Title: Double Jeopardy
Author: Nephthys Moon
Pairing:Harry/Viktor
Prompt:"So, I've always been gay."
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash, sexual situations
Summary: An encounter in Rome teaches Harry about life and love.
Author's Notes: This is born from a conversation with Patrick many moons ago, furthered by a long conversation with BC that essentially started, "So, Viktor was always gay". It will probably appeal to no one besides the three of us, but I believe it's not a bad story.
Harry Potter sat in a Roman taverna with Oliver Wood and Viktor Krum, surrounded by an assortment of the most talented Quidditch players in Europe. It was a new scheme of the Ministry of Magic offices across the world, to bring them all together for a tryout into the newly-formed Continental Quidditch League. In the two years since the fall of Voldemort, the world had been trying to rebuild itself. To the Quidditch players around the globe, it had seemed an interminable wait for the formation of the leagues to begin again. Rather than reinstitute the National Leagues, the ruling of the Conference of Wizards, the international ruling body to which each nation belonged, was to have six teams that competed on a world level. The decision was more a result of there not being enough skilled Quidditch players for most nations to have a full team, than any hope of uniting nations that had long held rivalries- though the Conference wouldn’t admit it publicly.
Harry sighed. He’d been invited to tryout for the European team, and he had a feeling that he was meant to be a figurehead for the new league. He probably could have stayed home and still made the team, but home wasn’t a comfortable place any longer.
“Potter, you’ve been nursing that glass of wine for damn near two hours. Don’t you think it’s time you started drinking it like a man?” Oliver Wood’s words cut across his thoughts.
Harry looked up from the red depths of his glass and smiled weakly.
“Sorry, Wood, I’m not much in the mood for drinking,” he countered lamely. In a normal situation, when something was bothering him, he’d talk to Hermione about it, but remembering the peal she’d rung over his head when he tried last time, he’d decided to leave it alone. Besides, Wood was reputed to be quite a lady-killer. Maybe he could help. Harry was certainly out of other options, he acknowledged wryly.
“Trouble vith Ginny?” Viktor asked, an oddly hopeful note in his voice, and Harry recalled Viktor’s interest in her at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He shot a scowl at the older man and was rewarded with a faint blush staining Viktor’s cheek.
“You could say that, I guess.” Harry looked out the window to his left, laughing a bit to himself as he caught the startled look between Viktor and Oliver. He faced the other two again. “It’s just gotten to the point where everyone thinks we should get married, Ginny included, and I’m not sure if that is what I want.”
“Well, that’s awfully low of you!” Oliver growled menacingly. “You’ve been living with the girl for two years. Don’t you think it’s about time you made an honest woman out of her?”
“Living with her? More like living with her entire family – in Ron’s old bedroom, no less!” Harry defended. “All of them, breathing down my neck day in and day out about the wedding. I never even proposed to her! Everyone just assumes we should get married!” Harry’s voice was beginning to rise, and the other hopefuls that were looking at the legendary Boy Who Lived were no longer doing so with admiration, but instead with stark curiosity.
“Calm down, Harry.” Viktor’s low voice was soothing. “The girl has been in loff vith you for her entire life – of course she vants to be married.”
“Well, I needed to get away, which is why I came to this tryout. I figure even if I don’t make the team, it will be a year before they’ll know, right? The season doesn’t start until summer after this one. That should give me enough time to figure out what the heck is going on.”
“You’re a right foul git!” Oliver shouted at him, standing so quickly that his chair tumbled down to the floor with a clatter. All eyes in the taverna were on the three most famous men in the room. “You’re a bluidy coward, Potter! Face her like a damned man!”
With that parting shot, Oliver stomped furiously out of the room. Harry looked across the table at Viktor, somewhat bemused and not a little angry. The compassion on the rough-hewn face made him realise that everyone was still staring. He felt a hot flush creep up his neck and he ducked his head.
“Ignore them, Potter,” Viktor said quietly. Harry looked up at his friend and sighed.
