Title: Catfish
Summary: After having gone to high school together and parted bitter rivals, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter find themselves reunited under professional circumstances. They're hired to host MTV's hit show 'Catfish', a program dedicated to finding out the truth about online romances when one partner is desperate to meet offline and the other has avoided every attempt at real-life interaction. Fake profiles, lies, and surprising love stories run amuck with Draco as the classic skeptic and Harry as the hopeful believer when they travel the country for the show and become invested in their cases and in each other. American muggle AU.
AN: Dedicated to the perfect, the lovely, Isabel and Kathleen. You guys are the best. After watching countless episodes of Catfish together, we've come to the only sane conclusion: Max and Nev are perfect parallels to Draco and Harry in that Nev is the one who comforts catfish victims and Max is the one who curses out the actual catfish. I really recommend readers watch the show but it's so not necessary for this. I know it sounds silly (people rag on MTV a lot but if you honestly watch the shows with an open mind they're both entertaining and heartfelt), but please bear with me here.
Catfish [kat-fish] Verb: To pretend to be someone you're not online by posting false information, such as someone else's pictures, on social media sites usually with the intention of getting someone to fall in love with you.
Harry's guarded enthusiasm was growing faster than he had expected. He had the contract in front of him, only really heard half of what the job was about, and was more than tempted to sign his name along the dotted line.
From the second Harry walked into the hotel where their first meeting took place he was sort of blown away. The rooms there were much more than he could afford.
Still, the job wasn't his until he signed the release forms, and he was wary of these show-business-type moguls and what they may or may not have had up their sleeves.
Harry certainly didn't grow up wanting to be on television, it just sort of happened to him as a kid when he survived a car crash that killed his mother and father, leaving only a scar on Harry's forehead.
When he saw the want-ad for what was described online as an 'Internet MTV project', he hadn't expected it would have much to do with television either. His aunt and uncle were always accusing him of chasing the spotlight.
If they were in the hotel conference room with Harry they would have accused him of making the leap into reality television because he was obsessed with the attention. Harry thought that to be almost the farthest thing from the truth—who cared who was watching? Harry was in this for the experience—but when did they ever listen to Harry?
Harry would then argue that the spotlight was often thrust upon him (a prime example was him being one of the few out gay kids in his small town off of New Hope, Pennsylvania, which his aunt and uncle liked to use to accuse him of 'shoving his alternative lifestyle down everyone's throats' simply by existing) but that argument went on for hours and took so many twists and turns that it made Harry's head spin.
He tried to focus on the task at hand.
The lawyers began to drone on to Harry through the pay, health benefits, and working conditions of being an employee of Music Television (even though it no longer played much music).
"Any injuries sustained while investigating catfish will be paid in full by MTV, should a catfish attack you, we have everything covered and offer our company lawyers to sue for damages…"
Harry hadn't even considered that sort of danger. He was messing with people's personal lives on television—admittedly to share their experience and with the intention of helping them—but it just struck him in that moment that some of them wouldn't take it so well.
Harry could handle a little danger, though. This was finally what he wanted. This was different.
Harry was going to share stories with the world and get answers for people who desperately needed them. It was not only a noble cause in his humble opinion, but an adventure with intrigue at every new twist and turn.
The only constant would be his co-host, considering every Catfish story was in a different state or even a different time-zone that required constant travel. Harry and his partner would trek across the country helping hopeless romantics meet their online sweethearts, sleeping on airplanes and in hotel rooms until their season was done. It was twelve cases to a season, so that meant twenty-four lives they could change forever thanks to them.
Hopefully, there would be more than one season of the show as well.
As the extra camerapeople and producers signed agreement after agreement around the table in the conference room, Harry wished his co-host would hurry the hell up. He'd gathered that his co-host's plan ride had been a rough one from the whisperings of some interns when he walked in, but that was no excuse to leave Harry high and dry. All of these higher-ups in silk blouses and ties made Harry uneasy.
The hosts had been instructed to wear street clothes at all times, so Harry and whatever other lucky bloke he was doing this with would be constantly underdressed.
