Rating:
PG-13
House:
Astronomy Tower
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Genres:
Drama Slash
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Stats:
Published: 06/28/2003
Updated: 06/28/2003
Words: 1,487
Chapters: 1
Hits: 2,563

Monday in the Cafe with Joanne

Abaddon

Story Summary:
How might JKR have got her inspiration? [Harry/Draco]

Posted:
06/28/2003
Hits:
2,563


Monday in the Café with Joanne.

Edinburgh, 1993.

The young man took a quick look around the café before he entered, his grey eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction as he saw another young man, seemingly the same age, but with raven-black hair and sad, tired green eyes. In his haste to get inside, the blond man failed to notice the slightly older woman with pram who was exiting the café at the same time, and nearly got the door shoved in his face.

"Oh, I'm sorry," exclaimed the woman, the harsh Scottish wind already beginning to blow her honey-coloured hair around her face.

"It's fine," he assured her, "My fault anyway," and stepped aside, opening the door so that she could get the pram down the few steps as gently and simply as possible, without waking the young girl inside.

"She's beautiful," he said in passing, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile from the woman he now assumed to be her mother.

"Thank you."

"How old is she?"

"Two months, this week."

"Not too much to handle, I hope?"

The woman laughed, and made a futile attempt to pat down her hair, finally giving up. "Not really. I come here every day to write, and she's been pretty quiet thus far."

"Oh? What are you writing?"

"A children's book," she said, blushing. "I hope that one day when my daughter's old enough she'll be able to read it."

"I wish you luck with that," he offered, honestly. "But I have to-" he gestured into the café.

"Oh, of course!" she chorused, and began moving off. "Thanks for the door!" she called out, a little way down the street, and the man chuckled to himself and entered.

It was cosy, full of small ooden tables and secluded nooks. Mid-afternoon, most people were in their fifties, from what he could judge, apart from the usual student types. A few years ago, he would have despised 'cosy' on sight: but then, he wasn't the man he used to be.

And he knew exactly who to blame. Manoeuvring his way around the tables, he planted himself firmly in front of the black-haired man, who was staring into his cup of tea, seemingly unaware of the world around him. Fixing his hands on his hips, the blond spoke, his attempt at severity falling flat due to the obvious tenderness in his tone. "Do you know how hard it was to track you down?"

The other young man instantly brought his head up, his eyes wide and shocked, too amazed to speak.

The standing man seated himself, waving away the waitress who came to see if he needed anything. The other man stared at him, almost unbelieving, and sipped his tea.

"If you run, I'll just find you again," the new arrival said softly. "I don't want to live my life without you. And I don't think you want to live yours without me," he offered, breaking into a grin.

His raven-haired companion snorted, shaking his head, and sinking back into his chair, some of his initial hostility ebbing from his limbs. "Full of yourself, aren't you? But then you always were."

The blond leaned over, a smirk on his face, and gently laid his hand atop the other man's. "Next you'll be telling me you don't love me."

The hand was firmly pulled away. "It isn't that simple. I left for a reason, you know that."

"I know." He looked around him. "Can you tell me you've found your salvation here, in a café in Edinburgh?"

"I wasn't looking for salvation," he shrugged. "Just respite. I don't want to go back and be the hero. People are dead because of me!"

"And so many others lived because of you," was the rejoinder, again a pale hand reaching across to grasp onto the hand of the other, fingers lightly brushing against the palm. A few of the onlookers in the café raised their eyebrows at the somewhat unusual and open display of affection, but didn't protest further. "Yes, you did things that no-one should have to do. We all did." He kissed the palm, and the raven-haired man closed his eyes and sighed gently. "But if I had to choose between a world in which you did those things, and lived, and a world where you didn't, and died - I know which one I'd choose."

"Every day a woman comes in here with her young daughter," he began, before he was interrupted.

"Yes, I passed her on the way in. She's an author, I think she said?" the blond murmured, reaching across to take the still steaming cup of tea and drank from it, bearing an amused glare from his fellow diner.

"I started telling her my story a few months ago."

An eyebrow was raised. "And she believes you?"

"No," he admitted, breaking into a smile, "but she thinks it would make a great story."

With that, the blond erupted into pure laughter. "Oh dear. What will the Firbolg think of that, I wonder? Not to mention our people."

"Don't you worry. She's changing names and dates: the Firbolg are now called Muggles, by the way."

"Really? Did she think up a new name for moi?" There was the faint tone of injury in his voice.

"Yes," the man affirmed, sipping his tea. "You're called 'Draco', love."

"Draco?" He thought about it for a moment. "How utterly pretentious. My father would have loved it." Now it was the raven-haired man's turn to laugh, and his green eyes bubbled with amusement, the blond fixing him with a stare. "I knew I could still make you laugh. What did she call you, anyway?"

"I'm 'Harry'," he said, finishing off the tea with a grimace. "'Harry Potter'."

"It suits you."

"Oh, thanks!"

"When are you coming home?"

The question took 'Harry' by surprise. "It's been six months. I would have thought you would have sub-let my room, or something."

"Like I need the money. Besides, living with you drove me half-insane and I love you. How do you think I'd cope with someone else?"

A small smile. "I still don't know if I want to go back...to everything."

The blond squeezed his hand. "Please. Otherwise you'll just get me stalking you, and it'll be like Sixth Year all over again."

"Fine then, 'Draco'," murmured the other man. "I have missed you so much."

"I should bloody well hope so, 'Harry!'" Fond laughter ensued. "But that makes me think!"

"Oh, there's a worry," was the mutter under his breath.

"Hush, you" and a sideways glance. "I mean, what have you told this woman?" He leant closer, and whispered in the man's ear. "I mean, everything?!"

"Not everything!" The man hissed back. "Course not 'everything!' What do you think, I'm mad?"

A level look. "You left the house one day without a trace six months ago for no good reason at all to hole yourself up in Firbolg Scotland. You left me. You left the best sex of your life. Of course you must be mad." He grinned.

Green eyes rolled behind wire frames: one got the impression he did that a lot with this man. "I've given her pretty detailed versions of our first four years, actually. We were about a quarter of the way into Fifth Year when she decided she would have to change it from then on."

It was clear the blond was hurt. "Oh, why?"

"Because most publishing houses wouldn't accept a children's novel in which the hero realises he wants to shag the school bully. Or be shagged by him."

A petulant sigh. "Such bigotry. And you tell me we shouldn't just kill all these people." For that, the blond got a mock punch on his arm. "Hey! I bruise easily!"

"You do not! I remember your skin extremely well, and you're not half as delicate as you look."

"So, in this version of our lives we don't get to obsess over each other a tad more than is strictly healthy?"

"Unfortunately, no. She says she'll leave some of the subtext in, but whether anyone picks it up is another matter entirely."

The waitress came along to pick up the empty pot of tea and cup, and the two paused their conversation for a moment.

"I'm sure someone will," remarked the blond. "But then you know the non-magical folk: they're all such perverts anyway. Some of them will probably be looking for it."

"Oh, I am so going to yell at you when we get back home." The other man muttered, rising from his seat, the blond following suit.

They emerged from the café into the harsh Edinburgh winter, cold wind whipping around them, and the blond quickly wrapped an arm around the other man's waist, keeping him close as they walked down the street. "Well," he observed, "you could do that. But not if I distract you first."