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"To TRL, the first boy to hear this story."
“So, from what I heard, this TRL person is Charles Evans' son and this is supposed to be a bedtime story. This is actually good because this book sometimes makes me want to doze off."
When he first heard about the blog, he wasn't even that interested. After all, he had more important things to sort out, what with the long-awaited fourth book in the Teddy Lewis saga just a week away and dozens of other questions to answer. "What do you think of D. Mallory's reviews?" was just one more question. The answer: he had never even heard of this D. Mallory.
Hermione, who handled all the issues so that the author behind Teddy Lewis remained anonymous to Muggles and wizards alike, frowned.
"I don't think this is going to work, Harry. Sounds a bit arrogant, doesn't it? D. Mallory has a surprising number of followers. People care about what he thinks. Saying you don't know who he is can make it sound like your ego is giant. I'll email you his review of the first book as soon as I get home." Harry barely opened his mouth and… "There's no point in complaining. Your fans want answers more complex than 'yes' or 'no'. Now, are you working on the fifth book? What can you tell us about what you've been planning? Are you going to be part of the spin-off trend?"
Teddy Lewis and the Grand Chalice had been a bit of an accident. It started out as Teddy Lupin and the Philosopher's Stone, a mix between Harry's life and wishful thinking.
Harry spent most of his time with Teddy. After the war he had decided to wait a while to join the Aurors, but he didn't quite know what to do in the meantime, his godson was his only constant company.
In his free time, he stayed at home and tried to turn the mansion he inherited from his godfather into a home. And, of course, he took care of Teddy. Teddy loved the sound of Harry's voice, it was the only way to calm him down when he was a baby. But as he grew up, uninteresting anecdotes about another day renovating Grimmauld Place were no longer enough to distract the boy.
Harry tried reading a few stories, but Teddy always ended up pulling the books out of his godfather's hands, and when Harry was caught off guard and let it go, the book ended up in pieces.
It was then that Harry decided to make up his own tales, and so the Teddy Lupin of the stories was born. A brave, loyal, and chivalrous boy, who went out on adventures because he wanted to, not because he had a terrible enemy or imminent death to avoid. Evenings with Teddy, the two Teddys, were actually the highlight of Harry's life.
Of course, by this point, it had been five years since the battle of Hogwarts and all he’d done was stay at home and play with Teddy. Ginny had broken up with him for being “a fucking apathetic piece of shit” and what was supposed to be a gap year followed by training with the Aurors had turned into being a layabout living off his inheritance. Not that there was any problem with that, Harry made a point of reminding all of his friends when they had come to express their concern.
But then one day Hermione ended up hearing a piece of Teddy's story and she, who was precariously balancing an English course at a Muggle college with her apprenticeship at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, no longer left him alone. She wanted to hear more because apparently what she had heard was pretty good. With a little editing and changing some names and settings, they could publish something like that.
Harry had just rolled his eyes at first. After all, him? An author? It had never even crossed his mind. Authors were people like Hermione, intellectuals with their heads always in some book. Not people like Harry, who always struggled to write as little parchment as possible for his Hogwarts essays.
As Teddy grew up, days without him became more and more common. Andromeda was too old to take care of a baby, but a well mannered toddler she could manage. Especially because, as the years went by, so did her grief. Then one day Andromeda had taken Teddy for a walk in the park, and he had absolutely nothing to do. That's when he found an old wizard typewriter sort of thing and, bored out of his mind, began to write down one of the stories he told Teddy. Not the first one he created, no. The first one told the tale of a boy who befriended a werewolf. No, Harry started writing about the day Teddy's godfather decided he was old enough to know he had magic and was part of a family of adventurers.
When he noticed, it was already dark and he had not inches, but feet and feet of paper. He immediately called Hermione and when she started to read it, he could see the glint in her eyes that made it clear that he was in trouble. She would never leave that project unfinished. They would have to go all the way.
As Hermione was studying English in the Muggle world, she had contacts with a publisher, and they decided he should publish there. He didn't want to be published and read by wizards. He would never know how much of a his success would be true and how much it would be because he was "The Savior". And to make sure nothing got out, he published under a pseudonym, Charles Evans. A little obvious to anyone who knew his story in depth, but distant enough to remain anonymous. And surprisingly - or not - hardly any wizards ended up with their hands on Harry's books. They probably shook their heads and concluded that anything a Muggle could have invented didn't compare to having real magic. When Hermione overheard things like that she would roll her eyes and mumble about the big names in Muggle literature and the wizards' penchant for things like Gilderoy Lockhart.
Five years and three - almost four - books later, the end was still relatively far, but it wasn't just Hermione who would kill him if he gave up on this project. Teddy Lewis had a whole legion of fans. And apparently had legions of critics too. Or at least a critic with a legion of fans. Harry sighed. Apparently, this D. Mallory was a relatively famous blogger who commented on books, different coffee shops in London, current affairs and occasionally gave fashion tips. There were thousands of people who made this type of content. But for some reason, Mallory was one of the most relevant.
