Wix Ever After

Sunday

Draco held it together just long enough to reach the post-rose ceremony confessional. Then, with just him, Pansy, and the blinking red cameras he gave into nerves.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck.”

The camera’s light turned solid red and angry in response to Draco ruining the take.

Draco bent over and buried his head in his hands while he muttered. “Tits. Bollocks. Ass.”

Pansy snapped aggressively and the cameras switched off.

“Don’t be a twat,” she scolded. “Besides, we can still put most of those on air.”

Draco groaned into his hands. “What am I doing, Pansy? That was a nightmare.”

One of the things Draco loved about Pansy was that she didn’t put up with his whingeing, but today they weren’t just best friends. This was Pansy’s job, and part of that job was managing Draco so he’d function on television. “We knew it was going to be hard, but you do hard things all the time, Draco.” Pansy took Draco’s hands in hers. “Lee stayed up all night watching the footage and he decided to keep you because you’re good at this. You earned this.”

Surprisingly, Draco realized he did need this pep talk. Unsurprisingly, he found holes to pick in it. “Lee decided to keep me, not Harry?”

The fact Pansy wasn’t rolling her eyes just meant she was bloody committed to her job. “Draco, it’s not like you’re here for Harry.” Right. Of course. Right. “You’ve just got to do three things to stay on this show: talk to people, be funny, and for the love of all things magic, never bring up or react to a single thing about Death Eaters.”

That was… not reassuring.

“Gah, don’t look stricken you drama queen.” She pushed him gently to sit up straight and face the camera. “If you do the first one, the next two will work themselves out. No time like the present to start.” The snap of her fingers cracked through the room and the camera lights blinked back to life. “Go time!” Pansy announced as she backed away out of the shot. She pulled a sheet of paper out of her chest, where she apparently stored things since her slinky black dress didn’t have pockets. Pansy cleared her throat then read the first prompt question on the paper.

“How did it feel when Harry gave you the rose?”

Draco hissed in a breath, remembering the moment all over again. “Holy Hippogriff shit, I was certain I was going to be sent home.”

“Uh huh,” supportive Pansy had very much checked out. “And how did it feel when Harry gave you the rose?”

Draco blinked a few times as he stared at the camera. “I think I blanked out completely when he gave me the rose.” He turned to Pansy. “I didn’t say anything, did I?” Both his hands cupped his cheeks in horror as he realized he didn’t know. “You’d tell me if I said something embarrassing, wouldn’t you?”

“To the camera,” Pansy reminded as she flipped the page over looking for a question she liked.

“What do you think of the other contestants?”

Draco very much did not grimace. But then he worried that anyone watching him freeze up would read even more into his reticence to react at all. He had to say something positive and hope they aired it. “Of course Silas got the first rose. They were amazing. Their outfit was so creative, and the confidence to just grab a stranger and start dancing! I was so impressed.”

Pansy was nodding to demonstrate she liked that approach. She read through more questions and plucked out something rough. “Who do you think is your biggest threat in the competition?” They’d been friends so long that Draco understood her intent immediately. He had to say something spicy.

“Marcus.”

“In a complete sentence,” she chided again.

Draco ducked his head bashfully then braced himself to look up and try again. “My biggest competition is definitely Marcus.” Pansy made a ‘go on’ gesture with her hands. “You know who he is, right? He’s a chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps. He played in the world cup last year.” Pansy’s hand was still twirling for him to continue. Draco breathed deep and sighed dreamily. “Plus he’s just so fit. Harry’s going to fall head over heels for him.” He paused for just a beat before casting Pansy a conspiratorial smile. She pointed at the camera and Draco did his best to recreate the moment for a blinking light. “That is, unless Harry falls for me first.” Pansy went so far as to give him a thumbs up at that one.

“What are you most excited for this week?”

Draco chewed on his lip as he considered that one. Everyone else probably had plenty to say here and it was dawning on him that he’d be spending a lot of time on this competition thinking about how much better everyone was doing than him.

No time to stress spiral. Not on camera. Not in front of Pansy.

“I can’t wait to spend more time with Harry,” Draco said. It was boring and bland and they wouldn’t put it on TV, but he didn’t have to be afraid they’d air him not having anything to say instead.

“Alright, you’re done here,” Pansy said. Draco couldn’t tell if she meant Draco had completed everything he needed to or if she could just see he’d reached the end of his rope.

The following wait for all the other contestants to finish their own confessionals made it clear that he absolutely missed his chance to pump out content for the next episode. It was another hour before everyone was gathered in a lobby. The room was marked with green tape, which meant it was a no camera area. It was a relief to not have to worry that anything he did here would be seen by the world, and a new cause of anxiety to see that, as the time dragged on, plenty of other contestants were sitting together and chatting like they were already forming fast friendships. Susan Bones was buddied up and laughing with a trio of attractive contestants whose names Draco hadn’t even caught yet.

Draco was failing at his first task: talk to people. But he’d run out of energy just talking to Pansy. He needed the chance to recharge before putting himself out there.

