∞ The Mission ∆ March 2010 ∞
Into the wild
I'm with a mission
Over the hill
Come here with me
Harry walked into the conference room, stopping when he saw the tablet posed on the table. He was still in awe of how flawlessly electronic devices were working around magic, ever since Hermione and the other Unspeakables had put their heads together on the matter. After him, Hermione for said Department, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister, and Mafalda Hopkirk from Muggle Liaison Office entered the room. Harry was curious, the Minister didn’t convene a simple meeting very often nowadays.
“Welcome everybody. Mrs Granger-Weasley would you start the clip? Thank you!”
Kingsley’s voice rumbled in the small room while they all greeted each other with smiles and nods. Kingsley, Mafalda and Harry took a seat followed by Hermione who had put on a video.
Harry’s eyes focused on the screen where a – Was it a concert? – became visible. Frowning, he watched the singer on stage. Handsome came immediately to mind. The man seemed vaguely familiar. He had wild black hair, wore black skinny jeans and combat boots, a loose pink vest which showed off muscular, inked arms, and sang while he was jumping and dancing on stage. How the fuck could something in such an unbecoming colour look good?After a cut Harry saw the same man, this time with a turquoise Mohawk and matching white-stars print vest, white skinny jeans and turquoise vintage trainers. He was doing a stage-dive and looked wild and careless. The camera angle changed and Harry saw a huge crowd in front of the stage. When the camera pivoted over the crowd, he saw some of them were dancing while others clapped and sang along. He could relate– the music was rocking, fast and tuneful.
He was confused. Why the hell were they watching Muggle concerts? But before he could ask, the camera took a close-up of the stranger’s face. Harry saw huge grey eyes made-up with dark kohl, a classic jawline, a sharp nose, flawless pale skin, a sensual mouth– and it hit him like a punch to the gut. No stranger at all. Draco Malfoy.
“What is Malfoy doing on a Muggle stage?” Harry asked his voice oscillating between incredulity and curiosity.
“Well, that’s the point of this meeting,” Kingsley said. “Draco Malfoy has become a very famous Muggle rock star over the years. It took us some time to realise it was him. Though his music style – the Muggles call it alternative – isn’t radio charts compatible, he’s extraordinarily successful. He sells millions of discs, and his fan base is huge. Those fans even have a name of their own. We are not sure what to make of this phenomenon. And we would like you to investigate if his success is honestly achieved or based on misuse of magic.”
“Oh, he’s probably using a glamour on his hair, but I don’t think he could have achieved such huge success by casting spells over crowds as large as this one based on the misuse of magic,” Harry said, pointing at the screen where Draco Malfoy was now singing before an even bigger crowd with a scarlet mop of hair, matching leather trousers, a skin tight charcoal shirtsleeve and boots. Mesmerised by his enticing maleness, Harry felt his blood flooding south. He squirmed in his chair.
“Maybe,” Kingsley said, “he has enchanted his discs, or the concert tickets, or found another way to obfuscate his fan base. He could have inherited his father’s delusion of grandeur, and we can’t have a former Death Eater manipulating a clueless throng. You need to check it out. As Head Auror you not only have the required clearance but also a damn good sense for hidden or disguised magic.”
“Yeah, of course I’ll take the case,” Harry heard himself agreeing, even before he had really made up his mind.
“We have collected as much data as possible on how Draco Malfoy has spent the past years.” Mafalda handed him a sizable folder.
“He’s giving a concert tomorrow night in Los Angeles and your Portkey will leave tomorrow early afternoon. So, you’ll have enough time to bring yourself up to date,” Kingsley said.
“Take the tablet with you,” Hermione added, “and watch some more clips. I can’t figure him out, you’ll have to rely on your gut feeling.”
Her gaze met his and she smiled fondly at him. “Good luck.”
Harry smiled back.
And just like that Draco Malfoy was back in his life. Harry wasn’t sure if he should be scared, excited or nervous. This investigation will most certainly be interesting.
∞ ∆ ∞
∞ Stranger in a Strange Land ∆ March 2010 ∞
Enemy of mine
I'm just a stranger in a strange land
Running out of time
We better go, go, go
Angel or demon
I gave up my soul
I'm guilty of treason
I've abandoned control
Harry stumbled, arriving at the Los Angeles Portkey Hall in the South Californian Branch of the Magical Congress of the USA. Trying to get a grip on his churning stomach, he made room for the next travellers and gave the portkey, an old strainer, to the suntanned, beefy welcoming wizard. The man’s eyes flickered over his fringe and a flirty smile bloomed on his face, showing a flawless line of pure white teeth.
Oh God, no Harry thought, but it didn’t help him one bit.
“Good morning, Mr Potter. I wish you a wonderful stay in Southern California.” The man leaned into him and whispered, “My shift ends at 2 pm. If you need some help finding your way, I could show you around.” He summoned a card out of a nearby desk and slipped it into Harry’s hand.
Harry could feel his cheeks go crimson, but managed a “Thank you, I’ll manage on my own.”
The man looked disappointed for a moment before he took the rebuff with grace. “Ah, pity. I had to try. It’s not every day one could make a pass at the Saviour. Anyway, I do wish you a wonderful time in the City of Angels.” He winked, and Harry, though annoyed, chuckled.
“You are quite cheerful for … What time is it here?… six o’clock in the morning,” Harry mumbled as a farewell and went for the exit.
∞ ∆ ∞
When Harry entered his hotel an hour later he suppressed another soft laugh. Whoever had booked a room at Magic Castle had probably wanted to make fun of him. But despite the overly sweet towers straight from an architect’s nightmare, its location on Franklin Avenue was perfect. Within walking distance of Hollywood Boulevard and not much more than one and a half mile away from L.A.’s big open-air stage, Hollywood Bowl, in its hills. As it was far too early for his room to be ready he took a look at L.A.’s famous street. It wasn’t as impressive as he’d thought it would be.
But it was sunny and, though still early, already close to 15 degrees Celsius. After leaving the cold London drizzle behind, he enjoyed his morning stroll along the Walk of Fame. And because Harry felt a bit like being on holidays, he picked up a triple shot Raspberry Truffle at Kelly’s. The mixture of berry, chocolate and coffee reminded him of his first sundae at Fortescue’s all those years ago.
∞ ∆ ∞
Back at the hotel he lounged on a sunbed next to the pool and read once more through Malfoy’s folder. Malfoy had left the wizarding world after both his parents had died in 2000. Lucius Malfoy, at the end of his second year in Azkaban. Malfoy’s mother, sick and depressed, not much later. Harry remembered Malfoy’s pale haunted figure at her funeral. Harry, still with a life debt to pay, had shaken Malfoy’s hand and offered help. But Malfoy had let his hand slide, eyes a fathomless void, lips pressed into a thin line before he’d turned, leaving Harry and the cemetery behind. Harry had lost track of him after that. He didn’t know if Malfoy had tried to get a job, or to find a purpose in their world; apparently it had been fruitless. The British wizarding world had been a rather unpleasant place at that time, for those who had supported Voldemort. Nowadays the attitude was more relaxed towards the remaining Death Eaters and their offspring– it was twelve years after all.
It seemed that Draco Malfoy had sought greener pastures in the Muggle world. He’d changed his name to Luca M. Foulard. It sounded queer at first and took Harry quite some time to work it out. He was only successful because he’d solved similar puzzles before and found the name behind the M in his folder– it stood for Mycidus. Once he had scribbled both names on a sheet realisation had hit; Luca Mycidus Foulard was an anagram of his full name Draco Lucius Malfoy. Startled, Harry recognised that he could relate to Malfoy here. To keep something of one’s identity, if only the letters of their name when being thrown into a whole new world– Malfoy had probably felt as lost at first as Harry had at the age of eleven.
Malfoy had released three albums in ten years and there were rumours buzzing around that another one was not far away. To this day he’d sold nearly ten million records. Such a number was quite impressive, but even more striking were his fans. If Harry got it right, they called themselves Kings and Queens after one of his songs. Malfoy seemed to have a special connection with them. For example he’d called them together in different places all around the globe and invited them to help record his latest record. Harry had listened to it yesterday and the fans had been singing, shouting and clapping throughout the whole album. On one hand it had sent a pleasant chill down his spine to listen to its unique sound. On the other, he asked himself whether it had just been a lot of work or– the use of unauthorised magic.
Harry still thought that it didn’t make much sense to leave the Wizarding world behind without a backward glance. Or for one Draco Malfoy to summon thousands of Muggles to create music and even more, to sell it. The cult around Luca Foulard was quite bizarre. Although the one around himself had been raving mad as well. People really did the strangest things when it came to worshipping an idol.
Finally his single room was ready. Harry unshrank his clothes and put his pyjamas on. He still had half a day ahead before the concert would even start, and it was 10 pm at home by now. He would take a nap before preparing for the main event of this trip.
∞ ∆ ∞
When Harry opened his eyes, he was slightly disorientated for a split second. Then he remembered his location and mission. He grabbed the tablet from the bedside table, put it on a rack and turned one of Malfoy’s YouTube channels on. He chose a live concert from some years ago in order to get attuned. Malfoy’s on stage presence was mesmerising and he was really looking forward to the evening.
