sip of his butterbeer and sets it on the counter. Nott doesn’t say anything, he just watches him with a piercing, blue-eyed gaze.
“Ta,” Harry says with a nod.
He takes a step toward the back door, but Nott stops him by putting his hand on his shoulder. Harry turns his head and puts his hand on his wand holster, just in case.
“It was nice to meet you, Harry Potter,” he says.
Harry relaxes and smiles. Nott removes his hand and again Harry feels the loss of his body heat.
“You, too, Theodore Nott.”
Nott holds eye contact, and Harry can sense there is more that he wants to say. He waits for Nott to find the words, and when he does he seems a little nervous.
“Would you like to … get a drink sometime?”
Harry is surprised by the question, and a little confused by what Nott means. Does he want to get a drink or does he want to get a drink? He very intelligently answers Nott with an “um …”
“To be clear, I’m asking you out,” Nott says. “That is … if the rumors are true.”
“Rumors?” Harry asks.
“Look, I don’t read the papers – most of it is rubbish anyway,” Nott says. “But I thought I heard someone whisper earlier that you’re only interested in men. She was very put out, and I found myself walking across the room toward you only seconds later.”
“Oh,” Harry gasps. He feels himself blushing again. “Yeah, that’s … so if you want to, erm … I’d like to … if you do.”
“Brilliant,” Nott says, his whole face lighting up with a smile. “I’ll owl you then.”
“Cool,” Harry says, nodding repeatedly. “Cool, cool, so … I’ll see you?”
He takes another step toward the door, trying ever so hard to keep his cool. He doesn’t want the incredibly attractive man to see him internally freak out.
“Looking forward to it,” Nott says. “Bye.”
Harry fumbles with the door knob, unsure why he didn’t just apparate out. He pulls on the door but there’s an additional deadbolt on the bottom. He has to reach down and lift it before he can open the door.
When he steps through the threshold, he looks back to see Nott trying to cover up his laugh. Harry waves awkwardly before shutting the door behind him, and uses his wand to relock the door from the outside.
Then he apparates home, where he ices his ankle and goes over every word said between him and Theodore Nott. Before he goes to bed, he gets Nott’s owl.
6 p.m. Friday night. The Leaky Cauldron.
Does that work?