HocusPOTUS:
*****
Harry laughed when he was hit with a pillow in the back of his head. It only took a moment for Harry to snatch the pillow off his bed and use it as a weapon to spin around and smack Ron upside the head with.
Ron laughed as well and their need to unpack and sort out their dorm room was forgotten as they began the Great Pillow Fight of Indeterminate Year.
It was childish and juvenile, but Harry didn’t care. Jumping around their new dorm, swinging a pillow at his best mate while the thumping bass from another dorm filled their room was the most fun Harry had in quite some time.
Hermione was right- University was brilliant.
Of course, Hermione didn’t approve of the incredibly elite university that Harry and Ron decided on, but that was her problem. Ron had been thrilled to be selected along with Harry to attend the University of Fictional Characters in Indiana. They didn’t even apply! They just got a letter in the mail offering them places in ‘the hottest new university for fictional beings’ and the boys were sold.
Hermione asked what they would be studying and they said they didn’t know. Hermione asked what sort of university sent out admission letters to students who didn’t apply and Ron said ‘a hot new one’. Hermione asked what they planned to do with their futures and they said party at Fictional University.
Hermione wasn’t impressed, but Harry still intended to sign off all his letters to her that year with ‘Harry Potter, Student at FU’.
Privately, Harry thought that if anyone deserved a chance to just live it up at university and act like a couple of the most careless blokes ever, it was him and Ron. The war was over, they suffered through an extremely traumatic and painful eighth year at Hogwarts to obtain their NEWTS. Harry and Ron flunked their psychological evaluations to join the aurors (Harry suspected Ron flunked on purpose because he knew Harry felt embarrassed by it), so it wasn’t as if they had jobs waiting either.
They had no immediate plans for the future, nothing stopping them from just… having pillow fights and agreeing that they should eventually get their class schedules.
Once Ron waved his white pillowcase in surrender, they both collapsed on their beds that were on opposite walls from each other. Harry grinned up at the ceiling, already such a big fan of university.
“Knock, knock.”
Harry rolled on his side and glanced at the bloke standing in their doorway. Harry didn’t know him, but Harry already liked him. The bloke was tall with scruffy brown hair, an easy smile, and a soft looking brown leather jacket that made Harry think of his godfather.
“Hey,” the bloke nodded at them and leaned against the doorway with fit arms crossed over his chest. “I’m Sam, Sam Winchester.”
“Harry Potter,” Harry said.
“Ron Weasley,” Ron waved.
Sam looked around their messy dorm where their half packed trunks were scattered around, their broomsticks were propped against their bathroom door, and they had a single photo hanging on the wall above the window between their beds. It was Harry’s favorite photo, one of him, Ron, and Hermione back when they were first years. Percy had taken it and gave it to Harry last Christmas in a golden frame (“Golden frame for the golden trio,” Percy had laughed nervously).
Sam’s eyes lingered on the photo for a moment before he sighed. “I actually came to see if I could convince one of you to switch me roommates, but I’m guessing you two are like brothers, or something.”
“Harry’s my mum’s favorite child,” Ron said while Harry nodded seriously in agreement. “Why? Is your roommate a total dick?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” Sam snorted. “It’s Jesus.”
Harry and Ron blinked blankly at Sam, both confused by who that was.
“You mean Mel Gibson?” Harry asked slowly.
“No, I mean Jesus Christ himself. Son of God. Rose after three days.”
“After three days of what?” Ron asked.
“Uh, death?” Sam said.
“I did that in like five minutes,” Harry scoffed, unimpressed. “He’s not special.”
Sam let out a loud laugh, one that showed his nice smile off, and his posture relaxed in the doorway.
“So what are you guys?” he asked. “Demons or shapeshifters?”
“Wiz—”
“Demons,” Harry interrupted Ron quickly with a bright smile. “We’re definitely demons.”
There was no reason to lie, Indiana was protected as a ‘No Man’s Land’ for all ‘fictional or supernatural beings’. Hermione said it was the only way Indiana could gain any new residents since nobody in their right mind wanted to live there.
Harry just thought it was fun to call himself a demon and see Ron immediately going along with it.
“Oh.” Sam shifted some but lifted his shoulder. “Okay, so I guess you really don’t want to bunk with Jesus then.”
“Not at all,” Ron said cheerily. “Good luck though, mate.”
When Sam gave them a friendly salute and then wandered down the hall, Ron looked at Harry.
“What’s a demon?” he asked.
“No idea.”
After the boys made a genuine stab at unpacking (aka: they floo called Molly to ask what the charms for unpacking were), it was nearly time for the first FU (Harry knew it was technically UFC, but Fictional University made a more fun acronym) event: a social mixer.
Harry threw on a pair of jeans, an orange Canon shirt of Ron’s, and made an attempt at taming his hair. Ron had on his own jeans, Harry’s quidditch captain shirt, and his dragon-hide boots from Bill. Harry frowned at the way that Ron’s shirt was baggy on him and Harry’s was tight enough on Ron to show off his decent physique.
“Stop wearing my clothes,” Harry said, shouldering Ron playfully as they made their way out of their dorm.
“Stop being skinny so your clothes fit me better,” Ron grinned, refraining from shouldering Harry back.
“Stop being so poor so you can buy your own clothes.”
“Stop letting people house you in a closet so you’ll grow.”
They continued like that as they made their way down the hallway of dorm rooms to find what Harry considered to be the common room of their building. By the time they made it, they had made it past teasing each other for their pasts and were mocking each others mothers.
And Harry was glad that he knew for a fact that Ron never shagged his mum, as Ron was implying. Ron, on the other hand, had no real way of knowing if Harry was lying or not.
The common room of their building was a lot more modern looking that the Gryffindor common room had ever been. There were half a dozen large leather recliners centered around a giant telly, a handful of colorful bean bag chairs, and a kitchen area that had a counter lined with food and drinks for the mixer.
Harry grabbed a beer - was there a drinking age in Indiana? Harry didn’t know and frankly didn’t care - and then joined where Sam was talking to some bloke in a red mask.
“Aw! It’s a dog!” Harry cried, spotting the adorable Dalmatian with the mask-bloke. The dog was all dressed up in a firefighter costume and Harry didn’t even think about it before reaching out to scratch the dog’s ears.
“Aw, yeah, right there!”