He ordered a tuna sandwich via room service, took a quick shower and put some clothes on, and all the while loud music was playing in the background. He’d packed some of the skin tight fuck me trousers he normally wore to go clubbing in the Muggle world. But he tuned the message down by adding some ratty t-shirt, a worn out hoodie and old trainers. He didn’t want to pull some random man or woman tonight, he just wanted to blend in. Considering Malfoy’s obscure taste in sleeveless tops, his outfit should work quite well.
∞ ∆ ∞
Of course Harry had heard about Hollywood Bowl. Who hadn’t? Wasn’t there even an album title The Doors Live at the Hollywood Bowl? But he’d never seen pictures, or thought about its structure. It was amazing and his eyes had trouble taking it all in. The stage was in a band shell seated at the lowest part of the arena. Rows of seats climbed up the hillside like an amphitheatre. The further away, the higher the blocks got. There were no nooks and– when Harry took a 360-degree view– it seemed to be shaped like a resting ladybug. Though that could be also a trick of the senses due to the difference in altitude. The Ministry of Magic had booked him a ticket right at the centre of the so called Terrace Boxes where he was in the middle of the crowd but not too far away from the stage. It was perfect to seek out magic, though he’d probably need to attend another concert to get a better look at Malfoy on stage.
The sunset illuminated the surrounding hills and the backdrop of the famous Hollywood Sign in vivid colours. Dark was setting in. The opening act, AFI, had played more than an hour, and stagehands were currently changing the set-up. Harry took some deep breaths, closed his eyes for a minute and let his senses fly. No. He couldn’t detect any magic in the vicinity. He got himself a soft drink and observed as many people as possible. He saw a lot of infinity symbol and triangles tattoos, Malfoy’s likeness on t-shirts, Mohawks in all shades of the rainbow and...God, what was it with Malfoy, his fans, and too large vests? Everyone was buzzing with anticipation and Harry got infected by all the excitement around him.
The concert started with a dark stage and a loud scream, followed by guitar riffs, the beating of drums and then Malfoy was there. Bathed in bright lights he was singing, dancing and playing the masses. Nobody sat on their seats anymore; everybody was clapping and roaring their lungs out. His voice filled the valley with practiced ease and when he reached high notes or screamed, Harry felt shivers running up and down his spine. When Malfoy told the crowd to scream they screamed, when he wanted them to sing along they sang and when they were encouraged to take their mobiles out and enlighten the dark arena, the whole place looked like thousands of fireflies were glimmering around. He really created an incredible atmosphere.
Harry could sense nearly no magic. He was sure there were a few wizards and witches in the audience, but they didn’t cast any spells. The only meagre charm was coming from Malfoy himself. He wore his hair glamoured into a pink Mohawk tonight. That was all the magical vibe Harry got. It was a bit funny because in all likeliness the white sleeveless top covered by a blue varnish jacket, the skin tight black leggings with white stripes down the sides and the matching trainers would have looked horrible on anybody else, but suited Luca Foulard’s excessive stage persona. Harry left his seat and strolled through the aisles, but the fact remained. No magic anywhere, only very good music. To Harry it seemed just like some other form of enchantment.
∞ ∆ ∞
∞ Kings and Queens ∆ March 2010 ∞
Into your eyes
Hopeless and taken
We stole our new lives
Through blood and pain
In defense of our dreams
In defense of our dreams
Harry got up early the next morning. He showered and put some clothes on while humming songs from previous night’s concert. When he realised what he was doing and continued, he shrugged and carried on.
He hired a bike on an impulse, determined to enjoy the glorious weather. He would take a tour on Highway 2 through the Angeles National Forest and couldn’t wait to leave. Especially when he thought about the Luca Foulard’s signing session that he would have to attend later. Playing the smitten fan boy would put his acting skills to test. Being allergic to admiration himself, it would be a challenge to give a good performance at that. He sighed. But first he was going to enjoy his leisure.
Harry transfigured jeans and jacket into leather gear, had a coffee and left the hotel. He picked up the nearly brand new VMAX, a biker’s wet dream, put the helmet on and rode towards the city’s borders to get used to this new class of power cruiser. He rode the bike eastwards, eventually cruising up the Angeles Crest Highway. The ascending hills around were sparsely overgrown with chaparrals, but the curvy road with lots of sweeping bends was exactly what he’d been looking for. When he’d been riding for about half an hour into the forest, pine trees and firs started lining the road as well. He enjoyed sunshine and fleeting shadows, the speed and this unique feeling of flowing only a bike ride could give. It was similar to flying on a broom, though more earthbound and powerful.
Harry stopped at a country diner for breakfast before he went on. Three hours later he was back at the hotel and had already vowed to overhaul his own bike to take it out more often.
∞ ∆ ∞
Harry was relaxed and ready to face his mission again. He transfigured his clothes back and picked up the vial he’d brought with him. He wouldn’t risk being recognised by Malfoy by using a glamour. No, he would drink the Ministry’s enhanced Polyjuice version which would put him into another’s body for at least four hours. He shuddered at the prospect of the dreadful taste, but dumped the pale brown hair in the liquid and swallowed the vial's content nonetheless. The tearing, ripping and pulling at bones and flesh was uncomfortable, but it didn’t take too long. As Head Auror Harry had the privilege of being allowed to use the hair of men with a similar height and build, therefore the change wasn’t as unpleasant as it could be when one transformed into someone much bigger or changed his gender.
He took a look at the mirror and saw the familiar nondescript round face covered by light brown hair and stared at his reflection’s blue eyes and his unscarred forehead. He always took a perverse delight in seeing his most recognisable features changed. That was the reason he loved this mousy disguise the most. Hector, as Harry had named the anonymous Muggle man whose skin he wore today, was younger than Harry, about twenty-five. He was glad about that. Would a nearly thirty-year-old even attend a signing? He didn’t know a lot about signings or appropriate fannish behaviour, but he would see for himself soon.
∞ ∆ ∞
Amoeba music’s L.A. branch, the record store where the signing took place, was located on Sunset Boulevard. It took Harry a thirty minutes’ walk to reach it, and his eyebrows raised when he saw the queue which went at least half around the block. Wow. He hoped the three hour wait would bring him close enough to Malfoy. Harry really needed to learn more about his interactions with his fan base and observe the man from close up. He got in line and tried to suppress all bad jokes about queueing his brain wanted to come up with. He snickered, which earned him empathic looks from his neighbours. The energy around him was positive and friendly, just like it’d been yesterday at Malfoy’s concert. Surely, Hector would make some new friends soon.
When Harry reached the entrance of the store an hour later, Hector had become acquainted with Natasha in front and Elisa, Geoff and Jake behind him in line. He’d learned a lot about Malfoy’s Kings and Queens. They saw themselves as part of one worldwide fandom family. It was customary to visit more than one of Malfoy’s concerts and to stay at each other’s places to save money. The older ones, like students, housewives, or people who’d taken some days off for their trip, would look after the younger ones and protect them. He’d also learned that Malfoy invited people from deprived background to his concerts for free. Harry didn’t know how Foulard’s social streak fit the haughty teenager he’d known. He was quite eager to see the man himself now.
Finally he was inside Amoeba. And at the end of rows and rows of records and CDs he saw Malfoy sitting behind a desk. He let his gaze slide once through the huge record store, but after a few seconds his eyes settled back on Malfoy. He held not only Harry’s interest, but everybody’s with his demeanour. Malfoy was at ease and visibly happy to interact with his fans. He took his time with each, let himself be hugged or kissed in greeting, posed for pictures alone and with them. He signed t-shirts, records, cards and body parts like arms, bellies or décolletés. Even from five hundred feet away Harry could tell that Malfoy loved it.
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on sensing any magic around him. And he felt nothing except the soft pull of the glamour he now associated with Malfoy’s magic. It wasn’t strong, but gave Harry a distinct air ofthere’s another wizard in the room. Malfoy was quite a sight. The pink mohawk was dishevelled and un-styled today. Harry saw that the trimmed sides were blond. Harry admitted that he was getting used to Malfoy’s style. Even the pink skin tight jeans couldn’t shock him anymore. He still wasn’t sure about the mandatory big vest which was half covered by a matching loose-knit black jersey. Harry asked himself if Malfoy wore his usual sleek blond hair under that glamour. A familiar fascination bubbled up in his guts. Uh-oh.
Harry didn’t know how many people had been in line before him, but it’d taken him two quarter hours to reach Malfoy’s desk. He’d brought Foulard’s third album to be signed and had his mobile ready for taking some pics. But even after he’d seen Malfoy interact with everyone like they were good friends, he wasn’t himself prepared for the same treatment. He was such a dork sometimes.
Malfoy looked him up and down scrutinising his appearance, a cheeky grin playing on his face. Harry swallowed nervously. In spite of his disguise and the fact that he was a skilful wizard, he felt like an awkward teenager again for a second. But he pulled himself together and put the album on the desk, sliding it toward Malfoy.
“Hey, I’m Hector. I’m so excited to meet you.”
“Nice meeting you, Hector. What a lovely British accent! I’m always happy to see a fellow countryman. Where are you from?”
