Thanks a million to YetiBettyFoufetti for looking over this chapter 3

CW: swearing

"Come here, I'll fix your shirt," Draco said, lifting his eyes from the book he was reading to look at Harry's reflection in the mirror. Harry sighed in frustration. He crossed Draco's living room with heavy steps and let Draco tug and pull at his shirt while he went on and on about Ulmer. "It's going to be fine, Harry. You just need to get on stage and present a meaningless award."

"To Fudge. To Cornelius bloody Fudge."

"It's going to be fine," he reassured again, turning Harry around and fixing the back of his collar.

"That bastard waited until the last moment to tell me. I'm bloody sure he doesn't even have to go to Hogwarts, that this was just a ploy to get me to endorse Fudge indirectly."

"Sure sounds like it."

"What does he think this will accomplish? Fudge's been out of the picture for years. Nobody cares about him anymore."

"Exactly. And neither should you."

Harry crossed his arms. "I just hate the way Ulmer tricked me into it. Sleazy fucking Slytherin." Remembering who he was talking to, he turned to Draco. "Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It was a sleazy Slytherin move," Draco laughed, still messing around with his collar. "You should borrow a page from us Slytherins and one up Ulmer by not showing up if it bothers you this much."

"You know I can't do that. That will get more press than me going now that it's been announced. It's a trap and Ulmer knew it, that fucking-"

"So go, do the right thing like the good Gryffindor you are and please, for the love of God, stop complaining about Ulmer. We hear enough of that from Ron already."

"You never tell Ron to shut up about it," Harry remarked grumpily.

"That's obviously because I like him more than you," he said in a serious tone, pushing Harry back towards the full-length mirror.

Harry looked at himself from both sides, his anger and frustration forgotten momentarily. Draco had made it so that his dress robes fell beautifully, without as much as a wrong fold. Harry had never looked more put together. "Obviously," he smiled, searching for Draco's eyes in the mirror.

Harry was tapping his foot nervously by the stage. He was finally alone. He'd managed to get rid of Ulmer's assistant, who seemed to have been sent there to act as Harry's chaperone, making sure he hit all the marks. First, he'd been led to Cole's table where he was introduced to the new MACUSA President, a ruthless politician known for her conservative views. While she distanced herself from the Purists as much as possible, the fact remained that her policies always benefited those already in power. Harry shook her hand and immediately excused himself. Ulmer's assistant then showed him to multiple other tables of high profile politicians. Amongst them, sharing bread baskets and bottles of wine, there were always the same people. Pure Bloods. Rich. Old. It didn't matter how progressive those in power were. The people behind them never changed.

After doing the rounds, Harry was finally taken backstage. He pretended he didn't see Fudge when he passed his table. From where he was standing now, hidden from view by two sets of heavy curtains, he could observe him without the risk of being seen. His features hadn't changed at all, only the lines around them had deepened. He was merrily chatting with Renata Knot, the current Head of the International Magic Office of Law, the gold rings on his finger shining as he gestured amply. Harry knew the award he was receiving tonight had been bought with a hefty donation to the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. What was he up to? Was the bastard trying to come back into politics? Wasn't it enough that he'd be left to his own devices, allowed to grow the fortune he'd made while serving as Minister of Magic?

"Ready, Mister Potter?"

Harry nodded, smiling at the young witch. The wave of applause died down as he approached the podium. He realized he was still holding the piece of paper containing the speech Ulmer had prepared for him. His assistant had shoved it into his hand at some point during the evening. He put it in his pocket, unopened.

"Thank you," he said, his voice magically amplified to fill the entire room. "On behalf of the British Auror Office, I present Cornelius Fudge with the Outstanding Wizard award." The audience was silent, expectant. Harry took a step back from the stand, signaling that he had finished speaking, and gestured towards the statuette as if to challenge Fudge to claim it. A couple of people scattered across the room started clapping. Soon, more followed suit. Renata nudged Fudge out of his seat. He made his way to the stage, awkwardly stopping along the way to shake hands with various people. Harry took another step back as Fudge approached him and pretended to be very interested in his shoelaces.

