All that boyish charm was gone now and Harry found himself staring into the eyes of a man who would do whatever was necessary to survive. He wondered if Shepford were armed with a Muggle weapon.
"That's a little like not being exactly pregnant," Harry remarked. "Once again, how did you get in here?"
"I've been here before," Shepford said.
"You've never seen anyone levitate a beer, but you've been here before?" Harry didn't even try to conceal his disbelief.
"Well, not in this pub, but in the castle. My dad was stationed in England for a while when I was young. I got a letter inviting me to attend that school in the castle up there near the lake," Shepford claimed.
Once again, Harry didn't sense any lies, but he'd also seen how completely unfamiliar the man was with something as simple as levitation. "You were a student at Hogwarts?"
They looked to be about the same age. If Shepford had attended Hogwarts, Harry would have known the man, no matter what house he was sorted into.
Shepford gave a negative shake of his head. His hair really was even worse than his own, Harry realized. "My mom was something called a Squib, so she knew about all this wizard stuff, though she never spoke of it till we got that letter. My parents thought it might be good for me to have some stability instead of moving around from military base to military base every other year. My mom and me came to check out the school. She didn't like their morals much, so she wouldn't let me go. But I never forgot the day we were there. There was this moving staircase in the school. It was too cool for words."
"What do you mean 'she didn't like their morals'?" Harry questioned, trying not to be offended. But Hogwarts was the only real home he'd ever known.
As if realizing his faux pas, Shepford softly explained, "We sat in on this class where some old lady taught the kids to make live kittens vanish. They never brought them back. It freaked us both out."
"Children have to be taught the dangers of their powers," Harry tried to explain, although, being Muggle-reared himself, once he'd gotten old enough to understand what was happening, he'd had a similar reaction to that particular lesson.
"Maybe," John agreed. "But I don't think Squibs are treated very well by you wizard guys. When she saw what they did to the kittens, my mom said nothing had changed and she wasn't going to have me grow up to be just like them. We got transferred to Germany a few weeks later and the whole wizard thing was never brought up again."
Once again, Harry was reading truth. "So, you're a wizard, but you never went to school?"
The very idea was a little terrifying. Harry remembered some of the spontaneous magic he'd worked at the Dursleys' when young. It was only years of schooling that had taught him, and every other wizard and witch, to think before acting. He could only imagine the trouble Shepford must have gotten into when growing up in the Muggle world with these untrained abilities.
"Not the kind of school where they make things disappear and lift things with their minds," Shepford said with that engaging smile.
"Not with their minds, with their magic," Harry corrected him.
"Whatever."
"So what are you doing here now?" Harry asked, still trying to evaluate how much of a threat this guy was to their world, this guy who claimed to be a completely untrained wizard who lived in a galaxy far, far away.
John shrugged. "I, ah, come back here every now and then when things aren't going too good. It sort of reminds me that there are still some wonders that Man hasn't taken all the mystery and magic out of. I've never been to this town before. Usually, I just hang out in that Victorian street on the other side of that wall in the London bar."
Harry relaxed a little at that. If Shepford had been to Diagon Alley and hadn't revealed its existence, chances were he wasn't a danger. There were thousands of Squibs who knew about the Wizarding World. Shepford wasn't exactly a Squib, but he probably wasn't much more of a threat than they were.
"So, are you going to blow the whistle on me?" Shepford asked, trying out that boyish grin again.
"Not at the moment."
"Thanks," Shepford said, relaxing into a sprawl on the bar stool, which was no easy feat.
Admiring the man's grace, Harry settled back into his own stool. He could feel Shepford evaluating him. "So, what do you do for a living, Harry?" In a lower tone, he asked, "Do wizards even work?"
Harry grinned, beginning to really like this man. "Most do, unless they're wealthy. I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts up at Hogwarts."
"That's the castle school?" Shepford checked.
"Yes. The one without the morals," Harry added.
"Ouch," John said. That ready smile appeared again. "Sorry about that."
"No problem," Harry said.
"Is there much call for defending against dark arts?" Shepford asked in a joking tone.
It was strange to sit here with someone who knew so little about the Wizarding World. Voldemort had been a threat and a part of his life for so long that it was difficult for Harry to remember that most of the people living on this planet had never heard of the man. Deciding to give Shepford a taste of his own evading, he answered, "You'd be surprised." After a moment, he asked, "What about you? What do you do?"
After a moment's consideration, Shepford said, "I'm a pilot."
That, too, felt like the truth.
"You like to fly?" Harry asked, seeing by the spark in Shepford's changeable hazel eyes that they had that in common.
"I live for it. I think anyone who doesn't want to fly is crazy," Shepford said.
"Me, too," Harry agreed with a grin.
"What do you fly?" Shepford questioned, taking a sip of his beer.
"A Firebolt." Harry could see from his companion's expression that Shepford was confused again. "It's a broom. I take it you fly planes?"
"Helicopters mostly, with the occasional experimental model. You really fly on a broom?" Shepford didn't seem able to keep himself from asking.
"It's the closest thing there is to having wings," Harry answered.
"They didn't say anything about flying brooms that day we visited," Shepford complained in a delightfully lugubrious manner.
Harry couldn't help but laugh.
The next hour or so seemed to speed by for Harry as he joked and laughed with this odd stranger. Throughout it all, he couldn't really be certain if Shepford were flirting with him and chatting him up or if he were just being friendly. He'd heard that Americans could seem very forward in that regard, and mistakes could be made, for touches didn't always mean the same thing in another culture. So, he was doing his best to play it cool. The last thing he needed was a scene in his local pub.
It was Shepford who eventually brought the subject out into the open. His voice dropped and a strange nervousness entered his attitude as he softly asked, "So, tell me, Harry. Do wizards ever, um, date other wizards?"