“On your feet, love birds,” shouted a giant of a woman in stark black. Her jet black hair was cropped short and she had six piercings that Draco could see from across the room. The contestants didn’t move fast enough for her liking so she slid two fingers into her mouth and shrieked out a whistle too shrill to be fully human. “I said on your feet. Rule one on my set is you stay on schedule, so hop to.”

They hopped. Draco was in the middle of the masses and walked out the door just as Lee, now sporting a hot pink Wix Ever After branded shirt, spoke up from out in the hallway. “Rule one is this is my set,” he barked at the woman, who replied with a two finger salute.

The cameras were back in force as all the contestants were directed to gather round an odd shaped hoop. Three bars stuck inwards, connecting in the middle of it. It was classic muggle plastic and rubber. Draco let some other wizard ask what it was so that it was their ignorance instead of Draco’s caught on camera.

Lee flashed everyone, but mostly the cameras, his movie start smile. “Gather round, darlings. Everyone needs to be touching the steering wheel,” he looked pointedly at the wizard who flunked muggle studies. “You’ll have to snuggle close to fit.”

Close. Ha. They were pushed up in all the personal space. Draco’s face was in a ball of blonde hair that belonged to one of Susan’s new friends. The heat of a tall, dark, and handsome French man was making him sweat. With effort, each contestant managed to squeeze at least a finger up against the rubber hoop.

“Fairy godmother time, darlings,” Lee said. He wiggled his fingers on the wheel. “Bibbity, bobbity, boo!”

Magic yanked on Draco through his finger, dragging the essence of him and twelve other people into a tunnel of magic. It twisted up Draco’s metaphysical stomach and left him dizzy upon landing. Other contestants soaked up the cameras by landing poorly or with dramatic reactions to their surroundings. It gave Draco a moment to fade into the background and take everything in.

They were at an honest to god fairytale castle.

Well, honest in so much that it resembled pictures drawn in children’s books, not so much that they ever existed in wizarding Britain at any point in history. Had they… made… an entire castle?

Everything after was a blur. The tour of the grounds (on camera). His assignment to a room with a four poster bed and all his luggage already stored away. Pansy Stopping by with lunch and a schedule for the day (camera free private hours from noon to five) and instructions not to make a tit of himself. Draco tried to take a nap and ended up staring at the ceiling until he gave up hours later. He was at war with himself over whether he should leave quarter till five and show up early to make friends and be social, or whether he should push it to the last minute.

He pushed it to the last minute.

That meant he rolled into the theater room to no empty seats and not enough time to grab food from the buffet. They weren’t individual seats, like what would be in an actual theater. They were all artly arranged cushions on the floor, made of three tiered layers so everyone seated could have a nice view, or large chairs on the tallest level that could sit multiple people. To be comfortable, he’d have to shove his way in between other people. Which would not be comfortable.

Instead he grabbed the last of the sausage rolls and shoved it into his mouth so he had an excuse not to talk to anyone. He hurried up to the second level and awkwardly walked over people’s legs and feet, his apologetic smile hidden by the dimming lights, until he found not so much a place to sit as a place between where people were meant to sit that he could squeeze into without technically disturbing those around him. Except they all shifted just a tad from him anyway.

Bugger. Shit. Fuck.

Thank Merlin the screen came to life, and all his insecurities were drowned out by squeals and cheers when the view panned over the castle the whole group was now in, and the words “Wix Ever After” wrote themselves out across the screen. The theme was upbeat and romantic, with a catchy earworm of a hook. Right as the music crested, the image zoomed in to the front steps of the castle, where a black haired man in a suit stood with his back to the camera. Harry Potter turned around, and somehow they got him to smile full and happy, like a man about to fall in love.

Cut to Lee Jordan, in a bright pink tuxedo, narrating the premise of the show. One most eligible bachelor. Fifteen contestants. And the fairy godmother who is bringing them all together (wink wink) right here on MAGE TV (sponsored by Witch Weekly and the Cleansweep Broom Company). Any other man would have been a bore but Lee had even the people who’d lived the first episode hanging on his every word.

Speaking of the contestants, montage time!

“I’m Silas Johansson,” said a voice over as an image of sheik cartoon-esc Silas strutted into yesterday’s studio location. “I count my blessing every day. It was always my dream to sing, and actually reaching the level of fame where it can be my career is a dream come true.” Cut to her in a confessional booth. “I just never know anymore, if someone wants me for me, or just for fame. That’s why I’m here, to see if I can find true, authentic love.”

“The higher the stakes, the greater the reward,” A younger man with slicked back blonde hair strolled into the studio in a checkered pattern hybrid between a muggle suit and classic robes that was straight out of the latest edition of Mode Magicien Magazine. “I’m Jett Everglade. I work hard, play harder, and know there ain’t no one else in this competition who can bring half as much to the table as I do.” Switch to an image of him in the confessional where he flashed a gold timepiece and several jeweled rings.

“I’ve wanted to be Potter’s friend since I was eleven,” came the sound of Draco’s own voice. It probably didn’t sound as horrible to everyone else but it made him cringe. His image popped on screen, all well dressed with perfectly coiffed hair. He’d walked into the studio a dozen times, and the take the bastard producers stuck with was the final one he’d done in a frenzy. It made it look like he was bursting with excitement. He might have actually skipped. “I’m here to find love,” the image cut to Draco looking wistful. “I really think we could fall in love, if he gave me a chance.”

