Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing. The rights of course belongs to the amazing JK. Rowling, This is written for fun and no money is being made from it.
A/N: This fic is unbeta'd because I'm new to this and don't know how things work. So if you discover any mistakes please let me know.
Also, English is not my native language, and I'm trying to write in British English. If you see something very un-British, tell me.
Oh, and please review!
Warning: I write slash, don't like, don't read :) Rated T for some swearing.
"Hey, Angie," Harry called as he looked down at the large cardboard box sitting on the floor. "A box just arrived."
"Oh, it's probably the new records that has arrived," came the answer from the office in the back of the store.
"Shall I start unpacking it?"
"Yeah, that would be great. Would you mind registering them as well?"
"Sure."
Harry cast a surreptitious glance towards the office door before summoning the box to the counter. Smiling to himself, he opened the box and started to pull out the vinyl records and CDs stacked within.
The store he worked in was a small record shop in Soho, London. It was owned and mostly run by Angie, a local woman in her late twenties with dyed red hair and arms covered in colourful tattoos. Harry had gotten the job helping her out after secretly moving to a flat in muggle London a few months ago. The rest of the wizarding world seemed to assume that he was abroad on an extended holiday, and his friends encouraged that belief when asked by the media.
Luckily, few of the magical populace ventured into the muggle world if they could help it. He'd yet to meet anyone who knew who he was, and he was enjoying it to the fullest. Some years after the war he was thoroughly fed up by the constant stream of people who seemed to think it was alright to follow him around everywhere he went.
Harry enjoyed his new job. It was simple and fulfilling and he'd come to love the muggle music he heard all day long. The wizarding music scene had a thing or two to learn there in his opinion. And Angie was wonderful. She was smart and funny and let him play any music he wanted when he was at work. She hadn't even lifted an eyebrow the first time a man had picked him up for a date at the store after his shift.
Pulling out yet another record, Harry paused. There was something strangely captivating about the cover he was looking at. It was really quite simple, looking almost like a pencil sketch on recycled paper, and depicting a shadowy figure in a forest. The band's name was the Harsh Fates.
Pulling out the vinyl from its cover, Harry placed it on the record player behind the counter and gently lowered the needle. After a few moments of crackling, the first song started.
"Angie, come out here," he shouted after listening for a moment.
"What?" Angie came out from the office looking a bit stressed.
"I think I've found my new favourite band," said Harry, wearing a dreamy look on his face. "Have you heard about these?"
Looking at the cover, Angie shook her head. "No, I don't think so. Good you found something you liked."
Angie disappeared back through the door, and Harry was left to his listening. It was a sort of Shoegaze rock, with noisy guitars and simple vocals. The melodies were melancholic, yet somewhat hopeful, and the singer had a pure voice that complimented the rest perfectly. Before Harry went home that night, he purchased the record and held it pressed against his chest on his way home.
The next morning he started playing the record yet another time and padded into the kitchen wearing his flannel pyjama bottoms to make himself a strong cup of tea. He then proceeded to pull out his laptop and search for the Harsh Fates.
There wasn't all that much info about them on the internet. Apparently they weren't very well known yet, more of an underground band. But Harry was thrilled to discover that they were having a concert in a nearby club the next weekend.
Finding his phone he slumped on his sofa and dialled Angie's number. "Morning," he chirped when she answered. "Please say you're free this weekend, you have to go to a concert with me!"
"Is it this newly discovered favourite band of yours?"
"Yes, and I really don't want to go by myself." Harry proceeded to give her the venue and time.
"Yeah, ok. It'll probably be fun," said Angie. "I can ask if Jenny and Stephen want to go too."
Jenny and Stephen were Angie's close friends. They often invited Harry along whenever they got together, for which he was grateful. His wizarding friends were all so established and in the middle of starting families. Even though he loved them dearly, sometimes all the talk about babies, weddings and family were getting on his nerves. It was nice to have someone to hang out with who were more on the same page as him.
Come Saturday, Harry found himself in a small, dark indie club. He practically bounced with excitement.
"Calm down, Harry," said Angie. "Or I'll have to remove your drinking privileges."
"Sorry!"
"You look like a little kid who's at Hamleys for the first time," Jenny contributed.
When the band entered the stage, Harry was immediately captivated by the singer. He didn't look at the audience once as he found his place, and left the introductions to the guitarist. Even as they started playing, he still kept his eyes averted, either staring down at his guitar or pedal or turning away to look at his band mates.