Harry didn't understand why. He frowned as he read the first lines written by the blogger. Apparently, Teddy Lewis was "childish and wishful thinking". Harry wasn't the type to handle criticism badly, especially when it didn't make any sense - after all, Teddy Lewis was a children's book series, why shouldn't it be childish? - but something in the writing style of that blog bothered him. He wasn't quite sure what, but something was familiar.
He decided he'd check it out before emailing Hermione the answer, but he already knew pretty well what he thought of Mallory. He criticized the book for being "childish", completely ignoring that "The Wondrous Adventures of Teddy Lewis” had started out as a children's book. Well, it turned out to be much more than that, and the story eventually matured a little as a wider audience showed interest in Teddy's stories, but that was never the intention, especially with the first book.
Well, he would see what Mallory thought of the rest of his books, and then, with any luck, write something. He really needed to work a little more on the fourth book in the series before he even thought about showing the new draft to Hermione.
Meanwhile, in a cafe in a corner of London, a boy with blond hair - almost platinum, in fact - was taken by a very familiar feeling. A strange feeling, which he couldn't explain, but which he remembered feeling for the last time in his sixth year at a boarding school somewhere in Scotland.
He took a sip of his tea and shook his head. What a strange thing. But he let it go and opened his computer, after all, he had work to do, and soon his friend would arrive, and when that woman shaped hurricane arrived, no one could do anything remotely productive anymore.
“Beloved, dear, well-liked, admirable and honorable Dray” Too late. "Why do you insist on changing our rendezvous point every week?"
“Ah, sweetheart. So that London can better appreciate our beauty. And to have some content for my blog. Besides, it’s not every week. There are plenty of cafes we visited more than once.”
Pansy tossed her long black hair back and with a theatrical sigh, sat down in the chair across from him, somehow gracefully, despite her gigantic heels. She rested her elbows on the table and her face in her hands, pouting. Draco thought Pansy looked so much prettier with her hair long like that, but he would never dare say that to her unless he wanted to get a speech about the objectification of female bodies.
“Oh dear, why did we condemn ourselves to this eternal suffering? I mean it, administrative and contractual law will kill me. But still, I'm going to do something with it when it is over. I don't even know what a degree in English is for. Why did you do this to yourself, Dray?”
She was wearing the expression she always wore when talking about Draco's course. She was of the opinion that they should get some status in the Muggle world and fast, and a Literature course wasn't exactly a shortcut to success and respect. According to Pansy, it was something the children of lawyers and doctors did. But as usual, Draco had proved her wrong. He already had a lot more relevance with his review blog than he would if he was studying law like Pansy. The secret to success, more specifically to quick success, was creativity. Not that he was going to needle Pansy with that answer.
“I have no idea either. Although I admit it can get a little… difficult at times, I like my course. As for why we condemned ourselves to the eternal suffering of college… I think remembering our shameful past is torture enough. But I think you do recall our status before our fellow men.”
Years of living in the Muggle world made euphemisms and vague descriptions natural for Draco and Pansy. In the beginning, it was difficult to talk about the life they had before when someone asked. Now everything came very naturally. They knew how to give enough detail as to not look suspicious, but also how to be vague enough as to not get lost in the lies. Living among Muggles was an art that Draco never thought he would need to master, but well… things change.
"Well dear, I just know that this weekend I want to relax . No college for me and no work for you. So you can close that computer because there are appletinis calling our names. And then, when the pub closes we're going to a party at Alice's apartment. On Saturday we have a reservation at Uluru for brunch and the rest of the day we go wherever fate takes us. Sunday is, as always, pajama day all day watching the movies we have to return on Monday. What do you think honey?"
"Honey, I made this plan," he said, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "It can't be anything but splendid. We got Moulin Rouge, didn't we? I just need to post this one review when I get home and then I promise I won't even think about work until 8:00 on Monday morning."
“But of course I rented Moulin Rouge! Who do you think I am? An amateur? Oh, and you won’t believe what I found hidden behind some Swedish dramas. Legally Blonde ! It's the perfect blend of the two of us. I'm the legally and you're the blonde.”
With that, Pansy got up and click-clacked around the place, humming Lady Marmalade. She decided to order an unnecessarily complicated coffee at the counter to let Draco work in peace . He struggled not to join with the " hey sister , soul sister", after all, he needed to finish the article about the cafe he was in and plan some other things, to focus on the debut of the fourth book in the Teddy Lewis series. For some reason, his acid reviews of the first three books in the series were an absolute success. Well, they were quite boring and with the obvious potential for more … Of course, all the lost possibilities ruffled feathers, people loved to talk about could have beens .
But, as he had promised Pansy, he would finish the review about the cafe and not think about work again until Monday. With college essays and blogging, Draco was in need of a "complete weekend," as he and Pansy called the routine they had created for the weekends they didn't need to spend studying for exams or doing assignments.
