High Fidelity

"Most of the time
I'm clear focused all around,
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground,
I can follow the path, I can read the signs,
Stay right with it, when the road unwinds,
I can handle whatever I stumble upon,
I don't even notice he's gone,
Most of the time."

-Bob Dylan, Most of the Time

It wasn't always like this. Let me explain. No. I don't have time. Let me sum up. Obviously, it's a bit strange for me, Draco Malfoy, to be...well, a record store owner, jaded and rejected by the Boy Who, well you know. Everyone knows. The seventeen-year-old boy who saved the world. But if you knew the whole story, it would make sense.

Perfect sense.

It was, naturally, a dark and stormy night the first time we had sex. In those days it was bloody normal to just desperately need to fuck something. War causes this itch under your skin that only human contact seems to quell. But it's more than that. It just, you're miserable all the time, and it seemed to be always raining, and foggy, and once you kill a person, you can't seem to stop. This rage fills you up, and taints you and sex...sex was just a way to let the taint out. I mean, stranger couples have been known to exist. Snape and Longbottom, for instance.

Oh, did I forget to mention that the "somebody else" that Neville found was Snape?

Well it was.

Bastard.

But let's stop that tangent before it starts, shall we?

It was war that brought Harry and me together. There I was, looking for something to believe in, and there he was, well, I mean, can you blame me? I needed a cause, he needed a cause. Somehow this lead to sex, which lead to me betraying the only way of life I had ever known, which lead to Dumbledore sending me into the Muggle world until I got my shit together, which lead me to Muggle music. Muggle music, that I couldn't seem to get enough of because I was finally caring about something after I lost everything. The music world that reminded me of the Slytherin common room where your taste decided your status and with knowledge you gained power. When I started collecting records, I needed all of my Slytherin cunning to avoid getting ripped off, and I soon learned that being a music snob actually made me likable to some people and it was brilliant. I was brilliant.

With Harry by my side and encouraging me and my new hobby (that shortly turned into a lifestyle) I was ecstatically happy. I bought a record store, and it didn't matter that the confiscation of most of the Malfoy estate following the Ministry trials had left me homeless and poor. I was finally financially independent and living with my lovely boyfriend in my lovely apartment.

And then I got dumped.

My life!

Speaking of apartments, mine seems to be occupied by a certain ex-boyfriend. And his large amount of luggage.

"What the fuck, Harry? What are you doing here? Are you fucking Ian-From-Upstairs?" I was winded from running all the way to our...excuse me, my apartment (and, wow, that really shouldn't make me want to cry) following my revelation downstairs in the hallway.

"That's none of your business."

"Is the sex better than ours?"

"I'm just here to pick up the last of my things. I was trying to do it while you were at work. Why are you here?"

"That's not important. He listens to fucking Yanni, Harry, what the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"Draco, shut up about Ian."

"I just want to know if you're getting good sex while I sit around thinking about burning all the things that remind of you."

"Jesus Christ, Draco, what did you do to all your records?" Harry was glancing wearily at the massive amount of records that are normally carefully placed on special shelves, but were currently lying in piles on the floor.

"I'm reorganizing them. Stop avoiding my question!"

"Not--alphabetically?"

"No. Answer the question."

"By release date?"

"No. Listen, are you--"

"How then?"

"Fucking autobiographically! Answer me!"

"Jesus, Draco. That's intense."

"I know. I got bored."

"You shouldn't stack them in piles like this, it warps the--"

"Damnit Harry, I know! Are you fucking that godawful Kenny G. listening sack of shit?"

"How do you even organize something autobiographically?"

"Harry!"

"Listen, I've packed the rest of my stuff. I'll see you around all right?"

I was speechless.

"Harry, please. Don't go."

"Draco, it's too late for this."

"Please, Harry."

"No, I've got to get going."

He shoulders the crap he has piled near the door and leaves.

Why?

Why am I doomed to be dumped?

I must know. I've got to do...something. Something besides sit around and organize my records.

Something besides go back to work, which I don't feel like doing.

What I do feel like doing is flooing up Pansy Parkinson and asking that bitch why she dumped me.

There is no fireplace in the apartment, however. Harry and I decided against it, because it was 1. safer and 2. We didn't want to be bothered with people's heads in our fireplaces.

Championship Vinyl has got a fireplace though, so I guess I'd be returning to work after all.

Barry is listening to The Kinks when I walk in.

"Oooh...okay, I get it. Draco is allowed to leave the store any time he wants but when Barry takes a short lunch break he gets yelled at."

