Wix Ever After

Sunday

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” Draco had been working up the courage to ask since that morning and was so proud of himself for putting himself out there that he almost didn’t mind if Silas said no. Almost.

Of course they didn’t. Silas just glanced up at Draco and offered, “if you’d like.”

Draco took the cushion next to them on the loveseat and snuggled into it like he actually belonged there. He was in the final seven. He’d earned this. He tried to make small talk with Silas, thinking to himself, “What would Roshni do?” And even if Draco lacked an endless supply of sibling anecdotes, he could inquire about Silas’s settling into the castle. He could ask how Silas spent their long stretches of time between scheduled activities and Harry’s coveted attention. Silas was always nice, in the I’m-aware-of-the-camera sort of way, but Draco’s patient attempts at ingratiating himself must have broke through at least one of their walls, because Silas opened up enough that the two contestants found a cadence that let them easily chat together until the lights dimmed and the screening came on.

It was a start. He would keep Roshni’s friendship in his heart for as long as he was able to be in the castle, but, just as importantly, he also wanted to emulate all the best parts of her so he could be just as confident in pursuing what he wanted. Even if, in Draco’s case, that was devoting himself to showing Harry that the two of them should fall madly in love.

By now the Wix Ever After theme sent Draco’s heart racing. He still loved the opening shot of Harry in front of the castle, turning to the audience with his heartfelt smile. As much as Draco had lived through the week, there was always suspense going into these viewings. He never knew what he was going to get.

This episode opened on Harry and Lee back in the parlor, sitting together at the bar chatting about the week ahead. “I worry they’re being put in through the ringer,” Harry said. “I don’t want it to feel like I’m constantly testing them or making them compete with each other.”

Lee was nodding along. “That’s not what healthy relationships are made of,” he agreed.

“Exactly,” Harry said emphatically. “I feel so fortunate to have met every one of these contestants. I want to make sure they know how important they are to me. This week is about spending time together and appreciating them.”

The entire episode chased the feeling Harry sought to convey. Whereas previous episodes highlighted tension and the high stakes, this one focused on Harry telling every person in the house how much he valued them.

It was a special sort of devastating to watch Harry have heart-to-heart after heart-to-heart, somehow squeezing in conversations between the busy events throughout the course of the week. Draco had to watch Harry stare into Rene’s eyes and bond over how each of them had difficult upbringings, and how that was part of why they wanted their own families, to do better and fill their lives with genuine love.

In Draco’s memory, he thought he had a great deal of time with Harry over the course of the week, but it had been parred down for what was on screen. The producers made a point of trying to equalize the time for each contestant. Instead of creating drama and stakes through competition, they built it with a delicate dance of showing how each contestant reacted to Harry’s attempts at deep connection. Silas opened up in kind, telling Harry how they’d never met anyone like him and how much it meant to them that he was there to understand the hardships they experienced, and to create space where the two of them can be their own selves. Everett kept laughing it off nervously. Throughout his entire one-on-one date he made light of Harry’s attempts to open up, clearly being uncomfortable putting his own feelings on display. Draco’s heart ached a little to watch it, recognizing his own pureblood upbringing in Everett’s repressed behavior.

Draco wasn’t left out, but his playful banter with Harry over getting to know one another was not the emotional hook of the episode. The producers cobbled together all of the footage of him being sincere or witty, doing their best to make Draco likable, but it was the start of a relationship, not the signs of a deep connection. Maybe Draco was just starting at a deficit, needing to first help Harry see him as a person instead of a former Death Eater. Maybe when Harry finally started to know the real Draco they would be able to open up with each other. Share intimate truths and discuss shared pains. Look soul searchingly into each other’s eyes, like he did with Rene and Silas. They weren't there yet, but Draco had another week to try.

He tried to hold onto the promise of another week. Even as the episode featured the Interview Room conversation between Harry and Rene. A conversation where Harry promised to add charms to the bracelet he gifted Rene, whenever they made a new memory that Harry would cherish.

A promise Harry hadn’t made to Draco.

Monday

9:00 a.m.: Collaborate with stylist on outfit design.
1:00 p.m.: Photoshoot with Harry

“What does this mean?” Draco asked Pansy after reading the schedule.

