The Man Who Knew Almost Nothing

Gilderoy was standing in front of the mirror in their bedroom, adjusting the collar of his shirt, when Harry entered. Harry could see a soft, bashful smile appear on his face in the mirror as Gilderoy noticed him. He looked perhaps a little uneasy, though certainly no worse for wear. Splinching, it seemed, was no more harrowing than its name let on, just perhaps a bit disconcerting, especially since no one had warned Gilderoy of the possible dangers of apparating.

“Feeling all right then?” Harry asked him, walking over to the mirror and admiring their reflection. They had never looked so mismatched. Harry was wearing old muggle clothes, the ones he always wore to market so as not to attract any attention to himself. Gilderoy was wearing casual wizarding clothes, flowing and beautifully made garments that Harry had bought especially for him. He had brushed off the amber robes and wore them loosely about his shoulders.

“Better. I suppose I shouldn’t try that again until I’ve tested and all. It was fun though, when it worked. Sirius was so proud, not to mention surprised of course. He said that I was a bit of an idiot in school. Told me a little bit about that while we waited for the accidental people,” said Gilderoy.

“A bit of an idiot?”

“Oh, he didn’t mean anything by it, and I’m sure it’s the truth,” said Gilderoy, suddenly looking at Harry disapprovingly. “When are you going to put on something decent?”

“This is decent,” Harry protested, plucking at his shirt.

“Well, something not ugly then,” suggested Gilderoy.

“Fine, but I grew up wearing clothes like these, and I am quite comfortable in them, thank you very much,” Harry grumbled, going to the wardrobe to pick out something. “Help Sirius with the groceries while I find something more suitable to your tastes.”

“Pity. I wanted to watch you change,” Gilderoy sniffed before sauntering off.

Sirius was back in London and the groceries were in the cupboard by the time Harry had made himself presentable. Gilderoy was lounging on the couch, obviously having decided that he had worked hard enough for the morning. Harry glanced into the guest room, which now contained an assortment of chests, boxes, crates, and cauldrons full of Sirius’s belongings. Upon a hook on the bathroom door, he could see some of Sirius’s clothes hanging quite neatly. Gilderoy, he surmised, had placed them there. The drawers of the bureau were open and had been filled with neatly folded garments, some muggle things, but mostly wizarding wear. Probably also Gilderoy’s doing. Sirius would have simply tossed everything on the bed and sorted it out later.

“Harry, Sirius was quite pleased with the room. We moved your stuff into the closet in our room. I’m sure you saw it,” Gilderoy called, noticing Harry’s inspection.

“Yes, I did. I’m planning to throw some of it out. I don’t think I need my uncle’s old socks anymore,” chuckled Harry, returning to the sitting room and joining Gilderoy on the couch.

“Your muggle relative?” asked Gilderoy curiously.

“Yeah,” Harry answered.

“Are you angry with Sirius?”

“Not so much angry as disappointed.”

“Well, try not to be too hard on him, Harry. I don’t think he has had a nice time of it at all, poor fellow, though with his attitude I can certainly understand why.”

“Hmm?”

“He ... seems so tired and grumpy ... at least when I tried to get him to talk about the past, school and all. I know about prison ... You told me about that. But it doesn’t seem like Sirius has had the chance to live, really live, unfettered and free, for ages.”

“He hasn’t, I suppose. School was probably the last time he was free. And then right after he graduated ... my parents ... traitorous Peter Pettigrew ... Azkaban prison ... then the guilt.”

“Well, maybe he’ll be all right now.”

“I hope so, Gilderoy, though maybe you shouldn’t ask him about the past for a while, all right?”

“Sure, Harry.”

“If you have questions, come to me and we’ll find the answers together.”

Gilderoy was quiet for a moment, but Harry could feel the rattle in his chest as he chose to speak again, “I’m still not exactly sure how much I want to know about my past. I want to know the good things ... I’m desperate to know them.”

“But not the bad, right?”

“Right,” he nodded, smiling a little as he realized that Harry understood.

“Sometimes you have to take the bad with the good.”