His hair was so blond it almost looked white, and took on whatever colour the lighting was at all times. He wore slim black jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of Bob Dylan. His lower left arm was mostly covered by a number of tattoos.
"He's gorgeous," Harry whispered to Angie.
"A bit boyish if you ask me, but he's certainly your type." Angie smirked at him.
Harry gave her and impish grin and turned back to the stage. He didn't really agree with her first assessment, though. His face was smooth and young, but his jaw was sharp and his body certainly looked manly to him. He looked vaguely familiar, and he was definitely Harry's type. By the time the concert was over he was already half in love. I just wish I could have seen his eyes, he thought sadly.
He hung by the bar for a while afterwards, hoping the band would come out to mingle, but they seemed to have left through the back. Defeated, he allowed himself to be dragged out of the dark venue by his friends.
"Aw, Harry seems to have gotten himself a rock star crush," said Angie as they walked down the street among other concert goers.
"How very... 12-year-old of you," said Stephen and smirked at him.
Harry felt his face heat and averted his gaze.
"Be nice. I think it's cute," Jenny came to his rescue. He gave her a grateful smile before he bade them goodnight and made his way home.
During the next few weeks Harry's obsession only seemed to grow. He listened to his the Harsh Fates record every chance he got, and searched the internet for any snippet of information he could find. Apparently his name was Damon Marcus and he was the same age as Harry. He seemed to be as protective about his privacy as Harry was, so he'd hardly managed to find any more information at all.
In his frustration he'd started going to clubs at nights and hook up with any pale blond who reminded him of Damon. Finally he decided that he needed to do something. A brilliant plan started to form in his head.
"Angie," he said the next time they worked together. "You know how we sometimes invite bands to our store to play a mini gig and sign records?"
Angie narrowed her eyes at him. "I see where this is going."
"But can't we do it, though?" Harry whined. "It makes perfect sense. They're a local up and coming band, and not yet big enough to demand a lot of money. Come on!"
"Oh, don't look at me like that," Angie sighed. "I'll see what I can do."
Surprisingly, the Harsh Fates accepted immediately. It was agreed that they would come Friday afternoon one week later. Harry jumped with glee.
As the day approached, though, he became increasingly nervous. What if Damon didn't like him? What if he wasn't gay (a very probable scenario)? What if he was an arsehole? What would Harry even say to him?
Come Friday Harry was fussing about in the store, moving shelves to allow the band to rig their instruments and dusting for the fifth time. The door opened behind him, and he turned just as he heard a familiar voice.
"Potter? What the fuck?"
"Malfoy?" said Harry, hardly believing his eyes. No wonder he'd looked familiar. Sure, Draco Malfoy had changed quite a bit. His features had matured and become a bit less pointed, and he'd grown his hair out a bit so it hung down to half cover his eyes. Grey eyes he would've recognized anywhere.
Right now those eyes looked horrified. He flicked his gaze around the room as if he was expecting an attack.
"What the hell are you playing at?" said Malfoy, his voice slightly panicked. He promptly turned and disappeared out through the door.
Malfoy's band mates stared at him with questioning eyes. "What was that all about?" a man Harry recognized as the bass player asked.
"Er... Hang on," Harry said and dashed out after Malfoy.
"Malfoy!" he yelled as he jogged down the street after him.
Malfoy stopped and turned around, his frame stiff and his eyes wild.
"What do you want?" said Malfoy. "Are you disappointed that your scheme to expose me to my father and the wizarding world failed?"
"Huh? Scheme?" Harry was confused. "I'm not exactly a scheming person, Malfoy. Gryffindor, you know."
"Care to explain what's going on here, then?"
"Honestly, I'd no idea that Damon Marcus was you," said Harry. "I didn't even recognize you at the concert a couple of weeks ago."
"So the Daily Prophet is not waiting with cameras around the corner, ready to reveal the scandal and make father disinherit me?"
"You know I'm hardly any fonder of the press than you, Malfoy. Can't you just come back in and play? I promise I'll leave you alone after, as long you promise to keep quiet about seeing me here."
While the band rigged their instruments, Angie pulled Harry aside. "You know him?" she asked.
"Yeah," said Harry. "We went to school together."
"What a coincidence! How come you didn't recognize him?"