"First of all, that lunch break was four fucking hours long, Barry. Second of all, I'm the goddamn owner, so shut up."

Barry gives me the finger and turns his music up louder.

"Everybody's gonna be happy, and that means you and me my love!" The stereo croons.

I can't take this right now.

I walk into my office, shut and lock the door and pull the blinds over the windows. I'm a little paranoid about doing magic nowadays. It's not that I'm afraid of it. It just brings back bad memories.

You know, those childhood memories of daddy torturing house elves with a lazy "Crucio!" and holding the love of your life while he cried after he said "Avada Kedavra!" for the first time?

Yeah. Those bad memories.

I had to look up Pansy's number in the Ministry's directory. Heh. Sometimes it pays to have a boyfriend who's an Auror. Ex-boyfriend, that is to say.

Fuck me, that hurts.

I don't know who invented the Floo Chat spell, but he or she must have inhaled some serious amounts of smoke and ash during its development. Sticking my head into the flames and saying Pansy's number resulted in me having a coughing fit. I was still hacking a bit when I heard a voice and saw an unfamiliar head loom into my vision.

"Yes?" The woman asked, sounding rather impatient.

"Um, I was wondering if I could speak with Pansy Parkinson?"

"Who's this?"

"Draco, Draco Malfoy. I was her first boyfriend."

"Well, I hate to be the one to correct you, but Pansy married her first boyfriend, Gregory Goyle."

"Uhm, actually, I was her first boyfriend. I was her boyfriend for a week before Goyle got to her!"

"Yes. That's nice, Derrick, was it? Well, Pansy isn't here right now. Have a nice day."

She disconnects the floo and I'm pushed rather forcibly out of the flames.

Pansy. Married. Goyle.

She fucking married him! You know what that means? It was Fate! Fate! It had nothing to do with me! I wasn't dumped at all! It was...an act of God or something!

Wow. I feel so good! Bloody amazing! So good, why don't I contact the entire top five? Find out why I was dumped. Resolve it once and for all. Then I can move on and forget about Harry.

Or then I can fix the problem, get rid of Ian-From-Upstairs and get back together with Harry. Either way, it's important that I call up Blaise Zabini ASAP

So it turns out that Blaise is a writer for the Daily Prophet. He's gorgeous and funny and has this odd habit of randomly taking notes if he sees or hears something that strikes his fancy.

I took him to a movie, which he furiously scribbled notes about.

And now, over dinner we get to talking about our old schools days. The more he talks, the more I realize how much he looks like Harry. If you squint, kind of. I suppose I was having subconscious lustful feelings for Harry even at sixteen.

After we chat about our respective careers for a while, I finally get around to the important question.

"Why did you dump me and then have sex with someone else?"

Blaise is silent. I look up from the table and realize that his eyes are filled with something akin to fury.

"You...ugh. You asshole! You're the one who dumped me! Because I wanted my first time to be with someone who cared about me! And you dumped me because I wouldn't give it up! And when I was drunk a few days later, Terry Boot was just...it...it wasn't rape because I said yes but I...I...argh!"

Blaise slaps me across the face, picks up his pen and notebook and leaves, crying.

I'm...stunned.

I dumped him?

I dumped him?

Holy shit! I dumped Blaise! It wasn't the other way around after all! Oh Holy shit! I dumped him!

Fantastic! I feel fantastic! I feel like dancing! Who's next on the list?

Seamus Finnegan.

I uh...don't think I'm quite ready for that yet.

"So, uh...Draco I was wondering if you'd like to come get a drink with me and Barry after work?"

"Yeah alright."

"There is this um, duo that's playing. I dunno. There supposed to be pretty good and I was wondering if you'd like to see them because you're into music and all. So you wouldn't be intruding or anything, and Barry won't mind if that's what you're worried about but uh..."

"Dick, I already said yes."

"Oh. Okay. It's at the Cat Scratch. At half past eight, but you should probably go at eight, or even quarter of, because well, uhh...

"Right. Thanks, Dick."

Oh dear God, is that Peter fucking Frampton?

I'm outside the Cat Scratch and it's, well it's about quarter of nine. A woman's singing voice is spilling out into the neon lit street.

"Oooh, baby I love your way..." she sings.

I cringe.

"Is that Peter fucking Frampton?" I ask the big, surly man taking the cover charge.

He grins a little and nods.

"Such a music snob, Malfoy."

I roll my eyes at the man and he waves me in, refusing to take my money. I'm a bit of a regular at the Cat Scratch and the owner loves me because I fulfill her need for rare Cat Stevens records, so I rarely end up paying a cover.

