Green & Gold

January 30, 2004

“Just to be totally clear here- you floo called me at nearly midnight on a Saturday night claiming it’s an emergency, and this is the emergency?”

“Er... I mean I forgot it’s midnight there... but maybe emergency may have been a bit of a strong word...”

Ginny scoffed from her place in the Gryffindor common room. “Did it ever occur to you Harry that most blokes don’t call their ex-girlfriend to talk them through getting ready for their first date?”

“No...” Harry admitted hesitantly. “That... that did not occur to me actually. I just thought- I figured you’ve dated a ton of blokes! If anyone could help it would be you.”

“Careful Harry, I’d hate to send you on your date with bat-bogeys flapping all in your face,” Ginny said airily, her eyes narrowing at what she perceived as an insult.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Harry said hastily, sure Ginny would do just as she threatened. “I just meant- well...” Harry had no idea how to dig himself out of the hole he was in and was regretting having called Ginny in the first place. “I just couldn’t ask Ron or Mione could I? They went straight from driving me mad with their bickering to engaged, I doubt they ever even went on a date.”

Ginny pursed her lips for a long moment before she burst out in laughter. “Merlin, Harry,” she smiled with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “You should see your face. Of course this is an emergency!! Ooh, I’m so happy you called me! Are you so excited?”

“Once my heart starts back up I will be,” Harry said drily. “You aren’t funny Gin.”

“I am,” Ginny disagreed with a grin. “Okay! What time is your date and are you meeting him there or is he picking you up?”

Harry felt a rush of relief that Ginny wasn’t actually going to leave him to flounder on his own here. Although he definitely could have went without the theatrics.

“He’s picking me up at five,” Harry said quickly. “I don’t know where we’re going.”

“You waited until an hour beforehand to call me?! There’s no time to gossip!” Ginny wailed. “You are the worst ex-boyfriend slash best friend ever!”

Harry had purposefully waited until there would only be enough time for Ginny to help him decide on an outfit specifically to avoid ‘gossiping’ so he didn’t apologize for it.

“Are you going to help me or not?” Harry sighed.

“Let’s see your outfit ideas then, c’mon,” Ginny snapped her fingers at him. “And I want to hear more about Mister Tall Blonde and Sexy. Hermione says he’s terribly charming.”

“He is,” Harry agreed absently. He held up the two shirts he’d picked out; a long sleeved black t-shirt and a grey jumper. “Which one?”

“Uh...” Ginny blinked at him as if he were an idiot. “Neither, you idiot. Go bring me all the long sleeve button up shirts in your closet.”

Harry huffed at her bossy tone, but obediently did as she said. He hadn’t called her in a blind panic to not follow her advice. He gathered up all of his shirts that matched her description and held them up one by one for inspection.

“That one!” Ginny said after Harry held up a silky dark green shirt with buttons up the front and 3/4 sleeves. “It’s perfect!”

“It looks like something Malfoy would wear,” Harry muttered. He’d only had the shirt because Alice swore it ‘made his eyes pop’ and bought it for him during one of their all too frequent shopping trips.

“And Draco has excellent taste in fashion, so what’s the problem?” Ginny raised one of her red brows at Harry challengingly.

Harry turned his back to Ginny to yank off his tshirt, Ginny had seen him shirtless a dozen or so times, but never before his most recently acquired scar disfigured his sternum.

“No problem,” Harry said as he pulled on the green shirt and began buttoning it. “It’s just- wait. What?” Harry twisted his head so he could see Ginny over his shoulder. “Did you just call him Draco?”

Ginny twirled her wand casually between her fingers. “And if I did?”

Harry finished buttoning his shirt and gave Ginny his best pleading look. “Please Gin, please, tell me you aren’t dating Draco Malfoy?”

“Ugh, no,” Ginny laughed. “Could you imagine his fathers face though?”

Harry couldn’t, since Lucius Malfoy was currently serving a 50-year sentence in Azkaban.

“We’re friends though,” Ginny went on with a one shouldered shrug. “He doesn’t seem to have any and he’s a laugh when he’s not being a prat. He’s terribly smart; witty and sarcastic too.”

“Which trousers?” Harry held up three pairs. “I bet Ron loves your new friendship.”

“Those-“ Ginny pointed at the black ones that Harry had already been leaning towards. “And Ron talks to him sometimes too. Everyone’s being very mature about it. It’s incredible the things that don’t seem important after a war.”

Harry’s nerves, and enthusiasm, for going out with Jasper abruptly died at that.