"Well, he's changed a lot. He's the last person I expected to play in a mu... a band. And I never really saw him on the concert. He was keeping his eyes down the whole time."
"Still... I take it you weren't the best of friends back then?"
"You could say that," said Harry with a bitter laugh. "I've fought with him more times than I can count. He was a real prick back then. Probably still is."
"So much for that crush. For what it's worth, you would've looked great together." Angie winked at him and returned to preparing for the mini concert.
Harry groaned and put his head in his hands, leaning over the counter. This was not at all what he'd imagined. He had to admit that Draco looked great though. He's always looked good, Harry thought to himself. Too bad he's always been such a schmuck.
After the gig, Malfoy looked at Harry with question in his eyes. He nodded to ensure him that the deal was still on. Seemingly satisfied, Malfoy disappeared through the door as soon as he could. Harry felt strangely bereft.
The following days Harry had to remind himself that the music he loved so much was actually sung by Malfoy, so that he wouldn't play their record. He still caved most times, and listened to it almost as much as before. It got increasingly difficult to draw forth the picture of the sneering, spoiled boy from school in his head. He couldn't possibly be the same person anymore; there was no way the old Malfoy could make songs like that.
And so Harry kept listening to the music. He started hoping he would bump into Malfoy somehow, and kept his eyes open for him whenever he were walking about town.
The following Friday he was in luck. He was walking from the Underground station near his flat when he saw a familiar silvery blonde head just as it disappeared through the door of a coffee shop. Deciding quickly, he popped into the café and found himself face to face with Malfoy.
"Er... Hi," said Harry lamely.
"Potter," Malfoy sounded resigned. "What do you want?"
"I... I wanted to talk to you. You know... Apologize for the whole gig thing, and for surprising you like that."
"As you seemed to be as surprised as me, you hardly owe me an apology."
"Um... Please let me buy you a coffee at least."
"Alright then. Just a regular black one."
Malfoy sat down at a small round table near the windows as Harry paid for the coffee. Feeling strangely nervous, he brought over the coffee and sat down opposite him. Not daring to meet Malfoy's eyes, Harry stared at his cappuccino, trying to see patterns in the milky foam.
"So...?" said Malfoy.
"What?"
"I got the impression that you wanted to talk to me for some reason?"
"Well, I'm sorry for startling you the other day. If I'd known it was your band I wouldn't have talked Angie into arranging the gig."
"As I said; no need to apologize. I just have to be a bit more careful from now on. If anything I can thank you for letting me figure that out."
"Good. I felt bad when you reacted the way you did."
"Yeah, I... Wait a minute," said Malfoy. "You said you made Angie book us?"
Harry furiously tried to push back the blush he felt creeping up his neck.
"I might have... Yeah."
"So you were a fan of my band before you figured out it was me?"
Harry nodded, and stared back down into his coffee. He was certain his face was a deep red by now.
"Hmm... I'll take that as a compliment," said Malfoy with a smirk. "A big fan I take it, if that fetching shade of red is anything to go by?"
"Fuck you, Malfoy! It's none of your business." Harry started to rise from his chair.
"Wait, Potter. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
Harry sat back down and stared defiantly at Malfoy. "Yes, I love your fucking band. I listen to your record all the time. Happy now?"
"I said I was sorry," said Malfoy. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Well maybe a little. But I'm very flattered, really. I'm happy that you like my music."
"It's great! I never tire of the songs." Harry smiled. "In fact, when I first saw you at the club I was so captivated by your voice and your..." Realizing what he was saying he shut his mouth with a snap and felt the damned blush rise to his cheeks once again.
"Wow, you almost sound like you had a crush on me."
Harry groaned and covered his face with his hands. He almost considered apparating right out of his chair into his flat, where he could wallow in despair.
"You did?" Malfoy gaped at him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"I should go," said Harry and rose from his chair. This time Malfoy didn't try to stop him. Harry kept his head down as he disappeared out of the coffee shop and missed the stricken look on Malfoy's face.
The feeling of deep humiliation almost made Harry drop work the next day. In the end though, he didn't have the conscience to leave Angie alone during the usually busy Saturday shift.
"Do you want to talk about it?" said Angie a few hours later, having noticed his dark mood.