“Ah, I can’t wait to see England again. I’m starting my European tour next week in London at The O₂.”
“Yeah. I know. I already have a ticket and can’t wait to see you performing at home!”
“You were at the Bowl yesterday? And you’re here too. That’s really flattering.”
Malfoy smiled in a playful way and seemed really pleased with fanboy Hector.
You have no idea, Harry thought, feeling a mixture of anticipation at seeing Luca’s performance again and guilty conscience about lying to him and being in disguise. He would attend the next concert as himself, he swore, while he watched Malfoy signing the CD. Harry looked for the female assistant who was taking the pictures and gave her his mobile.
“Would you mind her taking a picture?”
“Of course not. Come over, Hector.”
Harry walked around the desk, placing himself next to Malfoy. But the man hadn’t any reservations and pulled Hector into a one-armed embrace. Waves of freshness hit Harry’s nostrils. He swallowed, but the thought of Draco Malfoy hugging Harry Potter was so funny that Harry got distracted and so, Hector’s most genuine smile was captured on his mobile.
He was preparing to take his leave when a question shot through his brain.
“Why do you always wear such lose vests?” The moment the question blurted out, Harry was blushing like mad. Fuck, he should really get a grip on himself. It was good that Hector was a bit younger, he might get away with being rude.
“Uh, no offence.”
“It’s ok. They’re comfortable and I like to show my arms and tats. Being vain runs in the family, I’m afraid,” Malfoy said, winking at him.
Harry smiled at this Malfoy who was making fun of himself while flirting and who was able to make everyone feel welcome.
“Well, they suit you, though I’ve never thought I would say such a thing about vests ever.”
Harry picked up his CD and waved at Malfoy.
“Thank you so much! It was awesome to meet you in person.”
“Thank you for the support. Bye Hector.”
∞ ∆ ∞
∞ The Fantasy ∆ April 2010 ∞
Maybe tonight we can forget about it all
It could be just like heaven
I am a machine
No longer living, just a shell of what I dreamed
Do you live, do you die, do you bleed
For the fantasy
In your mind, through your eyes, do you see
It's the fantasy
This time Harry had at least an idea what was coming. Nevertheless he wasn’t prepared for the different atmosphere the closed space of The Dome created. Compared to the spacious and open Hollywood Bowl, it was intimate, crowded and much more confined than he’d thought it would be just from looking at the dome-shaped building with its twelve steel masts from the outside. Well, the O₂ arena was only one building in The Dome, which probably added to Harry’s slightly claustrophobic feeling. It was fuelled by the mass of people he was surrounded by. But Malfoy’s London fans were all brimming with anticipation and, like before, it was contagious. Harry relaxed and eased into the situation.
He was glad that he’d skipped the idea of wearing leather trousers tonight. It was much too warm for that in the concert hall. Instead he’d settled on tight dark green jeans, a form-fitting charcoal knitted silk t-shirt and black dragonhide ankle boots. Though Harry was positive that Malfoy's success had been self-made, he would confront him with their suspicion after the gig. Wearing Slytherin colours was Harry's peace offer which he hoped would show Malfoy that he really didn't mean offence, but just wanted to put an end to the investigation.
Cadent clapping pulled Harry out of his inner monologue and waves of energy washed over him. He didn’t want to use magic until he had to and therefore he’d been early to the concert. As a result he got a great place near the left side of a gangplank that divided the first rows of people and stage in half. Harry would be able to watch Luca Foulard’s performance without any problems.
Suddenly all headlights went out, the crowd started to cheer and the clapping intensified. Spellbound, he watched the stage and the moment he thought he’d caught a movement, one of Malfoy’s characteristic screams filled the air. As one, the spectators screamed back. Then the drums picked up the hypnotic rhythm Harry knew by now, and Malfoy started singing. It was enticing and sensual for one or two minutes until it got more forceful when keyboard and guitars joined him with a bang– and all hell broke loose. And there he was, bathed in stroboscopic lights, clad in black: coat, sunglasses, leggings, boots and even the hat on tonight’s glamoured black mop. It looked ridiculous in the dark arena, but as rock-star like as one could be.
Harry watched first-hand how Malfoy enfolded everyone in his own brand of magic. That the sullen and frightened teenager had evolved into a natural-born performer was astonishing.
It took one song for his hat and glasses to be thrown away, another and the coat followed and, of course, he wore a black vest. Harry laughed at the sight. And when his gaze slid unhampered over Malfoy’s shoulders and arms or rested with admiration on his skin tight covered arse it didn’t matter, because all eyes were glued to him.
Harry saw his tattoos close up in the flesh; a single triangle on his left shoulder, an infinity symbol on the back of that lower arm. The other arm was covered in its totallity. It was a tattoo in Maori style, but Harry could see Malfoy had adapted it to his own needs. A stylised dragon on his shoulder was encircled by a helix which coiled down his arm, stopping at his wrist. The first helix was entwined with other patterned tendrils and fragments. The black ink on the pale skin created a fascinating ornament and, God, it was beautiful. Harry swallowed.
Most songs were full of energy and Luca heated up the crowd. Like in L.A. all were singing, clapping and shouting under his commands. And his voice; one moment it was like honey, syrupy winding its way into one’s soul, the next it was hard as steel, stabbing and cutting where it had created peace and harmony seconds before. And then there were the raw, forlorn and lonely parts, which were shattering Harry’s defences better than any hex could do. It was terrific.
After a week of constantly listening to Malfoy’s music Harry knew the lyrics and sang along. It was freeing to let go and shout at the top of his lungs. And he wasn’t alone. The music created a wonderful connection between everyone in the hall and Luca Foulard. Again Harry thought that it was a form of magic Malfoy was weaving only with his voice, charisma and personality.
His songs were energetic, thrilling even, yet they bared his soul. There were songs about regret, lost dreams, falling apart, about fights, attacks, war and peace. Some dealt with broken relationships, mindless sex and lost friendships– those created an atrocious aura of loneliness. Harry could relate to that better than he wanted to. And his ingrained rescuing complex didn’t help on the matter. This last week Harry had been as obsessed with Malfoy as in Hogwarts’ sixth year. He was walking on an edge here– and knew it.
The concert was nearing its end. Malfoy picked out a few people from the crowd to join him on stage for the encore. Harry saw his chance and took it. He cast a non-verbal Disillusionment Charm on himself and joined that small group of fans. Stagehands or bodyguards separated them from Malfoy, but Harry knew he could get backstage as soon as Malfoy was finished.
It was an incredible feeling to look over the filled arena where a lot of mobile lights were pointing at the stage and everyone was clapping or waving their arms. Even Harry, who hated to stand out from a crowd, saw the appeal of directing the masses from a platform like this. The last song was about love and air and Malfoy looked satisfied and happy. Adrenaline was flooding Harry’s veins: he was going to destroy Malfoy’s good mood any second.
∞ ∆ ∞
As predicted, Harry hadn’t had any problems to slip past the guards. He stood in front of Malfoy’s changing room and didn’t know if he should knock or not. But as his face probably wouldn’t be welcomed, he could at least be polite. Harry let his senses fly and… Oh, couldn’t sense any magic around which meant Malfoy’s hair… Curiosity got the better of him, he took a deep breath and knocked.
“Ella? Come in.”
Harry opened the door and slipped through. Malfoy was changing. Thank God, he had trousers on. Harry was thankful, wasn’t he? His gaze flickered over Malfoy’s backside. Fuck, he was beautiful. Short spiky blond hair, a pale long neck which blended into broad shoulders, black ink glinting on the right side, a smaller but well defined lower back, a luscious arse and long legs covered by grey leggings. The sight did funny things to Harry’s stomach where heat rose.
“Ehm, no. I’m sorry, Malfoy, but I’m not Ella.”
Malfoy was rummaging through a pile of clothes, but the moment he heard an unexpected male voice he turned as if bitten by an adder. His eyes dilated and for a tiny moment Harry could see fear shadowing his face. It was immediately brushed aside by an unreadable mask.
“Potter. To what do I owe the honour of this visit?” he asked.
His trained voice was richer and more modulated than Harry remembered and held a mixture of sarcasm and anger. Harry swallowed when he saw a star tattoo around Malfoy’s left nipple and he had to force his thoughts back to the task at hand.
Wittingly, Harry let himself slouch, searching for Malfoy’s bright eyes with, what he hoped, was his most honest face and lifted an arm as if to calm a nervous Hippogriff.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Malfoy. Hm, shall I call you Malfoy or Foulard?”
Malfoy looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow at the colours Harry wore or maybe at something else he saw, Harry couldn’t tell. Malfoy was hard to read and it didn’t help that he gave no answer.
“What do you want, Potter?”
“An autograph?” Harry asked in a deliberately calm and friendly tone.
“Why?” Malfoy’s voice was sharp like cutting glass and Harry heard a What the fuck, Potter? implied.
“Because I liked your concert? Because your music is awesome? Because Luca Foulard is a celebrity for real? Wait a second. Do you ask all your fans why they want an autograph?”
Malfoy was silent again and Harry waited. As mind-boggling as it sounded, he had learned to be patient with time. The man before him was too different from the person he remembered, so Harry was glad to observe him a bit longer before he’d have to spill the beans.