“Oh.” He lowered the trousers and grimaced. He hadn’t even considered that. He woke Ginny up- or interrupted her own date by the looks of her hair and makeup- to talk about a date? When people, good people, died less than a year ago? When there were people who would be going the rest of their lives alone because of Harry’s actions and decisions? “You’re right Gin, this is stupid. I’m just gonna-“

“Harry James Potter, no,” Ginny interrupted his self recrimination with a stern glare. “That is not what I meant and you know it. This is not stupid. This is what you risked everything for. The chance to just be a guy going on a date.” Ginny’s eyes and tone softened when she added, “You deserve this Harry. If anyone needs to go be a happy carefree teenager it’s you. So go put on a smile, brush your hair, and call me afterwards. Okay?”

“Yeah, alright then.” Harry disconnected from the floo with an additional promise to bring ‘Mister Tall Blonde and Sexy’ around to meet everyone during Hogwarts Easter Break.

He debated on cancelling, just texting Jasper and telling him he was sick, but he replayed Ginny’s words in the mirror while he did actually try and brush his hair.

Which was, as always, a losing battle.

Gin’s right, he told himself firmly. Harry clutched the sink and stared in to his own green eyes in the mirror; his mother’s eyes, the color of the killing curse. The curse he took willingly so that Ginny Weasley could one day befriend Draco Malfoy. The curse he took for his friends, for people who he cared about, for people he didn’t even know. He didn’t take it fast enough, and a lot of people died because of it, but he’d still done it, hadn’t he? This is what you risked everything for, he repeated silently.

Harry dutifully smiled in the mirror.

And by the time there was a polite knock on his door, it didn’t even look forced anymore.

“Did I tell you that you look nice?”

“Twice now,” Harry laughed. “But you still haven’t told me where we’re going?”

“And take away the element of surprise?” Jasper grinned. “Never darlin’.”

Harry let out a small huff of (mostly) put upon annoyance. Jasper had been tight lipped about their destination from the moment he picked up Harry. All Harry knew was that it was too far to ride their bikes, as he had assumed they would do, since Jasper brought Rosalie’s car. A ‘loan’ to keep Jasper from ‘being the worst date in history’ apparently.

Not that Harry thought Jasper could possibly be the worst date in his own history; Cho Chang in Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Shop was a hard date to beat. But he was incredibly curious about where they were headed.

Though, when Jasper finally parked the car after nearly three comfortable hours of driving and talking and listening to music, Harry’s confusion only rose.

“Er, are we going to a museum?” he asked. Jasper had drove them to the American History Museum in Seattle. The large stone building was surrounded by flag posts with various multicolored flags hanging high and the entrance was only lit by the nearby lamp posts.

“Actually,” Jasper gave him a winning smile, “if you aren’t opposed to entering a life of crime, we are breaking in to a museum.”

And Harry, who was perhaps a little more morally corruptible than people may believe him to be, was not opposed to that at all.

Between the two of them, they quickly had the muggle guards comfortably sleeping in the museum office within ten minutes.

Harry was pleased to see that they worked well together, even if the muggles had been almost too easily stunned while they watched a television in their office.

“So, what are we doing here?” Harry asked. He kept his voice low as he looked around the echoing halls filled with exhibits.

“I am telling you a story,” Jasper said. “Come on-“

He held a hand out and looked almost nervous when Harry accepted it and followed him to the Civil War Unit.

“Once upon a time, in 1850, there was a young man, a kid really, who wanted to be a soldier.” Jasper pointed at a navy blue uniform with patches and medals decorating the front alongside gold buttons behind a glass display case. “He was too young, only 16, so they told him no. But then he went back and convinced them otherwise.”

Harry had been inspecting the uniform and turned to smirk at that. “And how did he manage to do that?”

“With his extraordinary charm of course,” Jasper smirked back. “And in 1851, at only 17 years old, he became the youngest Major in the United States history.” Jasper gestured to a chart that showed different symbols for different ranks. Harry looked it over until he found the odd little gold leaf that represented a Major’s ranking.

“You were above all these other ranks?” Harry trailed his finger down the other symbols.

“I was.” Jasper stood proudly and Harry could practically envision him in a uniform identical to the one beside them, a muggle gun strapped to his chest, his eyes gleaming-

“Wait, what color did your eyes used to be?” Harry blurted out.

“Brown,” Jasper said, “I prefer the gold.”

“Me too,” Harry said. “So go on then, Major Jasper. What happened next?”

Jasper pulled Harry by the hand a little further down the hall and gestured to a wall of photographs and paintings of various colors, textures, and age. They all depicted the same thing: war.

“I was a good soldier and a great leader,” Jasper told him softly as they inspected the pictures together. “But by the time I fought my last battle, I’d lost a lot of men.” Jasper’s eyes flicked to the wall across from them, where rows and rows of names were etched in gold plates. Harry walked to the gold plates and reverently ran his fingertips across their fronts. All these muggles, dead in a war.

Harry blinked and-

A gold statue, a visual representative of the symbolism of the wandlore that many believe ultimately ended the war.

Across the handle of the giant wand in bold letters: MAGIC IS LOVE.

Above that, names.

