Malcolm stood outside the Defense classroom waiting for the third years to leave. When he poked his head in and saw it empty, he slipped through the door. Professor Potter sat at his desk at the head of the class looking over some papers, and wasn't aware that Malcolm entered. When he did notice, he looked up and smiled. "Malcolm. What can I do for you?"

He handed Potter the form along with his cv. Potter took it and looked it over. "That's great, Malcolm. I'm really pleased you did this." He set it aside and looked up again. "Is there something else?"

Malcolm twisted his lips and pulled tightly on the strap of his book bag. "Um…yes. Could I…could I talk to you privately? In your study?"

Potter frowned slightly and rose. "Certainly." He left the desk and walked up the pulpit stairs. Treeloft followed. They reached his study and Potter closed the door. He offered Malcolm a seat before the fire and then sat beside him on a stool. He rested his fists on his thighs. "Well, Malcolm?"

"Okay." Breathe, Malcolm. "Okay. How…" But how could he possibly ask someone this? How could he ask Harry Potter? But there was really no one else to ask. "When you…when it was your… Bugger it!"

"Take it easy, Malcolm. Take your time."

He breathed. "Okay. I just wondered…how it was…your first time."

"My first time what?"

"You know," he said, his voice getting quieter and quieter. "Your first time…with someone."

His eyes rounded and his brows disappeared up into his messy fringe. "OH! That first time!" His hand smoothed up over his hair, making it messier. "Oh. Well. Er…Gosh, Malcolm. Should we be talking about this?"

"You're right." He shot to his feet. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

His hand reached the door handle when Potter called out to him. "Wait! Malcolm. I'm sorry. No, sit back down." Malcolm slowly turned and shuffled back to his seat. Potter clasped his hand over his mouth in thought. His eyes darted toward the closed door. "Blimey," he muttered. "Well, I was older than you. Eighteen. I was living in Muggle London and I met this bloke. He seemed nice and we talked and we clicked and…you know."

Malcolm shifted closer. "But how…how did you get the courage to…do things? I mean…did you…did you…"

"Crikey, you want details." He sat back before he realized there was no back to his chair. He caught himself before he fell into the fireplace. Even Malcolm reached a hand out. Potter blushed but Malcolm didn't think it was entirely due to the chair. "How did I get the courage? Well, I read about it, of course. What men do. Do…do you know what men…do?"

Malcolm lowered his eyes. "Yes! 'Course I do!"

"Good. Um…okay. Then I just…just did it, you know. I trusted my partner. That's very important, Malcolm. Trust. I don't believe in just popping into the sack with one another as one-offs. I mean, that's all right for plenty of blokes but not for me. I think trust is important in any relationship especially in a…a s-sexual one. That's what you're talking about, right?" He winced on saying it as if he thought he should have clarified that from the beginning.

"Yes," he said quietly. "It's just that…I trust Rupert. I really do. And I c-care for him. But I just don't want to do some of those things. N-not yet."

"You shouldn't do anything you're not ready for."

"I know, but Rupert…wants to."

"I see. And you feel pressured because you think he might dump you if you don't."

"Exactly!"

"Then you should talk to him."

He shook his head miserably. "I can't."

"Of course you can. I've seen the two of you together. He cares a lot about you, Malcolm. Talk to him."

"I can't. Because it's about…" He dragged his teeth along his lower lip. "It's about…being gay. Or not."

Potter frowned. "You…don't think your gay?"

"I don't know!" He was on his feet again, twisting the book bag strap in his hand. "I mean I like Rupert and only Rupert. I've never liked girls. But that doesn't make me gay, does it? If I just let him do some things and not some other things then maybe I'm not!"

"Oh Malcolm." Potter rose and laid his hand on Treeloft's shoulder. "It's all right to be confused at your age. Perhaps you like both boys and girls. There isn't just black and white, you know."

"Did you like girls?"

"I thought I did once. But I didn't really. One kiss kind of told me that."

