If someone asked Harry what he was doing here, he would struggle with an answer, although his memory was perfectly fine. It's just that he wouldn't be able to explain his actions with the usual pragmatic reasons. He wasn't on a mission, he wasn't working undercover, he wasn't meeting a friend. Damn, he couldn't even blame it on Dennis – his colleague – who usually tried to get him into some weird-looking places with the basic excuse of all time: "I'm curious."

No, this time Harry had to admit that he got here due to his own choices. First, while heading home from the Auror office, Harry thought that it would be nice to have a pint or two. But it was Monday, and his favourite pub was closed, so Harry decided that any place was good enough to have a beer. Even this bar with a neon sign and several tattooed girls smoking outside. Of course, he stood out in the crown because of his Auror uniform, but who cares, right? Besides, he did get himself a beer, and the light electropop music was surprisingly soothing.

"Who's the singer?" Harry asked the guy behind the bar, whose short hair and athletic body for some reason contrasted with the low cut t-shirt, tucked in his skinny jeans. The guy turned around, and Harry blinked as he noticed eyeliner on his eyes.

"She's Muggle," he answered. "Billie Eilish. If you go out in the Muggle part of London, you must have seen her face on the billboards."

Harry told the barman that he didn't really go out in Muggle London, but he did like the song.

"If you're into this kind of stuff, you should go here," the guy picked up a flyer on the bar and handed it to Harry. "Today's the last day of the festival, you shouldn't miss it."

The piece of paper glowed in Harry's hands. He hasn't heard of the bands listed on it. It seemed like music has took several steps forward since Harry has last listened to the radio at the Burrow.

"I guess it's a bit late to go there," he said hesitantly.

"Are you kidding me, the last day's the best!" the barman retorted. "It's not even 10 pm, the main set's about to start, it's perfect timing."

Harry touched the glowing Apparition coordinates and tried to figure out why the idea of going to a concert was so tempting. He had never been to a festival before: Ron and Hermione weren't outdoor people – which was totally understandable, keeping in mind the number of journalists chasing them around – and Ginny was always at some sports event. Well, and even when she was there, something felt wrong. Either way, going to a concert didn't seem like a good idea – Harry still had to finish the report on the last mission, and sleeping before work wasn't generally a bad thing…

Thinking of responsibilities felt almost physically suffocating. Harry only managed to cope with the pace of Auror duties because Ron was there to cheer him up, plus, Dennis' stupid ideas kept him from feeling trapped in the routine. On top of the difficult job, Kingsley somehow talked Harry into attending one official event after another, where he was forced to smile, keep a straight face and politely answer tactless questions. By the way, wasn't there another dinner planned this weekend?..

This was the final straw. Harry strongly felt that if he didn't go out and unwind right now, he wouldn't be able to make it until the end of the week. He thanked the barman, grabbed the flyer and went out the back door to Disapparate, without letting himself think it through.

This is how he got here. The festival was held in a place that looked like an abandoned factory: to the left of the stage there was a high brick chimney, half-dismantled narrow gauge rails were found here and there, the blue and purple stage lights reflected off the broken windows of the long two-storey pavilion on the right, where one could buy drinks or food.

Harry didn't regret once that he had come. The music was really good, the people in the crowd didn't care about who he was, and for the first time in his entire life Harry felt like he could do whatever he wanted, without caring about what people could think. It felt so good he wasn't sure it was true.

Several hours later he left the crowd, soaking wet after dancing so long, and headed to the pavilion to get himself a drink. As he approached the entrance, a skinny guy with purple hair drew his attention: he was standing with his back to Harry and was smoking. The sight of the cigarette and the casual way the guy flicked the ashes reminded Harry of how he used to smoke about once a week – that was before Hermione had lectured him on the outcomes. Suddenly, Harry realised that right now he didn't give a fuck about the odds of developing lung cancer, and went over to the guy.

"Hey, do you have another cigarette?" he asked, without bothering to introduce himself.

The guy took a long drag on his cigarette, threw his head back to look at the dark sky and replied:

"This is the last one I've got."

Something in his voice sounded familiar, so Harry made a step forward.

"Oh, okay. Have we met?"

The guy put his cigarette out against the pavilion wall and turned to face Harry.

"I don't…"

His eyes met Harry's and he stopped talking in surprise. Finally, he tossed his purple hair off his forehead.

"Potter," he said defensively.

Harry didn't answer. It was Malfoy – there was no way Harry would not recognise him – but it wasn't the Malfoy he was used to at Hogwarts. He expensive suit was gone; instead, he was wearing baggy clothes and a pair of sneakers, his nose was pierced, and a magic tattoo shimmered on his neck. Wow, those were unexpected changes.