Pansy was already pulling clothes out of his closet. “It means get dressed. We need to start immediately.”

Draco looked at the clock to confirm it was only 7:30. “It says 9 a.m.?”

Pansy shoved a jumper at him. “There’s no time to waste.”

They were the first in the dining hall and Pansy instructed Draco to load his plate up to go. She collected two cups of tea and then nodded her head at a hallway. Draco followed her off to a seldom visited area marked off with green tape. Pansy barked at Draco to eat, then pulled out a notebook and explained herself.

“It’s a charity photoshoot. You’ll have to pick a charity to receive part of the proceeds, and then work with your stylist to design an outfit inspired by the cause you’re supporting. All the pictures will be featured in Witch Weekly, and anyone who buys a copy will be able to vote for their favorite photo.”

“I’m trying to win a photo contest?” Draco asked.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Don’t be daft, Draco. Silas is going to win. Their army of fans will buy every copy off the shelf they can get their hands on. What you’re trying to do - what I will make sure you do - is select a charity that Harry believes is actually important to you, and doesn’t remind anyone that you supported the wrong side in the war.”

Draco deflated a little. “Ah, okay. That’s not so bad.”

Now Pansy looked unimpressed. “You also can’t look like a twat.”

“I’m not going to look like a twat,” Draco grumbled.

Pansy pointed her self-inking quill at him. “What are you thinking right now? Some conservation organization? Going to save the Bowtruckles of northern Wales?”

This time Draco actually bristled. “You’re thinking the Gaelic black-stemmed bowtruckle.”

“The fact that you know what species of bowtruckle is endangered makes you look like a twat.”

“It does not! Conservation is very important to the magical ecosystem,” Draco insisted, because he was right and he knew Pansy knew it.

“Yes, yes,” she said, without actually giving him an inch, “and if you find me a conservation charity run by muggle-born wix who’s ethics you agree with, I’ll even let you have it. But I know the top three you’ve been working with to restore your land are all traditionalists. It’s not a good look.”

Draco tried to eat his scone instead of pouting because it wasn’t like Pansy was wrong. You could trade out conservation with historic preservation (his manor and the surrounding village he was tasked with maintaining), restoration of magical artifacts (also known as family heirlooms), and children’s education programs (Draco had attended pureblood-led rituals to learn how to one day be lord of the manor) and anything that touched his day-to-day life was a level of snobbery that maybe could actually make him look just a wee bit twatish.

“Do I just go with orphans and crups?” Draco asked, seeking a lifeline.

Pansy chugged her tea then pushed the cup aside. “How big of a twat would Harry think you were if you picked a charity just to get him to like you?”

Draco grimaced. Marcus was still lamenting how Harry wouldn’t get over Marcus letting him win at quidditch. This had to be at that level. He was being asked to make a difference for an issue he cared about. He had to, like, actually care.

“My whole life is the bloody manor, Pansy. You know how-” Draco paused because he still couldn’t say the Dark Lord’s name and even though there were no cameras and he didn’t see anyone watching, it didn’t feel safe to say he-who-must-not-be-named. Draco took a deep breath before continuing calmly. “Didn’t Granger start fifty charities after the war? Surely one of them must focus on restoring magical balance.”

The look Pansy gave him very clearly said that surely all of those muggle-loving charities did not. “We’re going to make it through this week, Draco. We’ll crack this nut, then send you out being your adorable self, and you and Harry will take disgustingly sweet photos, and if fate’s on your side you’ll even be here long enough to meet Harry’s friends and you can tell Granger to her face to start another damn charity so next time we’re not in this mess.”

As if he didn’t have enough stress on his plate, Pansy chose that moment to pull a small parcel from her jacket pocket and cast an anti shrinking charm on it. The thing, which appeared to be every Witch Weekly magazine that was constantly laid out around the castle to be featured on camera, exploded in size while also toppling over. They landed on Draco instead of Pansy. “Get reading. Each of these features Harry, and I’m sure he’s gone to some fundraiser that you can associate with.”

Draco pushed the stray magazines off himself and let them fall to the floor. He grabbed one on the way down and started flipping through it. What other choice did he have?