Harry screamed and jumped backward as he stared in open-mouth horror at the talking dog.
Ron was laughing his stupid arse off while the mask-bloke smirked (Harry didn’t need to see his face to know he was smirking) at him.
“You’re a magical wizard but Marshall scares you?” Mask-Bloke tsk’d. “If only old Voldyshorts had a dog instead of that totally-not-a-sexual-innuendo-big-snake.”
Harry’s racing heart slowed down and he was torn between equal desires to interrogate the talking dog or ask how Mask-Bloke knew about Voldemort. As soon as Harry decided to ask more about the dog, Ron asked about Voldemort.
“You’re a wizard then?” Ron asked.
“Why are you wearing a costume?” Harry asked.
Sam looked from Ron to Harry with his forehead all wrinkled in confusion. “That’s what you’re curious about? Seriously?”
Harry shrugged, “We’ve dealt with a lot of weird shit, mate.”
“Yeah, it sort of just starts to roll off you after a bit,” Ron agreed.
“I bet I’d win,” Sam muttered before taking a drink from the bottle of beer he held.
The Mask-Bloke introduced himself as Deadpool and the talking dog informed them in a very perky voice that his name was Marshall. Around then, two more blokes had wandered in the room and Ron stiffened from where he’d been standing beside Harry.
“Mate…” Ron reached out and grabbed Harry’s elbow hard, his eyes wide as he watched the two blokes make their way toward them. “Those are bloody vampires,” he hissed in Harry’s ear.
Harry looked over the two of them and couldn’t help but like what he saw. The taller of the two had long dark blonde hair that settled just short of touching his shoulders in wavy curls. His eyes were a warm amber color when they met Harry’s and Harry resisted the urge to blush at his smirk. The bloke beside him was almost as tall, but instead of having lean and wiry muscles, he was built thickly with muscles that wouldn’t look out of place in a body-building competition. He had a playful grin and short brown hair, though his eyes were the same color as the other one’s.
“Explains why they’re so bloody attractive,” Harry murmured back, hiding the whisper behind his drink.
Correction, trying to hide the whisper behind his drink.
“Nah, I was hot before I was turned,” the thicker one laughed loudly. He bounced forward too quickly to be confused for human and offered his hand out to them. “Emmett Cullen.”
“I’ve had wet dreams about you,” Deadpool said as he eagerly shook Emmett’s hand. “They did you dirty in the movies, there were less than two minutes total of you being shirtless.”
“Movie?” Emmett asked blankly.
Harry was beginning to suspect that Deadpool was something much more powerful than a wizard or vampire or… whatever the hell Sam was.
“Jasper,” the taller vampire said, not offering anyone his hand. His eyes flicked toward Ron and he smirked again. “We’re vegetarians, there’s no need to be afraid.”
Ron straightened up and dropped Harry’s elbow that would undoubtedly bruise from the force he’d been squeezing it with.
“I’m not afraid,” Ron said with a stubborn lilt. “And vegetarian better not include Marshall.”
“I’m not a vegetable!” Marshall laughed. “I’m a dog!”
Harry would kill or die for that dog, it was so cute.
(Ron said that didn’t mean much when Harry shared the sentiment. Apparently Harry was voted Most Likely to Become a Mass Murderer sixth year at Hogwarts and Harry had technically already died for everyone.)
Harry’s belief that Deadpool was something unworldly was confirmed when another bloke entered the room by himself. He was fit too - Harry wondered if all blokes in University were so attractive until he remembered that Deadpool’s mask was hideous and Harry wasn’t attracted at all to a dog. The new bloke had light brown curls, a moody scowl on his face, and stormy grey eyes that Harry immediately liked.
That bloke wasn’t even halfway to them when Deadpool shrieked.
“Oh my god!!” Deadpool flapped his hands excitedly as he stared at the bloke. “Tyler? The Tyler? Wednesday Addams’ first kiss Tyler?!”
“At least you’re not the only famous one,” Ron said cheerfully with a friendly slap to Harry’s back.
“It would be hard to be more famous than freaking Jesus,” ‘Tyler’ said as he joined them. He nodded at Sam. “Thank God we’re roommates now, I can’t stand either of those pricks.”
Harry was incredibly curious about who ‘those pricks’ were when one of them appeared right in the center of the loose circle they had all made.
“Did someone speak my Father’s name in vain?”
Harry squinted at the bright light that temporarily blinded him. He stumbled back half a step and was grateful when Ron grabbed his arm and kept him from falling on his arse.
As the brightness faded, there was… a bloke in a dress.
Harry had heard the name ‘Jesus’ a lot in his life, but he’d never expected to meet the bloke. If he did, he probably would have pictured someone a little more… impressive.
Jesus was just a dude in a white dress with dark skin and leather sandals.
Harry had met better.
When Sam rolled his eyes and walked away, back toward the counter covered in food, Harry followed him.
“Who did you convince to be roommates with him?” Harry asked Sam. “I thought nobody would.”
Sam piled a paper plate high with tortilla crisps to load down with all the toppings available.
“Obama,” Sam said as he started pouring cheese on top of the crisps.
Harry blinked. “What’s an obama?”
The door to the common room opened again and Sam turned, prompting Harry to do the same, and—
Ooh.
“That’s Obama,” Sam said.
Harry hardly heard him as he watched the tall man with the navy blue suit stride in with a confident walk and a white smile that contrasted nicely with his dark skin. The obama had close-cropped black hair and Harry thought he somehow looked both professional and friendly, a difficult mix for one man to pull off. But the obama did it effortlessly, making it look simple and graceful.
“What is he?” Harry breathed to Sam. “A wizard?”
Please be a wizard… please be a wizard…
“Much more rare and fictional,” Sam said drily. “He’s an honest politician.”
Harry highly doubted that an honest politician existed. The talking dog made more sense, honestly. Harry casually leaned against the counter and looked over the group of ‘students’ gathered around. They truly did make an odd group.
“Oi, what’s your fictional status?” Harry asked Sam, hoping that wasn’t insensitive to ask.
“Me?” Sam lifted one of the crisps covered in more toppings than Harry could identify. “I’m a hunter.”
“Oh.” Harry vaguely thought of camouflage clothes and blokes shooting deer. He was glad that was fictional, it always seemed cruel. “That’s nice.”