“Well, Potter. You’re not anybody. And I’m not even sure whether you are a fan of mine.”
Malfoy sighed. Even half naked he said it with more dignity than Harry could have in his situation, “look, it’s been my first gig in England for about two years and I’d like to enjoy my night in London. So, please ask what you want to, or tell me why you’re here.”
Harry’s heart sank. Malfoy’s bearing was rigid and his voice was losing its fire. He didn’t like it. It was like the vivid singer he’d seen earlier was crumbling right before his eyes. And Harry knew he’d only make it worse now. It just felt wrong.
“Ok. I’m sorry. The Ministry wanted to check if your colossal success was self-made or magically induced. They sent me to investigate and I was in L.A. last week. The moment I saw you on stage I knew the idea about misuse of magic was rubbish. Anyway, a proper Auror investigation has to follow some rules. I was at your signing, in disguise I’m afraid, and now I want to put the investigation to rest. Therefore I need to talk to you in person. Well, here I am. And before you get angry, I have to tell you– I’ve just started to listen to your music, but I think you’re fucking amazing at what you do.”
“Potter, do you know that I haven’t been in any magical communities in the past ten years? I don’t even know where my wand is at the moment. The spells I need, I cast wandlessly. Like glamours on my hair, which you’ve probably recognised from a mile afar, some summoning charms, cleansing charms and other mundane things. Oh, and don’t forget the charms necessary to maintain my vain rock star life, like the ones to tighten trousers or widen shirts, cooling or heating spells and– don’t forget those– protection and lubrication charms. You see, everything you ever thought about rock stars. It’s all true. We’re self-centred, useless wastrels.”
Malfoy looked at Harry arrogantly while he crossed his arms. And Harry was torn between laughing and groaning in frustration.
“Oh, stop it, Malfoy. As I said, I’ve been to your signing at Amoeba last week. You weren’t like that. If anything you were outgoing, friendly and adorable. And, guess what, during my long wait I spoke to some of your Kings and Queens. I might not know you anymore, but they do. They love you, and it seems you reciprocate, otherwise you wouldn’t help your fans in need, would you?”
Harry searched Malfoy’s eyes and winked at him while saying, “I don’t know anything about your arsenal of non-verbal spells, but it seems to be a useful collection. To be honest, your half-naked presence is slightly distracting. Maybe you could put a shirt on?”
Malfoy’s eyes widened, he swung around and rummaged through his clothes again, and Harry just couldn’t let it be.
“I wouldn’t mind if it’s one of those vests you tend to wear.”
The moment Malfoy found what he was looking for he put on a black t-shirt with a red triangle print. Slowly, he turned back to Harry, scrutinising him with mindful grey eyes.
“Wait a second… the British accent. That was you.”
“Guilty as charged. But, I didn’t lie earlier. I would love another autograph. Only, if you could bring yourself to write something like For Harry of course,” Harry said and this time he raised an eyebrow at Malfoy.
“Harry Potter, are you flirting with me?”
“Well, to be frank, you are a handsome bloke, and I would if I knew I’d have a chance. But right now I’d prefer to talk to you some more. We haven’t seen each other in ages and our history isn’t the best. So, I think we should spend some time together and see, if we don’t kill each other within, well let’s say, a few hours.”
“You still surprise me, being all reasonable and… charming.”
“Ah, too kind. So, will you go out with me, Malfoy? Out, as on a date? And you need to tell me: Do you prefer your new name?”
“Actually, Draco Malfoy is my disguise now. And yes, I’ll go out with you. But you need to call me Draco.”
“Of course, Draco. I’m Harry,” and with that he reached out his hand. He was aware how important this gesture and the next seconds were and looked at Draco.
A small smile spread over his face and, to Harry’s relief, Draco took his hand and shook it.
“Thank you, Draco.”
“You’re welcome, Harry.”
Draco looked tired and Harry started to take his leave.
“I let you enjoy your first night here in peace. You are busier than I and probably leave London soon. Will tomorrow be a good day for our date?”
“Good. Where do you stay?”
“I have a flat near Charing Cross. The address is 4 Duncannon Street.”
“You have a flat next to The Strand? Ah, yes, rock star. I forgot about it for a second. Shall l pick you up at seven o’clock? And put on some leather trousers, would you?”
“Ok. Sounds promising. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.”
∞ ∆ ∞
∞ The Story ∆ April 2010 ∞
I've been thinking of everything
I used to want to be
I've been thinking of everything
Of me, of you and me
This is the story of my life
These are the lies I have created
Harry had kept his promise and got his own bike going again on his return from LA. And as spring had finally set in, he was planning to take Draco out on his bike. It would be just a short trip, and to be honest, they both would have survive it in jeans too. But it gave him an excuse to see Draco wearing leather trousers in real life and not only on video.
When Harry arrived at Draco’s place, it was as intimidating as he’d thought it would be. With a porter, who phoned him and asked if Harry was welcome, an entrance hall decked out in marble and gold and a lift clad in mirrors. In his dark leather trousers, boots and old biker jacket Harry felt out of place, but he chose to ignore it. One probably got used to such surroundings.
The lift doors opened into Draco’s flat. It was huge and Harry asked himself what Draco did with such a big apartment when he was only every few years in the country. The flat’s design was all modern glass and steel, but yellow and orange wall colours in combination with dark old furniture gave it a warm atmosphere. It was too big to be called cosy though.
“Hi Harry. I’m coming. Wait a second.”
Harry had just wandered to the big windows to take a peek when he heard footsteps approaching. He turned and needed to catch his breath. Draco looked hot in an unexpected way. He wore brown biker leather trousers in a two tie-side jeans style, a tight cream-coloured cashmere jumper, brown boots and a brown biker jacket. He looked like he wanted to ride a bull not a bike. Well, except for the jumper, Harry thought.
“You look good. I’ve never seen you wearing brown. It suits you.”
“Thank you, Harry. You look dashing yourself, all dark and dangerous.”
“Thanks. Though I’m slightly disappointed that you aren’t wearing a vest,” Harry said with a smirk.
Draco only rolled his eyes. “Tank tops are Luca’s trade mark. I try to remember that you love them. Would be a bit chilly though, wouldn’t it?”
Harry laughed and nodded.
“Yes. I’m ready. Where do we go?”
“It isn’t a long trip. Just to The Grapes, on Limehouse Reach. I thought we could take a tour through the city after dinner.”
“Ah, an old London pub. You want to help me feel at home, don’t you? Same with the bike tour. Good idea.”
The ride to the pub took Harry only 25 minutes even though he chose the most scenic route along the Thames. Too short to get used to Draco’s grip around his waist and his comforting warmth from behind. They were both definitely much more comfortable than the last time they’d shared a ride.
Harry had been lucky and got a table at The Grapes’ Dining Room on short notice because someone had cancelled their table. As much as he loved a good ale in a pub, it wasn’t the right place for a first date– rock star or no rock star.
Harry had only been to the pub with its burgundy walls and wooden bar. The restaurant upstairs was in part more stylish with white linen and crystal glasses, but just as comfortable with its wooden floors, mixture of different chairs and yellow walls. And the view over Canary Wharf on the left and the City of London on the right was fabulous.
Draco noticeably enjoyed the view and the atmosphere. They both ordered Roast Beef for starters. Draco took Sir Ian’s Meaty Shepherd’s Pie, Harry the Oven-baked Chicken Supreme with Creamy Mash Potato as main course and both an ale.
“He’s one of the owners,” Harry pointed out.
“Ian McKellen. Your Shepherd’s Pie is named after him. You know, Gandalf, gay, brilliant actor. He is one of the three owners of The Grapes.”
“Ah. I’ve seen him 2007 as King Lear in New York. Well, and I do watch movies. So, I’ve seen Lord of the Rings and his performance as a villain in X-Men.”
“You’ve seen X-Men?” Harry chuckled.
“I’ve probably seen more movies than you this millennium. As far as I know, you are living in the world I’ve left and I’m living in the one you’ve abandoned.”
Draco’s voice sounded strained in Harry’s ears.
“Yeah, I’ve abandoned my childhood world and you’ve left yours. From your choice of words I assume you were forced to leave. What happened?” Harry asked.
Draco had felt silent and was gazing on his plate where he pushed his food around.
He lifted his head and Harry saw anger and hurt burning in silvery eyes. Harry wanted to clear his throat and say something to soothe Draco. He did no such thing. If they wanted to get along and know each other, they had to be open about their past. As painful as it might be. He held Draco’s gaze invitingly.
Harry saw him taking a deep breath and then Draco started to tell his story.
“After Father’s death I tried to get a job as a Potion’s apprentice, but not one of the British Potions’ Masters wanted to give me a chance. We had nearly no Galleons left after having paid our reparations and Mother’s illness and the Mediwizard’s bills were eroding our last assets. I’m sure she wouldn’t had suffered as much as she did if I had been able to afford better treatment and medicine.”
“Why didn’t you ask me? I would have helped! Draco, I owed your mother my life. Why…” Harry’s voice broke, sounding as haunted as Draco’s now.