“I don’t want to get married, yet, Viktor. I’m nineteen. I love Ginny, but…I don’t know; I just feel like it’s rushing into things to get married now,” Harry finished quietly, returning his gaze to the bottom of his glass and swirling the contents of it lazily. He felt Viktor’s intense gaze burning into him and forced himself to meet his eyes.
“Tell me,” Viktor said simply.
Harry took a swig of his wine and glanced around the room. It was full of the men and women hoping to make the team. He counted three of the best Seekers in the world, not including himself and his companion. The competition would be stiff, but somehow Harry wasn’t worried. He had gotten the impression from the people who’d recruited him that he didn’t even need to show up for this tryout; he’d have the job anyway. Still, the tryout had given him an excuse to get out of the Burrow and the smothering he’d come to associate with the female Weasleys.
“Mostly, it isn’t really Ginny that is the problem. It’s her damn family,” Harry began, not sure why he felt the need to justify his decision to Viktor. He shrugged off the thought that Oliver’s reaction had upset him in a way he didn’t care to think about and continued, “Molly in particular. Every time I turn around, she’s making sure that Ginny and I haven’t got a moment alone together, and forcing this decision or that one down my throat. I can’t get a job because I need to ‘heal’. I can’t go for a walk alone because it isn’t ‘safe’. I’m so damn tired of being coddled like some gormless prat! When the recruiters showed up, it seemed like a godsend. Get out of the house, get away from the clan and just find some time to rest my brain. I haven’t been on a broomstick in two years.” He grumbled himself into silence, a silence that stretched on, until he was forced to look up and meet the eyes of the person he’d just decided to confide in.
“I understand” Viktor's voice was quiet . “Vith my family, it is ‘Vitkor, you are getting too old to play – vhat vill you do vhen you are through vith Quidditch?’ After that alvays comes the parade of available vomen. They vant children – my children. But I don’t!” His voice was suddenly stronger. “It doesn’t matter, now, does it? You and I, ve are alike, I think. Both famous vithout vanting it; both being forced into marriages we find distasteful.” He sighed. “How do you say, ‘such is life’?”
Harry toyed with the idea of reminding Viktor that he didn’t find marriage with Ginny distasteful, that he merely needed to get away, but discarded it quickly. Here was someone who understood him, someone who wouldn’t yell at him, as Hermione had, when he complained about Molly’s incessant nagging. A kindred spirit.
Perhaps it was the bottle of vodka he and Viktor had ordered after that, and the countless toasts to one another’s happiness. Perhaps it was the fact that he hadn’t been on a broomstick in so long. Whatever the reason, Harry found himself staring at a list of players selected for the European team in the changing rooms the next evening with shock. Viktor had beaten him. He was second string. Slamming his locker door shut, he stormed out of the changing room and to the dormitories that he’d be sharing with his new teammates for the next year.
“Should have known this was a fool’s errand to begin with,” he muttered under his breath. What was the point of playing at all, he wondered, if he was forced to be second string?
“You are not used to being second,” Viktor said from the doorway, his scowl more prominent than usual. Harry merely glared in response.
“All of your life,” Viktor continued, just as though Harry had spoken, “you have been the Great Harry Potter. Perhaps you vere not liked at your family’s home, but at Hogvarts, you vere adored.”
“Not always,” Harry found himself arguing. “I was hated more than I was liked for most of it.”
“Ah, by the other students, perhaps, but not by your friends, Veasley and Herm-own-ninny. They loffed you.” Viktor looked smug.
“Well, yeah – that is what friends do,” Harry shot back, confused by this turn in the conversation.
“And how many times did your friends put their own lives at risk for you? How many times did they put their own vants and desires on hold for you?” Viktor continued his line of questioning, and Harry began to feel a bit uncomfortable at this.
“A few, I guess,” he muttered, sitting on the bed. Viktor came inside fully and closed the door
“You can lie to me if that is vhat you vish, but do not lie to yourself. In their eyes, you vere alvays first. In your Ginny’s eyes, you are alvays first. Your unvanted fame has had the side-effect that you are alvays first vith those who know you. You are not used to being second,” he repeated, looking at Harry, who shifted uncomfortably under his direct gaze.