Harry stayed in the kitchen area, sort of embracing the anti-social personality he knew had been buried inside of him his entire life, and had three beers before he was forced to join the others. They had maneuvered the furniture around in the living room to make a circle and Harry stumbled his way to sit between Ron and Marshall.
Obama sat directly across from Harry and he leaned toward him to offer his hand.
“Hello,” he said, his voice a warm and deep sound that Harry could fall asleep or climax to. “I’m Barack Obama. What should I call you?”
Yours, Harry thought, his unfortunate tendency to be attracted to older blokes kicking in. Hermione called it his daddy-issue-kink, Harry called it ‘embarrassing’.
“Harry,” Harry said, sure his face was flushed with alcohol and embarrassment. Harry shook his hand and was surprised by Barack’s firm grip. “Er… Harry Potter.”
“Harry’s got a thing for older men,” Ron whispered to Deadpool who sat on his left.
“Well duh,” Deadpool whispered back. “Dead Daddy, Dead God-Daddy, Dead Grand-Daddy, Dead Wolf-Daddy… Harry had daddy issues before he knew how to fuck your sister.”
“Harry did not shag my sister!”
Harry absolutely shagged Ron’s sister. And his brother. And - during a drunken night at the Burrow - his other brother. Harry just wasn’t daft enough to brag to Ron about it… he told Hermione.
“This is super fun,” Deadpool said gushingly, somehow blinking his sightless black mask-eyes at them all. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking… what if we had a big old fashioned orgy to really make this mixer a hit?”
“I love oranges!” Marshall cried, adding a cheerful bark. “Can I have one?”
Harry wasn’t the only one who tried to hold back a laugh at Marshall’s happy naïveté. That dog was adorable… Harry wanted a pet dog. Not a bulldog, never a bloody bulldog, but a talking dalmatian would be brilliant.
“We could play two truths and a lie,” Sam said. “We did that in my old dorm at Stanford.”
“You’re a Stanford man?” Obama asked, flashing a smile at Sam. “That’s awfully prestigious!”
“Says Mister Harvard Law,” Sam scoffed. Harry thought Sam sat up a little straighter though.
“Can we just say our names and be done with it?” Tyler asked. He had his arms crossed and the same moody scowl on his face from earlier. “I’m not really a games guy.”
“Babyyyyy,” Deadpool whined, “don’t be like that.”
“Wait, dudes!” Emmett laughed and everyone looked at him instead of Tyler’s reddening face. “I went to Purdue once and it was badass. One night at a frat party we played this drinking game, Hat Facts.”
“You can drink alcohol?” Sam asked, the same question Harry had. “How?”
“I didn’t,” Emmett said, waving a hand as if brushing away Sam’s question. “Drunk humans are hilarious. Anyway, so everyone writes down something crazy about themselves, right? We put the paper in a hat and someone draws them. We read it and guess who it’s about, losers have to take a shot.”
Harry looked around at the others and when nobody protested, he shrugged.
It sounded fun.
Everyone took a chance to write down their facts while Emmett happily fetched shot glasses and a bottle of liquor. Jesus held his shot glass of clear vodka up and Harry rolled his eyes when he used silent magic to turn it to a shot of something a dark red in color.
“Wandless magic,” Ron murmured to Harry, “bloody showoff. Seamus can do the same thing.”
Harry agreed wholeheartedly. If he wasn’t already drunk then he’d turn Jesus’ wine back to vodka just to show that it wasn’t even difficult magic.
Emmett collected all their facts and Jasper was elected to draw them.
The very first one threw everyone off.
‘I’ve died before’ was apparently not that rare of an experience.
Harry knew that wasn’t what he wrote though as he preferred to not talk about dying in a forest alone to a group of relative strangers.
Jesus died once, ‘for their sins’, as he really braggily told everyone. Deadpool had died dozens of times. Emmett and Jasper both died. Harry died. But it was Sam who took credit for that paper with his handwriting.
“Eight times,” Sam said with some misplaced pride after taking credit for the hat fact.
Since Harry had no idea that hunters had any sort of extra power, he had guessed Jesus and had to drink. Ron guessed that one had been Jasper and also had to drink.
Barack just looked surprised while he looked around the circle at all the students who had died before.
“I’m starting to think my fun fact won’t be all that fun,” he chuckled.
Harry blamed the liquor for his loose tongue. “Twelve inch dick?”
Even Tyler laughed at Harry’s slightly slurred question. Ron groaned as he laughed, probably just as mortified as Harry was.
Harry did not just ask the former President of the United States how big his cock was.
Barack didn’t seem to mind, he only laughed with the others and flashed Harry a wide smile.
“I like to stay humble,” Barack said. He actually winked at Harry before adding, “Eleven and three quarters.”
Harry didn’t measure or anything, but that was definitely bigger than Charlie had been. And since Barack was supposedly an honest politician… Harry shifted in his seat, repositioning his legs some.
Jasper looked pained as he pulled the next slip and it was immediately explained since he apparently pulled his own slip.
“I know all the Twilight facts,” Deadpool said cheerfully after correctly guessing that Jasper could sense emotions. “I actually met Robert Pattinson at Comic Con in Atlanta.”
“Who is Robert Pattinson?” Ron asked.
“The actor that plays their brother,” Deadpool explained. “I prefer Rupert Grint though, he’s much more down to earth. Spending his movie earnings on an ice cream truck? That’s soo Ron!” he laughed.
Ron looked at Harry but even if Harry wasn’t drunk he’d have no idea what Deadpool was talking about.
Jasper read the next slip aloud and Marshall claimed it before anyone could guess.
“That’s mine!” Marshall said, wagging his tail happily. “I really do have a pet frog! His name is Smiley and he’s the best frog in the world!”
“Frogs are a curse,” Jesus slurred as he waved his empty glass at Marshall. “Drop- drop ‘em in Egypt.”
“Smiley isn’t a curse,” Marshall said, his innocent and happy grin fading some for a pathetically sad pout. “He’s my friend.”
“Ignore Jesus,” Sam said kindly. “He’s drunk.”
“I have saline in my pup-pack,” Marshall offered softly. “A good fire pup is always prepared for all emergencies.”
The next slip of paper was boring, it was just Tyler saying that he used to be a barista. Deadpool kept drinking even though they made him guess last as he apparently knew everything about everyone.