"Thank you very much, Harry. A man of few words," he chortled, the laughter reverberating across the huge reception room. "But then again, we all know Harry Potter doesn't express himself with words. He does so with actions ." Fudge paused dramatically, letting the applause die down. Harry clenched his fists, took a deep breath, counted to ten. "So I want to thank him very much for taking the time to come up here tonight- "

Harry drowned out the rest of Fudge's speech. He tried to think of Draco - Draco, pouring himself a cup of tea before going to sleep; Draco, smiling at him over the conference table; Draco, kissing him goodbye and telling him you'll be fine - and hoped that would make the anger settle. Instead, it made it worse.

"- great honor for me!"

Harry waited for the three rounds of applause then stormed off the stage before Fudge could try to shake his hand. He could hear his footsteps following him. "Harry, a word."

"No thanks," he said without turning back, making for a random hallway.

"Boy, please! Don't make an old man run after you."

Harry stopped in his tracks. "I'm not a boy anymore, Fudge," he hissed. "There's nothing the two of us have to discuss."

"You're right, you're not a boy anymore. Just a little advice then, from a man that saw you grow up to become the man you are today and that doesn't want you to see you destroyed."

Harry was so shocked he let a nervous laugh escape him. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I know you've been sick-"

"That's none of your business."

"Don't make the same mistake that I made."

"You made many mistakes, Fudge."

"I did. And one of them was trusting Lucius Malfoy." Harry opened his mouth to reply then closed it again, stunned by Fudge's words. "I've been told you've become close friends with Lucius's son."

"And who told you that? The same people you paid to get me to come here tonight?"

"I did no such thing," he exclaimed, feigning offense. "Harry, the Malfoys have always been individualistic, deceitful people who only look after their own interests. I wouldn't put it past a Malfoy to poison you if that's what it took for them to get back to their level of influence they had before. Take it from a man who lost everything because he put his trust in the wrong people."

"Lost everything? What did you lose, Fudge? You seem to be doing just fine to me. Last I checked, Draco Malfoy still can't do magic. Or live without people like you assuming he's going around poisoning people."

"Whatever that boy has told you to make him trust him, think-"

Harry started laughing and turned on his heels. "The day I'll take advice from you on who to trust is the day I'll know I've gone mental. Enjoy your party, I hope it was worth losing the last ounce of respect people had for you."

It didn't make the front page like he'd feared it would, but it did get covered in almost every major newspaper of the country the following Monday, alongside an announcement that Fudge will be running for Minister of External Affairs next election.

"Potter and Fudge seen together for the first time since the War. Boring," Ron said, putting down the Daily Prophet and picking up Which Weekly from the pile on Harry's desk.

"Ex Minister of Magic receives award from The Boy He Didn't Believe. This one's a comedian in the making," Draco laughed, reading from Diagon Times.

"Will you please stop?"

"Listen to this one," Ron said over him, slapping Draco's shoulder, "Harry Potter: the best dressed at Rosebell's annual gala."

"What?" Draco beamed. "That's all on me, I chose his dress robes. Tell him, Harry!"

"Get out, both of you," Harry shouted as the door to his office opened by itself. Ron and Draco turned to stare at. "I have work to do."

"Sorry, we'll let you to it, mister best dressed," Ron laughed while standing up and dragging Draco after him.

"You OK?" Draco asked from the doorpost, shaking free of Ron's grip.

"Yes, just busy," he lied, messing with the files in front of him to avoid meeting Draco's gaze.

"What's up with you today?"

"Nothing."

"What are you doing with that?"

Harry looked down at the book he was holding. He hadn't realized it was in French. The title, L'adversaire, was written in red letters. "Just looking. What's it about?" he asked, to mask the fact that he couldn't even remember picking it up from Draco's nightstand, too distracted by thoughts about Fudge and Ulmer.

"It's about a man who lies to his family about who he is for nineteen years. I have an English translation somewhere if you want."

"No, thanks," Harry said quietly, putting it back and reaching for his pills. Draco went back into the bathroom and finished brushing his teeth. He reemerged a minute later and found Harry staring into space, hands wrapped around a glass of water.

"What's wrong, Harry? You've been off all day long."

"I have? Sorry."

"You have. Is it something I did?" Draco asked, turning off the light in the bathroom and crossing the bedroom to close the window.

"No, of course not."

"Because you know, I've been wondering…" he said, his voice more powerful without the noise coming from the boulevard below. "... if you still think I'm hiding our relationship." Harry almost choked on his water. Draco stared at him, hands on his hips. "Is that it? Is that why you're upset?"

