Seek

"Hmn," Graham eyed Harry across the tabletop, "this wouldn't have anything to do with that lot who came 'round last year, would it?"

Harry owned the flat, though Graham wasn't aware of it. They paid their rent to a dummy muggle account which transfered its balance to Harry's Gringotts vault once a month (minus a reasonable fee). But despite that precaution and the distance from the Wizarding District that Harry had opted to live, reporters had tracked him down and inevitably mobbed his home in the months preceding the anniversary of his victory over Voldemort.

Graham had moved in with Harry just over a year ago and Harry had explained the mob away by saying his parents had been a bit cultish and it was the anniversary of their death that brought the oddly dressed hangers on to pester him. He'd taken the whole situation remarkably well and had left through the back for weeks while Harry watched him from the attic window, subtly Disillusioning to keep the reporters off of Graham. To the best of his knowledge only his mates knew that the great Harry Potter lived with an unwitting Muggle.

"Yeah." Harry crunched his way through the last bite of cereal and considered his upside-down reflection on the spoon as he thought. "Has rather a lot to do with them, actually." Harry paused, then went on as casually as he could, "I'm going to visit an old school friend."

"Oooh. You know how I love the boarding school stories." Graham wiggled his eyebrows and grinned at Harry's blush. "Will I have to tell Ron you're running about behind his muscly back?"

"No, he knows." In the instant it took Harry to realize ow his answer had come across Graham had burst into unrestrained guffaws. "Hey!" Harry waited for the blond to calm himself down, then fixed him with a mock scowl. "You tricked me."

"Freudian slip, Harry." Graham grinned cheekily. "So Ron knows you're running off to see another old chum. Giving him some time to break it gently to 'Mione?"

"You can give up your sordid little fantasy, Graham. I'm not going to steal Ron, straight Ron, from his fiance."

Graham pouted at Harry. "You mean to tell me I'm not ever going to have a go at the two of you together?" Harry blushed and was about to remind Graham that they didn't talk of 'having a go' at Harry anymore - when the intercom buzzed urgently from the sitting room. "Oh, that must be the telly! C'mon Harry!"

And Graham was dashing to the door.

---

Hauling large televisions up stairs was going on Harry's list of Things He Did Not Like, someplace beneath Being Attacked by Acromantula and above Transplanting Mandrakes.

But he had to admit that it was a thing of very manly beauty, Graham's new monster. He was very careful with the Dis-Interferencement he cast on it while Graham tipped the deliveryman who had been kind enough to hook up the wiring. He was fighting the urge to turn it on when Graham came bounding through the door.

"Don't you dare push that button before me Harry Potter!" Harry stepped away guiltily and put on his best sheepish schoolboy face. "That's right." Graham crossed to the telly and ran a caressing hand over it, "Hullo lovely, are you happy to see Daddy? Daddy's happy to see you!"

Harry plopped himself into his favorite armchair. "Are we forgetting something, Graham?" His flatmate turned to face him and Harry waved the dogeared TV Guide.

"The Tottenham-Wycombe game!"

---

One football game later, and Graham knew Harry was headed to America. He had accepted without question that Harry didn't know when he'd be back. He'd agreed to forward Harry's mail to Hermione (she was infinitely less likely to portmail on junk-mail than Ron), he had promised to stay out of Harry's room, and he had been easily persuaded to avoid any 'odd seeds' who might turn up even though Harry wasn't about.

"That was a very sneaky thing to do, Potter. Asking for promises during a football match? " Graham groused, You're quite the snake."

"So I've been told."