"You kissed a girl?"

"Yes. It was in my fifth year. I already had a huge crush on Professor Malfoy-er, this is all confidential, you know."

"Oh, of course, of course!"

"Well, it was my fifth year. I was really hurting because, of course, Professor Malfoy was-well, the way he was and I thought, and he thought, that he was straight, so I was just longing for him. And then I thought, well, hoped that maybe I'm not gay after all. Maybe I can like girls if I tried. So I tried. Because there was this very pretty girl I had noticed the year before. She was a Seeker for Ravenclaw. And we…well. Went out. And it was a disaster. I just didn't get it. And then I realized I was in denial. I was so afraid of being gay, of being alone, that I grasped at straws. But I never really was into girls. Not like some blokes who like both, you know. I think you just know it. And I just knew. I was very much into blokes."

"Was it scary, your first time?"

"Yes. I'd never even kissed a man. It was very scary. But really great, too."

"Did you…Oh God." He dropped his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Professor, I can't believe I'm asking you this. I just need to know and I don't know anyone else to talk to."

"No, Malcolm," he said, pulling his collar away from his neck. "It's okay," he said in an unfamiliar squeaky voice. "I…just wasn't prepared for this." He gave a nervous laugh. "So. W-what did you want to know?"

"What you did. Your first time. If…if you want to tell me."

Potter worried his bottom lip. "It goes no further than this room."

"I swear, sir!"

"Okay. Well. I…did it all. I wanted to. I had waited a long time and I wasn't about to waste any more time."

"Oh." Malcolm's shoulders fell.

"But that doesn't mean the same for you. I was very nervous and he was very patient. He had to really coax me and it pretty much took all night." Potter's face reddened and he got up again, pacing before the hearth. "Was that what you needed?" he said nervously.

"Yeah. That was what I wanted to know."

"Did it help?"

Malcolm shrugged. Potter patted his back.

"Give it some time, Malcolm. Talk to Fenwick. He'll understand."

"How? When I don't." And he left the office.

* * * * * *

Malcolm walked slowly around the lake. Professor Potter had tried to help-and Malcolm reddened at how frank he had been-but it just wasn't the same circumstances. Malcolm supposed he just didn't really want to be gay. But at the same time, he really loved Rupert-

He stopped. He loved Rupert? Did he really? He thought long and hard about it. Sitting on a boulder, he looked out onto the lake. The sky was grey so the lake was as well. Every now and again a tentacle would splash from the giant squid, rippling the rough surface.

Was he in love with Rupert Fenwick? A boy?

Malcolm sighed deeply. He had to face facts. He was. He was very much in love with him. "I suppose that really answers that question. I must be gay for sure."

He picked up a pebble and cast it far across the water before it arced downward and splashed in. He supposed he was luckier than most. After all, Rupert cared for him, maybe even loved him too. Most people didn't get even that.

He stopped abruptly when he came across a lone figure sitting on a log, but eased when he recognized it was Serenity Hudson.

"Where's Rosencrantz?" he asked, startling her. "I thought the two of you were joined at the hip."

"I could say the same of you and Fenwick."

He moved closer and sat down beside her. "No. I just had some thinking to do. You?"

She lifted the book in her lap to show him. "Reading. Sometimes Felecia is a little too annoying to be around."

"Too right," he muttered.

"So what's going on, Malcolm? You seem so tense. I thought that…you know…coming out and all would make you less uptight."

He shrugged. "It's not any less confusing."

"Why not? I mean, isn't it all easier, knowing what you feel and where you stand?"

He shot to his feet. "I don't know where I stand!" he fired off at her. "I just-"

Hudson got to her feet and laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Malcolm. I know it must be hard. Blimey. The rest of us are just trying to get someone interested in us. We don't have to worry about all those other things."

"What 'other' things?"

"You know. Gay things."

"What do you mean 'gay' things?"