"He's here," piped up the assistant of some suit. "Just got a text."
"Good," Kingsley replied gruffly. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the tall, imposing black man that Harry was going to be taking orders from about the direction of the show for the next few months. Harry actually really liked him.
Kingsley wasn't the sort Harry expected to work at a 'hip' or 'young' network—Harry just then caught him pressing the touch screen with his large, clumsy fingers and having to retype a word—but Kingsley knew his demographic surprisingly well.
Youth wanted substance, drama, and something worth watching. There were thousands of shows out there; Kingsley had to make his worth watching.
"Ah, there he is," Kingsley remarked with a thin smile when the door to the conference room opened. "Sit down, Mr. Malfoy, unless you'd rather not after that flight."
Draco groaned. He tried to roll out the stiff kink in his neck on his way to a plush black chair but it was no use. Draco would need a masseuse as soon as possible to work out whatever that bumpy flight had done to him. "Turbulence," he muttered bitterly before putting on a more professional face. "It's wonderful to finally get to meet all of you."
"Draco Malfoy," Kingsley nodded, motioning to the chair in which the raven-haired man sat. "Meet your co-host, Harry Potter."
Draco looked over in abject terror. Harry, still as s of some interns when he walked in, but that was no excuse to leave Harry hhort as Draco had remembered him to be, was more than a few inches below his death glare.
"Potter?"
"Ah, you two know each other. That makes things much simpler." Kingsley figured it was one of those 'all gay people know all other gay people' situations with Malfoy and Potter, even though he knew nothing about being queer himself. "We need you both refreshed and well-rested tomorrow morning, however, so it would be optimal to sign now and return to your hotel room."
Room? Singular room? There was no way that was happening. Absolutely no way in hell.
Kingsley must have read Harry's mind. "You'll be sharing a hotel room for the rest of the cases. One double bed each and a mini-fridge, don't look so worried."
That really didn't help Harry or Draco's shock or horror. They had some gritty history, and how was Harry to be sure that Draco wouldn't strangle him in his sleep?
After having attended high school together, to say they hadn't parted on the best of terms was a massive understatement.
Draco had been a part of the Clique To End All Cliques. It was a group of snotty, privileged rich kids that had way more money to spend then they could possibly ever deserve. If Harry's memory served him correctly, Draco had been in that gang with Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and… Crabbe? Maybe there was a 'Goyle', too.
Harry, on the other hand, had his two best friends Ron and Hermione. They all still kept in touch—especially Ron and Hermione, they were actually engaged—and had more or less bitterly despised Draco's group of friends back in school. They'd called the trio everything from hideous to dirt-poor, flipped over their lunches, sent them crude notes in class, and laughed at their expense every chance they got.
Kingsley cleared his throat.
"Yes," Draco answered quickly. "We went to the same high school." And Potter was a self-righteous twat who kept accusing my family of incest. He was so jealous of me I was surprised his face didn't turn green.
"Then perhaps you can catch up on that later. Right now, we need signatures."
Harry didn't want to do this with him.
Draco seemed to firmly agree with that. He crossed his arms, flashing Harry a distasteful look. Harry and his rag-tag friends hadn't exactly been passive victims in the situation, they got loads of revenge on Draco's clique that left him seething.
"I don't think you heard me correctly," Kingsley said, voice rising in volume. "We are starting tomorrow. These people—" he motioned to the tidy businesspeople around them. "—have children. They have other projects to work on. They don't care if you hooked up in high school and feel awkward about it. Their time is wasting, my time is wasting, and it's on you two to sign these papers or walk out the door."
Alarmed, Harry corrected a grievous error. "We never hooked up in high school!"
"I would never," Draco assured Kingsley, offended that he would even accuse Draco of lowering himself like that.
"Do you want to work on filming this project, Potter?"
"Yes, but—"
"Do you want to work on filming this project, Malfoy?"
"Of course, but Kingsley—"
The older man hushed the both of them. He reached over and rested his thick fingers on the paper they had to sign, pushing it over towards them. The conference room was deadly silent; all cellphones temporarily idle to watch how Kingsley would handle his employees.