“Oh, come on, Harry. I’m a Malfoy and I hated that long list of debts I owed you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I told everyone at your trials that you didn’t rat me out to Riddle. And your mother saved my life. You weren’t my favourite person at that time, for sure, but I would have helped you nonetheless.”
“Don’t you see that I was too proud and enrooted in all that ideological crap back then?” Draco asked. “I would have starved myself to death before asking you for help. It was a close call, I can tell you, and Mother paid the price.”
Draco’s eyes were glinting mercurially and a single tear rolled down his cheek until he wiped it away angrily. Harry put his cutlery away and took Draco’s hand in his.
“Damn, Draco, we have both been such gits at school. Too late to change that, I'm afraid, but let’s try again.”
Harry gave Draco a minute to recollect himself before he asked, “What happened next?”
“After Mother’s funeral I went to Diagon Alley and Gringotts to withdraw the few remaining Galleons from our vault, when someone tried something new... and threw stones at me. Enough people could have stepped in, but as a member of Riddle’s gang I didn’t seem to be worth the effort. I was so surprised that my defences crumbled and when a stone cut my temple open, I finally had enough. I went back to Gringotts, changed my Galleons into Pounds and fled to… London.”
Draco waved his hand to show he’d meant the Muggle world. Harry had no problems to follow. By tacit agreement they had both avoided throwing around wizarding words as well as averted mentioning Draco’s profession in public. Harry was still curious, but they had finished their meal and could do with a break now.
“Let me pay the bill and then I’m gonna take you for a ride.”
“Thank you! Some fresh air would be great.”
On their way out they stumbled over two young women who were entering the pub. When their gaze fell on Draco one of them stopped dead in her tracks.
“Are you Luca Foulard? Oh my God, you really look like him!” she squealed.
Harry didn’t want to let Draco’s mood drop any further and intervened.
“Sorry, but who’s Luca Foulard? A footballer? Never heard that name. Draco, do you know what she’s talking about? You know, my friend here, he is from Germany. He loves football as much as most Brits do. I’m a disgraceful exception, sorry. Come on, Draco. Don’t be shy and help the lady.”
When Harry’s stream of words finally ended, both girls were visibly thinking that he was a ludicrous idiot who had unfortunately crossed their path, and they scudded away.
Outside at last, Draco lost his composure and started to shake with laughter. Harry chimed in and in the end they had to clutch at each other not to tumble over. The moment Harry became aware of Draco’s proximity, his laughter died and heat flushed his face. He cleared his throat and took a small step back.
He couldn’t tell if Draco had been affected as well.
“That was fabulous, Harry. I didn’t know you were a talented actor. Why did you choose Germany of all countries?”
“They love football everywhere on the European mainland, but I needed a place with blonds as well. Could have picked Norway or Sweden too. And yes, I’m aware not everybody is blond over there.”
“Anyway, I appreciate your stunt. I’m curious about your planned bike tour now.”
∞ ∆ ∞
Harry enjoyed the feeling of Draco’s body pressed against his on their ride through the falling darkness. He purposefully took a bendy and longer route to their destination. They passed Whitechapel Gallery, the Museum of London, St. Paul’s, King’s Cross, St. Pancras, Camden with its markets and reached Hampstead Heath. He parked the bike and took Draco's hand. The city lights lightened their path enough not to fall over their own feet while climbing up Parliament Hill. And being a weeknight not many people were around. As soon as they reached the top of the hill, they saw London’s illuminated skyline in its full glory; Canary Wharf, the Gherkin, St. Paul’s and the Houses of Parliament.
“This is one of the places I love to visit when I need to clear my mind but don’t want to leave the city,” Harry said. He could feel Draco gazing at his face.
“You love London. Probably as much as I love L.A. by now.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I always thought you would marry Ginny Weasley, get lots of ginger kids, and settle down in the countryside, but here you are– a real city boy. How did that happen?”
“First Ginny and I broke up because she wanted to play Quidditch. She left England to capture everybody’s heart in the international Quidditch league. After she’d left I stayed in London and realised that I loved men as much as women. Maybe even a little more.”
“A little more? How so?”
“It’s just that my relationships with men last longer than the ones with women. Well, it’s a bit sad, because none has lasted that long. But there’s a difference between having a girlfriend for three months and a boyfriend for a year or so.”
“I guess there is.”
“What about you?”
“Oh, you know, Luca Foulard is very secretive about his relationships. When he was younger he had a few affairs with blonde Hollywood actresses, but it never lasted long. Probably because it had all been arranged to camouflage his sexual orientation. For some reason my old record label thought that a gay alternative rock musician wouldn’t sell any records. Since we parted ways and I stopped giving a fuck about the whole matter, I haven’t met anyone significant.”
“It’s probably as easy for you to find someone special in the Muggle world who doesn’t give a shit about your fame, as it is for me in the Wizarding world.”
“Ah, it’s not that bad. I still get lucky without getting recognised. Those girls earlier were an exception. Normally people look for my typical clothes and hairstyles.”
“Really? I think your features are quite remarkable. The ministry didn’t recognise you for years, but it took me five minutes of watching and only one close look at your face to know whose disguise I saw.”
“You do know that your honesty is a tremendously charming weapon?”
“Oh, I might have heard something like that before,” Harry said with a chuckle.
They walked over the hillside, and though they’d stopped holding hands when reaching its top, they were still really close, fingers and elbows brushing now and then while they talked. It made Harry brimming with excitement.
He saw an unoccupied bench and said, “let’s sit down. You still need to tell me how you became such a famous rock star?”
Though the bench wasn’t small they both instinctively chose to sit with their bodies touching. Harry was very aware of Draco next to him. His excitement was joyful and complete. It was as if he had taken a spoonful of Felix Felicis– this perfect feeling of the right time, the right place and the right person.
“I used to always sing during my early childhood,” Draco said, “Mother even had me give little recitals at the Manor. But Father had loathed it once I turned nine or ten. Not appropriate for the Malfoy heir.”
“When I left Diagon Alley that day, I had no clue about the Muggle world and no qualifications either. It was plain luck that I found a job as a cleaner. My peers, mostly young women from all over the world, adopted me and helped me to settle in. They thought I was some rich kid thrown out by their wicked relatives. In a way, not that wrong. Well, they all had one goal; to become famous. They dragged me with them to an audition and had me promise to sing. The funny thing, it was karaoke and they just had songs from female singers in stock. I only knew three of those songs and chose the one with the easiest lyrics. I didn't realise it was the hardest to sing, I just sang. You probably remember it from your childhood– It was Time after Time by Cyndi Lauper.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t dare.” Draco grinned at Harry. “It’s a fantastic song and I still love it. Those guys from the record company offered me a contract for an album after that audition. Probably thought it would be easy to dictate my ways. Well, I took the chance and they got someone totally unexpected. In the end the record, produced in L.A., was not only about the music I loved, but it worked out. I became this new person, went on tour there, met my first fans and the rest is history.”
“It’s not surprising that you are a natural in dealing with fans. In hindsight you’ve always been,” Harry said smirking.
Harry examined Draco’s face, all cheekbones and angles, and his gaze flickered from silver-grey eyes to delectably plush lips. Suddenly he was intimidated by his carnal desire for this man, aware that it was disguising other unnamed emotions. Harry only brushed a chaste kiss in the corner of his mouth, “thanks for sharing your story with me. Mmh... it’s getting late. I should take you back to your flat. Or...”
“Or, you could ask me if I’d come home with you. Go on, Harry, ask.”
Harry’s heart was racing and, though still nervous, he took Draco up on his candid offer.
“Would you come home with me?”
∞ ∆ ∞
∞ Do or Die ∆ April 2010 ∞
In the beginning it was a light
Of a dawning age
Time to be alive
I will never forget
I will never forget
It took Harry a twenty minutes ride to reach 12 Grimmauld Place with Draco. He saw a flicker of recognition passing over Draco’s face when they walked towards the entry and the unplottable house became visible. For a split-second Harry pondered whether they should have chosen Draco’s place, but he knew he would feel more comfortable in his own home and wasn’t sure about Draco’s flat being a real home for him anyway.
He turned the snake-shaped knob and, in his haste to cross the door and pull Draco with him, nearly tumbled over him. Draco chuckled and the rumbling of his enticing voice didn’t fail to relax Harry. He turned and they were close, only inches apart. A mixture of leather and ocean freshness hit his nostrils. God, Draco smelled delicious. Harry didn’t know if it was Draco’s aftershave or his body wash, but this salty seaside aroma had an immediate effect on his sex drive. His mouth watered, his breath became heavy and his cock stirred uncomfortably in his leather trousers.
This time Harry could see that Draco was affected by their proximity as well. The silver of his eyes was displaced by black and a flush was creeping up his neck. He grabbed Harry’s arms.
Seeing Draco's delectable bottom lip so close was his undoing. He needed to taste it. Harry bend closer and let his instincts take over. His lips brushed Draco’s, and after one or two tender seconds Harry sucked that saucy lip into his mouth– to plunder, to devour. Draco gasped under his attack and a second later Harry’s tongue darted forward. They met and twirled and it was warm, wet and messy. Teeth clacked and noses bumped, but Harry didn’t care. He’d longed for that kiss the whole evening and now they were here and Draco tasted perfect. They carried on and Harry heard moaning not knowing if it was Draco’s or his. When they finally got dizzy enough from arousal and lack of air they separated, panting wildly.