She sighed irritably. "You know! The stuff gay boys get up to. I'm not even going to think about sex until I leave Hogwarts. There's just too much work with studies to throw that on top of it as well."

But Malcolm hadn't listened to the rest of her sentence. He was staring at her in shock. The anger built in his gut and he fisted his hands. "Just what do you mean by that, Hudson?" His voice had dropped to a deadly tenor. Serenity noticed. She glanced up at him with worried eyes.

"I-I didn't mean anything by it, Malcolm. You just hear stuff. That gay boys are always doing it. You know."

"We're not always-" He spun away from her with a loud huff. "You don't know what you're talking about!" he growled over his shoulder, leaving her behind.

Great. Just great. Everyone thought he was doing it. And with Fenwick. Well of course with Fenwick! Who else? They thought he was buggering. Or being buggered. Oh bloody Merlin! This was just too much. Too much pressure. He needed some kind of release, some kind of-something!

He remembered suddenly what it was like performing Dark magic and he knew that was just the thing. But hadn't he promised Rupert he'd never do that again?

"Fuck it!" he hissed. Forget Rupert. If all he wanted was a shag partner then he could just go to hell.

Alone on the other side of the lake, Malcolm stared at the empty white tomb blazing in the sun. They said this had been Dumbledore's tomb when everyone thought he was dead. Something about Professor Malfoy supposedly trying to kill him. Probably just propaganda against Slytherins. People were always saying things like that about Slytherins. Malcolm scowled. And then he laughed. Maybe they were right.

A butterfly fluttered past and Malcolm, still scowling and feeling all the hurt he accumulated since his childhood, whipped out his wand and aimed it at the insect. "Avada Kedavra!"

* * * * * *

It was Monday, and Malcolm was supposed to meet Fenwick, Hudson, and Rosencrantz in their usual spot near the Whomping Willow. He didn't want to go and face Rupert whom he had been avoiding for three days. But he found his feet taking him there and there was nothing for it.

He turned the corner and saw them, except Hudson was missing. Rupert stared at him, wanting to say something, but Malcolm turned his face away. What could he say anyway in front of Rosencrantz? But she, too, had a concerned look on his face. He was ready to hex her if she brought up him and Fenwick again, but her first words took him aback.

"I'm really worried about Serenity."

"What about her?" said Malcolm distractedly.

"Haven't you noticed? Honestly, Malcolm. If you'd once come out of your own little self pity world you would see that other people have problems."

"What's that supposed to mean, Rosencrantz?"

She looked once at Rupert, but shook her head. "Hudson is acting really peculiar. She thinks she's in love with Professor Potter."

"Everybody's in love with Professor Potter," said Fenwick. "It's virtually a school requirement."

"No. But she thinks he's in love with her!"

Fenwick guffawed. "Is she thick? He's gay. Why would he want a bint like her?"

"That's what I asked her. But she seemed to think I was mad."

"You were mad?" Fenwick scratched his head. "What do you think, Malcolm?"

"Maybe she's under the Imperious."

"And who in their right mind would perform an Unforgivable on a student?"

"I think it's a love potion," said Felecia.

"That's even crazier," said Fenwick. "Then Potter would have had to brew the thing. That doesn't make sense."

"It's the only thing that does make sense," she said. "Except for Professor Potter brewing it, that is. But she's going to get into a lot of trouble if she doesn't cut it out. She says they kissed."

Rupert shook his head. "Now I know she's nutters."

"But Professor Potter's sick," said Malcolm, quietly. "I asked to see him and they said he was ill. His class has been cancelled."

Fenwick sat up. "What? Not Defense! Damn. Why couldn't Magical Creatures be cancelled?"

"Ill?" said Felecia. "Wizards very seldom fall ill. Are you sure they said he was sick?"

"Yeah. And I saw Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley hanging about."

"No kidding! Really? Are you sure it was them?"

"Saw them at the wedding. It was them."