Starting with Bertha Jorkins, the first acknowledged casualty of the Second Wizarding War. Ending with Lavender Brown, the final patient to succumb to her injuries at Hogwarts. Between the two of them, there were hundreds of names.

Harry had fought to add Dobby and Severus Snape when he was forced to attend the unveiling in the Ministry Atrium.

Everyone said it was a touching memorial. Neville made a speech about how the statue should remind everyone that if a war could be won with love, how could they ever doubt its power? McGonagall sniffled when she said that Dumbledore would have loved it.

Harry was sure she was right. Because he certainly hated the visual reminder of the depth of his own shortcomings.

When he’d left, he looked back at the statue once more and had the perverse thought to add ‘Harry Potter’ to the list of casualties.

Stupid really.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear away the grief that the reminder of the statue brought him. He turned away from the gold plates and felt a cool hand squeezing his with a firm pressure.

“We can go,” Jasper offered quietly.

“No,” Harry said. He tried to mentally shake off the sick feeling he got from the names of the dead and gave Jasper what he hoped was a convincing smile. “So what happened next, Major?”

Jasper didn’t look convinced by Harry’s smile, but he indulged him anyway.

“Our last battle-“ Jasper drew Harry over by a burnt and torn red flag, “more of a skirmish really. We were losing, and we knew it. I was in charge of evacuating the city of women and children. And that’s when I met Maria.”

Harry looked up at Jasper sharply. “The vampire who turned you?”

“Yes.” Jasper was looking straight ahead at the flag, but his eyes looked like he was staring in the past. “There were two others with her, and all three the most beautiful women little 19 year old small town me had ever seen. They were all obviously Hispanic, and in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I remember thinking their skin was too pale to properly fit their heritage. Maria has a gift, an ability to sense gifts in others. Even as a human, she could tell I was compelling. I tried to tell them they needed to evacuate, but, as they laughed about in front of me, I was practically speechless.

“‘What’s your name soldier?’ the obvious leader of the three, Maria, asked me. ‘Major Jasper Whitlock ma’am,’ I told her. The last thing I saw with my human eyes was Maria’s smile, feral and curious. The last thing I heard was: ‘I hope you survive Jasper Whitlock.’”

Harry stared at Jasper in both blatant admiration at his ability to so calmly recount what had been the last night of his mortal life and surprise that he would share it with him. “And then what happened?” he asked when Jasper had been quiet for nearly two minutes.

“And then I woke up three days later, a vampire,” Jasper said simply. “The end.”

“The end,” Harry repeated softly. He thought there sounded like there was more to Jasper’s story, but he wasn’t going to push him to share it if he wasn’t ready.

Jasper’s eyes were gentle and his face thoughtful as he looked down at Harry. “There’s two more things I wanted to show you, if you want?”

“Of course,” Harry said eagerly. “Lead the way Major Jasper.”

Jasper’s genuine laugh bounced back at them in the halls as they walked back towards where they came. Jasper stopped in front of the wall filled with photos and pointed towards one off on the right side. It was a large picture, sketched with what Harry thought might be charcoal, and in a simple black frame. It had been easily overlooked in Harry’s first hasty scan of the bigger and brighter pieces of art. But now it might as well be the only piece on the wall; the image it portrayed that made Harry’s breath catch in his throat.

There was an army on one side of the moonlit grassy field. Their uniforms were ripped and dirty, the guns in their hands had pointed sharp ends on top of them. There were hundreds of soldiers, maybe even thousands as they faded to black on the edge, and they all had the same bloodthirsty, feral, deranged expressions on their faces. Their weapons were all pointed at the same target- a small child. It was impossible to decide if it was a boy or girl with their soft facial features and shoulder length pale white hair. The child held up a weapon of their own, but their arms were too weak to hold it straight. The child was thin, wearing a plain white shirt and trousers with patched up holes in the knees. The look on the child’s face made Harry’s heart ache. Their cheeks were sunken in, their eyes wide and fearful, but their chin was jutted out with a sense of determination much too mature for their age.

Harry wondered if the child knew they’d never win. He wondered if they knew they going to die at the hands of the army they faced.

He looked again at the determined set of the child’s jaw and thought that they did. They knew they couldn’t win, but still they fought.

The drawing was so detailed, so incredibly lifelike, that Harry reached out and ran his finger over the glass covering the child’s face, wishing he could comfort them.

It was beautiful. It was horrifying. It was intense.

“It’s perfect,” Harry breathed aloud. He could never, never, describe what being an unwilling, but dedicated, participant in a war was like as perfectly as this singular art piece did.

He loved it.

He hated it.

“I knew you’d understand.”

Harry tore his eyes from the art to look up at Jasper beside him. Jasper had a solemn look on his face as he touched the description below the picture.

‘The Death of Innocence’.
Artist: Asher Hale.

Asher Hale.

