The Prophet's Prophet

Harry Potter: The Boy Who Loved?

By Rita Skeeter

In these months since He Who Must Not Be Named has been defeated, everyone in the wizarding world has watched our hero try to live an ordinary life. He appears to be succeeding, but still, there is one question: has he found love?

"Oh, please." Hermione rolled her eyes at the Daily Prophet. "Rita Skeeter is never going to leave you alone, is she?"

Harry shrugged. He really couldn't have cared less about Rita Skeeter or the Daily Prophet. His mind was on the Quidditch game he planned to attend with Ron later. It was the first Quidditch game of the season, and he had been asked to release the Bludgers. Both he and Ron were very excited, Ron mostly because the Chudley Cannons were playing. Harry was just glad that the wizarding world was returning to normal after the long years of war.

He's been seen around town with many attractive witches, but rarely the same one more than once. Is he playing the field, or are all of these women merely a smokescreen to conceal his true companion?

"Harry, y' ol' dog. Bin workin' yer way through all th' eligible ladies, have ya'?" Harry winced at the smell of whiskey on Mundungus Fletcher's breath. Dung lived in a world not quite the same as the one everyone else lived in; the war had affected him more than most people knew. He had been a bit of a lush before, but now he was almost never sober.

"Been reading the Prophet?" asked Harry gently. They were all gentle with Dung now. "You should know better than to believe anything you read in there."

He is often seen in the company of his oldest friends. Hermione Granger would, on first glance, appear to be the most logical object of his affection. However, her marriage to George Weasley appears to be a happy one. Appearances, however, can be deceiving. Could there be lingering romantic tension under the façade?

"You have 'lingering romantic tension' toward my wife, Harry?" George asked amiably. Rita Skeeter published a variation on this same subject at least every few months; it had become something of a running joke between them.

"Yup," answered Harry. "Oh, wait. For it to be 'lingering' it would have had to have been there in the first place, right?"

"So it would seem," George chuckled and went back to showing Harry the new product he had been working on. It wasn't really the same since Fred had been killed, but Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was too lucrative a business to abandon. Besides, Fred never would have forgiven them if they hadn't continued with it. Harry had expanded his initial role of silent financial partner to include more of a day-to-day role in the business. It seemed right, after so much death, to work at making people laugh.

His most frequent companion, however, is the son of Minister of Magic Arthur Weasley. Ronald Weasley has been Potter's best friend and constant companion since their schooldays, and the boys have been flatmates since the end of the war. Is there perhaps more to their friendship than meets the eye? Time will tell.

"Have you seen the Daily Prophet today?" demanded Ron.

"Yeah." Harry shrugged. "So?"

"What you mean, 'So'? Doesn't it bother you?"

"No, not really. Why does it bother you?"

"Because she makes it sound as though you and I are, well, you know." Ron blushed bright scarlet. "Not that there's anything wrong with it, but we aren't."

"Well, there isn't anything you can do about it," Harry said. "If you ask her to print a retraction, you know it'll just be worse. So just ignore it. That's what I always do. I don't know why we even have the Prophet delivered anymore; there's not much worth reading about in it these days."

"Quidditch scores," Ron answered. "That's why we get the Prophet."

Harry grinned. "Right. Speaking of Quidditch, we should go if we don't want to be late."

*****

The Quidditch match was wonderful. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt so happy and safe and good. It was wonderful to see so many people in one place laughing and cheering and just having fun. He glanced at Ron from the corner of his eye - and suddenly couldn't breathe. His stomach was doing that weird thing it had first done when he used to look at Cho Chang. But Ron wasn't a pretty girl; Ron was, well, Ron.

Is there perhaps more to their friendship than meets the eye? The line from Rita Skeeter's article suddenly ran through his mind. It hadn't really occurred to him before now that it just might be true. Ron, dressed from head to toe in newly purchased Chudley Cannon orange, was cheering on his team with more enthusiasm than Harry had seen in a long time. It had been ages since just looking at someone had made his heat beat faster. Harry watched Ron for a moment, struggling with the realization that he had been having these new and completely unexpected feelings for his best friend and he had no idea how long he had been having them. He wondered what Ron would say if he told him.