"Something must really be wrong." Felecia brooded for a moment before she picked herself up off the grass. "Well. I'm going to see what I can find out. Serenity must have gotten into something she wasn't supposed to." She stomped away leaving Malcolm alone with Rupert. He felt suddenly uncomfortable and got to his feet.

"I guess I'll go too."

"Wait, Malcolm. Were have you been lately? It's like you're dodging me. What's wrong?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Nothing," he said avoiding his eyes. "I've just been busy."

"For three days? Come on, mate. What's really going on?" He edged closer and wound his arm around his neck. "I've missed you."

Malcolm shrugged his arm off. "I've been busy."

Rupert frowned. "Too busy for your boyfriend?"

Malcolm shrugged.

Rupert put his hand on his hip. "Are you trying to break up with me or something? Because you're doing a bloody good job of someone who wants to."

"Think what you like."

Fenwick snorted. "Fine!" He whirled, and stomped away.

Malcolm didn't watch him go. Couldn't. That was that. No more boyfriend, no more gay life. Simple. Then why was his gut feeling as if it were being burned from the inside out?

He retreated to his private place by the white tomb, found his secreted book, and began to read through tear-blurred eyes: Dark Arts to Gain Power and Control.

* * * * * *

Usually Malcolm did all right in Potions, particularly since he paired up with Rupert, but Rupert was sitting elsewhere today and Malcolm couldn't concentrate. He messed up his potion so badly that Professor Malfoy had him stay after.

He approached Malfoy's desk and stood sullenly before it.

"You haven't been concentrating today, Treeloft."

"I've a lot on my mind."

"We all do, but we all still have to do our jobs, now don't we." He sighed. He looked tired. The pouches under his eyes were dark and swollen like he hadn't gotten any sleep. "I'm your head of house so I suppose I should be asking if there is anything wrong. Another Potions Master of my acquaintance would have simply assigned you detention. But these are kinder, gentler times." He said the last with a bitter sneer.

Malcolm shook his head. "I don't have anything to say."

"Oh, you don't, do you? It shouldn't surprise you to know that I can get around all that. I can find out what's up, you know."

Malcolm looked up, alarmed. "I really need to talk to Professor Potter, sir. He knows."

"Professor Potter…is indisposed." Malfoy sat and ran his hand through his hair. "Besides, there's very little he doesn't share with me, so I probably already know about your problem. So which is it?"

"H-he tells you?"

"Dammit, Treeloft. We're married." His expression was pained and he looked away from Malcolm briefly. He took a deep breath, seeming to try to calm himself. It appeared to work because he turned a much more relaxed expression to him. "Treeloft. I'm sure I could help you just as well as Professor Potter. I'm your head of house, after all. I'm a bloody Slytherin, for Merlin's sake. That's got to count for something."

"All right. Maybe you are the one to talk to about this." He scooted to the edge of his chair. "What do you think of…Dark magic?"

Malfoy's eyes widened slightly but he betrayed nothing else in his expression. His eyes flicked once to the closed door. "Why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to know your opinion. You used it, didn't you?"

Malfoy leaned back in his chair and stared at Malcolm under droopy lids. "Maybe I did and maybe I didn't-"

"I need you not to be my teacher for a moment!" he said rather more loudly than he intended.

A brow rose on Malfoy's face. "Very well. Wizard to wizard, then. Or should I say rather, Slytherin to Slytherin."

Malcolm nodded grimly. "Either will do."

Malfoy leaned forward, eyes set on Malcolm. "Yes. I used Dark magic. A lot of it. Not as much as some but certainly more than others. I was weaned on it. Now. What is your question?"

"Is…is it so bad a thing?"