Draco face palmed and bit back his groan because he didn’t want to be the dramatic asshole that interrupted the show for everyone else.

After the intro clips, Lee came back on screen to hype up how each contestant would meet Harry for the first time, and each would bring their own personality and flair to create a special “meet cute” that they would tell their kids and grandkids all about one day. Draco didn’t know who the scary lady was, but he was beginning to understand why Lee could insist the one rule was this was his show. He made this sappy nonsense heartful.

Rene the teacher walked into her meet cute wearing a red sundress and with a giant card her students made, asking Harry to pick her. Harry actually took it from her and read several of the notes, completely charmed.

Draco walked in and it hurt to see the hopeful earnestness he had worn on his face. Harry looked surprised, but they cut around any expression of anger. They focused on the intricate beauty of Draco’s flower transfiguration. Then, somehow, they cut the scene in such a way where Harry’s glare looked like… well. Draco’s throat bobbed through a swallow. Harry had certainly not looked at Draco like that.

Susan was after Draco. She walked in wearing a simple dress not dissimilar to the cut of their old school uniforms. The shock was halfway to Harry, when she twirled and the dress shimmered and shifted until she stopped right in front of Harry in that elegant gown that made her look stunning. “You never noticed me in school, I wanted to make sure you noticed me now.” Harry probably had looked at her like that, no editing required.

At the welcome party the editors found clips of Harry interacting with each of the fifteen contestants. There was no time to fit in Draco being pathetic. Instead they shared the moment Silas asked him to dance and cut it to look like Draco also knew how to use his hips and emphasize the best parts of his body. They chose the clip of him inviting Harry out to the woods for a date, and somehow Draco came off funny.

Talk to people, be funny. That’s what he had to do to stay on the show.

The rose ceremony was more embarrassing. He started strong, looking comfortable and boy next door. But when it was just him and three other contestants whose names he hadn’t ever learned, he looked terrified. The camera could see his fingers twisting behind his back and the side view captured the lines of tension that strung him tight. He was pale as a sheet when Harry finally announced his name. His hands shook when he took the rose. He’d said, “Thank you. Thank you, Harry,” and it was so painfully earnest. It hurt to see himself flayed open like that on screen.

Cue theme song again, and images of the chosen contestants lifting their roses in a toast while Lee’s voiceover invited everyone back next week for the next step in Harry Potter’s journey to true love.

Of course everyone in the theater room fucking cheered.

Tuesday

Schedule? Check. Coffee? Double check. Today was going to be Draco’s day.

Yesterday? Forget it. Didn’t happen. Didn’t matter. There were still too many contestants for the producers to fill time with clips of Draco sitting by himself, or other contestants standing up and walking away whenever he joined their tables. The “get to know each other” games they were forced to play were perfectly civil, and Draco had focused on the perfectly acceptable eccentric hobbies any pure blood wizard without need of employment might take up. He was aiming for fun and quirky, if he couldn’t manage relatable.

Today, though, today he was going to step it up.

“Otis! Good morning, how are you today?” Draco said to a dainty man in muggle suspenders and a bow tie. It was brilliant styling, unmistakably muggle but old fashioned enough the wizarding audience could admire it.

Otis did not so much as look at Draco. “I am well.”

Draco took the cold in stride, uncomfortable but committed. “Lovely.” Draco tried to hold up his endearing smile because even if Otis wouldn’t talk to him the cameras were circling. “I quite liked learning more about you yesterday. Receiving your potion mastery at only twenty. Wow.”

Otis noticed the cameras, too, and Draco could see his lips twitch downward before he plastered on a bland expression and finally turned to Draco. “We learn to apply ourselves fully to our craft at Durmstrang.” It was barely unstated that he did not see Hogwarts the same way.

“Ah,” Draco licked his lips and gave it yet another shot. “My father almost sent me to Durmstrang.” Merlin and Morgana don’t let them put that line in the final cut. Not mentioning Death Eaters surely mentioned never, ever mentioning his father.

Unfortunately, Otis took full stock of Draco with such thorough scrutiny that it was getting more and more likely producers would feed off the drama. Whatever Otis saw in Draco clearly found him wanting. “You weren’t accepted?” he drawled before turning away with his cup of tea.

“Hogwarts is a family tradition,” Draco said to Otis’ back before he realized the older man was already walking away. He was blushing before he realized it and the cameras had caught the whole thing.

Draco wished he could say other conversations went better, but…

Thank god for the schedule. Each minute had a pre assigned activity and at least he could engage fully every time in the hopes that the content gods would drum up something so exciting they’d have to cut his misery to make time for everything else.

So Draco did actually cheer when Lee Jordan walked in, wearing hot pink pants and another branded T-shirt.