“Why are you here?” Ron asked Tyler when he seemed content to not actually be interesting. “You’re not a wizard, are you?”
“He’s a Hyde!” Deadpool said as he kicked his feet excitedly. “Have you seen Beauty and the Beast? Not that cartoon, but the live action remark starring the ‘too sexy to be Hermione’ Emma Watson?”
“No,” Harry and Ron said.
“I have,” Sam said. He grinned when the two wizards looked at him. “Emma Watson is my celebrity crush.”
“Mine’s Luc- Lucy- Lucifer,” Jesus slurred with a half-smile. “Dad said he’s dangerous, but… but Dad wiped out humanity, so who’s he to judge?”
“Lucifer is a dick,” Sam said with an uneasy side-glare for Jesus. “And you’re wasted.”
“And you, my child, are FORGIVEN FOR YOUR SINS!” Jesus cried. He stood up and clapped his hands. When a bolt of lightning lit up the sky outside their windows, Harry actually yelped.
And then Jesus passed out on the floor and Harry rolled his eyes.
“I told you he was a dramatic douche,” Sam said to them all. He took a drink of the beer he was chasing his shots with and then grinned. “Game on still?”
Barack knelt down on the floor to touch the side of Jesus’ neck and roll his body on its side.
“Game on,” Barack said after making sure the son of God didn’t aspirate on any possible vomit.
Ron’s slip was pulled next and even Harry didn’t know it was his.
“When the hell did you have a threesome?!” Harry demanded.
Ron’s ears were red but he looked rather pleased with himself too. “Remember the Anniversary Ball in May?”
“The one you left early because you were sick?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Yeah, see, mate… the thing is… as much fun as it was to see people bawling all over you, going back to Grimmauld with Neville and Luna was more fun.”
Harry’s jaw dropped and he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh that Ron used his house to shag in (Sirius would be so proud) or offended that Ron ditched him during the horrible event.
“That’s fine.” Harry took his shot since he’d guessed it was Deadpool’s slip. “I went home with Charlie that night anyway.”
While Ron sputtered over that information, Jasper read another slip.
“What’s a Nobel Peace Prize?” Harry after after learning that one of them had one.
“It’s like an Order of Merlin except way less cool,” Deadpool said. He raised his shot at Barack. “Even I have one of those.”
“What can I say? I’m not an interesting man,” Barack chuckled.
“You are the first black President of the United States,” Jasper argued quietly. “I believe that’s interesting.”
“And Jasper fought for the racists soooo…”
“I’m so confused,” Harry complained, looking from Barack to Deadpool to Jasper. Nothing anyone said made sense at all.
“Let me put it in words you can understand,” Deadpool offered. “You know how you’ve never had a muggleborn Minister?”
“Have we not?” Harry asked, looking at Ron.
“Nope,” Ron said.
“Hermione will be the first,” Deadpool said happily. “Soo Barack here is like the first muggleborn Minister and Jasper is a death eater.”
“Oh.” Harry’s mild attraction to Jasper faded immediately. “Ew.”
“I didn’t—”
“No!” Deadpool pulled a water bottle from the pocket of his skintight red suit and sprayed Jasper with it from across the circle. “Bad, confederate soldier! Bad!”
Harry had a fleeting moment of jealousy at the grateful look Barack gave Deadpool and so he made the poor decision to try a silent, wandless, drunk, aguamenti charm.
Jasper gave Harry the most unimpressed look Harry had ever seen after being doused with enough water to drench him from head to foot.
“I think I’ll call it a night,” Jasper said as he shook his head and sent water flying everywhere. He passed the then wet hat to Emmett. “You can finish playing your game.”
“Nah,” Ron yawned and glanced sideways at Harry. “We’ve got class in the morning, mate. Reckon we should call it a night?”
Harry knew that Ron didn’t actually care about class, he just knew around the time that Harry was playing with wandless magic was the point where Harry was too drunk to be around others.
“But you haven’t heard mine and it’s dirty!” Emmett complained when Tyler stood up and mumbled something about sleep.
“We haven’t heard Harry’s or Mister Pool’s yet either,” Barack said diplomatically with a smile for Harry.
“Oh I didn’t write anything down,” Deadpool explained as he too stood up. “I don’t like to give away my secrets. Come on, Marshall, here boy! Good dog! Let’s go see if we can find a bone under some peanut butter for you.”
Marshall barked and then yawned as he got up to pad away after Deadpool. Then Harry let Ron drag him to his feet even though he kind of wanted to keep drinking.
“Niiiight, ‘Bama!” Harry called over his shoulder, much too brightly. “See you tomorrow!”
Harry was smiling like a sap while Ron half-carried him to their dorm. Ron looked at him and snorted.
“You’ve got issues, mate,” Ron said. “There’s two perfectly fit vampires sitting with us and you’re flirting with the old man?”
“Don’t call him old!” Harry slapped playfully at Ron. “That’s your future brother-in-law!”
“Daddy issues, Harry. You’re drowning in daddy issues.”
“Yeah,” Harry smiled drunkenly and kissed Ron loudly on the cheek. “‘S great, innit?”
Ron snorted then gave Harry a searching look.
“What’d you write down, anyway?”
Harry hummed while he tried to remember. “Oh! I said my favorite color’s red… I ‘spose nobody knows that.”
“If you shagged my brother then I could have guessed,” Ron muttered too quietly for Harry to hear.
*****
Harry loved university.
Honestly, he had no idea why Hermione had fret so much. Harry and Ron were doing excellent. Sure, the first day of classes they missed their morning classes, but then they had their schedule changed to only start after noon and everything got much easier.
Classes were interesting, the ones with Deadpool all the more so. Sam was slowly becoming Harry’s favorite study buddy as he had a tendency to gush out information that Harry could write down as his own thoughts. It didn’t hurt that Sam had an incredibly fit brother that he called quite often either.
Plus, free food.
Every day that Harry woke up there was a basket outside his and Ron’s dorm room with six assorted muffins in it. Sometimes Harry even shared with Ron…
Not frequently, but sometimes.
Dinner was the best though because all the blokes in Harry’s dorm building ate dinner together in their common room and it tended to be some of the most amusing times of Harry’s life.
Emmett and Jasper didn’t eat, but they were always at meals. Deadpool apparently only liked tacos so even when Barack made them meals that tasted better than anything Harry ever ate, Deadpool had an endless supply of tacos. Sam didn’t always remember to eat and Tyler usually had to drag him from their dorm.