"I'm not upset," Harry reiterated, putting the glass of water down next to L'adversaire. "And I don't think that."

"All right, you're not upset." Draco got on the bed over the covers. "Tomorrow I'm meeting David. My muggle friend."

"I remember David. The investment manager with the fancy car."

"Yes. Would you like to join us? I'd love to introduce him to you. He's one of my closest friends and- "

"Of course. I'd love to meet David. Finally find out what an investment manager does," he joked, hoping that would put Draco at ease.

"Great," Draco said, not looking entirely convinced. "But you do believe me, that I'm not hiding-"

"I do, Draco," Harry said, dragging Draco next to him. "I believed you the other ten times you told me as well."

"Well, I wanted to tell you again. Make sure it gets through."

"Of course you did," Harry laughed, searching for his lips.

"And Harry?"

"Yeah," he sighed, falling back with his head on the pillow. He was starting to get annoyed and he really, really, didn't want to do that again.

"You do realize I told Camille about us, don't you? When I broke up with him."

This he hadn't said before. Harry stared at him. "Oh. OK."

"OK?"

"No, I mean - great. That's great."

Draco squinted his eyes at him. "So this wasn't bothering you either? Thinking I didn't come clean about cheating?"

"No, I don't know…" Giving up the idea that Draco might spontaneously drop this conversation, Harry got up and made for the bathroom.

"I'm asking because you always get weird when you see things that might have been Camille's, so I just thought…"

"So that book, it's Camille's?" he asked while opening the bathroom cabinet to get to his toothbrush. Draco had bought it for him at some point when he noticed Harry always forgot to bring his and was forced to use Draco's instead.

"No, it's not. I read the English version and wanted to have the original one as well, so I ordered it."

Harry looked into the bedroom. "You don't have to explain yourself…"

"I wasn't explaining myself, you asked me if it's Camille's book. It's not."

"I didn't mean to ask like that. I wouldn't care if it was his book."

Draco crossed his arms. "OK. Because it would be stupid to care, since I obviously ended it with him because I want to be with you."

"I don't care whose book it bloody is or isn't!" Harry snapped. "I'm not upset with you. Will you let this go? Please?"

"Fine," he said, not making any effort to hide the hurt in his voice. Without as much as a glance in his direction he grabbed his book from where Harry had left it and hid behind it.

Harry took his time brushing his teeth, the anger gradually morphing into guilt. Why did he have to be like that?

He found Draco in the same position. The red letters were staring at him, mocking him.

"Draco," he started. There were many things he wanted to say. He wanted to say sorry for being on edge all day long. Sorry for not being better at this whole talking thing. Sorry for not knowing how to soothe Draco's anxieties as well as he did. Instead, he blurted out: "I don't like reading."

"Huh?"

"And sometimes, I feel like you'd like me to read more."

Draco put the book down, a look of bewilderment on his face. "Harry, I never - I couldn't care less if you liked reading or not."

"You always buy me books."

"I don't buy you books, I just buy books."

"That you then give to me."

"I didn't know it bothered you, I…" Draco's voice trailed off. He raked his fingers through his hair nervously. "I'll stop."

"No, it's not that," Harry said, afraid it had come out all wrong again, like an accusation. "I don't mind. I'm… I'm just worried you'd like to talk to me about them. Like you did with Camille. And I can't… I can't give you that."

"Oh…" Draco's face lit with understanding, his eyes moving from Harry to somewhere behind him, then back at him. "Harry," he said, putting his feet on the ground and reaching for him. "Camille thought fiction was a waste of time and I thought his history books were the most boring thing on this planet. How did you get it in your head that we spoke about books? Or that this is something I care about?"

Harry accepted Draco's hand, let him pull him closer, rested his chin on the top of his head. "I don't know," he quietly said. This image of Draco and Camille losing sleep talking about French poets from the 19th century or obscure writers only they knew how to pronounce had haunted him for so long it had solidified in his memories, hardened into reality; it felt as it it had always been there to taunt him when he couldn't find anything particularly interesting to say back to Draco.

"I don't need to talk to you about books. I don't need to talk to you about anything in particular. I love talking to you about anything."

Harry rubbed his eyes. They were feeling particularly prickly. "You do?"

"Of course I do, you dimwit," Draco said, letting himself fall back on the bed, forcing Harry to fall on top of him. Their eyes met. "I love talking to you," he repeated.