There were many things that Draco marveled at finding the same in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, like exclusive clubs like Cobden, high society brunches and the bubbling who's who of London's creme de la creme. But weekends like this were something he could never have imagined, not in a million years. Firstly because it was in Muggle London, with Muggles and Muggle music… But also because he always thought he would leave Hogwarts engaged to a good pureblood witch, maybe a few years younger than him. While waiting for his fiancée to graduate, he would learn to manage his estates, and eventually, they would marry and live at Malfoy Manor. Just like his father had done. And his father. And his father's father. And his father's father's father...
Instead, Draco found that female company really wasn't for him in intimate matters. Shopping for shoes with Pansy was wonderful, but he could never go to bed with a woman. He much preferred the rigid lines of a man's body to the delicate feminine curves.
In Muggle London he could be - not accepted, not exactly. But much, much freer than he would be in the wizarding world. In the pureblood wizarding world, to be exact. It was almost an inversion. Any wizard knew it was perfectly natural to be attracted to someone of the same sex. And any wizard knew the right thing to do was forget about it, lie down and think of England. In the Muggle world, Draco could experiment. And watch shows like Queer as Folk in bed cuddled up with Pansy while talking about boys and how hot Brian's conquest of the week was. It wasn't perfect, but it was something. He had his best friend, visited his mother once every two or three weeks. And if he hadn't heard anything about the whereabouts of his other classmates… One in particular… Well, Draco was probably better off not knowing.
Harry could admit, late at night, alone in Grimmauld Place, that he was perhaps a little bit obsessed.
He never intended to stalk D. Mallory. Not at all. He didn't even know who he was until a few days ago. But after reading the articles about Teddy Lewis' books, he ended up reading the comments. And while reading the comments, he ended up reading Mallory's replies. And in some of those replies, he was referring to other articles he had written in “I Know Nothing About Fish''.
(And what kind of name was that? Because a blog that mostly talked about books, cozy cafes outside London and occasionally gave tips on how to match your coat to your waistcoat - your waistcoat! - needed to make it clear that it didn't know anything about fish?)
And then Harry just had to read some of these other articles, about other books, stories and even one about a cafe Harry frequented.
No, he had no intention of stalking D. Mallory. And yes, he saw how stupid it was to be obsessed with another DM (he could also admit to himself, late at night, that for a brief period of time he had been obsessed with Draco Malfoy.) So no, he didn't even want to know about the man when Hermione first mentioned him. But...
It was quite clear that Mallory knew how to talk about the subject he had chosen, and he spoke in such an engaging way that it was impossible not to click on the next link. The way he described the sensations of a different cafe, the taste of the teas he liked or the smell of new books whenever he started a review… And it was pretty clear that Mallory knew what he was talking about. He made references to classical literature, compared the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark to the kidnapping of Helena, and did everything in an effortless way that made Harry suspect that he had studied Literature.
Was he a colleague of Hermione’s? Was that why she was so insistent during the lunch they had earlier in the week? Because she knew Mallory? No, that wasn't something Hermione would do. Even if she knew Mallory, her reasons for forcing Harry to read his reviews were certainly genuine. And she would have told him, were that the case.
But if Mallory knew what he was talking about in every other review Harry found, why had he read Teddy Lewis - a children's book! - and criticized it as a teen's book? Or even, Merlin help him! Like an adult’s book? What had Mallory seen in an innocent bedtime story that merited such a critique?
Harry needed to find out. And to find out, of course, he needed to talk to D. Mallory. The only problem lay in the nature of anonymous internet blogs. Anonymous blogs like “I Know Nothing About Fish”. Lucky for him, Harry had spent seven years unraveling the evil schemes of a Dark Lord. Finding a Muggle who wasn't even trying that hard to stay hidden would be a piece of cake in comparison. Harry was determined and resourceful. He would find out who D. Mallory was.
(The irony, again, wasn't lost on Harry. But in the end he had figured out what Draco Malfoy was up to, hadn't he?)
The first step was to try and figure out what the “D” meant. It would be much easier to ask for a full name than just a last name. Mallory would refer to himself in the third person a few times when he was about to complain about something, to be more specific, like: "So I told myself, Mallory, it can't be that bad! Spoiler: it was." All Harry needed to find was an article where he had gotten sloppy and instead of "Mallory" he had written his first name.
Reading all the articles on Mallory's blog would take forever. But luckily a glance at one of the fashion articles showed Harry that he wasn't so meticulous about them. The occasional reviews of the looks of the famous read more like something from the Witch Weekley than like the rest of the blog.
When Harry was about to give up on the plan to talk to Mallory, for fear of being absolutely destroyed for his lack of fashion sense, he found what he was looking for.
Drake, I thought, what's the point of criticizing Anne Hathaway for wearing a slightly see-through dress? None! Men often don't even wear shirts! Now, that shade of brown I can criticize. And the cut of that dress? I don't even know if I can describe the disaster that the skirt is for the fashion world.
And so he went on and on for the entire page. The only information Harry could pick up from all that bullshit was that his name was Drake. Drake Mallory.
The next day Harry went to his favorite coffee shop, which luckily had more than ten reviews on Mallory's blog. Harry knew all the baristas and the vast majority liked him. The only exception was the ones who worked on holidays, who never stayed long enough to like the regulars.