Throughout the rest of the match, Harry watched Ron more than he watched the Quidditch pitch; he watched Ron jump up and down when the Quaffle went though the hoop, watched Ron yell when the referee made a bad call, watched Ron clutch his Chudley Canon banner tightly and hold his breath when a Bludger came very close to unseating the Keeper. He sipped his butterbeer and unsuccessfully tried to concentrate on the match. The Chudley Cannons, by some last minute miracle (and a fortunate accident by the Seeker, of a type Harry himself was quite familiar with), won the match. Overcome by an inexplicable surge of emotion, Harry grabbed Ron and kissed him.

Harry's heart fluttered in his chest like a captured snitch as he realized he was tasting the crisps Ron had eaten earlier mingled with his own butterbeer. The roar of the crowd faded to a distant hum and for once in his life, Harry's brain stopped worrying over every small thing and he was only in this moment and he was kissing Ron. And Ron was kissing him back, although it took Harry a while to realize it. They broke apart and stared at each other for a minute.

"What did you do that for," gasped Ron, looking as though he had been hit with a stunning curse.

"I'm not sure. I just realized that I... I'm... Never mind. I'm sorry." Harry felt himself blush hotly and he looked down at his feet.

Ron was silent for such a long time, Harry wondered if he would ever speak to him again.

Finally, Ron spoke. "If you're going to be sorry for anything, how about being sorry for taking such a long time to notice me that way. I was beginning to think you never would." He grinned. "You are so dense."

"Wha- what?" Harry sputtered. "You just said- this afternoon- about that article..."

"Well, I didn't think you felt the same way at all." Ron was blushing quite furiously himself, clashing even more horribly with his outfit.

"I do feel that way." Harry realized, although he didn't think he would ever be able to articulate it, that if he could love Ron in that horrible orange jumper, he must really be in love with him. He was saved from having to say anything else when Ron leaned forward and kissed him again.

*****

The next morning, Harry was only slightly befuddled to find himself waking up in Ron's bedroom rather than his own. It felt unbelievably and undeniably right to wake up beside Ron, with his head on Ron's chest and Ron's arms around him. After the Quidditch match, the night had only got better. What might have been awkward and horrible had somehow been sweet and perfect instead. Harry had never before given serious thought to what it might be like to be with a man this way, but with Ron, he was more comfortable and relaxed than he had ever been with a girl. Maybe it was because he had shared a room with Ron for so many years, even though it was something else entirely to have him snoring directly into his ear instead of hearing it from across the room. He didn't want to move, much less get out of bed, but he had a breakfast meeting with a supplier for Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

"Where are you going?" murmured Ron, pulling Harry more tightly against him. "Stay here."

"I can't," answered Harry, mentally vowing to never make such an early appointment again. "I have a meeting."

When the showered, shaved, and dressed Harry entered the kitchen, he was pleased and touched to discover that Ron had made him a cup of tea, so that they could at least spend a few more minutes in each other's company before heading off their separate ways. It seemed like a special day to Harry, this first day of their new relationship that somehow seemed so familiar and comfortable already.

"Thanks," he said, accepting his cup of tea and the kiss that came with it. Ron grinned and sat down to eat his toast. An owl flew in through the open kitchen window with the morning's Daily Prophet. Ron dropped a coin in the owl's pouch and opened the paper as Harry drained his teacup and rose to leave. He started to bend down to kiss Ron goodbye, but was stopped by the strange noise coming from Ron. "What's wrong?"

Ron merely grunted and pointed at the paper. On the front page of the Prophet was a large, moving photograph of the kiss the two of them had shared in the stands at the Quidditch match. The caption read simply:

Only the Daily Prophet gives you the news before it happens. Good call, Rita!