"Is it so bad a thing?" He reared back and laughed. Malcolm scowled, thinking for a moment he was laughing at him. But he suddenly realized that Malfoy wasn't even looking at him anymore. "Well let's think. Have we all forgotten so quickly the war that was recently fought? I see this next generation only views it as something in a history book. Merlin, it was only four years ago! Well let me tell you, lad, it wasn't just a dry bit of parchment. It was real. As real as it gets." He slid the sleeve of his left arm up, revealing the Dark Mark. It had faded and looked more grey than the black it was always said to look like when the Dark Lord was alive, but it was clearly visible. "Is this real enough for you, Treeloft? Is Dark magic so bad a thing? I suppose not if you don't become a Dark Wizard yourself. But how do you guarantee that? I once thought it wasn't so bad. I once hoped to achieve great things through it. But soon, you realize you don't need your friends because they will only hold you back. You don't need love because it gets in the way of the spells working properly. Ever wonder about that? Why Love gets in the way of Dark magic? Love is the most powerful force in the universe, Treeloft. You've heard the saying 'Love conquers all'? It's true. It can. Even Muggles can use it, it's that powerful. So when something that powerful gets in the way of your spells, it should make you think that maybe what you're doing, maybe this Dark magic thing you're obsessed with-addicted to-is not so good a thing. Because it is addictive, Malcolm. It becomes so important, you become so self-absorbed that NOTHING else matters. Do you believe there will ever come a day that you'd rather kill Rupert Fenwick than give up Dark magic? Because that's just what would happen-"

"NO! You're lying!" Malcolm was on his feet. Tears filled his eyes. He wanted to run, but someone was holding fast to his shoulders.

"Sit down, Treeloft." The professor's voice was gentle. He leaned toward Malcolm again and handed him something. It was a handkerchief. Malcolm blew his nose into it.

"Now tell me, Treeloft. And I swear, it will go no further than this room. Are you using Dark magic?"

He looked over the handkerchief at Professor Malfoy's grey eyes. Very slowly, Malcolm nodded.

"After all that has happened, can you tell me why?"

"Because…because I don't want to be gay anymore."

Malfoy sat back, his face white with shock. It took him a moment to recover enough to speak. "Malcolm, why on earth would you think that?"

"Nothing else gets my mind off it. Nothing else makes me forget."

"And why would you want to? I thought things were going well for you and Fenwick."

"But what happens when that's over? And if I don't do certain things, then I'm not really gay, am I?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Malcolm. That's mental. You can't change who you are."

"Yes, I can. Dark magic will change me."

"For the worse! Do you honestly think it's better to be a Dark Wizard than to be gay?"

"Dark magic is less confusing. I liked it better when everyone was afraid of me. I didn't have to worry over everything before."

"Hang on. Let's back up a bit." Malfoy ran his hand over his mouth. "I need a drink. Treeloft, have you ever had firewhiskey?"

Malcolm postured. "Sure. Plenty of times."

Malfoy rose and went to his potions cabinet. He brought out a bottle and two glasses, waving his wand toward the door. He didn't say a spell out loud, but Malcolm plainly heard three bolts set. Malfoy returned to the desk and poured himself half a glass of the caramel liquid and a small shot in the tumbler he handed to Malcolm. Malfoy lifted his glass. "Here's hinkypunk bog in your eye," and he downed his.

Malcolm picked up his tumbler, pressed it to his lips, and knocked it back. The first taste wasn't so bad…until his throat caught fire. At least that's what it felt like. Suddenly he was choking, but Malfoy calmly slapped him on the back. "Plenty of times, eh?" he said. But he calmly poured himself another and even a smidgen more in Malcolm's glass. "Take it easy this time." He settled in his chair and looked at Malcolm. "Now. What is it about being gay that's got your wand in a twist. Could it be…sex?"

Malcolm ducked his face toward his glass.

Malfoy nodded. "I see. Is Fenwick pressuring you?"

"No. I don't know. A few nights ago we-" He took another swallow and it was just as bad as the first, only this time his throat didn't burn so much. "We got…intimate."

"So what happened? Did you jerk each other off? Blowjob? Fuck in the arse?"

Malcolm blinked. Professor Potter had been frank but this was way more franker. Franker? Was that a word? Maybe he was getting a bit tight. "Um…b-blowjob."