It would set the precedence for further insubordination of the talent, and the 'talent' in this case being two very cross grown men temporarily stuck in their mutually shitty high school experience.
"I'm not going to hold your hands here. Whatever tiff you used to have? You can leave it at the door. Sign." Kingsley was there to make money and revolutionize fucking television.
Still, they hesitated.
"Alright, Jonathan, call in Fletchley and Bones. These two are wasting our time," Kingsley waved dismissively.
The persnickety young Jonathan was already dialing them up.
Just like that Draco could see the money, the recognition, the untold stories slip right through his fingers. It would be back to the job hunt when Draco hadn't a clue what he wanted to do with his life, and he'd never get his father off of his back again. "Fine," Draco snapped. He grabbed the nearest pen and signed away his metaphorical soul.
Harry was shocked Draco was the first to give in. Were things really so bad back in high school? Had Harry just been clinging to old grudges? If Malfoy was willing to move on after what Harry had done to his shiny green car back in the school parking lot, then maybe Harry was being childish.
"Fine," he echoed, taking his own pen and contract in hand.
"That's what I thought." Kingsley was far too pleased with himself for Draco's taste. He wanted so badly to wipe that grin off of his face. "Now that that's taken care of…"
Kingsley seemed to be composing himself for some sort of speech.
"I'd like to end this meeting on a higher note. We have a huge day tomorrow. We have thousands of emails from young people waiting in an inbox for Draco and Harry." He motioned to them. "They're the ones in front of the camera now, they're the ones investigating, but this is a show about the people who contact us. This is uncharted territory—tracking where millennial and online love leaves everyone and if people can be trusted across the internet—and the hearts of this show are the people who ask for our help."
In all honesty, Kingsley could care less if Potter and Malfoy got along. It would provide interesting banter while they searched for the truth, and if worst came to worst Kingsley trusted the editing team to make them look like they enjoyed each other's company.
The network wanted the show to wrap up filming as soon as possible so that they could get it into production and work out the nuances of what would hopefully be a hit. There would have to be a formula to each episode: meeting the individual who needed help, researching their online lover, and then arranging a meeting with them. That meeting would be filmed as well, and Kingsley was glad that would be different every time.
"Keep that in mind for tomorrow," Kingsley nodded. "You two rest well, the cameras will be in your room by nine."
Room. Singular room. What had Harry gotten himself into?
As the suits filed out around him led by Kingsley, Harry hoped to hell he'd made the right decision. He looked to Malfoy to try and read the other man's face once they were alone in the room.
Under a couple of layers of shock and disgust there had to be a reasonable human being in there, right?
"I like the bed furthest from the window. I hate the light waking me up in the morning," Draco began, cutting Harry off the second he opened his mouth. Oh, that was bad. Draco figured 'partners' should at least let each other speak. "Right. You were going to say…?"
"I thought you hated me," Harry blurted out. "Back in school. I mean, I sure hated you. But you're sure you still want to do this?"
"It doesn't matter if I'm sure, we've already signed up. What happened in school was—"
"Cruel? Rude of you? Pretty despicable?" Harry offered airily.
"Are you still hung up on that? Wow, Pansy was right, you really did have a little obsession with me," Draco teased, falling right back into their old roles.
"Not even in your dreams, Malfoy."
"Oh, you haven't changed a bit," Draco snarked.
"Neither have you," Harry decided, and they walked to their hotel room in silence.
That was a complete lie, though. Draco had grown into his bony face in a way that made him look almost like one of those marble statues that he saw back on a vacation to Italy a couple years ago. He dressed casually like Kingsley had told him to, but the plaid shirt and tight pants were much more stylish than Harry's polo and khakis.
He'd really have to borrow some clothes if Draco somehow (Harry was doubtful that this was even possible) proved himself to be a decent man, maybe even a favorable coworker.
Harry was working with Draco, he thought in disbelief as they entered the room in a tense silence.