Draco was halfway through the pile and very low on time when Susan walked in with her own PA in search of an off-camera spot to huddle. With the cameras off, Susan finally had an opportunity to scowl. It took over her whole face and blocked out everything that made her pretty. “Are you seriously needing to cheat to find a charity?” she sneered. “Or are you just shallow enough to try to manipulate Harry into liking you?”

It wasn’t that she was correct, only that Draco didn’t know how to explain himself without it sounding horrid. He was left to nervously hunch over the magazine and hope Susan just went away.

Thankfully, Pansy barked, “Becca, handle your contestant.”

“We’re supposed to let ‘em fight it out.” Becca, apparently, didn’t give a shit about what Pansy had to say.

“On camera.” Pansy’s voice was as condescending as it was possible to get. “If she wants to catfight she needs to walk back over that green line and let the world see her true colors, eh?”

Draco didn’t look up to see how Susan and Becca took this, but he heard their scoffs before they marched off to find a different nook.

“Ignore them,” Pansy was back to sounding bland. Draco understood that’s just how she was so that the jabs couldn’t get to her. He tried never to wish she offered more, just because he wasn’t as good as she was at turning his feelings off.

“Ignore who?” Draco asked as if nothing had happened, for Pansy’s sake. For Pansy’s sake, he forced himself to keep flipping through magazines. Even if it was hopeless. It was almost 9am and he should already be on his way already. He’d just finish up one last magazine, even though there was no way Harry would be featured at the back of it. They always put him up front, where he could catch eyes and attention. The back stories were the dredges. The throw away articles. The events no one even -

Wait. That was something Draco could care about.

-

Hot, bright light showered down on Draco from whatever charms the photographer used to arrange everything exactly as she wanted. Draco was one of the many things. Forest green settee? Check. Enchanted background resembling rolling green fields? Check. One Draco Malfoy dressed up in a honey gold muggle suit, lounging exactly as directed? Check.

Although it was hell on Draco to stay still and not fidget.

The photographer would call out “Beautiful!” or “Just like that!” or occasionally “Tilt your head to the left” if Draco was lucky and he was allowed to move. They may only be in a magiced warehouse, but it lookedlike the meadows in Wiltshire and Draco felt the urge to get off the furniture and run through the illusion just as he ran through the greenery as a child.

The photographer would shout, “Smile, Draco!” And Draco would remember he was here for the show and to sell magazines, then his eyes would nervously flutter back up to Harry’s, which inevitably would be staring Draco full on. Draco would find himself smiling even though he forgot they were doing this for the cameras.

Harry was beautiful.

Draco had a very good understanding that Harry was attractive. He was all smolder and muscle and dark, pensive brooding that made a man’s stomach flutter with butterflies each time he saw that hard stare on a magazine cover, looking out at you like he could see you through the pages. That wasn’t the same as beautiful. It wasn’t like the ethereal man in front of him, draped in traditional robes of such a dark blue they were almost black. The makeup artists had thrilled with the chance to paint Harry as something unearthly. Or perhaps, earthy in a way humans struggled to comprehend. The deep, jagged stone parts deep beneath the surface that would crush you if you ever discovered them. The angles of his face contorted to a new level of elegance. The edges looked sharp. Dangerous. His wild hair was barely constrained under a crown of thorns that Draco and Pansy had painstakingly talked the stylist through the arrangement of that the stylist actually quit and found a pureblood counterpart to change places.

It’s not that Draco and Pansy were being snobby. It was just that if you were going to dress the savior of the wizarding world up as a winter court fairy prince, you best do it in a way where the fae won’t get offended and murder you for the effort. Or worse, drag you underground with them.

The original idea Draco proposed was that he would be the winter prince, dressed up in ice and darkness. Dominique, the newly recruited stylist, flat out told him he was wrong. He’d taken every idea Draco had shared and flipped it, so Harry was jet black winter out of place in the summer field, chasing after Draco dressed as a summer fairy lord.

“What sort of charity is this?” Harry had asked when he first stepped out of the dressing room, unconscious of how every eye was drawn to him because he simply captivated. Perhaps he didn’t notice because he lived his life the center of attention. He couldn’t tell when people looked in awe of him, not just of how he was Harry Potter. Draco glanced shyly away, then right back, because Harry had dressed like this for him.