When he asked about Drake Mallory, John, a boy who attended high school nearby didn't hesitate before answering.
"Yeah, he comes here, but only once in a while. I just remember his name because he gives really good tips."
Tania, who had dropped out of college to become a singer and worked at the cafe to supplement the income she earned singing in bars, laughed and left the kitchen.
"The real tip for John is the beautiful pair of tits Drake's best friend, Patricia, has."
The boy went redder than a Weasley.
"W-well… she's very pretty."
"John was considering getting a fake ID just because I said Patty wears clothes even more revealing at the pub."
"What pub?"
Harry asked when he saw that John was too embarrassed to say anything else.
"Why? Are you interested in Patricia too?"
Apparently, John wasn't all that embarrassed, because he was perfectly able to drop:
"He's looking for Drake!"
It was Harry's turn to blush. Not that he had any reason for blushing.
"Oh, honey… if Drake didn't give you his number before he left, he probably doesn't want to shag you again."
Harry did not think it was humanly possible, but he went even redder. He never really thought about boys like that in his Hogwarts days. He was too busy trying to stay alive. And after that, he had Ginny. The months after the war, still lost in the haze of being alive the sex was great. After that, the sex was still great, but it was all they ever did. After breaking up with Ginny, he was still… well, he was still finding himself and he would admit to some not quite straight wank fantasies. But nothing he had acted on. In fact, he never even acted on his straight fantasies either. Sometimes Ginny would come over when she was in-between boyfriends and that was it.
"No, I… I don't know Mallory personally, Tania. I want to talk to him about… well, you know he has a blog, don't you? I want to talk to him about an article he wrote. That's all."
"Well you're just his type Harry, dark and handsome, you know. I figured that was what this was about." Tania giggled. "The pub's name is Cobden's, every Friday they're there. But you won't be able to get in today. It's really exclusive. If I was singing, maybe I could take you, but today it's Amy who sings, and apparently she is, I don't know, a big deal or something. Which makes it even more exclusive. If you give me your full name, I can put you on next week's list."
Harry hated asking for favours and using his name to get things done… But he hated waiting even more. And he didn't need to use the name Harry Potter, Charles Evans was a big name in the Muggle world and, well… Harry was already thinking about making him disappear anyway. Teddy Lewis's books had been pure luck. It didn't make sense for Charles to remain, well, alive, so to speak, after the series was over. It would only createfrustration, people begging for just one more miracle, and when he, namely Charles failed to deliver, they would turn on him and accuse him of wasting his life. No, Charles deserved to die. For his own sanity. And then Harry Potter would become a recluse. Grimmauld Place had everything he needed after all. And he would have worked enough to live off his own fortune, thank you very much, and add to Teddy's inheritance.
But for this to happen in a way that the entire public would believe, first Charles Evans had to live. The public would never accept a mourning note from the publisher. They needed to see that Harry, or rather Charles, was no longer where he used to be. And for that, they first needed to see Charles. It was a complicated plan, but it was what Hermione had said, and he trusted her. He was just going to have to start the public appearances sooner than he expected.
"No, Tania, I won't need it. But thank you so much for telling me where he's going to be."
Harry finally grabbed his coffee and went his way drinking it, wondering who he could talk to about an invitation to Cobden's without alerting Hermione.
After breakfast, Draco and Pansy went back to the building they lived in to get ready and, in Draco's case, put the finishing touches on the new review before posting it. They said goodbye in the hallway that separated their apartments, not without Pansy first threatening to use her key if he wasn't ready before eight p.m. As soon as he locked the door, being careful to leave the key in the lock, he put on his favorite playlist and started working
Lately, he was having the worst writer block, for some reason. He didn't find any book interesting enough to review on the blog, and soon the publishers who paid him to write about their books would fill his inbox with threats. Not that he needed the money, but it was nice, being recognized for his work.
Cafe reviews came out almost like a sacrifice, but always on Fridays, religiously. Reviews of the different teas available in London cafes were a tradition he would not let die. Not even the most powerful of creative blocks would stop him from going to a Cafe and at least typing “The tea was horrible” on Friday afternoons.
Not even his fashion reviews were fun to write anymore. He really hoped his dry spell would end before the MET Gala. Nothing would be worse than not having the creativity to criticize the most… unusual looks of the night. Not that his fashion critiques were properly appropriated. Most people who read his blog for books or coffee shops or both didn't really appreciate fashion. And they definitely didn't understand the impact of an event like the MET Gala. Unfortunately, some people tend to be incredibly two-dimensional.
As Madonna sang about Mr. Right, he remembered something Pansy said about his creative dry spell being related to an entirely different kind of dry spell. He wouldn't say he was selective… but he definitely wasn't easy. He might be casual, but he wasn't the kind of person who slept with any strangers after the party. He had been, at first. And then he had to contend with those who didn’t know the meaning of “one night stand”. He even had to warn the people who worked on his favorite spots not to give any information about him to strange guys who asked about it. Well, the perils of writing a relatively known blog. Nowadays he liked to, at least, meet the person first. Know what name he should moan and all that. This is called having standards Pansy, not that you've heard of it.