And everyone wished Jesus would forget to eat, he was insufferable and Harry and Ron began to make a game out of mocking him.
On the second Friday of term, Harry and Ron arrived in time to see Barack at the stove while Jesus bored everyone to death with a story about walking on water.
“That’s easy,” Harry said, interrupting Jesus and rolling his eyes for emphasis. “Watch.”
Ron snickered while he transfigured a bowl to become a large tub - or small pool - so that Harry could fill it with water.
“Wow, so hard,” Harry drawled sarcastically as he used a silently applied levitation charm to assist him in making it look like he walked on the water. “Am I the son of God now?”
“Snape certainly thought so,” Ron laughed. He had kicked back in a recliner beside Emmett, content to watch Harry being a dick. “We’ll get you a tiara to go with your Chosen One sash.”
Harry bowed at Ron from where he had been floating above the water and timed it just right so the charm ended as soon as he stepped out.
“One does not choose to be the son of God, it is a heavy crown made of thorns,” Jesus said solemnly. He held up his hands and it took Harry a moment to realize that he was showing them identical round scars on both wrists.
“Harry’s is shaped like lightning so he wins,” Ron said with a fake yawn. “Just accept that you aren’t special, mate. Sure, people pray to you, but it’s not like you listen to them.”
Jesus sputtered and looked embarrassed for a moment before Barack saved him by announcing that dinner was ready. Harry elbowed Sam out of the way so that Harry could take one of the barstool seats in the kitchen. Barack usually ate while standing in the kitchen and Harry just liked to listen to him talk while he ate.
“No, excuse me,” Sam breathed, stepping away from the stool he had been about to take. “Don’t let me stand in the way of your weird crush.”
Harry didn’t even hear him because Barack was explaining what he cooked while Harry hung on every word that he said. There was just something perfectly charming about the man, aside from his obvious good looks.
While Barack never said anything against it, he also never joined in the teasing and mockery that everyone else got comfortable enough to use on each other. Barack was also smart, really bloody smart, and Harry enjoyed listening to him talk about his ideas and his travels. He also had kids, two girls, and nothing turned Harry on more than a doting father.
Basically- Barack was the complete package complete with what Harry remembered was an eleven and three quarters package.
And he was always trying to feed Harry which was embarrassing and made Harry’s face warm. Barack did it again that night; he made Harry a plate of the pasta he cooked and slid it across the counter to Harry with a smile.
“You’ll like this,” Barack said in his deep and hypnotic voice. “It has a similar flavor to the linguini from before, but the change in protein adds a new texture and taste.”
Harry nodded as if he wouldn’t eat hot dogs from a can if Barack was the one serving them. It was good though, Harry closed his eyes and moaned quietly at the perfect taste.
“Is he purposefully turning dinner to an erotic affair?” Jasper asked Ron while everyone else decided to share Deadpool’s tacos and avoid the kitchen altogether.
“Harry? Nah,” Ron snorted. “He’s just got a food thing.”
“Adults always crave what they didn’t receive as a child,” Deadpool said sagely with one hand holding a taco and the other on Marshall’s head.
Ron frowned, “That’s not on.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Well… no. But it’s still shite to say.”
“You’re a good cook,” Harry told Barack after he took a few bites of the meal. “No offense, but I didn’t think you would be. Since…” Harry waved his hand at the suit Barack wore. “You know.”
“We had private chefs in the White House but I’ve always enjoyed cooking.” Barack winked and Harry thought he might die. “It’s a guilty pleasure.”
Harry didn’t let himself overthink it, Harry just did what he was best at: blurting something out and hoping for the best.
“What else is a guilty pleasure?”
Even while Harry felt his face turning red at being so brazen, he forced himself to hold his smile. Barack must have been an excellent debater when he ran for President because he didn’t look thrown by Harry’s question at all.
“That is a question best answered in privacy,” Barack said with careful precision. Harry didn’t understand for a moment - they were alone in the kitchen? - then he turned to look over his shoulder where Barack subtly nodded to.
Not only was Emmett standing and making incredibly suggestive hip thrusts in the sitting area, but Jasper had his head tilted toward Ron while he undoubtedly repeated Harry’s question. Deadpool seemed supportive, sort of. He stood up and began blowing kisses and throwing condoms like confetti anyway.
And where the condoms were conjuring from in thin air, Harry would never know.
Jesus wished he was as powerful as Deadpool.
“My ship is sailing!” Deadpool cried as he continued to throw the silver packets in the air. “HarBama!”
“What the fuck is HarBama?” Tyler asked. Tyler had seemed to be more comfortable around the group ever since Deadpool told them all he was a Hyde and had killed a dozen people.
Who hadn’t been there?
“HarBama is the couple name Deadpool gave those two,” Sam explained, grinning broadly at Harry as if it weren’t humiliating. “It’s wrong though. A wizard and former President? Obviously they’re HocusPOTUS.”
Harry snorted. That was clever, actually.
“No! Wait!” Ron finished his giggling session with Jasper and turned to waggle his eyebrows at Harry. “The Chosen One and Commander-in-Chief? Call them the Chosen Chief.”
“Boo!!”
Harry decided to laugh it all off and he booed at Ron with Deadpool while Marshall barked and shook his head.
“They should use their Christian names, Harry and Barack,” Jesus said, killing the mood as everyone rolled their eyes.
“Aren’t you Jewish?” Sam asked Jesus, his tone just a touch mocking.
Jesus opened his arms wide and smiled innocently. “I am whatever my children believe to be true.”
“Political berk,” Harry muttered. He hastily turned to Barack and grinned. “No offense.”
Barack didn’t seem offended, he seemed entirely amused by the entire scene of utter nonsense.
“Even for me, that was a touch too political,” Barack said, flashing Harry his rather perfect smile. “At some point, a man has to declare a religion and stick to it, despite what his opponents say.”
“Oh.” Harry wasn’t religious at all. Even with the son of God in the other room, Harry couldn’t say with any certainty that God was real.
For all Harry knew, Jesus was just a rather mentally ill wizard with no formal training.
“What religion are you?” Harry asked Barack curiously.
Barack cleared his throat and smiled past Harry to the sitting room.
“Who wants to play a game of cards?” Barack asked, obviously avoiding Harry’s question. “Ron? Tyler?”