“Okay, I’m not used to being second. I said it, are you happy?” He knew he was losing his temper, and he couldn’t explain to himself why, but he began to get the sinking sensation that perhaps he’d been a little selfish in the past.
“Do you love your Ginny?”
“Of course I do!” Harry snapped.
“Then why can she not be first vith you?” Viktor asked him suddenly, and Harry knew there was no escape.
“I don’t know,” he whispered honestly. He was ashamed to feel the tears creeping down his cheeks, scalding his eyes. Afterwards, he would forever wonder what had come over him, that he hadn’t protested at all when the older man picked him up and cuddled him in his lap, whispering soothingly in Bulgarian. He stiffened a bit when he felt the first brush of Viktor’s lips on his face, but his mind registered that his friend was merely kissing his tears away, and for some reason this didn't strike him as odd at all in that moment. After a few minutes, which seemed like a peaceful eternity, Viktor moved him back to the bed and stood.
“Come, my friend. Let us drink to the loss of ourselves in others – let us drink to love tonight.” Standing over him commandingly, Viktor seemed a veritable deity to Harry’s untrained eyes, and he stood a bit shakily and slung his arm around his friend’s shoulder.
The next weeks passed in a blur of drunken memories to Harry, as he and Viktor explored Rome’s magical underground. How fascinated Viktor was by the Vatican, and amused by the secret entry to the Roman equivalent of Diagon Alley – hidden just outside its gates. Viktor could stand for hours watching the devout walk right past the entrance to the Via Sacra. The fact that the Muggles called another street by the same name further amused him.
“You see,” he said one morning, “the Via Sacra vas the ancient main avenue of Ancient Rome. Upon it, the vizards of the time used magic to disguise their shops from the Muggles. The Muggles thought it ended there, vhere the barrier is, but the vizards merely enchanted it so they couldn’t see it.”
Harry’s favorite place, however, was the Coliseum. He found Viktor to be a wealth of information on ancient Roman traditions, many still carried out by the wizards of this time. He seemed delighted in Harry’s fascination, and they would often spend their days off simply watching the many people who crossed paths with the Via Sacra, only to drink all evening and spend most of the night at the Coliseum, to finally stumble into the dormitories well past midnight.
Harry sometimes wished he’d been able to challenge Voldemort to a duel at the Coliseum instead of having to hold the battle where there were no rules – and innocent people getting killed. For the wizard’s duels that took place there every night were full of a raw power that both enchanted and frightened him. One such night, the challenging contender had used a spell Harry had never seen. Viktor, however, curled up his top lip in disgust. “Crude,” he’d muttered. “Very crude.”
Harry couldn’t see why. It seemed to only make the man fall to his knees, clutching his stomach in agony. On the way home, he remembered to ask Viktor about the spell. His response was, as usual, well-informed. “It is a spell that makes a man feel as if he’s just been stepped on by a large horse in a very sensitive place.” Harry felt his legs clench together in sympathy. “It is the spell of a coward, one who cannot truly duel, but vishes to vin at all costs, though it is not considered dangerous enough to be banned.” Harry could feel the anger coming off of Viktor in waves. Without thinking, he reached out and patted his friend on the back.
Viktor reached up and grabbed his hand, turning it so that Harry’s palm was to his friend’s cheek. Slowly, so slowly, Viktor turned his head and placed a soft kiss on Harry’s palm. He jerked his hand away instantly, as though the touch had burned, and watched as a small fire lit in Viktor’s eyes.
“Ah, so you turn avay from me,” Viktor taunted. “You do not ask me, so carefully, all these many veeks, vhy I vish not to be married. I think, inside, you know, but are afraid to know.” Harry looked at him, puzzled. “You do not know? Vell, I vill show you.”
With no further warning, Harry found his mouth crushed beneath Viktor's. The sensation was foreign, but surprisingly not unpleasant. There was no barest whiff of violets, no soft, teasing pressure, but instead the smell of leather beneath his nose and a sudden onslaught he couldn't begin to understand. The skin beneath his hand was not the texture of silk, but more of coiled steel, and in a sudden start, he realized he might be hard pressed to actually stop Viktor, if it came to it. He opened his mouth to form a question, and found himself quickly silenced by a questing tongue. His eyes grew heavy as Viktor's tongue dueled with his, and he let them close.
