I am Harry
Harry kept babbling on and on.
He tried to cram everything he had learned in the five years he had been in the magical world into Queenie in just three hours—they had to go back to school after lunch, and there was still a week before the official holiday.
Hermione and Ron left the space to them and went with Sirius to the fifth floor to visit Buckbeak.
Harry continued to tell interesting stories related to magic: Diagon Alley, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Hogwarts, Quidditch, ghosts, the Burrow, Hogsmeade, the Whomping Willow, the Patronus... and so on, the content was varied and disjointed.
Queenie adapted well; having already read the entire Lockhart series, she quickly accepted that things she had previously thought Lockhart had made up were actually real, although she still needed Harry to explain some unfamiliar words.
“The next Quidditch World Cup is in two years, and I can take you to see it. You’ll love it, believe me! Nobody can resist Quidditch, including Hermione! I wonder if Krum will still be in the finals then. To be honest, everyone else on his team is a bit lacking in skill… Oh, Viktor Krum is the best Seeker in the world—as I told you before, I’m also a Gryffindor Seeker—” Harry paused here, “Ron used to idolize Krum, but he started to dislike him after he invited Hermione to the ball. You might remember, when we went on our date at the Maritime Museum, Ron mentioned a big athlete, and he was talking about him…”
Queenie was somewhat distracted; she was thinking about something.
Regarding whether she is truly a pervert.
What she meant was that it was one thing to want to touch Harry when he was twenty-two, but what about when he was fifteen or sixteen...? But you can't blame her, can you? Putting aside the height difference, theoretically, twenty-two-year-old Harry is the same as fifteen or sixteen-year-old Harry. So if she was attracted to him when he was twenty-two, how could she not be fascinated by him when he was fifteen or sixteen?
Well, if you look at it from another angle, even if she had seen fifteen-year-old Harry at the bar, she probably wouldn't have struck up a conversation with him. She's never liked people younger than her.
But given that she's already fallen for him... her boyfriend suddenly becoming younger seems kind of nice? Oh, it's just that if they start kissing and touching again, it'll feel a bit strange, not to mention that she's been so determined to win him over... it feels like a crime, like seducing a minor or something...
Queenie sighed, and Harry immediately stopped talking, asking anxiously, "What's wrong, Queenie?"
"I remember your birthday is at the end of July, which means you're still two years away from turning 18?"
"In fact, wizards reach adulthood at seventeen, and there's only one year left!"
“A year… well, I don’t think that’s too long.” Queenie gazed at Harry’s young face, suddenly recalling Sirius’s description of the wizarding world. She affectionately stroked his chin. “Alright, Harry, I know you want me to like your world, but I’m just a normal person. Hogwarts is probably like Disneyland to me. It’s enough that I like you. Now, stop your rosy descriptions and tell me the parts you don’t want me to know?”
Harry took her hand and said hesitantly, "But I don't want to scare you?"
"Your concerns are valid if you are still hiding something from me."
"..."
Queenie said calmly, "Just in case you forget, I was attacked by a dark wizard last night."
Harry glanced at her ankle, which had been completely healed by magic, yet it was precisely the magic that had caused her injury.
He took a breath and began his story from that night in Godric Valley.
Fearing that Queenie might develop some negative emotions, the savior spoke as if telling a bedtime story.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, feeling deeply indebted for dragging Queenie into such great danger because of his own selfish motives.
Queenie leaned against the edge of the sofa, propping her head up with her hand, and asked, "Why don't you mention all the effort you put into this?"
“Because compared to the danger you face, it’s nothing,” Harry said earnestly. “I’ve thought about how one day you’ll know everything, how you’ll be angry, how you’ll be scared, how you’ll break up with me, and maybe I’ll have to cast a forgetting spell on you and erase all my memories of you—” He knelt before Queenie. “Queenie, I can’t say how much effort it was to learn those advanced spells for you. Even if I hadn’t met you, I should have learned them anyway. But if I really hadn’t met you, perhaps I would just be the savior of the wizarding world, not Harry.”
So beautiful.
...Who taught him to say that? Sirius? He looks like the type who's particularly good at it.
Queenie felt as if she were surrounded by gently rippling lake water, irresistibly drawn into the ripples, just as she had when she first met Harry in the bar.
Well, she took back what she said earlier. If it were fifteen-year-old Harry, she would probably have struck up a conversation with him too, since he was exactly her type.
Do you want to kiss me?
"...!"
think--!
Just moments ago, Mr. Potter was incredibly handsome, mature, and captivating, but in an instant, he lost his composure and rushed forward recklessly, nearly hurting Miss Campbell's teeth. If it weren't for the gentle licks that followed, she would have definitely bitten his lower lip hard.
Well, actually Harry is quite good at it too, thanks to her, Queenie thought with a touch of pride.
Queenie ate lunch in Harry's room as usual. Sirius took her back to the old house without anyone noticing, and they decided it was best to continue concealing Queenie's existence. As for the two Death Eaters who had seen her, Sirius said there was no need to worry; their memories had been erased and they had been sent back to Azkaban. Even Voldemort himself, skilled in Legilimency, couldn't extract any useful information from the minds of two seemingly foolish people.
The Gryffindor trio were taken back to Hogwarts by Snape—the Potions Professor looked so gloomy that he seemed to want to deduct a hundred points from each of them—while Queenie was sent home by Sirius.
They took a taxi, and a female voice on the radio was dutifully broadcasting the news.
"This morning, the government announced that all prisoners who escaped in January have been captured and brought to justice..."
Queenie looked down at the black dog, who looked up and wagged its tail excitedly, as if to say, "That's right, we did it, weren't we great?"
"...Good job!"
"Woof woof—"
The driver glanced cautiously at the exceptionally large black dog in the rearview mirror. "Amazing efficiency, isn't it?"
“Who says otherwise?” Queenie chimed in, thinking to herself that the British government was just unlucky, dragged down by the Ministry of Magic.
The phone suddenly rang; it was Emily—Sirius had returned the phone to Queenie and modified it to look like Harry's.
"Honey, you called me last night? What was up? My phone ran out of battery and shut down automatically." Emily yawned as she spoke, clearly having just woken up.
"..." It seems she had a lot of fun last night, it's already afternoon. "It's nothing, I pressed the wrong button."
"Okay, Winston and I will go find something to eat. We're starving! Bye!"
Queenie hung up the phone, glanced at the fully charged battery in the upper right corner of the screen, and praised the black dog again with a "good job" as he watched the dog's proud expression.
Queenie's living room became Sirius's temporary bedroom, and within days she had become immune to the flying teacups, the self-cleaning brooms and mops, and so on. She was like Alice who had wandered into Wonderland, except this wasn't a dream.
With his identity exposed, Harry no longer tried to hide it. Taking advantage of the fact that he had finished his exams and was free of pressure, he began to frequently contact Queenie via text message. The messages were full of pictures of Hogwarts that he had taken, ranging from panoramic views of the castle taken from a broomstick to pictures of the colorful irises in the garden.
Their roles seem to have been reversed; he's now the one who shares tirelessly.
Harry got her class schedule and even complained that she didn't value him when she didn't reply promptly and wasn't in class. Then, he added, with a clear intention and a hint of ulterior motive, "I hope you're happy."
This childish behavior made Queenie wonder if those words she heard at Sirius’s house really came from Harry. Later, she realized that maturity and childishness might be antonyms, but who says they can’t both be present in one person?
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