But then, he could do something to relieve this kind of stress. It was worth a try, and anyway... Well, his hand was already terribly close to the zipper of his jeans. He decided to go to his room, after all, he was civilized. But as soon as he locked that door, he was out of his trousers and had gotten rid of his pants. He was not hard yet, but soon he would be. He let himself fall on the bed with a sigh and closed his eyes. He already knew what he would see in his mind's eye. Hair so wild it seemed like it had never seen a comb ... or, or. Like he had just been shagged. And oh . Yes, he was already more than ready. He mentally debated if it was worth making the effort to get the lube inside the first drawer of his nightstand, but decided that licking his hand would be enough. He would not last long, nor should he, after all, he had a deadline and... No, he needed to focus on what he was doing. No deadlines, no stupid publishing houses, no tea. Wild hair and vibrant green eyes. Eyes that always sparkled with anger when focused on Draco, but that could be shining with something else. Oh yes! And that mouth? The way his lips used to curl when he was called to answer a question in class or the way they opened in shock or surprise. They would look a bit like that, stretched around Draco’s cock, wouldn't they? Yes, they would, and oh, yes. He came all over his chest.
Breathing heavily, he thought that Pansy was sort of right, he was far more willing to finish that stubborn blog post. But just to not think too much about the scenario he had created. People wanked thinking about celebrities all the time. Thousands of people certainly thought about Leo di Caprio. He was sure that many witches and wizards thought of Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world. He was betting that toys that claimed to be faithful copies of the chosen dick were scattered around Knockturn Alley. He didn't have to feel guilty.
He would never see the idiot again anyway.
Harry checked his shirt for the eighth - or ninth, he was losing count - time in the mirror looking for any crease he hadn't seen before. Like the seven - or eight - times before, he found nothing. He didn't even know why he was trying so hard just to talk to someone he didn't even know existed earlier in the week. But for some reason, he needed to talk to Drake Mallory. He could feel his inner Hermione roll her eyes.
A horn took him out of his thoughts, the taxi had arrived. The time to choose between listening to his inner Hermione and doing as he pleased was now. With a sigh, he left Grimmauld - still invisible to locator spells, but without something as invasive as a Fidelius - and got into the taxi that would take him to his destination.
Arriving at Cobden's, what Harry feared most did not happen. He gave his name and showed his credentials, and although some people looked at him differently, no one tried to get his attention or asked for pictures and autographs. Well, that really wasn't the public of The Wondrous Adventures of Teddy Lewis . Perhaps if he had announced himself as Charles Evans at Tanya and John's cafe, the result would have been different. Who knew that even without knowing it, even being only indirectly responsible for it, Mallory would help him? Now he had the perfect plan to make appearances as Charles without feeling too uncomfortable. It was brilliant.
Upon entering, he ordered a gin and tonic and tried to strike up a conversation with the bartender. If Drake Malloy was a regular here, the bartender would know enough to point him out in the crowd. But before Harry could think of a way to broach the subject without sounding like a crazy stalker (his inner Hermione had already given up), a man conveniently appeared on stage and announced:
"Very well my friends, before our big attraction, and trust me, it will be amazing, we decided to open the floor for some karaoke. Unfortunately, the list is already closed, as we will have another attraction tonight. But if you like to sing, other opportunities will come. Without further ado, Drake Mallory and Patricia Paterson, with a classic!"
The first notes of the song started to play and Harry's brain took a while to process what was happening because it certainly wasn't Draco Malfoy who sang:
"Don't go breaking my heart"
And it certainly wasn't Pansy Parkinson who answered:
"I couldn't if I tried"
Without knowing how, his brain managed to function enough to discern the conversation from a table close enough to him to catch the names "Drake and Patricia", which were obviously false.
"Uh, excuse me, but do you guys know them?"
Harry asked, addressing the people at the table, not quite sure what to think about Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson singing Don't Go Breaking My Heart on stage.
An elegant girl with vibrant red lips that contrasted with her pale skin arched a suspicious eyebrow.
"We are friends, yes. How about you? I've never seen you around here Mr…"
Harry blushed as he remembered what Tanya had said about Drake, about Draco, apparently. And it made him even redder to think that this girl also thought he… and Draco Malfoy… had…
"Yes, we went to the same school, me, Draa-ke and Patricia."
He glanced at the duo, who seemed to be having a great time.
"And nobody told us…"
"...Because nobody showed us"
"And now is up to us babe"
"Oh I think we can make it"
"They're good at this, aren't they?"
One of Malfoy and Parkinson's… friends, apparently, brought Harry's attention back to the table.
"Uh… Yeah. They never… I never saw them having fun like that when we were in school together."
"Well, if you want to talk to them, why don't you sit with us for now?" A boy with honey blond hair and kind eyes invited him and he decided to accept. After all, he was here to talk to Draco Malfoy, apparently. He sat up and took a sip of his tonic.
"So… how do you know Mal-sorry, Drake?"
