Chapter 5
I’d been raised to hate muggles for no good reason, but, by Merlin, did I hate them. They made the box in Potter’s pocket that kept pinging while old man Weasley did his best to explain the larger box the DMLE agreed to torture me with. The pocket pings stopped Potter from correcting Mr. Weasley. Potter’s thumbs were jabbing his box when I bent down to attach a hard rope to yet another muggle contraption. The thing zapped me.
The ministry did not give me any of the useful things Harry had recommended. I mean, I wouldn’t have trusted myself with an assistant either but it would have been nice. Magic was a no go for security. After all, I was so desperate for it that I might finally be willing to kill if it meant I could have a wand back in my hand. That was the problem. I didn’t deserve nice. I deserved mayhem. I deserved torture. I deserved this bloody muggle box that attacked me and worked even in the null zone of the filing room.
Maybe they would have given it to him if he’d been more clever. I’d always known Potter wasn’t clever. Not one word in that report made political sense. Especially not one word about me. He’d called me indispensable, for Merlin’s sake. Who said that to the senior aurors? No wonder they glommed on to the bit on muggle technology.
They said it was muggle with the sort of reverence saved for icons like Dumbledoor. Or, for the knobheads running things here, icons like Potter. Mr. Weasley said “computer” like one might talk about pornography. Like just looking at it could get him hard.
Well, fuck, now I’d have to gorge my eyes out so I didn’t accidentally look at Mr. Weasley and picture him jacking off on this strange box.
I didn’t normally think this way, not even in the presence of Mr. Weasley’s ridiculously fit son who stopped by earlier to say hi to his dad. I’d just overheard my roommate having a go at his fist last night, despite owning a wand of his very own capable of a silence charm if he’s just put his two brain cells together. It made me alarmingly aware that I couldn’t choose to jack off even if I wished to.
Alarmingly, I kind of wished to.
I’d fucked around a bit in my youth, because I was was hormonal, cocky, and rich. I long ago added being a selfish partner to my list of sins. At least those faults had been cut short with the onset of depression that hit sixth year. Couldn’t fuck around when I struggled to get it up. Wouldn’t dare let anyone know I was too stressed to perform in bed.
I got zapped again by the “machine” before Potter noticed something was up and pocketed his box to help me. In the end, Mr. Weasley had to reconfigure an adapter for some purpose I did not understand. I waited for a wave of anger and vitriol. I felt only excitement.
Well fucking fuck. This was going to end badly, wasn’t it? Potter swore the computer was good for something and, while I didn’t believe him, and I definitely already hated it, I was still… thrilled? It was something different. Not different like when Potter rifled through the files in an attempt to identify how I pieced together three different, related case files from the pseudonym “Blacktooth”, when said suspect hadn’t been mentioned in any of them. Different like new first years back at Hogwarts that I would be able to bully into doing my bidding.
Different, but disturbing, because Potter got it for me. And now he was treating me like he believed I could use it. The faith was staggering, so of course I ignored him entirely lest anyone tell I was affected at all.
The box came with a manual. Sure, it was mostly written in gibberish, but Mr. Weasley has brought several books “for dummies” that were meant to translate it and I was far from dumb. Then there was the “software” and the “database” which had more manuals with instructions. Potter glanced at me sympathetically as Mr. Weasley exalted on the benefits of all the manuals, guides and books. I actually smirked. Potter was just the sort of dummy who couldn’t be bothered to read books.
Potter’s eyes glanced down to my mouth, right where it curved up suggestively. Then his box pinged and he pulled it out again to bang on.
I turned down Mr. Weasley’s offer in the hallway to shrink all the books so they’d be easier to carry. If he did that I’d have to beg my wankstain roommate to unshrink them for me later. Better to lug around a heavy sack like a squib. As heavy as they were, I didn’t let him make Potter carry them for me, either. The cheek on Mr. Weasley to even suggest it. Potter couldn’t possibly spare a hand to help, they were both glued to that pinging box.
Potter sighed at his box more than my comments. He shoved it back in his pocket when we all got on the lift together.
I was nearest to the buttons so I hit L for lobby, as if we really were all in this elevator together getting off of work. I didn’t even have to go back tonight. Potter had records shut down at noon so he and Mr. Weasley could do their shenanigans and I used the extra time to update the index. I had nothing but time.
Potter distracted Mr. Weasley with a summation of his box conversation - all that thumb jabbing was how you communicated in muggle - and it turned out Andi was cancelling on him again. While Mr. Weasley consoled his friend, I took the opportunity to hit C for canteen. My would-be companions both looked surprised when the door opened early and no one got in.
I didn’t mean for my proclamation of dinner to sound like a question. A question could be an invitation. One which Mr. Weasley declined due to Mrs. Weasley waiting for him at home, but Potter regrettably accepted. He was like me. Nothing but time.
He sat across from me in a booth and ate a bacon and cheese sandwich. He’d taken his robes off and rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms I definitely did not gaze at. It was Wednesday, when they served the vegetable lasagna I found almost passable. I carefully tucked my napkin on my lap so I wouldn’t make a mess with it. Quiet hung too hard between us. We both looked up at the same time then immediately looked away. Unfathomably, I was nervous.
In the report, Potter had recorded seven different instances where my work had been essential to solving cases. He’d called me essential.
Then the box pinged in Harry’s pocket and Potter showed how muggle-born manners were as uncouth as my father always said. Potter’s mouth scrunched up as he banged on the box instead of finishing dinner. I picked out pieces of zucchini to chew slowly as I watched this man that somehow managed to impress the masses. Maybe it was his shoulders. They were broad and solid enough to hold up the expectations placed on him. Not his forehead. It had stress lines growing deeper in real time as he furrowed his brow. Maybe his jaw. When he gnashed his teeth it looked chiseled. The perfect blend of emotion and strength.
Maybe I could jerk off in the shower. If I went in late it was unlikely anyone would be there. The water would be loud and I could stay quiet. I wouldn’t have to worry about any resulting mess. I could get whatever this was out of my system before I did something truly embarrassing like think Potter was hot.
It wasn’t hot when he tossed his gadget aside and turned all his angry focus on me. Not at all. No matter how long he refused to break eye contact, when really I should have been the one to look away.
Did I want to get out of here and grab a drink?
No. I had a date with the shower. Couldn’t give him that excuse. Told him instead I wanted to get a start on my reading. Wanted to enjoy my dinner. Wanted to spend time by myself, thank you, not with a man who I had just noticed had very kissable lips and a man he was dating on the other side of that muggle box.