"I do too," Harry admitted, looking away.

"I'd much rather talk to you than to anybody else."

"Stop it," he laughed, rolling away from him.

"It's true, though," Draco whispered in his ear, not letting him go.

Once Draco was asleep between his arms, Harry's mind went back to the humiliation he'd endured, standing on the same stage as that shameless man got a standing ovation. He looked down at the top of Draco's head, tightening his hold of him protectively. He could tell sleep wouldn't come to him that night. He could always tell. He wondered if Draco had any Sleeping Potions hidden around the house. It was a wasted thought, as he knew very well he didn't. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he did. How thrilling it would be to sneak out and fumble through his drawers. How terrifying to find one, lost between old scrolls of parchment and broken quills. How enthralling to feel it burning his throat, slowly making its way through every inch of his body, until sleep would fall like a curtain at the end of a play. Dreamless sleep, the only kind of sleep Harry longed for.

The following day, Harry stormed into Ulmer's office before he even had the time to hang his traveling coat and let him know he'll be putting in his resignation the next time he does anything like that. Ulmer professed innocence ("of course he did, it's his signature move," Ron would later say) and offered him a dozen things Harry didn't want to make up for it.

"Just keep me out of your politics," Harry had said, slamming the door behind him, fully aware it was the one request Ulmer couldn't honor.

The burden of his name weighing heavier than usual on his shoulders, he was grateful when Draco yanked him out of his office and led him deep into muggle London. It was Draco's domain, muggle London. The newest restaurants, the best bars, hidden gardens, novelty stores - Draco knew them all, knew what tube station to get off at to reach them without ever needing a map. It was where they spent most of their time away from work. Where they had always spent it, from the very beginning. Harry loved following him around to his favorite spots, rejoiced in the anonymity it gave them.

What's more, David turned out to be very good company. Harry recognised him right away. The tattoos that he remembered from the picture of him and Draco in a shelter were mainly covered by his suit, only visible spreading from underneath it high up on his neck and on his hands.

He waved at them from the table at the back of the pub, where he was waiting with three pints.

"This one's non-alcoholic," was the first thing he said, pushing one of the pints towards Harry, "for my best friend's new boyfriend."

"Cheers," Harry laughed, sitting down while Draco scolded him for getting him the wrong kind of beer. By now Harry understood Draco well enough to tell when he was nervous. He searched for his hand under the table. He knew Draco had organized this middle of the week drink for his benefit. Ever since Harry had asked him if they were sneaking around , Draco had gone above and beyond to prove to Harry they they weren't. He'd first called June and made Harry talk to her on the phone. He'd forced Harry to go to brunch with Blaise and some more of his old friends from school. And that - even a lot less than that - would have been enough for Harry. But when Draco got it into his head that he had something to prove it was very hard to get him to stop.

"So, Harry, I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you whatever secret you want to know about my friend here - really, whatever you want, I've got an entire collection of embarrassing things he did - if you promise me to keep the glasses coming when I get too drunk to order them myself."

"Why do I bother letting you into my life," Draco lamented. "I never learn my lesson."

"Deal," Harry joked, glancing at a terrified Draco. "Tell me everything."

"I like him already! Well, how about I start with the story of…"

"Please, don't…"

"... how Draco once tried to steal a woman's wallet, but stole her toiletry bag instead."

"Jesus, don't tell him that!" Draco exclaimed, red in the face.

"Why, you never told your boyfriend you used to steal for a living?"

"I did not," Draco turned to Harry, panicked. "Just a few times, really…" But Harry was laughing too hard to feel bad for Draco.

"Don't worry," David patted Draco on the back. "I'll tell him you were shit at it too, if that helps. I had to teach him everything. And it's not like I had some crazy experience either; I grew up in fucking Little Whinging, going to church every Sunday morning. You just need the minimum amount of talent for it and Draco here simply lacked it."

That night, Harry learnt that Draco had been indeed shit at stealing, getting caught more often than not, that it had taken three different people to teach him how to make his own bed ("I've never met anybody so hopeless at keeping himself alive before") and that he used to get food and cigarettes at the shelters by sewing people's ripped clothes once he picked up the skill from one of their friends. He also learnt David came from a rich family, that he'd ran away from home when he was fifteen with all the money he found in his father's safe and then spent the next ten years roaming around. He didn't, however, pierce the mystery of what he did at work; only that it involved very large sums of money .