“Upstairs. I need you upstairs,” Harry croaked.
“Oh yes…lead the way.”
Harry took Draco’s hand and they clomped up two floors until they reached Harry’s bedroom. Draco didn’t stop to take a look around he just went for Harry’s mouth again. While they were kissing Harry shoved Draco’s leather jacket from his shoulders. When he tried to shrug off his own next, one arm got stuck and he growled in frustration. Draco laughed playfully at him.
“Don’t laugh, you tosser. Better help me and get naked. I would love to remove your clothes slowly, one piece after the other, but not right now. Draco… please.”
Draco swallowed, his eyes glazed over and his movements grew more agitated. He dragged his jumper off, kicked his boots away and started to rip at his leather trousers. He lost his balance halfway and landed on Harry’s bed. Harry couldn’t hold back a chuckle now.
“Yes, I’m sure your skin-tight ones are more flexible than mine. Harry, come on. Show me and strip.”
Draco had successfully pulled his trousers and socks off and lay just in his pants on the bed. Harry wanted to take him all in, but also wanted to get naked as fast as possible. He tugged his shirt over his head and quickly opened his buckled boots to get rid of them and his socks. He heard Draco take a deep breath when he reached for the button of his fly.
“Like what you see?”
“Very much. Go on.”
Harry opened his trousers and shimmied his pantless arse out of them, a smug smile playing on his lips.
“Naughty, Harry, very naughty.”
“Yeah. I should tell you that’s me trying to seduce you, but these trousers are too tight for any pants.”
“You’re a marvel, Harry. As straight as a die, but full of surprises. I can’t wait for you to tear me to pieces and rip me apart.”
Harry’s fully erect cock twitched, but then Draco’s choice of words sank in.
“I do hope none of us will end up like what you sang,” Harry said, a hint of trepidation filling his voice.
“Aw, Harry, you really are a fan. I’m impressed. Don’t worry. I really want to be with you. So, please, come here.”
Draco locked eyes with Harry and his gaze was genuine and eager and very unlike the ones Draco had given him during their Hogwarts' years. Harry scrambled over the mattress towards this beautiful man on his bed. Draco reached for him and folded him into an embrace. Harry felt the heat of Draco’s chest, belly and thighs and the friction of his pants between their hard dicks. It was too much sensation and not enough. He groaned into Draco’s mouth where their tongues were meeting again.
He wanted to stroke every inch of the body beneath him, to prod and pinch at sensitive concavities, wanted to bury himself in its caverns. He planned on worshipping Draco and wanted to be consumed by him in return. His brain nearly short-circuited upon the possibilities and he just gripped into Draco’s spiked hair and let his fragrance soothe his nerves.
Draco wasn’t that restrained. His hands slid down Harry’s back and when they reached Harry’s cheeks, they started to knead.
“Draco, your pants.”
“Yes, take them off.”
Harry had gained enough equilibrium to go ahead. He pulled their bodies sideways and let his kisses fall on Draco’s jaw and ear towards his shoulder, where he bit and licked his way over the dragon and its surrounding patterns. Draco trembled under his touches and goose bumps arose on his skin. Harry didn’t stop. He crouched lower and searched with his tongue for Draco’s nipple. When he reached the uninked one, he licked and blew over the wet flesh. Draco squirmed. Harry changed over to the other, tracing the star tattoo with his tongue while his right hand pinched at the temporary neglected perk left behind.
“Fuck,” croaked Draco.
Harry’s mouth stopped his task. “Later.”
“Tease,” Draco grumbled out.
Harry chuckled against hot skin, pinched both nipples for good measure and glided lower. He pushed himself into a perching position to slide Draco’s pants down. Draco’s cock was a sight. Long, pale hardness, ending in a slightly crooked pink head. Pre-come was dripping from its tip and Harry licked over the head greedily collecting the pearly liquid with his tongue. Draco tasted bitter-fresh and Harry wanted more. He opened his mouth and sucked Draco’s cock down. It took him three or four thrusts until his throat was relaxed enough but then he got it and let his head bob up and down. His movement pressed his nose over and over into blond curls and inhaling their musky saltiness was heavenly.
Draco groaned something incoherent like oh god, fuck, yes fuck, fuck yes, oh fuck and his hips bucked up to fuck into Harry’s mouth. Harry hummed approvingly, until Draco’s movements got erratic. He let the cock slip out of his mouth, searching for Draco’s eyes.
Harry couldn’t finish his question because Draco wrenched him upwards.
“God yes, Harry, fuck me! Slick up that thick prick of yours and put it in me.”
Heat spread through Harry’s body, and parts of his brain just wanted to oblige and bury himself straightaway in Draco’s arse. Nevertheless he took a deep breath and asked, “you’re sure?”
“Yes. I want to feel you now and I won’t mind when that feeling lasts the week,” Draco said with a cheeky grin.
Harry’s restraint fled. He cast a Lubrication Charm while he positioned Draco’s legs on his shoulders. A good amount of slick fluid dripped from his cock onto Draco’s crack. Harry let his prick glide up and down Draco’s entrance until the man beneath him growled in frustration.
Smiling, Harry gripped the base of his cock and pushed. He tried to go slow but, Oh God, Draco’s warmth was so incredibly tight. He moaned and couldn’t stop until he was buried balls deep, probably too fast without any preparation. He stopped, let his forehead rest on Draco’s temple and took a steadying breath.
“You’re ok?” he asked, voice husky, while he was waiting for Draco to tense under him.
He didn’t. Instead Draco’s teeth were biting gently into his jaw and his hips were pressing against Harry’s. He got the hint and moved. Harry glided in and out of Draco's passage in a languid rhythm, changing his angle every few thrusts while he focused on Draco’s reactions instead of the overwhelming heat surrounding his cock. When Draco groaned and trembled under him Harry kept that position and sped up his pace. It didn’t take long for him being chased by waves of desire, but stubbornly Harry refused to lose control...yet.
“Draco, I’m not gonna last much longer.”
Draco reached for his cock which was bobbing against his belly, his hand setting a matching rhythm to Harry’s.
“Go on, Harry, fuck me harder.”
“God. Oh, fuckfuckfuck...” Harry’s swearing merged into a long groan when Draco’s cock spattered creamy white spurts of come on his chest. Heat flooded his brain and bollocks in unison when Draco’s channel tightened around his dick even further. Another two shuddered thrusts and Harry’s release poured into Draco’s arse while liquid fire jolted through his body.
They both went slack, Draco’s legs falling back onto the mattress, Harry’s cock leaving the wet and open body beneath him. They lay next to each other and for quite a while the only audible sound was their harsh panting. Harry felt warm and sated. When Draco pulled him into an embrace and searched his lips for a slow and sensual kiss, Harry melted into him.
“Satisfied?” Draco asked.
“Mmh, very much.”
And though Harry was bone-tired now, he concentrated on a silent and gentle Cleansing Charm which tickled a bit and made Draco laugh. Next he lifted the duvet off the floor and put it over them.
“I hope you approve of our first date?” asked Harry while he manoeuvred himself into a spooning position behind Draco.
“It’s been a wonderful date, thank you, Harry.”
Harry kissed Draco’s nape, breathed him in once more and closed his eyes. Nearly drifting he wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist and whispered, “stay.”
∞ ∆ ∞
∞ Was it a Dream? ∆ April 2010 ∞
Your defences were on high
Your walls built deep inside
Yeah I'm a selfish bastard
But at least I'm not alone
Harry knew that Draco had left the moment he’d come around from the realms of sleep. His gaze glided over his heaped clothes on the floor and over his bed stand. No message. He was sure that he wouldn’t find one in his kitchen or living room either. Fuck.
Exasperated with himself he shut his eyes while his mind drifted off to last night. It had been a good night and Harry would have even called it perfect, but it seemed Draco wasn’t on the same page. He had stayed at first. Harry had been awakened in the wee hours of morning by a lavish mouth on his cock, that had sucked him to hardness and brought him to completion in no time.
He hadn’t had time to catch his breath when Draco had worked his wicked mouth on his hole next. It’d been torture to be prodded open while he’d just spent himself down Draco’s throat, but he hadn’t complained. And then Draco had fucked him, languidly, savouring Harry’s body and all the while murmuring endearments into his ear. Harry hadn’t really listened as drowsy and pliant as he’d been. He’d had another orgasm, more dry than anything. Nevertheless it had been mind-shattering and he’d clung to Draco like he was the only steadfast rock in a churning sea. They had drifted off together again.
And now Draco was gone. Harry sighed. He didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe Draco regretted his night with Harry. Or the cold daylight had reminded him that he didn’t want to build new connections with the magical world. Or he was just the self-centred rock star wastrel he’d told Harry he was, though Harry knew Draco had exaggerated and challenged him at that moment.