“Hello, Darlings! Are you ready for a little game?” Yes, gods, yes. “You all must be lonely in the Ever After castle without our prince charming. Don’t worry, love birds, you’ll each get a bite at that apple later this week,” pause for an exaggerated wink. “But one lucky person will win a one-on-one date tonight!” pause for shocked gasps and excitement. “Who should that lucky winner be?” Pause for the cockest contestant (Jett) to shout “Me!” at the host. Lee tsked him then continued. “It will go to whichever of you knows Harry the best! I will be running the ultimate Witch Weekly quiz, to give each of you a chance to prove you’re here for all the right reasons.” Pause for a round of oooohs while the contestants make eyes at each other, wondering if anyone is possibly here for the wrong reason. Draco tried very, very hard not to fidget when too many eyes turned on him.

The contestants were lined up by eager PAs who definitely had a vision for how this should look on TV. Draco was manhandled to a far edge, second to the last in line. He was given a blackboard of his very own and a piece of magic chalk that would only write when they instructed him to, and would keep his answers fuzzy looking if anyone tried to peek.

“First question! And I’m starting this easy for you, what House at Hogwarts was Harry sorted into?”

Draco heaved in air. Awesome. Easy. They’d give him a minute before he embarrassed himself.

“Bet you all got this one, show us your answers now. That’s right, Gryffindor!” Pause so everyone could applaud each other. “Next question - what position did Harry play on the Gryffindor quidditch team?” Another unanimous success. It was followed with, “At Hogwarts, each student is allowed to be accompanied by an owl, a cat, or a toad. Which one did Harry bring with him to school?” That one caught out Jett and Otis, neither of which attended Hogwarts.

“First blood,” Lee said ominously. “Should we take this up a notch?” pause for more cheers from the peppy, and pretend peppy, crowd. Draco’s stomach flipped and he began to bounce on his feet. “Which year did Harry attend his first world cup?” Draco blinked. He knew that. It was 1994. Draco hadn’t opened a copy of Witch Weekly in years, but they must still be doing Harry Potter-themed quidditch profiles if this question was on the list. Besides, all you had to know was the last year there was a world cup and count backwards to make an educated guess. Still, Sol, Rene, and Susan’s blonde friend, Jessie, got it wrong.

“Lucky final seven!” Lee announced. There were fewer cheers and more game faces. “Harry retired from the auror’s two years ago.” Draco did not scoff at the intentional branding the ministry used when Harry quit, “What rank did he hold when he left?” Draco lifted his chalk to write the obvious answer, but then paused. It was a trick question. He scribbled out what he started with and replaced it with “Senior Auror.”

“Let’s see those answers! That’s right, the senior aurors have it!” There were dual groans from Roshni, a witch from Ireland, and Maurice, the French man who’d stood behind Draco for the Portkey. “While Harry was promoted to Deputy Head Auror, he stepped back into the senior auror position because he preferred field work to administration. He retired after successfully leading the Black River investigation.”

The PAs took a moment to shuffle the remaining contestants together for a better camera shot. “You fantastic five are still in the game! Here’s a hard one to test your metal. What gift did Harry Potter send his god son, Edward Lupin, when he was sorted into the Hufflepuff House?”

Draco could only stare at Lee while the question echoed through his brain. He hadn’t known Edward - didn’t he go by Teddy? - had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Should he have known that? Teddy was Draco’s cousin (first cousin, once removed), and since childhood he’d been taught that it was always important to keep up on family. However, hadn’t he also been forced to memorize the black family tree, where his Aunt Andromeda’s name had been scratched out?

Fuck it. He was thinking about this wrong. What big showy gesture would Harry do that would end up recorded in Witch Weekly of all things, probably just to show Teddy he’d be proud of him no matter which house he was sorted into?

Everyone else wrote broom but Draco had said fucked it and named the exact model.

“That’s right! Harry sent a Nimbus 2000. We now think of it as an outdated model, but it’s the same broom his godfather gifted Harry in school.”

What a wanker. Everyone knew first years were not allowed their own brooms, but of course Harry wouldn’t think the rules applied to him. Teddy probably had been… well, Draco didn’t know Teddy. Maybe he’d been really nervous going to Hogwarts, and Harry knew what it was like to be an orphan and famous for how your parents died. Bollocks, it had probably been sweet.

Thank god Lee pulled Draco’s mind out of that rabbit hole. “Let’s travel back in time again to his Hogwarts days. Are you ready? Who did Harry Potter save in the underwater rescue challenge during the Triwizard Tournament?”

It felt like the questions were getting more specific and esoteric, but also it wasn’t like this was hard. Draco could reach back to all those years ago, when Harry, always the hero, pulled not one but two people out of the lake. Draco had been so angry about it. Not just because he was caught up in the injustice of Harry sneaking into the competition, but also because he didn’t understand what Harry saw in Ronald Weasley. Draco had spent the rest of the year convinced the two boys were having a romantic affair and Draco had been unbelievably jealous.

“Audience at home, did you know this one? Three of our contestants are moving on with the right answer…Ron Weasley and Gabrielle Delacour!” Lee paused to grin at the camera. “We tried to get Gabrielle on the show, but alas it wasn’t meant to be!” Everyone laughed as they were meant to, and the remaining contestants were shoved closer together still.
Draco, Susan, Silas.

“Alright, my wonderful wix, do you have what it takes to win?”

Draco glanced to his left. He’d actually made the final three. Could he do this?