Harry sighed and took another bite of the pasta he had. It was a turn off that Barack was a politician, Harry had a personal vendetta against politicians. But between his cooking, his intelligence, and the way his arse looked in his suits… Harry could forgive the one flaw.
*****
Ron rolled his eyes a lot over the next month, but Harry was busy with his odd ‘Will they? Won’t they?’ situation he had happening.
Harry smiled at Barack and thanked him when he made food for everyone. Barack winked when they passed each other on campus and Harry sighed wistfully when he saw how Barack could walk while reading.
Sure, Hermione could do that too, but did Hermione look like Barack Obama? No, no she did not.
Harry kept receiving morning muffins as well and it wasn’t until he woke up early one morning, bothered by a dream that left him feeling unsettled and restless, that he found out who had been delivering the muffins.
Barack was in the kitchen when Harry shuffled in the common area, searching for a drink. Harry paused, tilting his head curiously, and watched Barack for a moment. The man truly was attractive, even more so as he moved gracefully between three separate bowls and added ingredients to them. There was a single-minded type of focus that Harry could appreciate. It was the same look Ron had during a game of chess or Harry had while seeking.
After Barack cracked an egg in one bowl, he looked up and caught Harry staring at him. Barack seemed flustered for just a second and then he smiled warmly as if there was nobody else he’d rather see.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice as deep and rich as ever. “You’re up early.”
“So are you,” Harry said mildly as he moved to sit at the kitchen counter. Harry glanced in the bowls and it didn’t take him long to guess where the mystery muffins had been appearing from. “You bake these every morning?”
“I’m an early riser.” Barack flashed Harry a smile and then slid him a bowl of unmixed ingredients and a whisk. “The girls call me before school and I try to call my friend Joe before he’s tied up in meetings all day.”
“I bet you miss your daughters,” Harry commented as he began whisking one of the bowls of batter.
“I do.” Barack seemed sad for a moment before shaking it off and smiling. “But this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
Harry grinned, “Like being President?”
“More like leading a war and winning at only seventeen,” Barack countered smoothly. He winked when Harry seemed surprised at his knowledge. “Unless Deadpool lied to me.”
“Er… I reckon your life is much more interesting,” Harry said with his head ducked. Harry was flustered at the thought of Barack asking about him. Also Deadpool was entirely mental and Harry couldn’t be sure that he made Harry sound good at all.
“Mm, in some ways it seemed interesting, in other ways it was a journey that I’m grateful to have the politics behind me.”
“I don’t understand the thrill,” Harry admitted. He finished whisking what seemed to be strawberry muffins, based on the smell, and snagged one of the prepped muffin pans.
Barack hummed and seemed to think it over while the two of them poured the mixes in the pans, making three dozen muffins total. Harry liked watching Barack bake, he had long fingers that were nearly delicate looking with how graceful he was in nearly everything he did.
It wasn’t until the muffins were in the oven that Barack took off his apron and smiled at Harry.
“There’s a certain thrill in knowing that I set the bar,” Barack told Harry, his eyes shining and intense while they were locked on Harry’s. “In a country where racism, discrimination, and hate are still openly tolerated, I held the highest office a person could hold. Every person who holds American citizenship and cried I was not their president still had to suffer my presence in their White House for eight years.”
Harry smiled slowly at the passion in Barack’s voice, the absolute truth he spoke.
“I thought you’d say because you wanted to make the world a better place,” Harry said. It wasn’t that Harry wanted to hear that because… well, that was boring… but it was what Harry expected.
Barack laughed and made Harry laugh when he playfully snapped a tea towel at him.
“It was a small part of it,” Barack said, his voice melting back down to its usual friendly warmth. “But to know that I made thousands of bigots unhappy for eight years? That’s a good feeling.”
It was petty.
Harry loved it.
As much as Harry tried to ignore his attraction to Barack - and Deadpool had offered to ‘warm Harry’s cute butt’ as a distraction - it only continued to grow. They studied together, mostly Barack reading aloud while Harry listened and Sam corrected Harry’s sloppy essays. Sometimes Harry would oblige Barack’s requests and talk about magic while Barack cooked. There was playful banter, winks in passing, and Harry was losing his mind.
It began to grow cold outside and the blokes in Harry’s dorm decided on having a ‘frat party’ on the second to last weekend before the Christmas break. Harry was rather excited for it as Emmett and Ron apparently invited all their other friends they had made.
Though, Harry still had to have a serious conversation with Ron about that.
“You can’t have other friends.”
“I’ll make a million friends if you keep whining.”
“Then you’re going to like them more and who will be my best mate? Hermione?!”
“Harry, I’d never do that to you. Hermione doesn’t even play quidditch.”
Harry’s insecurity that Ron was replacing him aside, the party ended up being heavily attended by a wide variety of people.
There were more vampires that Emmett and Jasper invited. Harry was introduced to them but the only name he remembered was Emmett’s hot - and unfortunately married - dad, Carlisle. Tyler invited a bloke he knew, Xavier, and Harry was impressed by Xavier’s magic. Xavier had been polite when he was introduced to Harry and Harry watched as he sketched a rose on a napkin and then plucked it right up, bringing a true rose to life from nothing but a drawing.
“Tyler might kill you later,” Ron whispered when they moved to get drinks and Harry tucked the flower in his ear.
Harry asked why but then he looked over his shoulder and caught the two blokes locked in a heated snogging session and he laughed.
“Xavier was his… what did Sam call it?” Ron snapped his fingers. “Accomplice. I guess they killed all those people at their last school together. Tyler got caught, Xavier played innocent.”
“And you guys invited him to our school?” Harry asked curiously. They made it through the crowd to where a table was lined with about any liquor Harry could imagine. Ron poured them both a few fingers of whisky in red plastic cups then splashed dark soda on top of it.
“I figure if they went all Clyde and Clyde on us that we could take them,” Ron said cheerfully. He gave Harry his cup and they clinked them together before turning to sip at the liquor and people-watch together.
Harry had been searching for Barack and internally rolling his eyes at where Jesus had a group of American witches giggling over his stories about his twelve best mates. When Harry looked at Ron to ask if he knew where Barack was and saw his best mate with red ears and his eyes firmly locked across the room, Harry stood on tiptoe to try and decipher who Ron was looking at.