"What are you staring at, Potter? Am I insulting your sense of beauty?"

"No," Harry answered, surprised, because it was true. "Quite the contrary, actually."

Malfoy shoulders dropped and he seemed to relax a bit.

"Do you still want a cigarette?" he asked.

"I thought this was your last one."

"It's the last one for strangers," Malfoy replied and took two cigarettes out of his pocket. "Here."

Harry hesitated for a second, then took the hand rolled cigarette and sat down on a concrete block nearby. Malfoy joined him, settling down cross-legged.

"So what are you doing here?" he asked, lighting his cigarette.

"You're not the only one who likes music," Harry answered.

"I have never seen you here before. Besides, you are wearing your uniform," Malfoy eyed his Auror pants and boots. "Therefore I conclude that you didn't plan on coming here."

Harry shrugged.

"It was a last-moment decision."

Malfoy threw his head back and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke out of his mouth. The tattoo on his neck – a wonderfully drawn sea landscape – moved with a gust of wind, and Harry was so impressed he almost stopped breathing. Malfoy noticed this and smiled.

"Want one too? I can give you the artist's contacts."

"I don't think Kingsley would approve," Harry said resentfully. "Though I'd pay a high price to see his face."

"I didn't ask if Kingsley would approve," Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I asked if you wanted one."

Harry took a drag on his cigarette, not really knowing what to say. He never asked himself what he wanted. He was so busy thinking of responsibilities and duty, he's never had the time to think of himself.

"Let me guess: you don't know," Malfoy said in an ironic tone. "Well then, think."

Harry ignored the guess, even though it hit close to home. The weirdness of the situation was bothering him more and more. Who was this Malfoy, sitting next to him? Why were they having a calm conversation? What's with the ring in his nose, goddamn it?!

"Where does it all come from?" Harry asked. "Why do you look like this?"

Malfoy sighed and stared at his cigarette.

"Do we have to go through this?" he sounded annoyed.

"It's just that I don't get it. You were always… You're…" Harry stumbled on his words. He didn't know how to phrase the feeling.

"I was always what? A Malfoy?" he snapped, and Harry nodded. "If only you knew how tired I was of being a Malfoy! I'm not playing by anyone's rules anymore. At least, now I'm free."

"So this is a riot?"

"Not every opinion is a riot, Potter. But I suppose you cannot explain this to my father," Malfoy calmed down a bit and took another smoke. "What about you? Are you happy with your life?"

Harry thought of the ministry workers and their tired faces, the Auror raids, the reports and the awkwardness with Ginny.

"No," he answered simply. It was the first time in several years that he allowed himself to be honest about this.

"Why don't you change anything?"

Harry put out his cigarette.

"I don't know. First I lived to kill Voldemort, but then it turned out that people were expecting even more achievements from me…"

Malfoy gave him a sympathetic look.

"Potter, you don't owe them anything."

"But I already work in the Auror office, and Kingsley…"

Malfoy put his hand on Harry's forearm, forcing him to stop talking.

"To hell with Kingsley. You only have one life. Live it before it's too late."

Harry exhaled sharply. Malfoy was stroking his forearm, and Harry realised that, surprisingly, he liked the feeling. Malfoy must be right. There he was, with all the purple hair, the neck tattoo and the piercing, looking stunning in his confidence that he had never had before. Harry thought that maybe he should gain some as well.

"I don't know where to start," he admitted quietly.

Malfoy's lips curled in an understanding smile.

"Pick something and do it. It doesn't matter what, as long as it's something you really want."

Malfoy's hand was still on Harry's forearm, and Harry knew exactly what was it that he wanted to do in this precise moment. He hesitated for a bit, then covered Malfoy's cold fingers with his hand; Malfoy didn't move away. Harry leaned over and kissed him a little too abruptly, and when Malfoy kissed back, running his fingers through Harry's hair and breathing heavily, Harry felt completely sure that he was doing the right thing.

When the kiss finally ended, Malfoy put his hand on Harry's neck, his forehead against Harry's, and whispered:

"Now that father would definitely consider a riot."

"But it's not?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Nope," Malfoy chuckled. "Even I don't kiss people just to piss my father off. It's more of a pleasant side-effect."

Harry laughed and kissed him again. He has never seen Malfoy so close and was surprised to find out that he had freckles. It was nice and a little strange at the same time to note a detail like this.

"Will you help me figure it out?" Harry asked as the blueish stage lights gave Malfoy's eyes a particularly beautiful glow.

Malfoy smiled promisingly.

"You bet."