There had been a feeling of belonging between them, of them being right where they should be. It was overwhelming and most likely Draco had fled because it was also terrifying. Harry was frightened by its intensity too. But Harry had been forced to walk to his own death once and that sort of exposure had been worse. Anything that could happen in the name of…love? lust? admiration? couldn’t be that bad. Even though his heart was torn open and on display now. Well, Draco wasn’t here to see and procrastinating in bed wouldn’t bring him back any time soon.
Harry casted a Tempus and was relieved that he had nearly two hours before he was expected at work. Until then Harry could put his Auror mask back in place and work on his strategy. If Draco thought he would give up so easily, he didn’t know him well or at all. And it would serve him right to fret about what Harry would do now. A small and feral smile spread over Harry face– his friends and colleagues would have known that Harry was chasing something or someone if they’d seen it.
When Harry entered the Ministry for work later, he had formed a solid plan. He would persuade Kingsley to close the investigation on Luca Foulard and then he would go and sweep Draco Malfoy off his feet– if he was available. It would take him some time, but Harry didn’t plan on giving up until Draco told him so. He was Harry Potter after all.
∞ ∆ ∞
∞ Savior ∆ April 2010 ∞
Until the truth becomes a lie
Until you change, until you deny
Until you believe
This is my chance, this is my chance
I'll take it now because I can
This is my chance, I want it now
“Minister, may I have a word with you about the Malfoy case?”
“Ah, Harry, come in and take a seat. I’m afraid I don’t have long. I have to be at the Wizengamot in half an hour.” Kingsley said.
“Yes, well. Plain and simple, there is no evidence that Draco Malfoy aka Luca Foulard has misused magic to attain success as a Muggle rock star. I’ve listed all evidence for his innocence in the file. If it’s necessary, I could deliver the memories of our meetings.”
Harry thought about last night and felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. God, did his poker face always deserted him when it mattered? Of course Kingsley picked up on his colouring and raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“Erm...I closed the case the day before yesterday and...ah...slipped in the end. I asked Draco out. Well, let’s just say I’m biased now, but I had collected all the data before we went on our date. I’m sorry, Kingsley.”
“To be honest, Harry, I had been expecting something like to happen when Hermione told me about your obsession over Draco Malfoy during your school days.”
Harry wasn’t surprised by Kingsley’s scheming or the smug look on his face. He knew that the Minister would always use everyone according to their skills and personality– flaws included. He didn’t fuss about mistakes by his inferiors as long as no lives were at stake, but he pointed them out. It had been a long time since Harry had made a mistake and, well, he could live with this particular one.
“Harry, I do need to watch your memories of the mission. As soon as I’m convinced that your data on Malfoy is ironclad, I’ll stop.”
Harry nodded. They all did this more often than not– watching memories from missions of others to minimise partiality and prevent trails. Normally watcher and investigator were from one department, but on special occasions other sections would provide the spectator or - if need be - even more than one. He lifted his wand and extracted three smoke-grey twirls of memories from his head and let them swirl towards Kingsley's miniature Pensieve on his desk.
“I’ll watch them later and give you feedback this afternoon. If everything’s ok, we can close the case.”
“Ok. I’ll leave you to your appointment with the venerable members of the Wizengamot.”
Kingsley smirked for a second and nodded.
∞ ∆ ∞
“Harry, over here,” he heard Hermione calling when she spotted him entering their favourite Muggle bistro for lunchtime meetings. She hadn’t picked their usual table at the front but a more secluded one in the background.
God, she wanted to grill him about Draco then. He should have seen it coming. She was his curious best friend, wasn’t she? He slipped on the chair next to her.
“What happened with Malfoy?”
“Hermione, we haven’t even ordered.”
“Not true. I’ve ordered your favourites: Spicy Pumpkin Soup, a Chocolate Chocolate Chip Muffin for dessert and a Pink Ginger Lemonade. So, stop complaining and tell.”
“I see. No small talk about how yours and Ron’s week has been or what rumours are stirring the Ministry?”
“You know that we should wait until Kingsley has closed the case?”
“Harry, that’s low. As if rules would ever stop you.”
The waitress brought their food and when she left Harry finally gave in and told Hermione about his investigation. He talked about Luca’s – Draco’s – music and about their date. He mentioned how comfortable Draco was in the Muggle world, how his music had touched Harry in ways he hadn’t foreseen and that he’d woken up alone after their night together.
“It’s good that he doesn’t intimidate people anymore when he’s scared, but running away isn’t the best way to deal with emotions either,” Hermione said in her know-it-all voice.
“You don’t say,” Harry deadpanned.
Hermione smacked him on the arm and said, “Don’t be a git. What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m waiting for Kingsley to close the investigation and then we’ll see. You and Ron are my best friends, but this is something I need to do on my own. Rest assured that I’m not planning to give up on him easily.”
Hermione’s brown eyes looked at him knowingly, but thankfully she didn’t say anything else. Harry remembered a conversation he’d had with her about relationships and soulmates at last year’s Crazy Costume Party Luna and Pansy threw every summer. Hermione had told him she couldn’t see him with one of the Muggle men or women he fucked occasionally. And he had retorted that he’d tried relationships with wizards and witches to no avail. Whether it was his fame or something else, – except for his first relationship with Ginny – something had felt off at all times. Hermione had stayed silent for a while looking pensively and then he’d thought she would say something else but she hadn’t. Her expression had been similar to the one she was wearing now. He didn’t know for sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she had thought of Draco for a second even though she hadn't known about his whereabouts at that time. After all Hermione was still the smartest witch he’d ever met and she knew him like no one else. Even better than her husband and his other best friend, Ron.
She took a look at her mobile and swore, “oh crap, it’s already half past one. I have an appointment with Rose at St. Mungo’s at two. She’s due for her PCHR eye sight test. Sorry, Harry, I need to leave.”
“No problem. Go. I’ll pick up the bill.”
She hugged him goodbye and whispered into his ear, “Thank you! And good luck with the formerly blond git.”
Harry grinned and knew she was okay with him trying to woo Draco. And she would see to sway Ron in his favour too.
∞ ∆ ∞
Later that afternoon a memo in ‘Ministerial red’ landed on Harry’s desk. It said Kingsley had closed Draco’s file, advised him to carry on as Harry considered necessary and – to Harry’s surprise – the Minister had added that he liked the music.
Harry snorted over his desk, reading the memo. Even Kingsley felt the need to support him secretly. It seemed that Harry had appeared lonelier than he’d fathomed. He picked up a blank paper, a quill, and closed his eyes contemplatively.
∞ ∆ ∞
An hour later Harry was surrounded by crumpled half-finished letters, his hair was in worse state than usual and he was grumbling unintelligibly under his breath. He took a moment to stop, picked up another white sheet and just wrote what he wanted to without agonising about every word. He read his letter again and was satisfied. This letter would transport his voice and that was what he had in mind when starting the whole ordeal. He labelled the envelope, sealed it and left the Ministry ten minutes later.
Harry could have walked from the Ministry building on foot to Duncannon Street in no time and posted the letter into Draco’s mailbox or he could have sent an owl. He did neither. Draco should see that Harry was making an effort to reach out. So, he went to the next post office and bought a first class stamp to secure the delivery of his letter the next day. He probably appeared too eager. Oh well, no need to deny it. And as he didn’t know how much longer Draco would stay in London, he was better safe than sorry. Too late he recalled that a rock star like Luca Foulard probably wouldn’t collect the mail himself. It couldn’t be helped. If Draco didn’t answer, he would think about a plan B, but not sooner.
∞ ∆ ∞
∞ Up in the Air ∆ June 2010 │ June 2013 ∞
I'll wrap my hands around your neck
So tight with love, love
Harry was jittery. He would see Draco tonight. Finally. For the first time since they had spent their night together. Harry’s stomach was tied in knots and he felt queasy. His hand grabbed for the umpteenth time in weeks for the ticket and backstage pass Draco had sent him back in April. It had been a hellish week of radio silence until Draco’s letter had arrived one evening carried by an exhausted little owl. Draco had only added a short ‘Thank you’ note in reply to Harry informing him about the closed case and him bringing up the question of going on another date. At least they would see each other again Harry’d thought at that time. He had known the moment he had awaken alone in bed that Draco would be a tough nut to crack.
Harry wondered if Draco’s urge to run whenever things got serious would pass given time. With Draco neglecting his roots as much as he did, Harry was sceptical about his own ability to help. Nevertheless when Harry had got the envelope he wanted to keep in touch with Draco. The man had a thrilling life, being loved and worshipped by millions of fans. But when Harry had thought about it he deemed it also a lonely life. Nobody in the Muggle world knew the real Draco, with his magic and past mostly buried. Due to the International Statute of Secrecy he wasn’t able to let his guard fully down in the world he’d chosen to live in.
Harry remembered how relaxed Draco had been on Parliament Hill and later that night at his home with nobody else around. So he had written back. Each evening he had told Draco about his day, his friends and all things, magical or not, that came to his mind while pouring out words on paper. And every morning he’d had put the next letter in the letter-box. All were sent to Duncannon Street. It would have been too complicated to catch Draco at his tour stops and impossible to reach him by owl without his Muggle entourage paying too much attention to them.