The red-lipped girl looked eternally suspicious but answered anyway.
"We go to college together. Well, not exactly. I’m a psychology major, Patricia is studying to be a lawyer and Drake… Well, Drake studies English, but no one knows exactly what he's going to do with it. Collect rare books, maybe."
At this the whole group laughed and, although Harry didn't quite understand why, he wanted to laugh too, after all, it was something so typical of someone like Malfoy, who had more money than he knew how to spend, going to college just for fun. But he controlled himself, after all, that group seemed very protective of the blonde. And, well, he supposed he was also part of the group of people who had more money than they knew how to spend, now.
“Don't go breaking my…”
“I won't go breaking your heart”
“Don't go breaking my heart!”
With the closing verses, Draco and Pansy bowed, with the rest of the club applauding politely, except for the table he was at. Draco and Pansy's friends were applauding cheerfully.
They left the stage and soon a young girl replaced them. The “special guest” Tanya mentioned. She started singing about being stronger than her boyfriend, and Harry could see what was the big deal, she had a deep, emotional voice. But it wasn’t enough to distract him from Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson acting like muggles, and coming his way.
They both looked pretty happy, but their smiles froze when they noticed Harry at the table, and he prayed none of them would scream his name, after all, he wished he could appear like Charles Evans again without a lot of Muggles knowing that his name was really Harry Potter. He could always admit that Charles Evans was a pseudonym, but by doing so, he would be giving up completely on anonymity in the Muggle world.
He was pleased when they merely looked at each other and continued walking towards the table. He decided to speak first, to avoid any misunderstandings.
“Mallory! Patricia! Why don't we get you some drinks?"
Draco had no idea what was going on, one moment he was singing with Pansy and the next Harry Potter was at his desk. Typical, really. Just because he told himself that he would never see Harry Potter a few hours ago, it's clear that fate takes it upon itself to put the fucking boy who lived there on his desk. Although, well, a traitorous part of his brain insisted on noticing, boy is no longer an adequate description for him. Man would certainly fit better .
And what a man. Draco's fantasies didn't do justice to what Potter had become. Arms like a beater’s and stubble that looked like it scratched deliciously. Draco had certainly lost the habit of self-control and needed to stop looking at Potter like a hungry dog looks at a steak. Merlin, he was almost drooling.
When Potter, of all people, said his fake name, it was enough to snap Draco out of his stupor. Why, how and when had Potter found out what Draco was doing? Did the brunette still think he was up to something after all these years?
“Uh… sure. Shall we go, Patty?”
Pansy looked more confused than him but nodded. And they started following Potter to the bar. It was all too surreal for him. Harry Potter in his favorite pub ordering a gin and tonic. Two realities that he had tried his best to keep separate overlapping at that very moment.
When they arrived at the bar, Potter ordered another gin and tonic and looked at them, expectantly.
"Two appletinis please."
The bartender left to prepare the drinks and Draco asked.
"What are you doing here, Potter, and how do you know our names?"
Potter took a long breath and looked extremely uncomfortable. Good.
“I didn't know you were Drake Mallory, honestly. And I came here today after him. The fact that you are him is a great irony of fate. Apparently, I can't help but obsess over Draco Malfoy.”
He just mumbled the last part, but Draco heard it and couldn't help but blush.
“But why were you looking for Drake Mallory, Potter?”
Pansy asked and Potter became even more uncomfortable, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt.
“Well, it's just that. Well, I'm Charles Evans.”
Pansy looked at them, still not understanding what this was all about, and Draco whispered to her that it had to do with his blog. She rolled her eyes and luckily, at that moment the bartender returned with the drinks. She picked up her appletini and left to join the others at the table with a huff.
Draco sat on one of the bar stools and Potter decided to do the same.
"So you’re Charles Evans?" Potter frowned, insulted. It wasn’t that it didn't make sense. In fact, it made all the sense in the world. The magical world, the adventures. The werewolf in the third book. The number of books, seven books officially scheduled, like the seven years of Hogwarts. Even the protagonist's name, Teddy Lewis. Draco could only assume it was after his cousin, Teddy Lupin. “I thought this was more Granger’s thing. What kind of name is Charles Evans anyway?”
He ran his hands through his hair as if he wanted to straighten it out, but it only made the mess worse. Draco had no idea why he found it sexy. He also had no idea why he was sitting like that, with one hand to his face, his elbow resting on the bar, the other between his legs, drawing attention to his mouth and crotch. That was the flirting pose, and he just could not be flirting with Potter!
“Evans was my mother's maiden name, and my father was called James Charlus Potter. Charlus isn't exactly a Muggle name, but Charles is.”
Draco blinked in surprise, that was a surprisingly good way to pick a fake name.
"I know. I mean, I know your father was named James Charlus. In honor of his father, Charlus Potter. He married a Black, your grandmother Dorea.”
He used the hand that had been resting on the bench to reach for his appletini, and wasn't the least bit disappointed to see Potter's gaze following the movement. It was a little weak for his taste. If this was going to be Draco's night, with unexpected Potters and elusive authors revealing themselves, he was going to need alcohol. Way more alcohol.