“What does Harry see when he encounters a boggart?”

Oh, Draco knew this! He scribbled down the word immediately and tried not to think of that time he dressed as a dementor to terrify a young boy.

“Let’s see those answers!” Draco flipped around his tablet confidently. “It looks like two contestants got this one right. Better luck next time, Draco.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He looked at the two other chalkboards. Both wrote out “his muggle family.”

What. The. Fuck.

Draco knew fears changed, but when had that happened? How did someone fear their own family so much that a boggart would impersonate them? No, that was not a path Draco’s brain needed to go down. Instead Draco ducked his head and stepped aside before a PA had to come drag him off to make room for the two people who beat him.

The game went on for ten more questions. Instead of getting frustrated, Lee looked almost gleeful. He watched both wix with hawk eyes, pulling out even stranger factoids, waiting for the moment either slipped up. They each knew Harry’s first kiss. Harry’s date to the Yule Ball in fourth year. Where Harry and Ginny Weasley went to dinner the night of their spectacular break up. They knew which Weasley knitted Harry those ugly Christmas jumpers, and Harry’s favorite Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean. They knew exactly how many chocolate frog trading card editions Harry had. They knew his mother’s middle name.

It became very clear very fast that Draco never had a shot at winning this.

Susan won out in the end with the deep pull that Harry failed his Herbology and Potions N.E.W.T.s when he returned to Hogwarts for an 8th year, but the auror’s let him in anyway because… well, that was obvious. Susan made a continuous sound along the lines of “EEEEEEEEEE” as she jumped up and down in victory.

Draco might have sounded a little bitter in his confessional afterwards.

Wednesday

The schedule Pansy dropped off that morning said: 9:00 AM: meet in the kitchen for your group date with Harry.

He wasn’t even the first one when he arrived at 8:42. Cameras were waiting to catch his stilted small talk with Maurice, until Jessie arrived and Maurice could talk to her, and Sol didn’t even look at Draco when he showed up last.

The kitchen doors swung open at exactly 9, revealing Lee dressed in all white, sporting a pink apron. “Good morning, Darlings! You all must be wondering why we called you to the kitchen bright and early today. This week is all about giving Harry a chance to know each of his contestants, and to see how much you know about him. So today, each of you will have a chance to prepare one part of a romantic picnic with Harry.

“Ready for the catch?” No one looked ready but Lee smiled at them with the force of a bludger to the face. “No recipes! You have to cook from the heart and show Harry what you’d whip up on a moment’s notice. Also, no one can cook the same thing! Right here,” he pointed at nothing right before a pin board popped into existence, “has anything and everything you might bring to a picnic. When I say go, you all get a chance to pick what you want to make off the board. Ready? Go!”

Draco flailed as he ran forward. It seemed everyone was quicker than him and they were all shoved in close blocking his view. Draco was tall enough to crane over everyone and get a look. There were all sorts of things on the docket. Classics like cucumber sandwiches, scotch eggs, and all sorts of salads, and a plethora of sweets like butterbeer fudge, pumpkin pastries, treacle tart -

That one. Draco grabbed the tart off the board before anyone else could get to it. He twirled around to take in the kitchen and saw four work stations had already been set out. Draco claimed one for himself and got to work.

He clucked his tongue at the empty counter top. No recipe. That was fine. He took the notecard with Treacle Tart written on it and cast a sticking charm on it so he could put it on the wall in front of him at eye level. He had spent years of his childhood mooning after Harry. Maybe it was embarrassing, but it meant he knew Harry’s favorite dessert. Draco had made plenty of tarts. He made all sorts of pastry. He loved the feel of a crisp crust when you bit into it. When he was little, his mother had the house elves make him delicacies. Now, there was no one to do it but himself. No one to teach him but the endless supply of bound books holding the history of his family before him.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. No pressure. Just everyone in the wizarding world watching him. Right. Best get to work.

Themis Malfoy had many thoughts on the art of baking. She preferred lard to butter and would box a house elf’s ear if they didn’t crumble fresh bread for shortcrust pastry. Draco sent a silent prayer to his ancestors to forgive him because he did not want to ask if the kitchen stocked lard. Butter would do nicely for what he needed. He trusted his instincts and the familiarity of the baking spells on his tongue. Spells sped up cooking, but some things worked better the old fashioned way so he didn’t think twice when he put a disc of dough in the fridge to cool for half an hour or so. He took the time to tidy his station and pull out all the ingredients he’d need for the treacle, carefully not watching any of the other contestant’s progress to keep himself from getting nervous their ideas were better. He was sweating by the time he’d lined up the crust in the pie tin and covered it in parchment paper and dried beans so he could blind bake the crust.

That was the moment he realized his work station did not have an oven. He turned around to examine the kitchen. No one’s work station had an oven. In fact, there was just one oven at all, stationed in between everyone. Maurice was just putting a tray of sausage rolls into it.

Draco ran over with his crust. “Maurice, I just noticed there’s just one oven. Would you mind if I put my crust in with your rolls for about twenty minutes?”