"Him or you?"

Malcolm felt his face heat up, but he was determined not to look like a baby. He drank down the rest of his firewhiskey. Malfoy poured more in his glass. "Him. I mean me. I mean he did it to…m-me."

"And what did you do for him? I'm sure he had a right stiffy after that."

Malcolm shook his head and sipped the whiskey. "I didn't do anything. He did it himself."

"Was he angry about that?"

"No. He was really nice about it. Especially since he wanted to be in-inside me. He said so."

"And you wouldn't let him."

"Would you? I mean, I don't know about that."

"You don't want to do that?"

"I don't know. I want to please him. I know it would please him."

"Do you want to shag him?"

"No! I want him to shag me-" He gasped. He never admitted that before, out loud or to himself.

Malfoy gazed at him coolly from over his glass. "You want Fenwick to shag you and Fenwick wants to shag you. Sounds like a match made in heaven. So what's the problem?"

In a very small voice, so small Malfoy had to lean forward to hear, Malcolm said, "If I let a boy do that to me, then I'm gay for sure. That's it. I'm doomed."

"Well, it's not that bad, you know."

Malcolm sat up or tried to. Professor Malfoy was looking a little out of focus. "Do you let…you know. Do you let Professor Potter do it to you?"

"All the time. I do it to him as well."

"You shag Professor Potter?"

"Well it's not something I want to get around the school, right Malcolm?"

"Oh yeah, right."

"But yes. We take turns. Not every gay couple does. Some stay the bottom and some stay the top or some switch or some don't. It's no big deal. Like I said. You two are lucky. You each know what you want. Now, it's not my place as a teacher to give you advice of this kind, but I'm not being your teacher right now as you so admonished earlier. Because I would probably get sacked for feeding you firewhiskey and giving you sexual advice. But I'm no ordinary teacher so here goes. I think you should go for it. If Fenwick wants to shag you, you should let him. Sure it hurts a little at first. Hell, it hurts a little every time. A cock isn't supposed to go in there, after all. But you get used to it. You get to like it. Really like it. Especially when you love the bloke. Do you love the bloke?"

"Yes," he said nodding vigorously.

"Well then." He took the glass out of Malcolm's hand and sent it floating back to the cabinet. He aimed his wand at Malcolm and incanted, "Ennervate!" and he immediately felt sober again. "So Malcolm. The next time you think Dark magic is the answer, think of this." He pointed to his sleeve. "And if that isn't enough for you-" He went to a bottom drawer in the potion's cabinet and took out an old copy of the Daily Prophet. He showed it to Malcolm. On the cover was a picture of the dead Voldemort. It wasn't a widely publicized picture and Malcolm remembered something about the Ministry making sure all copies were confiscated. He wondered how Professor Malfoy had one, but Draco Malfoy was a powerful wizard, and so was Harry Potter. He imagined the both of them had special privileges.

He looked at the picture of Voldemort he had never seen before and he drew back horrified. Sure, he'd heard the descriptions, but it was never as bad as the real thing. Voldemort looked like a snake. He wasn't even human anymore. He supposed that was the point of Professor Malfoy showing it to him. He didn't want to be this, though at one point he thought he might.

He handed it back with trembling fingers. "Okay. I get your point."

"So I suggest tracking down Fenwick. He didn't look too happy with you today. You didn't break up with him, did you?"

"I…might have."

"Idiot. Go after him."

"A Slytherin never goes after-"

"That's dragonshit, Treeloft. Slytherins just know what's best for them. Even if we have to go begging. We are not too proud for that. After all, it does get us our way, doesn't it?"

Malcolm rose. He was slightly embarrassed by the fact that Professor Malfoy knew exactly what he as going to try to do in the next few hours, but he seemed to understand it all. He was really nice about it, in fact. He wondered why he hadn't gone to him before. "Thanks, Professor."