Sighing, Harry told her about the embarrassing encounter from the previous day. "The worst part," he said after he was done with the story. "Is that I'm pretty sure the crush hasn't faded at all. In fact I think it's gotten worse."
"Even if it's your old school nemesis?"
"Yeah. I mean, he has changed. Even if his snarky personality is still firmly in place, he seems more mature somehow."
"That is what usually happens when you grow up."
"You know what I mean. And he has always managed to bring out strong feelings in me, although in school it was hatred."
"Well, you know what they say about love and hate..."
"Yeah... Thanks for listening to my whinging."
"That's what friends are for."
Angie turned to help a customer just as the door opened. In came a lone figure with a head of bright blonde hair. Angie smiled at Harry, and shooed him towards the door.
"Hey," said Malfoy.
"Hi."
"Listen, can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Er..." Harry looked uncertainly at Angie. She winked and made another shooing gesture with her hand to say that he should go. "Okay, let me get my coat."
They went to a quiet wine bar just down the street. Harry sat and fidgeted with the sleeve of his button down shirt while Malfoy bought them drinks.
"Potter," Malfoy said as he sat down opposite him. "I'm sorry about teasing you yesterday. I didn't know that you were being serious."
"It's okay. I'd rather not talk about it."
"No, I need to say this. You see, I sort of like you too."
Harry froze just as his glass reached his lips, and a trickle of red wine ran down to his chin. Malfoy passed him a napkin and Harry quickly dried it off while staring at him.
"You..."
"Yeah," said Malfoy. "And not just recently either. I wanted you back at school too. All the fighting and teasing, it was all some adolescent self preservation instinct I think. When you didn't want me, I made sure to make your life a living hell."
"Oh..."
"Sorry about that, though. I wish I could take it back. You had enough to struggle with as it was."
"Don't worry about it," said Harry. "It was actually sort of refreshing. Between all the on-and-off hero worshipping, I always knew where I had you; firmly planted in the I Hate Harry Potter Club."
Malfoy laughed at that, and Harry found himself mesmerized by the way it lit up his face.
"You should do that more often," he said.
"What?"
"I don't think I've ever seen you laugh before. You have a nice laugh."
"I never had much to laugh about. When I grew up it was all about being seen and not heard when among adults, and being aloof and arrogant everywhere else."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You actually make my own childhood seem like fun."
"And during the war the life was quite bleak. All the torture and murder didn't make for good entertainment. Then, after the war came the stigma and all the nasty looks from random strangers."
"So that's why you settled for the muggle world?"
"Yes. This is probably the closest I've ever been to happy. The muggles don't know me and can't judge me."
"I know. It's liberating to be able to walk down a street without being recognized."
"Hmm... The perpetual hero. I can actually see that getting old pretty fast." Malfoy smirked at him.
"Yeah, I never actually enjoyed all the attention, you know."
"I know," said Malfoy, his face turning serious. "Listen, I never got around to thanking you properly for witnessing at my trial. You probably saved my life. I would've never survived Azkaban."
"It was my duty," said Harry. "I didn't want to send an innocent man to prison."
Malfoy snorted. "I'm hardly innocent. I did horrible things during the war."
"You only did what you had to do to save the ones you love. Same as me. You never had a real choice."
"I'm glad you see it that way. I know a lot of people would have liked nothing more than to see me rotting away in prison."
"Well, fuck them," said Harry, lifting his glass in a mock toast.
Malfoy smiled at him and drank the rest of his wine. His pink lips shone with the residual dampness and Harry couldn't help staring.
"So... What now?" he said.
"I would very much like to see you again," said Malfoy.
"Yeah, me too."
"Let's get out of here."
They walked together towards the tube station, close enough that their hands brushed every now and then. Harry's flat was near Kensington, while Malfoy, or Draco now, lived in the direction of Camden, so they had to split up at the station.
"Well..."
"I'll give you a call."
"Okay... good..." Harry picked nervously at his jeans pockets.
Draco took a step closer and brushed his lips quickly against Harry's. Encouraged by the move, Harry put an arm around Draco's waist and pulled him closer. Ignoring the muttered comments from passers, he pressed his lips against Draco's once more and deepened the kiss.
Draco gasped and Harry used the opportunity to slide his tongue between those soft lips. A minute or so later they split apart, gasping for air. Looking slightly dazed, Draco disentangled himself from the embrace.
"Good night, Harry," he said with a shy smile.
"Good night."