Maurice glanced at Draco’s unbaked good, then up at the clock that counted down how much time everyone had left. Something gleamed in Maurice’s eyes and it was too familiar for Draco’s liking. Maurice closed the oven door and stood in front of it. “Sorry, Draco. My rolls need to cook for 40 minutes, and if you let all the hot air out halfway through that’ll ruin the bake.” He sounded friendly enough, but his smile was just a tad wicked. Draco looked at the clock, too. If he had to wait 40 minutes to get started he simply wouldn’t have enough time to do his bake right.

But if he argued about it, he’d look like a pushy, selfish jackass on camera.

So he said, “I suppose I’ll wait,” and walked woodenly back to his own workstation to noodle through an alternative solution.

Draco drummed his fingers on the counter tops. This wasn’t the hardest thing he ever had to solve, and Pansy was right when she said he did hard things. Likely this kitchen actually had more than one oven, if it was where they cooked food for everyone in the castle, but even if Draco could pull the other appliances out of wherever they were hiding, it would undoubtedly shake up the kitchen and disturb the other contestants’ work. He needed yet another idea.

He’d struggled with ovens before. During the war, the Dark Lord had terrorized the house elfs until they went so far as to defy Draco’s own father to avoid further torment. Which meant they’d spent plenty of time in the Malfoy kitchen punishing themselves for their bad behavior. In doing so, they’d broken nearly everything. What was left didn’t survive the Death Eaters’ treatment. Just like the rest of his house. For the first year after the war nothing in the kitchen worked. He had to strip each item down to its barest components, replace broken parts, and reassemble it while re-casting the cookery charms essential to a wizard kitchen.

Anyway, he knew the cookery charms now. What did it really take to make them work? An oven would be ideal, however… Draco launched himself at the cupboards and pulled out various instruments. He assembled a tall cooling rack then put a baking sheet on it. Followed by another cooling rack and yet another baking sheet. He used tin foil to wrap around the edges to enclose everything into a box.

“Claustrum incantation,” Draco cast around the box. The air shimmered, signifying the barrier spell worked. He licked his lips nervously. This part was trickier. First he cast a thermometer spell, followed by a strong and steady Incendio pointed right at the metal trays. He held the spell for a long time and watched the thermometer slowly rise in temperature. He got it to just the right heat and tried to hold it steady there, his wand hand taunt at attention. The odd little box fought him. It wasn’t made for keeping heat, except that’s exactly why Draco put it together. He willed it to be an oven, and he held onto that will as long as it took until the box gave in and accepted its purpose.

Draco’s hand shook when he put the crust in, and the cameras hovered close to capture his jitters and the beads of sweat running down the side of his face.

It had been ages since he made treacle, he didn’t really like treacle, but it was heated syrup and cream. He could whip up a cream tart. The harder part was staying steady on the stove top while not letting his makeshift oven slip. The cameras were circling again and under the pressure he made rookie mistakes, letting eggshells into his mixing bowls and spilling breadcrumbs all over the work table. He burned his finger tips trying to move the now-hot beans out of the way and had to cast cooling charms on himself. His only consolation was this was probably much funnier than Otis insulting him during breakfast.

Then the treacle was in the pie crust, and the whole tart was back in the box oven, and Draco stood nervously in front of it with an eye on the charms to make sure the heat was distributed evenly on not sneaking out of the contraption to burn down the kitchen.

When it was all said and done, Draco pulled out an absolutely perfect treacle tart from the oven.

The magic of television meant that stylists rounded up the contestants and trained professionals magiced away Draco’s sweat stains and the clumps of everything that were sticking to his face and outfit. He was poised and perfect when recorded walking from the castle and down a garden path that led out over a hillside and into a bucolic valley filled with wildflowers. A traditional gingham picnic blanket was laid out, with extra pillows and throw cushions for folks to settle onto. One by one they were filmed putting their creations into a large wicker basket and taking a seat for their picnic.

They looked around for Harry, wondering when he would arrive. It was Sol who looked up at the sky and spotted the speck of a broom stick Draco felt butterflies all over again. All four of them sat up tall and peered up into the blue sky to watch Harry’s approach. Knowing it was staged didn’t take away from the elegance of Harry’s triple loop, or watching how Harry rapidly dove towards the ground at breakneck speed, before pulling up at the last second in a classic Wronski Feint. It was just as fabulous to watch as that first time Harry had been on a broom, diving to catch the rememball so impressively they’d made a first year seeker for the first time ever.

Harry climbed off his broom, all windswept and gorgeous. He unclipped a travel cloak, revealing a buttoned up green shirt that perfectly showcased his strong frame, and brought attention to his famous, beautiful eyes. He smiled sheepishly at the cameras around him, then more sheepishly still at his “dates”.

“Hello Harry!” Jessie basically shouted from her spot on the blanket. They’d been instructed not to get up and to let Harry lead the activity, but her excitement got the better of her. She looked close to bursting with giddiness.

“Good to see you,” Harry said to everyone instead of just her. “It’s a lot to ask each of you to put the food together for our first date,” he sounded so awkward saying it, like they forced him at wand point to adopt the show’s lingo, “but I’m really looking forward to seeing what everyone did.” It still sounded like he was reading from a script, and it didn’t help that he looked up then at the producers to confirm he was supposed to move on to the next part. “Let’s see what we’re eating today,” he said as he opened up the picnic basket. He made a show of taking out plates and passing them around to everyone.