“It isn’t easy ... to want that, or to accept it.”

“I think I’ve already told you the worst of your past. What are you really afraid of, Gilderoy?”

“That if I remember the bad, the evil, that I perpetrated, that I will do so again.”

That thought, those few words, unsettled Harry even as he tried to brush them aside with a friendly laugh and a kiss. And they stayed with him long after Sirius had returned and the three of them began unpacking chest and stacking boxes, getting Sirius all squared away and properly welcomed into their home and lives.

He didn’t think that Gilderoy was right by any means. The lovely, kindly, and sweet blond that looked at him with innocent blue eyes and a soft smile could never become the self-centered, egomaniacal coward from his second year at Hogwarts. That was impossible.

But what was very real was Gilderoy’s own fear of becoming that person again, the person who had been punished with six years of insufferable loneliness and even abuse because of his crimes. Harry certainly knew that Gilderoy had wrongly made a connection between the crimes of his forgotten past and his terrible and nightmarish days at St. Mungo’s. Harry wanted to tell him that he had not deserved anything that had happened to him in the hospital, but he was afraid of Gilderoy’s reaction.

“Harry!” he heard someone call.

He shook his head to clear it and looked up questioningly. He had been brooding too deeply as he unpacked a box for Sirius.

“Yes?” he asked, looking up at his godfather, who had a perplexed and amused expression on his face.

“I asked if you wanted Gilderoy and me to cook dinner tonight.”

“Really! We should cook for you since it’s your first night here and all,” said Harry, scrambling to his feet. “Although, when I say ‘we’ I really mean ‘I’ as Gilderoy cannot be entirely trusted in the kitchen,” he added quietly.

“I heard that!” Gilderoy called from the other room.

“You wouldn’t let me give it a whirl?”

“Not today, Sirius, not today,” said Harry. “I will do the cooking while the two of you finish tidying up.”

It was a peaceful, uneventful evening. The first in nearly a week, Harry believed. The first since Gilderoy’s arrival. Not that he begrudged the nights of passion or any of it really, but he was tired and he didn’t feel young enough to survive the sustained excitement. He had never told anyone how much the duel with Voldemort, almost a year earlier, had taken out of him. When Voldemort perished, the power he had inadvertently bequeathed to Harry died with him. Harry could still manage a bit of Parseltongue, but he felt diminished and faded since that day, though few people knew or understood what had happened.

Poppy Pomfrey knew. So did Albus Dumbledore. Possibly Snape, although Harry wasn’t sure. It had been his own business. He had done what was necessary, what everyone had expected, and the costs be damned. He had played through the Quidditch season and even tried out for the national team, never expecting to make it. But he had. Harry had been the only one surprised. Nevertheless, every day that he had practiced all summer had drained him twice as much as the games he had played when was still young and still strong during the dark days when Voldemort was alive. He wondered how he would manage playing professional Quidditch while feeling like an old man.

As he sat by the fireside with Gilderoy, absent-mindedly running his fingers through his lover’s wavy blond hair and watching his godfather don a pair of reading glasses to flip through a battered Defense Against the Dark Arts book, Harry Potter felt as old as either of them and tried to enjoy the few moments of peace as the fire crackled in the hearth. The shadows lengthened outside, and he felt sleepy, more truthfully worn out. He had been wondering for days now how long it would take for everything, the tree climbing, the love-making, and the activity in general, to catch up with him. He yawned softly, and Gilderoy shifted.

“Tired, Harry?” he questioned intuitively.

“A bit,” he confessed.

Sirius’s eyes sparkled as he looked over his glasses at them. Harry wondered if Sirius knew as well. Or at least suspected that something might be wrong.

“Perhaps we should all turn in for the night. We’ve had an exciting day.”

Harry’s eyelids were drooping as he grunted in agreement.

“I’ll take him to bed,” he heard Gilderoy said with a doting chuckle.

“Of course,” said Sirius.

Strong arms lifted him from the couch and carried him to the bedroom. Harry was fast asleep before Gilderoy even removed his glasses and helped him out of his robes.