Draco summoned his charming smile, unaware of how it made his own elevated style dazzlingly. “Take a guess.”

Harry got caught up staring at Draco, in the gold spun suit that molded to his skin. He wore a simple cream shirt under the jacket, with the top buttons left open so his throat stayed bare. Draco’s natural pointiness lended itself to the effect, and the makeup artist simply extended the lines rather than create an optical illusion like they had to for Harry.

“Something magic,” Harry said firmly.

Draco’s mouth had twitched upwards. “Definitely magic.”

Draco hoped the magic came through on camera as he obeyed instructions for each set pose. Each time it felt unnatural he looked to Harry, who was stiff with awkwardness in his own right. On times when Harry caught him looking both men would ease into the scene. They didn’t so much conform to the instructions as forget they’d been instructed at all. Draco had always felt a pull towards Harry. Like a line connected them together and if he only grasped it tight enough they could finally be together. It was a fantasy constructed from yearning. From a lonely, scared boy, who grew into a lonely, isolated man. But the entire photoshoot was a fantasy. A story to sell magazines and raise awareness for a cause Draco chose. Draco gave into the dream of it. He revealed his longing for Harry on his face. He held it taunt in his body each time he was told to stay a hair's breadth out of reach. He curled it into his smile, turning it from charming to hopeful. To expectant.

“I think we’ve got it,” said the photographer.

Harry blinked, perhaps just realizing how close he was leaning to Draco. He cleared his throat and stood back to full height. “Thank you for doing this,” he said. Always thanking people who would do far more for the chance of his company.

“Thank you,” Draco tried to put his feelings into his words so that Harry would believe how much it meant to Draco to even be here. Then, because the enchantment changed from meadows to a homey kitchen that reminded Draco that his photoshoot was one of many, and it was about his charity, not him, “I think this is going to make a difference.”

Harry reached up and took the prop crown from his head. He turned his bushy eyebrowed stare to it with the same forceful examination he so often gave Draco. “What was this for?”

It was hard to hold one’s breath when talking but Draco gave it his all, making his words rushed and nearly too soft to hear. “The Quibbler Solstice Fund.”

Draco had just a moment to catch surprise spark across Harry’s face. Then Rae yelled at them about the schedules and PAs arrived to pull them off to opposite directions.

Tuesday

This week was a whirlwind. They’d been told that was intentional, because Harry’s life was a whirlwind and it was time to test if they could keep up. So Draco had been woken up even earlier to be poked and prodded, once again by Dominique, who had cheerily informed Draco that he was Dominique’s contestant now. It was nice, Draco supposed, to be wanted. Even if he was wanted for his cheekbones and sharp jawline and the way he didn’t complain at all when Dominique chose out every item of clothing for him, down to his pants.

With all the fuss he should have felt prepared. Then again…

“Is there a more famous living wizard than Harry Potter?” asked a ginger woman in a black sheath dress and spectacles.

Lee laughed effortlessly, as if he wasn’t in front of a studio crowd. “Not on the British Isles.”

“And you talked him into letting you play matchmaker?” the woman, Witch Weekly reporter Elowen McIntyre, teased.

“Harry was just in the right place to find love,” Lee reframed, “and I offered to surround him with a world class team to help him do it.”

“And we all are along for the journey!” Elowen beamed at the crowd and the room lit up with excited cheers. `

Lee waited until the crowd settled down before speaking. “We’re going a step further today,” he paused to build suspense in a way all of the contestants were familiar with. “All seven of Harry’s potential fiances are here backstage, and in just a few minutes all of you will be guest stars in this week’s challenge!”

This time the audience roared. Every one of them was a Witch Weekly subscriber who had entered to win a chance to attend a special Wix Ever After event starring Lee Jordan himself. Production went to such great lengths to hide the fact that the contestants would be joining him that most of the staff had been required to surrender their wands before they were even told. Every audience member was equally cut off from magical and muggle communication channels. Witch Weekly had the exclusive rights to air the broadcast, until Sunday’s Wix Ever After episode recapped highlights and offered never before seen backstage clips.

It was… a lot.

Rae was on a rampage barking orders about logistics and PAs were scrambling to keep it all together to her satisfaction. It might have been scary but beneath all of Rae’s scowling Draco could see she looked nearly giddy. Pulling off this complicated a feat was what she lived for.