“You?” Harry said. “You drew this?”

“I did.”

Harry turned so that he was fully facing Jasper. He looked up in his calm and steady eyes and realized that this was probably the only person who could ever understand him. The only other person who really knew what being a leader of an army cost. Who knew what war took from a persons very soul.

Harry reached up and put his open hand on Jasper’s cheek, marveling at the perfect feeling of his hand on his skin. He moved his hand upwards, running light fingers through his hair, before cupping the back of his neck. Jasper stayed perfectly still as Harry lightly explored this small part of his body, his eyes were closed and his lips were turned up at the edges.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Harry murmured. Jasper opened his eyes and obligingly bent his head down towards Harry and wrapped a cool arm around his waist, holding him close but not tight.

Equals.

As their lips pressed down against each other’s, their eyes locked; emerald green meeting topaz gold. Two immortal beings with lives so incredibly different. Two souls with the same story.

Jasper pulled back enough to rest his forehead on Harry’s. Neither of them said anything in that moment, the silence loaded with a perfect understanding.

Harry thought he might not mind eternity if every sunrise and sunset could be like this moment: blissful, peaceful, perfect.

When they did finally break apart, Jasper said the only thing that could make the evening somehow even more perfect:

“Did you still want to steal a tank darling?”

Because, apparently, the museum truly had a tank from World War II in an outdoor exhibit.

They didn’t steal it, but after Jasper showed off his strength by lifting it with his bare hands, Harry didn’t want to be outdone so he’d levitated the tank and broke off a small piece of the metal siding when he returned it to the ground.

When he got home several hours later, Harry put the little green metal piece on his shelf above his fireplace.

***
Do you have plans for Easter Break?

Assuming you mean the five day weekend we have off school for Easter- I do not.

Do you want to go meet Ron’s family?

Will there be flying?

Why are you so obsessed with flying??

Darling. It’s FLYING. It defies all laws of nature. It’s possibly the most magical thing I can imagine.

Jazz. Flying is not ‘the most magical thing’. Wizards make all sorts of mad things fly. I’ve rode a flying broomstick, a flying car, a hippogriff, a threstle, a motorcycle, and a dragon.

A FLYING MOTORCYCLE?! Harry, darlin, tell me that you aren’t just now informing me that your motorcycle can fly?!!

I’ll show you. How soon can you be here?

Apparently, really bloody fast.

“You might as well hold on to me,” Harry grinned. Jasper had his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist and was all but vibrating with excitement in his seat behind him. Harry pressed the silver button on the motorbike’s handlebars, activating the invisibility booster, and Jasper gasped.

“Are we invisible?!”

“Well, yeah,” Harry laughed. “We can’t let Chief Swan see us flying in the air. Poor bloke won’t know how to pull me over then.”

At this point, it was a running joke amongst Jacob and the La Push kids if Harry had gotten a ticket on his way there or not. Jacob must have known Charlie Swan pretty well because he bet every time that Harry had gotten pulled over and given a ‘stern warning’. Which was what usually happened. Though, twice in the last couple of weeks, Chief Swan pulled him over, told him to ‘stop driving like he’s got nine lives’ and invited him over for dinner. Harry had made up an excuse each time, not wanting to give Bella the opportunity to question him on why Edward no longer speaks to her in biology.

He felt bad, Chief Swan was a nice guy who was trying to be a good neighbor, but Harry wasn’t going to let the Cullen’s be in danger because Edward and Bella had some weird thing between them. Better for Harry to stay out of it as long as Edward wasn’t doing anything to make Alice’s visions of Bella either dead or a vampire come true. And as long as neither of them were doing anything to risk the safety of the blonde clinging to Harry’s waist at present.

“Alright, ready?” Harry asked.

“I have never been as ready for anything as I am this,” Jasper swore in a whisper, his mouth very distractingly close to Harry’s ear.

“And you call me the adrenaline junkie.” Harry kicked the bike to life and smiled over his shoulder once more. “Hold on tight.”

Harry twisted the acceleration and within a second they were flying down the road before they were quickly flying through the air. Jasper squeezed Harry tightly, in excitement rather than fear, when they rose above the trees, high enough to look down and not see any specific landmarks.

Harry had no idea why he hadn’t shown Jasper this feature before. The feeling of the powerful bike beneath him, thrumming with the magic that powered it, was as different from a broomstick as it could be. And with Jasper clinging to him and laughing as they soared ever higher, Harry didn’t even let his thoughts dwell on the sorrowful memory of his beloved pet and respected fellow soldier dying the last time he was flying on the bike.

“This is amazing!” Jasper cried. “Is this what magic is like all the time?!”

Harry glanced behind himself to see Jasper’s face as happily lit up as Harry’s was on his 11th birthday when a half-giant gave him his first ever birthday cake and cursed his cousin with a pigs tail.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a smile of his own. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”