AN: This fan-fiction was written for my steadfast editor, lovelyluce. May this year bring your own successes and happiness.
Original prompt:
Five years after the war, Lucius looks forward to the days when he can listen to a certain radio show on the WWN. The radio personality is hilarious, providing entertainment and solid criticism at the same time, and Lucius can't get enough of his bad jokes and strangely familiar voice. One day, strolling down Diagon Alley, he happens upon Harry Potter, who is sitting alone in one of the trendy magical coffee shops. Despite his popularity, Potter is content to ignore everyone around him in favour of leafing through a pile of parchment, and this intrigues Lucius. He decides to approach the young man to say hello, but as he steps closer, his eyes fall upon a familiar opening line on the parchment – a line that tells him Harry Potter is his beloved radio host. What is a man supposed to do?
**In WWN Listens, Cho Chang's name will be changed to Chun-Ja Jang. I made this change in a bid to support Koreans. Thank you.
WWN Listens
I: "Blonde Eyebrow"
969 words
" - and for this week only, purchase a seat on the Wizengamot! One slot and one slot only, ladies and gentlemen," the radio host trumpeted. In the quiet shop the wireless sat, waiting for someone to notice it.
"Lucius," Herbert Burke greeted, "w-what a surprise." And indeed, it must have been a surprise, one blonde eyebrow acknowledged. "A pleasant one, of course," Herbert quickly added, tumbling out of his back room. Its door stood ajar, revealing swamps of paperwork and worn boxes until small hands forgetfully pulled it shut.
"Good morning, Herbert. Or indeed, good afternoon." Bright outside though it was, hardly anyone frequented the shops of Knockturn Alley at this time of day. Lucius found himself wandering its deserted streets, having just come from the Ministry and feeling rather put out. In the few short hours between this morning's Floo-call and now, news of a Wizengamot member's marked disappearance had spread like disease. Lucius glanced at the radio sitting by the cash register as it remarked on breaking events.
"- previous occupant was fired over the following heinous crimes... Unwillingness to kiss the Minister's arse, and using intelligence during office hours. If neither of these vices apply to you, then the Minister of Magic is eager to receive your CV. Offices are located inside the building of shameless corruption - inquire within!"
The radio inside Borgin and Burkes was far from top quality, scratching the host's otherwise velvety voice. Lucius eyed the radio as Herbert, his colleague and distant cousin-in-law, sifted through a ring of keys.
"Like me to turn that off?" the plump man asked, gesturing at the magical radio.
Lucius shook his head. "An interesting choice of programme," he replied in dry observation.
Across the counter, Herbert merely grunted. He had finally found the key he was looking for, and carefully unlocked the display case between them. Graceless fingers took out an aged stethoscope, which rested inside a simple wooden display box.
"What you requested, Lucius," Herbert intoned, setting it down on the glass countertop. He was clearly wary of touching the item itself, Lucius noted.
It radiated Dark magic, and in reply, Lucius leaned forward. His eyes glittered. "May I?" he asked, slipping his wand from his cane. A mute nod was the only encouragement he needed. "Yes…" he murmured, examining the curse. "A nasty pet you are, darling."
"Transport was no easy task, mind you," Herbert muttered darkly as Lucius levitated the stethoscope. His bright eyes examined it with keen consideration.
"Is that so," murmured Lucius. "Rare, to see a Muggle artefact so wholly emblazoned with Dark magic. To think, the slightest mishap could…"
"Yes," echoed his cousin.
Still, the radio warbled for their attention. "Fellow members of the Wizengamot are calling for a witch hunt - badum tss - the last of which was in the Americas some centuries back. The way I see it, if those filthy Americans can find their witch then why can't we, eh? Come on, Britain, tell me what you're really thinking. We will start answering your Floo calls right after this break!"
"Do you know what I think, Potter?"
Harry slathered cream onto his bread and unceremoniously bit into it. "What?" he asked around a full mouth.
Malfoy held back a sneer. "I think," he started again, holding up Harry's latest script, "that this drivel you come up with is shite."
"Thanks." Harry wiped his mouth on a napkin. Somewhere behind him, the barista was aerating milk for a customer. "I'm still working on it. Anything else?"
Next to Malfoy, Chun-ja Jang set down her coffee and leaned in. "We noticed that your recordings are a bit scratchy, Harry. Have you ever considered hiring a professional?"
"That costs money," Harry told her, "and connections. Listen, I -"
"Just like you, Potter," interjected Malfoy, "always leaving messes for others to clean up. Your script is a disaster. Your skill in the studio leaves something to be desired. Fortunately for you, there are professionals to handle that side of business. WWN is prepared to assist you."
There was a long pause. Draco and Chun-ja stared at Harry, willing him to speak. Meanwhile, Harry noisily slurped his tea until his old schoolmates glanced at each other.
Finally Harry cleared his throat. "Sorry, I'm lost."
"Merlin, Potter -"
Chun-ja grabbed Malfoy's wrist, silencing him. "What we're trying to say is," she interrupted, looking pointedly at Malfoy, "we want you to record with us. Maybe you've got a lot of listeners right now, but how long will they stay? You've got to polish your product. We can help you with that part."
"Hm."
Quickly, Chun-ja rushed on. "WWN is not what it once was, but we're growing. We've got a lot of listeners who are hungry for more anti-Ministry content. You'd be paid a salary, Harry. It's a lot different from running a radio station alone."
"Alright." Harry took his script off the table and shoved it back into his rucksack. "I'll think about it, I guess." Then he stood up, digging in his pocket for the right amount of change.
With the panache of a Malfoy, Draco leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Where are you recording right now, Potter?"
Harry shrugged. "A room at Grimmauld Place." He dropped a couple galleons on the table. "Nice to see you two, but I've got to run."
"What a joke," Draco sneered, ignoring him. "I can get you into a professional recording studio by the end of the week. Your recordings will be practically tolerable. And if you sign this..." A magical contract appeared in his pale, manicured hand, "I'll get you an interview with the Minister."
Harry licked his lips, realising that he had been bested.
One blonde eyebrow confirmed it. "Do you still have somewhere to be?" asked Draco.
In answer Harry sat back down.