"Anytime, Treeloft. Oh, ah…you won't be mentioning about the firewhiskey and the sex talk, right?"

"No, sir. We didn't go to all that trouble to prevent you and Professor Potter from being sacked to throw it away now."

Malfoy smiled. "Right. Have a good evening, Treeloft."

"Same to you, sir."

* * * * * *

Malcolm paced back and forth in front of the Hufflepuff common room before someone finally showed up. But when they spotted him, they made for the entrance like their robe was on fire.

"Wait!" called Malcolm. "Oh damn! Impedimenta!" The hapless Hufflepuff hit the ground and skidded a few feet. Malcolm approached and the first year boy looked up at him fearfully. "I wasn't going to hurt you. Well." He looked at the boy on the ground and released him. "At least I didn't mean to."

The boy got slowly to his feet. Malcolm looked him over. "Look, do you know a sixth year named Rupert Fenwick?"

The boy nodded.

"Could you go inside and fetch him? Tell him someone is out here waiting to talk to him? Please."

The boy walked toward the entrance, looking nervously behind him in case Malcolm tried to hex him again.

Malcolm waited and soon Rupert appeared. He had a sour look on his face and he was clasping his arms over his chest. "Well? What do you want?"

Malcolm's shoulders slumped. What ever made him think Rupert would forgive him? Well. At least apologize and get on with it. "I just wanted to tell you I was sorry. That's all." He gazed at Rupert longingly before he turned away, but footsteps made him turn.

"Sorry for what? Being a git? Telling me to shove off? Which is it?"

"I never told you to shove off."

"You might as well have done. It was much the same thing."

"But I didn't. I was just afraid."

"Afraid?" Rupert's tone softened and he moved closer. "Afraid of what, Malcolm?"

In for a knut in for a galleon. "Afraid to be…gay."

"Oh." Rupert considered this, even though Malcolm was sure he would laugh. "I thought that was well established, mate."

"Yeah. I am. I just didn't want to be."

"Well, we all get to play the cards we're dealt, Treeloft. I never would have chosen to be this skinny kid. I would have chosen to be handsome like you."

"I'm not handsome," he said blushing.

"Yeah, mate, you are." He cocked his head at him. "So you're really sorry?"

"Yes. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was a bit confused. But I'm not anymore. And…I have a confession to make."

"Yeah?"

"I used Dark magic again."

"Malcolm!" He grabbed his arm and dragged him into the shadows. "Why? You promised!"

"I know." He heaved a sigh. "But I thought it would be better than being gay."

"Don't you want to be with me?"

"That's what made me stop. I do, Rupert. I really do. And…I'm ready to give the rest a go. If you still want to."

"'The rest'?"

"You know." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Sex."

Rupert smiled slowly. "Ready for that shag, are you?"

Malcolm smiled sheepishly. "Yeah." They leaned slowly toward one another.

"Boys! Isn't it after curfew?" It was Madam Sprout, head of Hufflepuff.

Rupert swore under his breath. "Yes, ma'am. I'm off to bed now!" He turned to Malcolm. "Talk to you tomorrow at breakfast. Okay?"

Malcolm nodded. "And Rupert!" The boy turned back expectantly. "I…I love you."

Rupert's face broke into a glorious smile of rounded cheeks and glittering eyes. "I love you, too, you big oaf!" He grabbed Madam Sprout into a hug as he past her, lifting her off the ground and swinging her in a circle. She let out a squeal. "He loves me!" he told her and she looked at him aghast. "He loves me!" he shouted down the corridor to the suit of armor who clinked back at him. He sang, "He loves me!" all the way down the stairs to his common room until the sound died away.

Madam Sprout straightened her witch's hat and glared at Malcolm. He shrugged and giggled. "I love him," he said, unapologetically, and left for Slytherin.


On to Chapter Three
"Malcolm and Rupert"

Back to Chapter One
"Sixth Year"

Chapter Index
Hogwarts Tales Main Page

Mystwriter's Story Page