I spot Barry and Dick near the bar and make my way through the crowd. Both of them are giving their utmost attention to the girl singer. I don't blame them for staring; she's quite fit, for a girl. But seconds later I catch a glimpse of the other half of the duo and wow. He's just...singing right along with her, dark brown skin and short cropped black hair with huge lips and white teeth. The girl has the same almost black skin and dred locks, they might be related.

But he's, he's bloody gorgeous.

"I hate this song." I say, faintly.

"Yeah." Dick and Barry reply at the same time.

"I want to date a musician." Barry says, still staring.

"Hmm. Me too." Dick replies, in daze.

"Talk about their next album with them, help with the creative process." I say.

"Absolutely." Dick might be drooling a bit.

"He'd write our inside jokes in the liner notes." I say as the song ends.

"Or maybe just a picture of me in the liner notes." Barry says.

After their set, we chat with the man and women. It turns out they are brother and sister. The woman's name is Marie, and her brother with the hypnotic lips...his name is Jacques.

We somehow get on the subject of Championship Vinyl.

"Oh my God, you should totally come and see us!" Barry exclaims.

I absently note that when Barry is trying to impress a girl, he acts as flamboyantly gay as humanly possible. I've been meaning to bring this up, but I'd hate to hurt his feelings.

"I'd be into that." Jacques says and smiles.

I'm smiling back.

I'm smiling back, and nowhere in my head are there thoughts of Harry, for the first time in what feels like forever.

"You fucking asshole!" Hermione shrieks at me the next morning, and then leaves, the bells over the door at Championship Vinyl clanging loudly.

Which means that she just got finished with her weekly lunch with Harry, and Harry most likely told her one or more of the following:

But wait! Let me explain, see Harry tricked me into saying it, the bastard, after he hinted that he was maybe, sort of interested in seeing other people...and I was pissed off at him for thinking that, so I said the same thing! And he tricked me! Because he's smarter than me when it comes to manipulating love, no lie. I mean. The man should've been a Slytherin. It certainly would've made sex much more convenient.

I just...I'm terrified of the child turning out like me. Or me turning out like my father. I don't know which is worse. But I just don't want to take the risk. That kid could be ruined forever.

I've got no excuse for that. I'm desperately sorry. I didn't see the point of leaving the house, I wanted to die. For Harry, it was a slap in the face that I didn't think he was worth getting up for. If I could change the part of me that makes Harry feel like that, I would, but I can't.

Okay! I cheated! I fucking cheated! And I'm sorry, so fucking sorry I can't tell you how goddamn apologetic I am. Harry and I got into a fight, and so I got drunk and found the closest black haired bloke and fucked him and then I went home and told Harry and he looked so disappointed. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

I am a fucking asshole.

After Hermione left, I moaned and put my face in my hands.

Barry tried to offer comfort by saying "Cheer up, mate. I've just got the Jacques and Marie demo." He put it into the player and Jacques' and Marie's voices fill the room.

It was a love song.

I moan again. "I miss Harry!"

I hear the bell ring and hope it isn't Hermione, returning to punch me in the nose.

I look up and see that it was not, in fact, Hermione but Jacques and Marie.

"Hi." Barry says.

"Uh. H-hi." Dick says.

"Hey." Marie says.

"Hullo." says Jacques.

"Hey." I finally manage to say, and then I hiss to Barry, at my right, "Maybe you should turn their fucking CD off."

"Right." He says.

I'm nervous, and I don't want to be attracted to Jacques. I plan on holing up in my office until they leave. While I'm in there, I might as well contact Neville. I know he's at Hogwarts. So I may as well try there first.

It takes ages to get through, what with the security clearances I needed to get, but I finally get to Neville's rooms. He's a Herbology professor and a Potions assistant, and that alone is a mindfuck, but that fact that he's living with Snape? Weird.

"Hullo? Draco?" Neville looks tousled and he's panting with exertion.

"Hi Neville. How are things?"

"Uhm, good. Good. Listen, is there anything I can do for you?"

He looks sweaty and his face is red. Is he--?

"Am I interrupting something?" I ask.

"No, no not at all." Is Neville's reply, and I hear a faint snort of laughter in the background. Then I realized that Neville is not alone at all, and that the Hogwarts Floo-Elf didn't connect me to the Longbottom rooms. She connected me to the Snape-Longbottom rooms.

Oh. My. God.

Neville is having sex with Snape. While on the floo with me! Oh, ew! I can't bloody ask him. He's just. Too happy. And now I feel desperate and freaked out.

"So is there something you need?"