He took his time revealing each of the four dishes. He enjoyed the perfectly adequate garden salad. He burst out laughing at the reveal of Primm’s cocktails, complete with fresh cucumber and strawberries in each prepared cup. He moaned when he bit into the sausage rolls, with their deep flavor and perfectly flaky wrapping. He looked downright tickled when he pulled out the dessert. His eyes closed as he savored the taste of the treacle tart and, even though they’d been instructed not to reveal which item was theirs, Draco let himself smile just a bit at having made Harry happy. “Wow, that was all so good. Each of you are very talented.”

They all had to eat the meal and do their best to talk to Harry four-on-one before Harry announced the winner. It went as well as any conversation could with four people waiting for their chance to speak instead of listening to what anyone else had to say. Harry was much better at navigating this than delivering scripted lines. He kindly made space to connect with each person, asking about their history or their families. After all, the theme of the week was getting to know one another. Draco could see Harry hesitate before finding words to include Draco. “Did you ever picnic at Hogwarts?” he asked. Nothing like the open ended personal inquiries he’d offered everyone else.

It was disheartening, but Draco put a smile on because he wasn’t here to win, just to do well enough to be endearing to the public. “All the time! Our house room was under the lake, which I loved, but sometimes even we Slytherins yearned for the sun. We’d go out under the quidditch pitch, mostly. Maybe have pickup game if we wanted to skive off on homework.”

Harry’s brows wrinkled but he didn’t say whatever he was thinking. He didn’t actually talk to Draco at all for the rest of the picnic. It was so noticeable the other contestants started to smirk at Draco every time Harry skipped him over in the conversation.

Draco was so relieved when Harry finally said, “This was one of the best meals I’ve had in ages,” to wrap the activity up. He had been excited to see Harry after two tense days in the castle, but this was just a different sort of ordeal. “Sadly it’s time for me to say farewell to most of you. Just one last thing to do.” He stared contemplatively at the items presented to him. “It’s hard to pick a winner, but one of you definitely prepared a dish that was after my heart. I have to pick the treacle tart.”

It had been exactly what Draco had been aiming for when he plucked the dessert card off the pin board, except when everyone looked at Draco and Harry realized what that meant… Harry didn’t look happy about it at all. It looked like Draco’s real ordeal was just getting started.

-

Draco was counting on the magic of television to make his time with Harry look romantic, since in reality there was little romance to production assistants disassembling a picnic and then instructing you that your special prize date would be a long walk around a lake, because Draco asked Harry to go on a walk as a date and apparently this who intended to be as on the nose as possible. The romance definitely built when they started walking and the PAs had to yell at them to get closer to each other. Repeatedly. Now Harry’s arm would occasionally brush Draco’s sweater, and Draco had to duck his head and hoped it looked bashful instead of embarrassed that Harry was definitely resenting him.

Ah, resentment. The recipe for love.

It’s not like Draco was actually here to win Harry over or anything. The producers told him he’d get exactly four episodes, just long enough to intrigue the public with such a controversial contestant, but not so long anyone got worried about Harry’s character. Couldn’t actually have the man-who-lived seen falling for a Death Eater.

Draco needed to be thinking about himself, just like the producers were, just like Harry.

“Did you choose out the picnic date idea?” Draco asked. Pansy had told him to talk to people, and if he was in it for himself he should do what’s best for him. Besides, the producers would need some sort of content out of this one-on-one ‘date’. It was either talk, or find an excuse to fall in the lake and hope Harry romantically rescued him. Not a sure thing, by any means.

Harry looked perplexed at the question. Or maybe it was just Draco speaking to him. “No. I don’t care about picnics.”

“Ah,” said Draco. “I didn’t know that about you. Look at us, getting to know each other already.”

This time Harry’s look was scornful. “I know plenty about you already, Malfoy.”

“You should call me Draco now that we’re dating,” Draco tried to sound playful. He would have abandoned it immediately if they were actually alone, but thankfully the world was watching and Draco had to keep up the ruse. “Also, there’s plenty you don’t know about me.” Draco lifted a finger to tap his chin in thought. “Do you know what I named my first crup?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but played along, if only for the cameras. “Salazar?”

Draco laughed, “Who knew you lacked imagination? No, it was Falco. The ancient Greek wizard who invented the animagus ritual.”

“You wanted to be an animagus?” For a moment it sounded like Harry might care. That was a dangerous proposition. Draco couldn’t help but smile all warm and dopey at him for offering the slightest positive attention.

“I wanted to be everything,” Draco answered. “I was going to be a dragon tamer, and an animagus, and a combat duelist, and a potion master like Snape.”

“Ambitious.”

Draco laughed. He once had ambition. Time to change the conversation topic because he would not be lingering on that one. “Did you get to pick out your other group dates?”

Maybe Harry wanted to ignore him, but apparently he wanted to grumble more. “They don’t ask me what I want to do.”

“Ah, what are you stuck with then?”

Harry shrugged. “They’re keeping it secret so everyone is surprised.”