“Ooooh.” Harry nodded to himself when he saw where Ron’s eyes lingered.
“What?” Ron hastily took another drink and then turned his head to face Harry, looking away from where he’d been watching Sam with the same face he used to watch Hermione.
Harry grinned and fluttered his lashes. Ron had given Harry enough shit over the last couple of months that it was nice having an opportunity to dish some back at him.
“Is it brunettes or bookworms that turn you on?” Harry asked seriously. “Course, Sam has the whole rugged thing too. Is that it?”
Ron turned an even darker shade of red but as proof of his maturity, he didn’t immediately argue against what Harry knew had to be true. Until Ron put his free hand on Harry’s head and turned it, forcing Harry to look at Sam again.
“Erm… not Sam… but the other one,” Ron whispered intently.
Harry definitely had to stand on his tiptoes and squint and then he saw what Ron did. The bloke Sam was talking to, the one a bit shorter than Sam but with the leather jacket and dark hair, had to be his brother Dean. Dean had ‘bad boy’ down to a science and Harry rather wished that he knew anything about hunting so he could go chat him up a bit.
Harry’s dad was a stag, maybe he could bring it up as a talking point?
“I’d let him fuck me,” Harry whispered to Ron.
Ron nodded. “Mate, I’d let him fist my arse if I had to.”
Not to be outdone by the other, the two of them went on about the things they would let Dean Winchester do to them while they drank and got progressively stupider.
“I’d let him put me on my knees after he killed a bloke, while he was still covered in blood.”
“I’d let him cover me in my own blood then put me on my knees.”
“I’d let him cover us both in blood then lick it off his abs just so I could taste his skin.”
“His abs… ugh. I’d let him insult me in the worst ways if he’d do it shirtless.”
“I’d beg him to insult me even with the shirt on.”
“Well you’ve got a bit of a degradation kink, so mine means more.”
“Okay, fine. I’d let him stay entirely silent the entire time he shagged me as long as I could bite his arm.”
“Why his arm?”
“Look at his muscles, don’t you kind of just want to bite them?”
It wasn’t half a second after Ron agreed that Dean looked up and didn’t even notice Harry as he looked directly at Ron.
“Mate… they’re hunters, not vampires, right?” Ron whispered in a loud whisper to Harry as Dean slowly smirked at Ron.
Harry nodded uncertainly. As far as he knew, aside from the whole ‘coming back to life eight times’ bit, Sam and his brother were basically muggles. Except either Dean just immediately liked what he saw in Ron or he somehow heard the boys’ crass conversation.
“Harry, fuck, shite, Harry!” Ron’s hand grabbed Harry’s arm and he dug his nails in the skin as Dean slowly sauntered toward them with a nearly predatory look on his face. “He’s coming over!”
Harry carefully freed his arm from Ron’s vice and grinned as he stepped to the side. As attractive as Dean was, Dean wasn’t sending a confident smirk toward Harry and Harry was thrilled for his best friend.
“Make him wear a condom, he looks like a slag,” Harry whispered gleefully as Ron slowly paled. “You’re Ron bloody Weasley, Order of Merlin Second Class, make him work for it.”
“Ron bloody Weasley, right,” Ron muttered as he straightened up. Ron began to smile and then suddenly whipped his head to the side and gaped at Harry. “You’ve got a bloody first class award!”
“Yeah, but I’m the Chosen One.” Harry smirked and then backed away further, leaving Ron to it. “Don’t be too easy, play hard to get, and- er… don’t go to a second location because he looks like he could kill you. Ta!”
Harry didn’t back away more than ten steps before he bumped into someone and nearly fell on his arse.
“Careful.”
Harry perked up despite his embarrassment when he recognized the voice of the man that steadied him and kept him from falling. As much as Harry just insisted to Ron that he played hard to get, Harry turned around and smiled winningly up at Barack’s bemused face.
“I’m not feeling very careful tonight,” Harry said. He played up his clumsiness some and pretended to trip so he could step even closer to Barack and put one hand on his chest, just over the black tie he wore with his white dress shirt.
“Oh?” Barack raised a dark eyebrow at Harry and his grip on Harry’s elbow tightened some. “Have you been drinking?”
“Not much,” Harry hedged.
Just as Harry was too afraid of rejection to push, it seemed as if Barack had some hang up as well. Harry wasn’t imagining the interest in his dark eyes, nor was he oblivious that Harry was the only one that Barack winked at and left muffins at his doorway.
It was tense between them as they both waited for the other to make a move. If Barack would tilt his head down, Harry could lift his chin and it would take a half a breath for them to have their lips touching.
“Ooh, they’re so stupid,” Wade sighed. Wade could see Harry and Former-President Obama (which was what Wade liked to call him just to see Barack’s forehead vein twitch) with their eyes locked in each others arms.
It was soo cute and absolutely boring.
Wade looked at his best friend in the entire world - every villain needed a talking dog sidekick - and gave him his best smile. All of Wade’s best smiles were from behind a mask, of course. Poor Marshall would just never recover if he had to see Wade’s real face.
“You want to help me put a ship in the sea?” Wade asked him.
Marshall’s tail thumped on the floor and he gave Wade his cute little puppy smile that Wade would never coo at… out loud.
“Sure!”
Harry didn’t know what happened, one minute he was looking up in Barack’s eyes, silently asking him to do something, and the next minute he was being sprayed with a water hose turned on full blast.
“OI!” Harry yelled and drew some curious eyes toward him as he looked toward the source of the water. Marshall was on all four paws beside Deadpool with a big smile on his face.
“Oh no! My pup pack is broken!” Marshall yelled.
Harry watched deadpan as Marshall looked up at Deadpool and winked as obviously as anything Harry had ever seen in his life.
Why Marshall and Deadpool decided to ruin Harry’s moment, Harry had no idea. But they both looked perfectly happy as Deadpool called Marshall a good boy and fed him a dog treat that he conjured from thin air.
“I think I’ll go change…”
Harry turned back to Barack and changed his mind about trying to kill Deadpool. With Barack’s white dress shirt soaked in water, it was clinging to him and leaving very little from the waist up to the imagination. For a bloke in his fifties, he wasn’t in bad shape at all.
Harry was in better shape, but it wasn’t a contest really.