How long they stood there, locked in a kiss, Harry didn’t know. He knew that at some point, Viktor’s arms had wrapped around his body, and that his were clenched tightly around the older man’s neck. He vaguely remembered being asked if he wanted to continue, and agreeing. When he awoke the next morning, and rolled over to look at the hawk-nosed profile of the man beside him, he suddenly understood.
“Good morning,” Viktor mumbled in sleepy amusement at Harry's blush.
“So, how long have you been – er – you know?” Harry asked awkwardly, wishing he had some idea of how to behave.
“Gay?” At Harry’s nod, Viktor answered. “Alvays, I think. I did keep it secret for long – vould not do, my father said, for it to get to the press that I didn’t fancy the girls who alvays chased me – that I fancied my teammates instead. Herm-own-ninny knows, of course. I had to tell her vhen Veasley made such a muck of things vith that girl who vas named after a flower – Jasmine?”
“Lavender?” Harry asked, stifling a laugh. Viktor nodded.
“Yes, that one. Herm-own-ninny thought that he had chosen her because she vas not desirable – and assumed it must be true because I had gotten no pleasure from her kiss. I could not let such a sweet girl feel so badly over my mistakes, so I confessed. Vhen I asked her to the ball, I vas still fighting my urges – or I might have asked you instead.” Viktor’s voice was playful on the last note, and Harry was amazed at how lighthearted he felt. There was no rush to sneak out of the bed for fear that Molly would come in and catch them, no guilt for doing something he shouldn’t to betray those who had given him shelter and a home.
“I must go back to my room, now,” Viktor said, getting up. Harry admired him with a frank gaze as he pulled on his robes. “There is a first string practice this morning.” For the first time, Harry heard those words without a sting. Viktor dropped a kiss on his cheek before heading out the door, leaving Harry to marvel at his unexpected lightness.
He closed his eyes as he lay in bed, and let his mind wander. He expected to drift towards the night before, but it was strangely Ginny’s face that popped into his vision, something he’d tried very hard to think nothing of for the past months. He thought he would feel nothing for her, after the events of the night before, but he found himself longing for her sweet, flowery scent, the pink of her lips, the feel of her head resting on his shoulder and the sound of her whispers in his ear. He missed her.
He paced the room. What did this mean for his relationship with Viktor – did they even have one? Many things flashed through his mind in rapid succession, and he realized that Viktor had known all along what Harry needed; Viktor had taught him something invaluable. He began to pack his belongings, until all that was left was a sheet of parchment and a quill. Then, he sat down to write.
Six months later, Harry stood in the receiving line at his wedding, greeting his guests. There were so many that the faces became a blur until he found his hand being shaken by a familiar touch, one that had learned his body, not once, but many times, one summer night. He looked up and met the eyes of Viktor Krum. The understanding he had come to expect was there, but there was a true happiness. Drawing their clasped hands to his chest, Harry threw his other arm around his friend and patted him several times on the back.
Ginny looked over at them, for she was almost certain she’d heard Harry whisper, “Thank you,” at Viktor. She shrugged it off and turned to greet him herself.
On the bed of his rented room in a Roman taverna, where the European Continental Quidditch League was practicing daily for the Inagural game, a worn sheet of parchment was lying unfolded, its edges worn and tattered.
Viktor,
I understand now. Loving someone means they are first – to truly love someone you must put yourself second. That is what you’ve been trying to show me. By leaving Ginny alone to run off for the league, I was putting myself first. By staying here with you after last night, I would have been doing the same. So I am going back to the Burrow, and putting you both first. I know you will find the happiness that you deserve, but I know that happiness isn’t me. I’ll probably be back home before you get done with practice. I only have one stop to make; a jeweler’s. I think I’ll find one on the Via Sacra. Thank you.
Yours,
Harry J. Potter