"So are we related?"
Draco rolled his eyes.
“As much as I am related to Weasley or Longbottom. As much as they are your relatives. Which is to say, distant.” Which was to say, don't feel guilty about wanting to fuck me. If Potter wanted to fuck with him, that is. He was clearly wrong, the Appletini was just sweet, which had hidden the bite of alcohol, but well… "What does Charles Evans want with Drake Mallory?"
At that, Potter, who had been getting more and more relaxed, looked extremely uncomfortable again and blushed.
"I… I wanted to ask why. I mean, why didn't you like the books?"
Draco raised an eyebrow.
“Do you go around looking for all your critics in the pubs they frequent?”
Draco expected him to start babbling like he did when Snape asked him an especially difficult question, but it was Draco's turn to blush. Potter looked him right in the eye and said,
“No, just you. I even found it ironic that I was obsessed with another DM but apparently it was the same.”
And he was so honest that it wasn't Draco's fault, what happened next, not at all. Potter was practically holding a sign that said "Please, Draco Malfoy, kiss me." So, Draco kissed him.
Harry didn't know exactly what was going on. He pushed Malfoy back onto his stool and away from his mouth. Luckily, he didn't protest.
"What are you doing Malfoy?" Malfoy was trying to look anywhere but Harry, which showed that at least he had the decency to be embarrassed. Harry shook his head and decided to blame the drinks. Changing the subject and forgetting about it was the best course of action
"You didn't answer me. You know The Wondrous Adventures of Teddy Lewis is a children's book, don't you? Everything you said on your blog… that would apply to it if they were books for young adults, but they aren’t”
Malfoy finally looked at him and tilted his head, as if confused.
"You're kidding, right? It may even be that the first books have a more childish theme, but it is obvious from the pace of the story that it is not a collection for children. Even more so knowing that it's you writing, and putting two and two together. This is obviously partly autobiographical, it's a coming of age. And, I thought Charles Evans was just writing a lazy coming of age, but you have no idea, do you?”
And Harry… Well, he had never stopped to think about it. To think that as Teddy grew up, both in fiction and in real life, the story would get more serious. If he had, perhaps, written a series of short stories, in which Teddy remained forever young and naive, that would have worked for children only.
“I really thought this was going to be a bedtime story forever. That's how it all started, Teddy loves bedtime stories. Now… Well, he likes it less than when it all started, I suppose, but he still does. What do you think I should do then, oh wise English student?”
And so Harry and Malfoy spent the rest of the night, between drinks, some chips and the blonde's suggestions for the series, Harry realized that he didn't know exactly how Malfoy had turned into that person, he didn't know why he and Parkinson were attending college at the Muggle world and definitely didn't know why that unexpected kiss happened. But he wanted to find out. It was only when, many hours later, Parkinson got up and told Malfoy that she was calling the taxi and came back to the table that he asked Harry:
"Can I talk about this interview on my blog, or do you require complete secrecy?"
"I have no idea. Hermione takes care of this for me, but if you want I can owl you the answer… Draco?”
There were two questions in one.
“As always, Granger is the brains behind your raw talent. I don't know my phone number by heart, much less when I'm drunk. But I'll be in Uluru for brunch if you can make the time to see me… Harry. "
Harry had no idea what an Uluru was, but he knew that, for some crazy reason, he really wanted to see him, so he asked what time Draco would be there. He rolled his eyes, as if the answer was obvious, but replied that from ten a.m. onwards, and when he left with Pansy and the honey blond boy, for some reason Harry found himself wishing that tomorrow would come faster, for the first time in a long while.
The next day, at ten a.m. sharp, Harry, already knowing that Uluru wasn't actually a what, it was a where, found himself analyzing his clothes for the tenth time. He didn't know why he had stopped to look at it the first time, and by the eleventh, he was still confused.
For the second time in less than 24 hours, it was the cab's horn that snapped him out of his daydreams about the state of his clothes.
When he arrived, he saw that it was exactly the kind of place one would expect to find Draco Malfoy, except, Muggle. Sleek and imposing, it felt like the kind of place that charged you for breathing inside. An attendant was waiting at the door to ask for names and reservations. This time, Harry didn't need to use Charles Evans' card, he just said he was with Drake Mallory, and was directed to a rather comfortable table, with only two seats, one for him and one that was already occupied by Draco.
He sat down and the blonde indicated to the menu.
"I would suggest the pistachio cheesecake. But I think you'd rather something sweeter if you still love treacle tart like you used to. Pansy is throwing a fit that I’m here with you, you know."
Harry should have found it strange, the fact that Draco remembered his favorite dessert. But he was sure the other would order something full of chocolate, so who was he to judge?
"Draco… what are you doing in the Muggle world, if I may ask?"
He took a long breath.