“Me too,” Harry said, feigning as if he couldn’t dry them both with a flick of his wand. Maybe Deadpool and Marshall did Harry a favor after all…
Barack politely offered Harry his arm and the two of them weaved through the crowd to get to their dorms. Harry’s was closer, but it seemed as if fate really wanted him to undress in Barack’s room because there was a red and gold tie on Harry’s door knob.
It was a pretty damn universal code, one that all the eighth years had memorized the year before.
“Oh.” Harry rocked back on his heels and grinned. That didn’t take long. “Good for Ron.”
Barack chuckled as well and then tilted his head toward his dorm.
“I have clothes you can wear while we dry yours,” he offered kindly. Barack tucked Harry’s arm back in his and they resumed their walk toward his dorm.
It took Harry a moment to build his courage but if Ron could shag Sam’s hot brother then Harry could make one innuendo and then claim drunkenness if it landed wrong. Harry would prefer to not have his hair sticking to his forehead in wet clumps when he flirted, but one bloke couldn’t have everything.
“Or we let our clothes air dry and find something to do that doesn’t require more clothes,” Harry suggested with a smile that was only a touch shy.
Harry wasn’t a virgin or idiot, but… he was sort of lucky in the way that when someone wanted him they had a tendency to just say so. Barack was either too polite or too ‘not interested’ to do the same thing so far.
Barack paused outside his dorm room and turned his body fully so that he faced Harry. There was a searching look in Barack’s eyes and a hopeful one in Harry’s. When Barack smiled, just a crooked slash of his lips, Harry felt warmth flood through him.
“I think that can be arranged,” Barack said smoothly. “Let me see… should we see if Jesus is able to interpret code?”
The warmth inside Harry flared to heat that pooled low when Barack held eye contact as he loosened his tie and slipped it from his neck to the door knob.
Good for Harry.
*****
Harry woke up in Barack’s bed, feeling cold and thoroughly-sore. Harry groaned and felt around him blindly, seeking out a warm body to cuddle against. When he found nothing but sheets, Harry opened his eyes with another quiet complaint.
It was late, possibly after noon, and Harry was essentially blind until he found his glasses on the nightstand. Harry’s clothes from the night before were clean and folded up neatly beneath his glasses.
But Barack was no where to be found.
Harry awkwardly shuffled in his clothes, ignoring the crosses all over the room that he hoped belonged to Jesus and not Barack. Barack’s side of the room was rather clean and bare really… aside from the perfectly rumpled bed where Harry stayed the night.
And what a bloody night it had been.
Harry had a soppy look on his face as he creeped from the dorm toward the common area. Harry hadn’t had sex since the graduation party in the spring and truthfully, Harry had never had sex like last night.
There was a saying Harry couldn’t quite remember but it was something similar to ‘sweet in the streets, freak in the sheets’. That was Barack apparently and Harry was quite keen on having another go soon.
The common area was sparkling clean when Harry crept in, mostly searching for Barack. There was no real evidence of the party from the night before aside from the group of hungover looking blokes spread across the sitting area furniture.
Ron was there, sitting in the middle of a couch with Dean beside him. Ron had what looked like a hickey on his neck and Harry was blessed to be able to see Dean Winchester without a shirt. Sam seemed to want to be as far away from them as he physically could, as he sat at the kitchen island and chatted about Wendigo with Dean.
Emmett sat beside Sam with his chin propped up in one hand and a bored expression making his eyes droop. Marshall was laying with his chin on Deadpool’s chest in the sitting room opposite Ron and Dean. Even Jesus was there… but no Barack.
Jasper was the one in the kitchen, which threw Harry off. Not only was Jasper, a vampire, cooking at the stove, but Barack wasn’t.
“Er…” Harry cleared his throat and was the sudden excruciating sole focus of every person in the common area. It got painfully quiet but there was nothing else to do but push through it.
“Anyone seen Barack?” Harry asked casually, glancing toward Ron mostly.
Ron who wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes and suddenly became incredibly interested in the hole in the knee of his jeans.
“He left,” Deadpool said, a perky contrast to the nervous looks on everyone else’s faces that made Harry just as nervous. “Technically he was expelled since I guess he wasn’t fictional after all! He was just another Clinton with his own sweet little Monica.”
Harry shifted from side to side uncomfortably and looked toward Ron for an interpretation. Ron grimaced and shrugged his shoulders, then bravely holding Harry’s eyes as he broke the news to him.
“So… turns out that Obama was married, mate.”
It took Harry a moment to process that.
Married…
Harry was being scrutinized with a lot of pitying looks as he thought through every conversation he could recall with Barack. Barack talked about his daughters a lot and he said that their mum had them while he attended the university, but…
Had Harry just assumed they were divorced?!
“Fuck me,” Harry breathed to himself, blinking in shock a few times. “What a bastard.”
“That’s right,” Ron agreed savagely. “Forget him, mate! Politicians, eh? You can’t trust them!”
“Harry will burn in the fires of hell for sinning against the sanctity of a union made before my Father,” Jesus said. He shook his head at Harry and wagged a disapproving finger. “For shame, my child.”
Harry actually felt terrible for a moment - Jesus was bloody gifted at guilt trips - then he reared backward when Marshall lunged at Jesus with a bark. Everyone made their own sounds of surprise when Marshall clamped his teeth around Jesus’ leg and bit down until he broke skin and made Jesus bleed.
“H-E-double hockey sticks is not a nice word!” Marshall growled after releasing Jesus.
“Fuck yeah, get his ass!” Dean cheered.
Harry looked for Ron, as he tended to do when things were too mental to comprehend on his own, and Ron only shook his head with wide eyes.
“Dude, I’ve wanted to do that since day one,” Sam snorted abruptly, the voice that broke the stare-off between an angry Marshall and shocked Jesus.
Deadpool grabbed a chunk of chicken off the ever-present taco in his hand and tossed it toward Marshall. “Good boy.”
Marshall jumped to catch the chicken and his tail wagged happily.
“He bit me!” Jesus cried, offended that nobody cared. When Jesus held his leg out and it was still dripping blood down to stain his sandals, Harry shrugged and then flopped down beside Ron on the sofa. Ron let Harry curl in his side like a cat that just found out the tabby it had spent months fancying and finally shagged was married. Harry grinned up at his best mate then flipped off the most annoying person he had ever had the misfortune of meeting.
“Fuck off, Jesus.”