"Nope! Just wanted to say hi! Bye!" I disconnect the floo.

And now Seamus is the only one left on my list.

He's in the fucking floo directory!

People like Seamus shouldn't be in the fucking floo directory! And he lives in London! He should be on fucking Pluto!

So.

One thing left to do.

I stick my head into the fire and recite his number.

I wait.

"Holy shit! Draco Malfoy." And suddenly, he's there, all buzzing energy and honey colored hair.

"Seamus. Hi."

"Hi! Jesus, what's going on?'

"Not much. What about you?"

"Oh, all sorts of things."

"I know this is kind of out of the blue, but would you like to--."

"Wait, Drake..."

"Draco." I correct automatically

"Draco, right, this isn't some kind of midlife crisis thing or soul searching thing is it?"

"What? No! I'm not even thirty yet. I just wanted to catch up with you."

"What if you came over here instead?"

"Yeah. Alright."

"Tomorrow, then? I'm having a little get together. Just a few friends."

"Okay, yeah."

"It's a brunch."

"So, what time?"

"Noon-ish."

"Okay, I'll see you."

"Ciao, babe."

We disconnected.

Wait! Wait! What the fuck just happened here? I can't have lunch with him and his friends.

This is just too surreal. I haven't seen the man in years and he just invites me over? I could be a bloody serial killer or something, and he wants me for tea and quiche?

And who the fuck says ciao anyway?

Next morning dawns rather...grey. But no surprise there, right? It is London.

Seamus lives in the swanky, modern wizarding district of the city (see: homes for those compensating for something)

Seamus's condo is certainly something to be admired. It isn't exactly modest. I knock on his rather ornately modern door with his ornately modern doorknocker and wait for him to answer.

Seamus opens the door with a smile and a glass of (no doubt expensive) glass of white wine in his hand. I smile sheepishly myself and bump cheekbones with him.

"How's it going, Draco?" he asks huskily.

"Fine, thank you." I say, feeling oddly self-conscious as I hand him a bottle of wine, his favorite if I remember correctly. He beams at me and invites me in. I take in his appearance first, his honey blonde hair is stylishly messy and his trousers scream fine Italian tailoring.

That could have been you, I think, and then stop myself.

Don't be jealous. You made your choices, and you chose not to live this life with this man, My mind supplies harshly as I take in the foyer. It's all modern steel and glass, nowhere near as homey as our, excuse me, my apartment, but it's nice.

He leads me into the kitchen where I met his other friends.

They're all bright, charming, funny people. The future rulers of the wizarding world. They discuss politics and movies and yes! Music! Finally something I give a damn about. Only, they're discussing wizarding bands.

"The Snitchers are absolutely the new Vampire Zombies." Remarks an androgynous...person with short hair and those tortoise shell glasses that seem so popular among intellectuals.

Um, the who and the what now? I've been out of the wizarding world for too long. I haven't heard of half the bands Seamus's friends keep bringing up.

"Please! The Snitchers sound exactly like the Weird Sisters."

Now, the Weird Sisters I'm familiar with. I pipe up.

"The Weird Sisters blatantly rip off The Velvet Underground, a Muggle band. The Snitchers can't be too impressive if they sound like a band that sounds like another band." I remark blandly.

"Absolutely! That's exactly what I'm saying." proclaims a rather pretty girl with unattractive sea-green hair.

Seamus smiles at me. I shift in my seat and take another sip (see: gulp) of wine.

I lean back in my seat and listen absently to the conversation. Somewhere in between one woman talking about the war in the Middle East and Seamus complaining loudly about the newest line from Armani, it hits me:

I don't want this, I just want Harry.

Later, I'm sitting on Seamus's white couch and Seamus walks in from the foyer where he is saying good-bye to the last of his guests.

"Hey, Draco." He says as he is walking in.

"Hi."

He plops down next to me and the living room is silent for a moment until I ask,

"Why did you dump me?"

"I knew it!" Seamus exclaims. "I knew this was some soul searching midlife crisis thing!"

"No, no it isn't! I just wanted to know, what did Dean have that I didn't?"

"I don't know Draco. Dean just seemed more, there, you know? More alive. He had a 5 year plan and everything."

What?! More alive?! THERE WAS A WAR GOING ON! Why the fucking fuck would I have a five year plan when I was convince I was going to die?

My stomach rolls uncomfortably and another thought hits me:

Seamus is a total asshole.

And so are all his friends.

He's so phony that if I wasn't totally appalled, I'd be laughing my ass off.