Draco claimed the bed furthest from the window just as he had demanded, and Harry didn't put up much of a fight about it. Both beds had the same blue-striped sheets.
Harry turned around to the suitcase he brought in earlier. "We have to get along," he grumbled.
"I'm getting along fine," Draco huffed before doing the unthinkable.
Right in front of Harry he started to strip, letting his shirt fall to the ground in a mess the hotel maids would have to clean in the morning. Harry's mouth was as dry as the Sahara. "What—What are you doing?"
"Going to bed."
"For fuck's sake, Malfoy, are you just going to keep being a flippant asshole until you make me regret this decision?"
Draco sighed. For a sweet, sweet moment it looked as if Draco was going to give in and agree to attempt a reconnection, but instead he just dropped his jeans to the ground. "I'm going to bed."
"Malfoy! I'm still going to be here when you wake up!" Harry reminded him. The whole thing may have felt like a terrible, terrible fever dream, but they both knew it was real. "We have to film tomorrow!"
"Obviously. That's why I'm getting some rest; I don't want to look like a zombie on the first day." The way Draco snarled that out definitely implied Harry was going to look like a zombie, which only fanned the flames of his anger.
His dream job was turning into a nightmare. "You show up again after all you did to me in school and you just...? You just go to bed?" he demanded. "Malfoy, I don't think you're fully grasping what's going on here. You. Me. Hotel room. Months. Working together and trying to help people."
Draco had had quite enough of Potter's ramblings and quite enough of being awake altogether. "Look," he snapped. "I had a rough flight over here. I'm going to sleep, so are you, and we're going to get along in the morning. I don't have some grand scheme to antagonize you."
Harry shook his head. "Nope. You can't go to bed."
"Why not?" Draco groaned. Harry was like the ghost of his past come to haunt him. Draco was one hell of a jerk back in school, and seeing Harry again—hearing him talk about how Draco had treated him—only added to Draco's pile of self-loathing for who he used to be.
"Apologize."
"What?"
"Apologize, Malfoy."
"For what?" Draco demanded.
"Oh, I don't know," Harry mused, kicking off his shoes. "Should I retell all of the jokes you made about my parents? Or would it be better if I slipped a note in your locker with a picture of you in a dress on it? Wait, wait, I know! I'll refresh your memory with one of the fucking buttons you made about my friends and I."
Shit. The 'Potter Stinks' buttons were a strange phase in Draco's life. His auntie Bella had bought him a button-maker and he had gone way, way overboard. He'd gotten so many kids at school to wear them.
"Okay," Draco said slowly, sitting up on the bed. While Harry may have felt weaker without clothes covering his skinny body, Draco seemed even more empowered in his boxers. "That was kind of a dark time for me."
"Ever wonder how it was for me?" Harry laughed. "No, of course not, I don't know why I even asked that."
Another groan left Draco's lips. "Fine," he sighed, the second time he'd been coerced into something inadvisable that day.
Harry cocked an eyebrow.
"Fine, I'm sorry that I was an asshole. I'm going to bed now." Draco tunneled under the sheets, wrapping himself and stuffing a pillow over his head just in case Potter decided to speak any more ridiculous words or request childish apologies.
Oddly enough, Harry didn't. He picked a corner that Draco didn't have in his line of vision to change into pajamas, content with what he'd gotten out of the other man.
Both of their night stand lights were still on when Harry hopped into his bed. He was never sure what the proper etiquette was for sharing a room with an old arch-enemy. "Malfoy, I'm going to turn these off." There, Harry thought. I used to be able to hold my own against Malfoy all the time. Worrying about him being here is just going to make me crazy. All I have to do is put up with him.
"Draco," Draco corrected and turned his lamp off.
"Hm?"
"For the show," Draco clarified. "It'd be confusing to the audience if we used last names."
"Right. The audience."
Kingsley was right about one thing: they had a huge day tomorrow. Whether it was the massive salary, the adventure, or the fact that Draco thankfully didn't snore in his sleep that night, Harry figured he may as well look forward to it.