"Do you invest, Harry?" he'd asked, appearing extremely concerned when he was told that Harry did not, in fact, invest. "So, what's your story, then? Did you also have horrible rich parents like us or did you have horrible poor parents? And please don't tell me your parents weren't horrible, I won't be able to take it."

Harry took a big gulp of his third non-alcoholic beer to buy himself some time. It was so rare that he had to explain this part of his life, he almost didn't know how. He could feel Draco tensing up next to him so he decided to just get it over with. "I never met them. My parents died when I was very young. So they could have been either way, really. I've only heard good things but that's to be expected, I guess."

"Blimey," David said, "I'm sorry. I'll drink to them, then." And he did. "So who did you grow up with?"

"I grew up with my mom's sister. In Little Winghing, actually," he smirked.

"Really? Why didn't you say so earlier?" he demanded, surprised. Harry laughed. He hadn't planned on admitting to David they grew up in the same area. His curiosity had gotten the better of him in the end. "Which street?"

"Privet Drive."

"St. Martin's here. Did you go to St. Grogory's then?"

"I did."

"Blimey, me too! Why didn't you tell me, Draco?"

Draco's eyes were darting back and forth between David and Harry. "I didn't know."

"I don't remember you though," David said, ignoring Draco. "I don't remember any Potters."

"Maybe you remember my cousin. Dudley."

"Dudley? Dudley fucking Dursley? That's your fucking cousin?"

Harry burst into laughter. That was exactly the reaction he was expecting from anybody who'd ever known Dudley as a child. "Yes, that's my cousin."

"Of course I remember Dudley. He punched my little brother in the face once."

"Yeah, he did that a lot."

"Wait, it's all coming back to me… yes, he had a cousin that had been sent to St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. I remember thinking they must have gotten the wrong kid. So that was you?"

"Yes!"

"What?" Draco exclaimed.

"No way! I used to think you were the coolest!"

"I didn't actually go there, it was a lie my uncle said to cover for the fact that I got a scholarship to a private school," Harry explained, more for Draco's benefit than David's.

"And that was the lie he made up?" Draco asked incredulously. Harry shrugged. He'd read Dudley's letter in the end. Not out of curiosity, just to find out what it was that Draco had figured out about his childhood. Not much. Dudley had been vague. The best thing Dudley had done for him, ever.

"Oh, that sounds exactly like the kind of lie Dudeley's father would make up. I remember Vernon Dursley. What a stuck up, arrogant prick. I don't envy you at all, Harry."

"You knew him?"

"He used to come to our door and fight with my father because he didn't mow our lawn to his standards. I hated my father and I still found Vernon a pain in the ass."

Not only did David remember Vernon's obsession with lawns and how proud he was of his car, he also remembered an incident that had apparently made the rounds in the neighborhood: that time Vernon invited the richest man in the area to his house and dropped a cake on his wife's head. Wiping away tears of laughter, Harry tried to imagine what his 12 year old self would have thought if he would have known one day he'll be sitting across one of the Dursley's neighbors, gossiping about them.

It was, all in all, one of the best nights Harry had had in a long time. He'd even managed to forget about Fudge. He told as much to Draco as they made their way back home by foot.

"I knew you'd like him," Draco smiled. "I still can't get over the fact you grew up two streets from each other."

"It is pretty wild."

"Your aunt and uncle sound awful."

"Uh-huh. But you know what's even wilder?" Harry asked, a big grin appearing on his face. He'd been waiting to tell Draco this ever since David had told this story. "It wasn't me who dropped that cake on that woman's head."

"Oh, yeah? There was another wizard living there who could do levitation spells and who had a good motive to screw his horrible uncle's deal?"

"It was Dobby," Harry piped, turning to catch the surprise on Draco's face.

"Who?"

"Dobby!"

"Who's Dobby?"

Harry came to a stop. "Dobby," he said again, dumbfounded.

"Who the fuck is Dobby, Harry?"

Harry let go of Draco's hand, feeling as if he'd just walked through a curtain of freezing water.

Notes:

*L'adversaire is a book by French writer Emmanuel Carrère. The film based on it, directed by Nicole Garcia, is also very good.

**I chose to reference the film's version of the Dobby/cake scene because it made more sense for such a story to be remembered over the years.