"After the… unpleasantness, as my mother likes to put it... Well, Pansy and I weren't exactly accepted in the wizarding world. Me, because obviously, I was a Death Eater who wasn't in Azkaban. And Pansy… Pansy always had a rather aggressive survival instinct. I'm sure you remember when she declared she wanted to live and the best way to do so was to give you away to a mad man. Well, all the other wizards remember too, and they sure didn't let Pansy forget…" It sounded like he was more concerned about Pansy than with himself, and Harry… Harry understood perfectly. “We bumped into the Muggle world by accident, and realized that, to them, we weren't pariahs. What's more, that money was money and that we would have the same amenities or even more, living like filthy rich Muggles. Well, the rest is history, as they say."
Harry knew there was a lot more to this story that Draco didn't say. But he understood secrets, and he understood that some pains were not to be shared with someone who hadn't been through it. So he changed the subject.
"Did you remember to memorize your number today?"
Draco hadn't bothered to memorize his number as he had a card with his "name" number and email. Harry was right, he ordered a cake full of chocolate.
They ended up talking until after four in the afternoon and Harry left with a promise to call and tell him what Hermione had decided.
And, wasn't that a terrible prospect? Having to tell Hermione that he had found Draco Malfoy? Having to tell Hermione how he had found Draco Malfoy?
He just didn't know why he felt like Hermione's reaction would be worth it if he managed to make Draco smile. Those were pretty strange days.
When Potter… Harry called, to say that Granger had agreed to let Draco write an article about their conversation that day at the bar, as long as he made it look like the meeting had been completely accidental on Harry's part and as long as she could read it before he published it, he could hardly believe his luck.
But for a few moments, he felt awkward thinking that he wouldn't see Po-Harry again. Which was in itself weird, after all, he'd only had Harry for two days. Before he was Potter, he was the Gryffindor, he was the enemy.
It was good while it lasted, but he survived 5 years without Harry Potter in his life. He wouldn't cry about him now. And he was definitely not going to think about him anymore. Much.
He sighed and went to write the article, which, to his surprise, went smoothly. Apparently, Harry Potter was the cure for his writer's block. Be it in his mind or the real deal. He would have to find something else because he was definitely not going to call him begging to see him again. And he definitely would do his level best to stop thinking about him while he wanked. After that kiss fiasco, if that could be called a kiss, the awkwardness would probably just kill any boner.
To absolutely no one's surprise, as soon as the article was done, instead of emailing Granger, he called Harry. But, to his absolute surprise, it was Harry who asked if they could meet for lunch the next day.
They went to an Italian place Harry suggested and had an amazing lasagna for lunch while they talked about the article.
And for some reason, they continued to meet. Even after Draco published the text about his supposed chance encounter with “Charles Evans”. Even after the release of the fourth book of Wondrous Adventures of Teddy. Even after Draco's scorching review of said book. For some strange reason, they became friends. Which was both terrible and wonderful, because Draco had never gotten over his crush on Harry, but tried his best to ignore it.
They would go out together, with Draco's college friends and he would watch Harry and Pansy doing their level best to ignore each other. They would go to the movies and buy too much popcorn and too little soda. They would go to Draco's apartment and drink cheap wine that made Harry and Pansy the best of friends. Sometimes he would go to Grimmauld Place and exchange weird "hellos" with Weasley and Granger and promptly lock himself in Harry's office where he would read the new chapter of "Wondrous Adventures of Teddy". They were friends.
That is, until one day when Harry asked him that out of nowhere. They were watching TV in Draco's apartment, eating crisps on the couch, basically enjoying the first day of the end of the semester. Well, Draco was enjoying the first day of the end of the semester. Harry wrote whenever he felt like it, and when he didn’t feel like it, he would be taking advantage of Draco’s Muggle house where the TV worked.
It was just a normal day with just the two of them. Draco had been meaning to ask about meeting his cousin, Teddy. He definitely hadn’t been expecting Harry’s question.
"Draco, why did you kiss me that day?"
Honesty wasn't exactly his strong suit, but he decided to give it a try, after all, he would like to think that Harry knew him well enough to recognize his tells. Without looking at Harry, he said:
“I thought that's what you wanted, with all that talk about… being obsessed with me and just me. It was what I wanted."
Harry took the remote and turned off the television. He pulled his legs up and curled up on the couch, turning to face Draco, who did the same. Now he could no longer escape those green eyes.
“I… I think I did. But I wasn't ready. On that day. I mean, well. I mean, do you think we can try again?”
It wasn't like Draco needed to verbalize his answer. It didn’t take much to straddle Harry, who was now sitting with his legs on the couch where Draco had been. He looked into those green eyes and all that he could see was want. So he closed his own eyes and leaned in.
Now that. That was a real kiss. And for all that Harry apparently was a recluse, living his days locked at Grimmauld Place, he could kiss like the best of them. He wouldn’t ask. He probably didn’t want to know.
It took him no time at all to get hard, and moving his hips experimentally, he could feel that he wasn’t the only one. He put some space between their upper bodies to clear his head a bit.
“We should take this slow. Right? I mean, you’re ready for a kiss. But it doesn’t mean you’re ready for…”
Harry shut him up with a bite on his neck.
“Fuck slow.”
Now, that.. that would be a wondrous adventure.