If Paths Diverge

Part IV: Chapter 44

Four Years Later

"Will you at least tell me where you're going?"

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He was exhausted. Phoebus was gazing at him with benign exasperation and Harry wanted to strangle him.

"I already told you," Harry replied, putting both of his hands on the tabletop of the Muggle café they were in, trying to give this conversation his full attention. "North."

"Where north?"

"There's nothing but ocean above us, so obviously still Scotland."

Phoebus groaned.

"Why do you have to be so secretive?"

Harry flinched, not wanting to do this ever, but particularly not outside in the Muggle parts of Perth.

"It's really none of your business," Harry said quietly, trying to inject enough derision into his voice to hopefully cease this line of questioning.

Phoebus lifted an unimpressed eyebrow.

"You've been pretty clear, Harry. I get it. I know we're not dating and I'm not suddenly going to start demanding things from you. But would it kill you to give me a straight answer? I'm not going to follow you or anything. I just worry."

The last part was said quietly, as if he was embarrassed. Harry twisted the ring on his finger, hating that Phoebus was right. He was an arsehole.

"Orkney," Harry breathed out in defeat. "Probably start at the Mainland and head somewhere from there."

Phoebus's lips parted silently. Then his face closed off.

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"So you're still doing that."

Harry snorted.

"Obviously."

Phoebus studied him for a few minutes and Harry ignored him. His mind drifted to his plans for his upcoming trip. He already had a couple leads and it would be good to start at a new place with fresh hopes. There wasn't a part of the northern Highlands that he hadn't yet searched.

"Can I ask you something?" Phoebus ventured tentatively.

Nope.

Harry shook his head, preparing to leave.

"I should be going."

They didn't talk about this; that was one of Harry's many rules. Perhaps the most vital one. Just behind not asking Harry for more. He'd let Phoebus closer than he'd meant to, but he had always been very clear about his priorities.

"Wait," the man said, his blonde hair falling into his eyes, "just listen—"

"Drop it."

"Harry."

He bit his cheek, drawing blood and letting it calm him as much as it could.

"I don't want to talk about this," he bit out slowly, trying to keep the despair and hopelessness off his face. "I told you from the beginning that this was always going to be something I would be doing. If you have a problem with my trips or anything related to them, then I think we should just go our separate ways."

The other man looked shocked. Wounded. Not that he had any right to be.

"I don't want to lose you, Harry," Phoebus said quietly.