He had googled the tour schedule though. As Harry had to restore the Ministry tablet he had bought one for himself and with Hermione’s help got it running at Grimmauld Place. The internet had become his playground and the best way to follow Draco’s tour progress. It really was indescribable what one could gain from lounging on the sofa; videos on YouTube, blog posts spread over all social media platforms and Draco’s Kings and Queens had kept Harry updated as well. After he’d got raving mad the first weekend using his tablet until his eyes had gone sore, he was now restricting himself to thirty minutes of Foulard time each day on top of writing his daily letter. Harry wasn’t sixteen anymore, and though he was newly obsessed with his old school nemesis, he could be reasonable and patient. Or so he’d told himself a million times over the past weeks.
It was more bearable since Draco began replying. He told Harry little anecdotes about his travelling, about weird things that he’d seen or very enthusiastic fannish behaviour. Like the story about the girl in Milan who had crocheted him a lime green vest which Draco had promptly worn at that night’s concert. Harry was still struggling to erase the picture – Draco with a black Mohawk, lime green vest, black leggings and neon orange trainers – from his mind.
One day Harry had screwed up his courage and asked Why did you leave? And Draco had given him a hint on how complicated his personality still was. He had been scared – as Harry had thought he had been – but for reasons he couldn’t even begin to understand. Draco had awakened so perfectly happy that it’d scared the living daylights out of him. Then he’d added a point Harry still found decidedly heart-wrenching. Draco hadn’t felt that sort of connection with anybody for over a decade and hadn’t known how to handle the emotion. He hadn’t said sorry, but Harry didn’t need him to. Not anymore, not ever– he was brave enough for the two of them.
Tonight their limbo of writing would end and they would meet again. Harry didn’t want to expect too much of Draco. He was giving a performance at the Isle of Wight Festival. It was going to be huge and he would probably be exhausted once his post-concert euphoria slipped away.
Harry took a look at his reflection in the mirror and was astonished by his own audacity; tight black jeans, longsleeve and dragonhide boots were matched with an overthrown scarlet vest containing a silver triangle print. Draco would get the message, Harry thought grinning. He cast a Tempus– it was time.
∞ ∆ ∞
Draco’s personal assistant Ella and his driver had picked Harry up at Ryde Esplanade where Harry had Apparated together with the 19.15 catamaran’s passengers. It took them three-quarters of an hour to reach the festival area, which accordingly to Ella would have taken only twenty minutes on a normal day. But Harry didn’t care. Draco’s gig wouldn’t start before nine. Even Ella’s interrogation about how they’d met (at a public school) and how Draco had been as a teenager (a posh git, obviously) and why they hadn’t seen each other for ages (they had lost sight of each other, but were happy to have met again) couldn’t ruffle Harry much. The whole festival compound buzzed with energy, the spring night was going to be warm and Harry was exhilarated and excited when he heard the current band on stage. And then he saw the monstrous crowd Draco was going to sing for tonight.
“God, how many people are here?” Harry asked Ella.
“According to the organiser approximately 60,000 people.”
“That’s a good many.”
“Yes. And that’s why I need you not to disturb Luca now. It’s important that he can focus on his music and his pre-performance routine. I’ll escort you backstage and show you where you can sit or stand. Your getting together has to wait till after the concert.”
“No problem, Ella. I reckoned it would be like this. As long as we meet and talk later, I’m fine.”
“Ah Harry, you seem to be prudent and easy-going. You’re not the first person whom he’s ever invited backstage, but you’re definitely the first one who has made him glow with anticipation and the only one he wrote so many letters to. It’s been too sweet that you both wrote like maniacs, especially as nearly nobody does anymore. Not with smartphones, skype and the lot. It’s been so endearing.”
Ella gave him a lopsided smile and dragged him over the area towards the fenced off backstage zone while Harry forced himself not to dwell on her promising observations and compliments, but take his surroundings in.
At first Ella made him pause in the backstage’s catering room, but Harry was too nervous to eat or drink much. When nine drew near she had collected him and they headed onto the stage while the stagehands were altering it to Draco’s needs.
∞ ∆ ∞
Harry sat on a big box, feet dangling. He let his gaze fly over the masses. It was incredible to see so many people tightly packed but happy and brimming with anticipation. Sitting motionless in the shadows while people around him ploughed through the modifications as fast as they could was a bit weird. Then they were ready, the stage fell silent, the scurrying of shadows stopped and– the energy level stepped up a notch. Even Harry, who had already seen Draco perform twice, was getting itchy feet while the clapping and whistling got louder and louder.
Then came the first scream out of the dark, drums and guitars started and the masses went berserk. And Harry was mesmerised by the view. They billowed like waves, singing and cheering. Harry almost forgot to breathe when he took in today’s outfit. Draco wore navy blue skin tight trousers which were gleaming in the stroboscopic lights, silver ankle boots, a matching dark blue silken vest, a shorter sparkling silver jacket and wild blue hair highlighted by a few silver strands. He looked like a rippling and glittering night sky. And Harry could see his relation to Teddy when he caught a glimpse of his face, grey eyes reflecting the lights and glinting like a blue and silver kaleidoscope.
Harry wanted to grab Draco and snog him senseless. As that wasn’t an option, he focused on the view, the men and women in the first few rows and, of course, the music. Draco’s voice was enticing and alluring, his performance powerful and infectious and Harry, though he still wanted to kiss him badly, started to sing along.
∞ ∆ ∞
Harry had learned by now that Draco talked to the audience every once in a while. He told them what he liked at his current location or funny stories that happened while he was there. And he always picked some fans to join him on stage for the encore. Today was no exception. But when everything was ready to play the last song he did something new. He quietened down the crowd and told 60.000 people around that he wanted to dedicate this last song to a friend who was visiting him tonight on stage. While doing that he spun round and squinted into the stage’s shadows.
Harry’s heart nearly gave out. This couldn’t be real. Draco wasn’t looking for him right now. But obviously he was. Harry jumped from his box, took a deep breath and stepped from the dark into the blinding light cone. Draco spotted him immediately and made a come-hither gesture...and Harry went. Their eyes locked and, though thousands of people were watching, the crowd became mercifully blurred and all noise faded away while they met in a short but bone-crushing hug.
∞ ∆ ∞
They were lying on the big hotel bed; exhausted, spent and dripping with perspiration.
“It still feels surreal that you dedicated your last song to me.”
“Don’t you think it was a good way to make it up to you for leaving like a coward that night?”
“It was. Thank you!”
“Well, I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you. Weren’t you the one who made fun of my vests? And today you wore one yourself- with a triangle print no less. Will the world halt in its axis anytime soon?”
“Oh, stop it, you pompous twat.” Harry’s fond voice contradicted his prickly words while his hand caressed Draco’s back, nape and hair. It was lovely having Draco’s head resting on his chest.
“Ah, that’s the Harry Potter I remember. You aren’t going to propose now, on top now everything?”
“Will you stop it” Harry said, taking a deep breath.
“Fuck, Harry, that was a joke.”
“Shush. I just wanted to let you know that according to the manual on dating, fucking and being fucked by former school nemeses we are boyfriends now. Taking tonight’s dedication into account makes it even more necessary,” Harry smirked and wiggled an eyebrow at Draco who was raising his head.
Draco laughed and pulled Harry into another kiss.
∞ ∆ ∞
“Even though you are leaving in fifteen minutes, I find it hard to believe that you are going on a sabbatical for a full year to follow your ferret-gone-rock-star-boyfriend on his world tour,” Ron said huffily.
“Oh, Ron, don’t you dare spoil Harry’s leave,” Hermione scolded him.
“Ron, it’s the perfect time. Now that Hugo is in preschool you can fill in as Head Auror like no one else could. Stop sulking. We’ll be here at the end of summer to spend some holidays in the countryside and again in November. And we are all going to see each other in Australia next spring.”
“But it won’t be the same with him always around.”
Harry watched Ron who was still pouting.
“Mate, you and Hermione will always be my best friends. And you know well enough that Draco is special to me. Just think about Hermione always being on the road and you only seeing her occasionally. You would jump at the chance too, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I just envy the posh git your company.”
“Thanks, mate. I’m going to miss you all terribly. But we can skype or firecall. We have to. Otherwise I can’t keep an eye on my goddaughter.”
Harry pulled Ron into a hug.
“Take care Harry,” Hermione said when she embraced him next.
“You know me, Hermione. Constant vigilance,” Harry grinned.
“Yes, that’s what I fear. And, please, don’t start wearing these horrible vests all the time, like Draco does,” Hermione pointed at the baggy dark green one he was wearing over a white longsleeve and light grey jeans.
“Oh, one gets used to them. Draco will probably be so pleased when he sees this one that he’ll rip my clothes off.”
“Mate, stop conjuring horrors in my head.”
Harry was still chuckling when the private Portkey to Warsaw, where the tour would start at Impact Festival, was ready.
He winked one last time before he felt the familiar pull in his belly. A few seconds later he stumbled into a big hotel suite in Warsaw.
Draco stood at the window and turned when he heard Harry arriving. His mercurial eyes roamed over Harry and gleamed with that gaze. The one, Harry had learned over the last three years, radiating love and pride.
“Here you are.”
“Here I am.”