“You don’t even know?”

“I know,” Harry corrected. “It’s just secret.”

That was, well, it sounded almost playful. Courageously Draco leaned in just enough that he was the one nudging Harry’s arm this time. “I can keep a secret,” he promised.

That brought Harry back down to Earth. His brows furrowed up again like they only seemed to ever do for Draco. Those green eyes looked angry.

Draco’s smile froze in place so the cameras wouldn’t catch how Harry’s disdain hurt him. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. He had been objectively horrible to Harry in school, and then disappeared as soon as he could after. There was no reason Harry would have harbored a long term crush on Draco Malfoy, the boy who made awful life choices. For all Harry knew Draco was the same antagonistic bully.

That’s how everyone would remember him. Which is why he was here, to change hearts and minds. He took a steadying breath and let his forced smile relax into his charming one. “Cross my heart.” He crossed a large “X” over his chest with a finger.

That broke through Harry’s tough exterior, if only so he could snap, “What, are you eleven?”

“Yes, I’ve traveled back in time to make a better first impression,” Draco said solemnly. “Is it working?”

This time Harry just looked perplexed. He looked Draco up and down as if he didn’t know what to make of him. “It’s something,” he settled on.

Maybe it was just that the walk was long and they had to talk about something for the cameras, but in the end Harry did tell Draco what the other group dates were, and Draco promised he wouldn’t tell a soul.

Saturday

“So when are we going to see your portraits?” Draco asked the moment he entered the Interview Room.

What was an Interview Room? Another bloody producer-inspired construct to put Draco on edge. Every Saturday each contestant would go to the Interview Room for one-on-one time with Harry Potter, where apparently he’d get a chance to ask any burning questions on his mind before he made his final decision at the Rose Ceremony that night. Which meant it was Harry Potter waiting in a comfortable enough black chair, across from an empty seat that Draco supposed was meant for him.

Harry was holding note cards, maybe with producer-written questions, but he set them aside to scowl. “I’m going to make Lee burn them if it’s the last thing I do.”

Draco actually laughed, mostly in relief because this time the scowl wasn’t meant for him. “They should use them for a charity auction. Imagine the galleons you’d raise!”

“Imagine the galleons I’d pay to not go through that,” Harry countered.

Draco waved his hands dismissively and sat down. He crossed one leg over the other knee and leaned forward attentively. “We’ll always have Wix Ever Episode reruns to remind us of what was.” A smile tugged at Draco’s lips as he gave Harry a moment to wallow over it. “Enough about your other dates,” he fell into an easy confidence brought on by successful banter. “What questions do you have for me?”

“Oh, right,” Harry said. He picked the cards backed up and peered down at the one on top. “How’d you learn to make treacle tart?” He read it dispassionately. Not his own question, then.

Draco didn’t try to be clever about it. “I worked my way through several of my ancestor’s cookbooks. I’ve grown quite proficient at baking.”

“I’d have thought you had a house elf to do that for you,” Harry mused as he switched to the next card.

Draco felt that grew precariously close to talking about the war, which could lead to talking about Death Eaters, which was forbidden. However, Harry used a different tone when he was actually interested and Draco craved it something fierce. “No house elves, it’s just me.”

Harry looked up from the cards. “Just you? Still at the manor?”

“Exactly so,” Draco confirmed, deliberately offering nothing else. He wanted Harry interested, not incensed by reminders of all Draco’s past evil.

Harry went back to the cards. “What did you mean when you said ‘wrangling peacocks’?”

Draco turned red. “When did I say anything about wrangling peacocks?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno, it’s just written here. But you have me curious now. Is it, like, a wrestling thing?”

Draco groaned in embarrassment. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “If I tell you, then you have to tell me something in return.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “That’s not how this works?” it sounded like a question.

Draco held back a smirk when he shrugged himself. “Fine. It’s a mystery. Look it up on the ‘goggle’ when you get home.”

“Do you mean Google?” Harry might have a hand over his mouth to hide a smile, or maybe he was judging Draco’s lack of muggle knowledge.

“How would I know? How about this, you tell me what google is and I’ll tell you about peacocks.”

There was a look Draco was familiar with, when Harry had caught on to something that perplexed him and he was going to hold onto it too tight until he figured out what was going on. In fifth year, Harry had looked at Draco like that. The papers captured many shots of Harry staring pensively into the distance while on a case. And now, well, Harry was looking at Draco just a bit like that now.

“Alright,” Harry drew the word out until it was intimidating. “What do you know about computers?”

Oh fuck Draco had backed himself into a muggle studies quiz. He tried not to let the nerves show, but also he was gripping the sides of the chair awfully tight and he’d planted both feet on the floor so he could sit up and focus. “Magic, electric boxes,” Draco tried.

“We’re not in the 90s anymore,” Harry chided, but he was smiling.

Draco huffed. “Magic, electric screens.”

Harry actually laughed. He was laughing.

Draco never did learn what Google was. Harry did laugh at him for that time he was shit on by a peacock. Did that mean the interview went… well?

Somehow Draco was hardly nervous at all for the Rose Ceremony that night. Harry gave him the fourth rose. Draco clutched it tight the entire evening.