The things that come out of his mouth are complete bullshit. He's mean, and he never has any idea what he's talking about and he's got no sense of humor to boot. Maybe, there was a time when he did, but money and success and fame (all members of the DA got awards and merits and press time) had morphed him into a total prick.

I make my excuses and leave, hoping to who ever was listening Seamus would be struck by an awful curse.

On the underground on my way back to the apartment, I think about the top 5 things I miss about Harry Potter.

He has this brilliant full-bodied laugh that he just lets out of him. Its infectious and loud and the most beautiful thing. I wander around my empty apartment and make snarky comments I know Harry would laugh at (or rather, he'd laugh at me) and I'd wait for his high pitched cackle and it never comes.

This sounds just a tad heartless, but I've been living off of instant soup since Harry left and I miss his food desperately. Sometimes he'd do it naked. He was amazingly inventive. Nothing we ate was boring, unless he was too tired to cook and I was forced to make us something. He'd make curries and pies and I'd reward his efforts with the sexual favor of his choice. I can't look at my kitchen counters without thinking of what we got up to on them.

Scientists say that love all about hormones and pheromones, which means that maybe everything comes back to what a person smells like. But to me, smell is just one part of the equation. Harry smells like peaches and grass and summer time. He smells like foreign lands and spices. Mostly, Harry just smells like home. Like a place I want to come back too. I still haven't gotten his smell out of my sheets or my furniture. Everything smells like Harry and it's enough to drive me mad.

It's not that I don't have any friends besides Harry. I do. It's not that I don't talk to anyone but Harry. I do. But I can't talk to anyone how I talk to Harry. There isn't anyone who cares about me enough to listen when I need to vent. And lately, I've felt I needed to get all these sad thoughts out of my head but the only person I'd feel comfortable telling them to is Harry and all these thoughts are about him. It's this god-awful catch-22 that leaves me with mountains of pent up emotion simmering under the surface.

Where he rubs his feet together an equal number of times before going to sleep. He'll rub them together twice with his right foot over his left, then twice with his left foot over his right. Then his does this full body shimmy-stretch thing and flexes his toes and puts his hands over his head and yeah...I miss that. A lot.

I miss him.

So.

Fucking.

Much.

I add more and more to the list as I get off the tube and walk to my apartment. The stairs creak as I make my way up, bitterly thinking of Ian-From-Upstairs.

When I get to my apartment, Harry is there. Again.

I hope that maybe he misses me too.

I'm probably wrong.

"Top Five jobs I want to have besides record store owner." He says when I walk into the kitchen. He is reading off a scrap piece of parchment.

"Hey, that's private!"

"Number five." He says.

"Auror?" He reads and then raises an eyebrow.

"Really?" He stretches the word out, trying to sound sly.

"You looked like you enjoyed it. I don't see why I couldn't give it a try."

"That's reasonable." He says and continues.

"Get to work with Harry, get to prove that I'm not a total coward." He reads.

Harry looks up.

"I don't think you're a coward." He says. I shrug.

"Number four. A Librarian. Get to read lots of books. Not a lot of human interaction. You're a reclusive nerd." He says, but he is smiling.

"Number three. Wand maker. Would need to go to special school. Difficult, but seems like fun." He looks up. "That's five years at university and two years apprenticeship."

"I know. I didn't say I was going to do it. I just would."

"Oh, so this is more of a jobs-I'd-want-if-it-were-possible-to-suspend-reality list, is it?"

"Yes." I say, mildly offended. It's not that far fetched.

"Number 2. Socialite, 1800's." Harry laughs out loud at that.

"That's not a profession!" He exclaims.

I shrug. "Sure it is."

"Number one. Potion master, Hogwarts."

There is a pause.

"I thought you hated children." Harry says, voice flat.

"No. Not ah...not any more."

Harry looks up sharply, his eyes a little watery.

"I haven't slept with Ian." He snaps, and then leaves, not giving me a chance to stop him.

I'm ecstatic. Heart broken, but ecstatic. HARRY HASN'T SLEPT WITH CUNT-FROM-UPSTAIRS! That means that I'm the last person he's slept with.

Harry hasn't had sex with Ian.

Harry hasn't had sex with Ian.

The Hallelujah chorus is on repeat in my head, randomly interspersed with lines from "We Are the Champions"

That's how happy I am.

I'm incredibly happy. Endlessly happy.

So happy, in fact, that I go out and sleep with Jacques, that very night.

A/N: Uhm. Yeah. Sorry this took so long but it's MUCH longer than the last part. Only one part left. How exciting. What a shitty ending. What shitty characterization. What shitty plot. Eh. Review!