"Some do," Harry replied with equal caution.
"You one of the ones who do?" Shepford asked.
"Yeah. What about you?" Harry replied, wondering if his own smile were anywhere near as sexy as the one Shepford was wearing.
"'I've never dated a wizard before. I'm thinking it could be fun," Shepford said. "One thing you should know, though. I, um, won't be hanging around for long. I'm here on vacation, a couple of days, and then I have to get back to my . . . home."
"That works for me."
"So, do you want to find someplace private?" John asked.
Pleased by how smoothly this was going, Harry said, "I can't really bring anyone back to the school. Do you have a room?"
"At the inn across the street," Shepford said. "They let me change my money there when I arrived. These coins you guys use are . . . sorta neat."
"Good. I'm going to go let my friends know that I'm leaving. I'll meet you outside, okay?" Harry said.
"See you in a few," Shepford agreed, heading towards the door.
For a second as Harry watched that tall, dark clad stranger walk away, an image of an even taller dark haired man dressed in billowing robes flashed into his mind and he was struck with a sudden sense of wrongness. Shaking the uneasiness off, he wended his way through the crowd back to Hermione and Ron's table.
"Oh, there you are," Hermione said with a smile. Both she and Lydia's were at the table with Ron and Lydia's family. "I was beginning to worry. Where have you been all this time?"
"At the bar," Harry said, relieved to see her smile back. Once he'd said hello to Lydia, he continued with, "I just wanted to let you know I met someone and I won't be going back to Hogwarts with you."
"You met someone?" Ron repeated, looking totally shocked.
Uneasy again because Ron had never looked at him like he was committing a crime when he'd picked someone up in the past, Harry asked, "What's wrong?"
"What about Severus?" Ron demanded in a nearly truculent tone.
Hermione's eyes were equally as shocked as Ron's when Harry looked at her.
"What's Severus got to do with this?" Harry asked, losing patience with the bizarre treatment he'd been receiving the last few days. The Forresters and John were watching the exchange with obvious confusion.
"Apparently nothing," Ron answered, his disapproval no longer underplayed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded.
"Ron," Hermione said, touching Ron's arm, "something's not right here. Let it go."
Ron gave a reluctant nod.
In no way reassured by Ron's glare or the strange way Hermione was watching him, he asked, "What's going on?"
"I don't know, Harry, but I'm going to find out. Go on. Have fun. We'll see you in the morning," Hermione said.
That was more the reaction he was accustomed to receiving. But although she smiled at him, Harry could read the worry right through it.
"Is everything okay with you?" Harry asked, worried himself now.
Hermione nodded. "We're fine, Harry."
"Good night, then. It was great seeing you all," Harry said to Lydia, Terry, and John. He tried to control the feeling of wrongness that was eating at him as he went to meet John Shepford outside.
*~*~*
The Whistling Witch Inn had been around as long as the Three Broomsticks. Although it did have a public room for dining, it wasn't the popular meeting place that Rosmerta's establishment was. The Whistling Witch catered to Hogsmeade's out of town visitors and the townsfolk who might have need to rent a room on a Friday or Saturday night. Harry fell into the latter category.
The rooms weren't fancy, but they were clean and comfortable.
Harry had always liked the place, because no matter how frequently he stayed here, his visits had never ended up in the Prophet the next morning, which wasn't the case in many of the inns he'd frequented while with the Cannons. Jamie, the desk clerk, was refreshingly unbiased when it came to two men sharing a room of a Friday night. Harry could come in here with a different fellow every week, and Jamie would give him the same cheery smile and welcome.
"Hi, Harry," the dark-curled Jamie greeted as Harry and John Shepford entered.
"Hi, Jamie," Harry said, returning the older man's grin.
"Long time no see," Jamie commented.
"It hasn't been that long," Harry protested.
"We haven't seen you since early October," Jamie said. "I remember because I was hanging the Halloween decorations the last time you were in."
Harry remembered that quite clearly. It was one of the last times he'd been in here with Michael before things had gotten serious and he'd started going home to Michael's place.
How could he have not been here in four months? What the hell had he been doing with all his Friday and Saturday nights? Granted, most of January had been devoted to healing Severus and he'd simply not had the energy or been conscious long enough to date. But what the devil had he been doing from October to New Year? Or for the last month, for that matter? He'd been taking things slow since Michael dumped him, but there was slow, and then there was moribund. Harry searched his memory, trying to account for his time. But he couldn't remember a single Friday or Saturday night, not even last week.
"Everything all right with you?" Jamie checked.
Moved by the clerk's concern, Harry gave a nod. "Yes, thanks for asking. How about you?"
"I'm fine. You boys have a good night," Jamie said.
"Thanks," Harry said, moving with John towards the stairs.
"You sure everything's all right?" John asked as they climbed the stairs.
"Why do you ask?" Harry asked.
"Well, you just looked really confused back there. Is something wrong?"
Most of the one-night-stands Harry dated wouldn't have bothered to ask that question when they were on their way to bed. Hell, most of them wouldn't have enquired if Harry had seemed upset when they were actively engaged in bed. There was a certain degree of selfishness to most of these casual encounters that made it hard for him to enjoy them. John was shaping up to be a pleasant change of pace.
"I'm not sure," Harry said.
"Huh?" John questioned, then said, "This is us," as he stopped in front of the door nearest the stairs.
The room they entered was familiar to Harry. Huge bed, blond wood headboard and footboard, walnut nightstands and dresser, everything spotlessly clean and polished to within an inch of its life. The fire in the small hearth was dancing merrily and filling the room with a cosy orange glow.
"You were saying?" John prompted as he closed the door behind them.
"You don't really want to talk about this now, do you?" Harry asked, aware that most guys usually just wanted to get down to business when they were alone in a bedroom.