Draco was watching the backstage staff instead of listening to Elowen and Lee jabber on about how important it was for whoever Harry married to be able to handle the spotlight. He didn’t realize the show was truly started until Lee’s voice boomed backstage, “Let’s bring out our first contestant!”

Marcus strolled out onto the stage like he owned it. He beamed and waved at the die-hard fans, who apparently all had a favorite contestant, and you could definitely hear from the fans who’s favorite was him. He looked so confident taking his place between the hosts onstage. His easy banter with them gave him a chance to show off his years of experience in the hot seat before and after quidditch matches. The audience lept at the chance to ask him questions - a hodgepodge of inquiries split between life as a professional quidditch player and why he dreamed of marrying the famous Harry Potter.

It was a lot. In a different way. In a way that made it clear that bumbling through his own time on stage would be noticeable and, potentially, derided. Draco held out hope that the next few constants would be homespun rather than polished. Which perhaps was a mistake, because Rene did come off as folksy and all of-the-people, but in such a sweet and charming way that even when she stumbled when hit with the roar of the crowd or balked inelegantly when an audience member asked an invasive question about public displays of affection, it was simply endearing.

Draco was playing with the cuff of his shirtsleeve. Buttoning and unbuttoning it one handed over and over again as he chewed on his lip. Dominique would scold Draco if he were allowed backstage with him. He was not. Pansy was, but Pansy was off somewhere in Rae’s line of sight, showing off her hyper competence in the hopes she’d be noticed. Draco was… handling it on his own. Definitely handling it. That’s what he and Pansy did. They persevered.

Next up was Susan. She wore this perfect blue sundress and her hair in a long plait down her back. She smiled at the crowd, showing dimples, and… yeah. She looked so pretty. Exactly like who you’d want on the arm of Harry Potter. Susan walked straight up to Elowen and began to gush all about how much she loved her articles in the Weekly and how she’d read every one. Elowen actually looked charmed, and went so far as to hug Susan in front of everyone to much applause.

So, yeah. That was fine. And the questions were fine. “Tell us about going to school with Harry?” and “How did you feel when you heard you were accepted to the show?” Even a cheeky, “How have you discovered Harry to be different than what Elowen writes about him?” from Lee. There was absolutely no sign from Elowen that she minded the question, but she did immediately veer the conversation down a different tract. “You chose Children’s HOPE as your featured charity. Can you share why their cause is so important to you?”

“I just love them,” Susan said with a sincere passion. She paused to look down at her hands a moment, as if centering herself before being able to share further. “The war had such a terrible impact on families, and especially children. I wish HOPE had been there in the first wizarding war when Voldermort orphaned my parents. They didn’t have the same support available to those of us who lost loved ones in the second war.” She paused to suck in a deep breath and collect herself. Elowen conjured up a tissue to hand her so she had something in case she needed to dab at her eyes or blow her nose. Either was possible as she said, “You see, my family has been against Voldermort since the beginning, and when he returned he personally targeted us.” She had to pause to blink rapidly, barely holding back tears. “He killed my aunt, my parents had to go into hiding. The pressure that put on me… I remember talking to Harry in school about how horrible it was to have your classmates constantly interrogate you about your family’s death. You have to grieve, at the same time you’re made a spectacle. It is such a horrible feeling. And that’s why Children’s HOPE is so important. It works with youth who’ve faced traumatic family situations. They have mind healers and peer councils to build a safe space for them to grieve, while providing a support network. I’ve volunteered there for years and am so happy to be able to support them today.”

That was a lot. A whole fucking lot. The camera panned over the audience who were equal parts emotional and riveted. Susan was coming across as a bloody saint.

Which is when Elowen asked, “It must be hard on you, being on the show with other contestants who supported Voldermort in the war?”

Draco yanked so hard on his button that it popped off. He had to jerk his gaze away from a teary eyed Susan, who appeared to use every ounce of her strength to remain graceful under pressure, while making comments that Draco couldn’t even charitably call veiled about the struggle she was going through. She didn’t exactly say “Draco Malfoy is a villain” but then, she didn’t have to. Then they took audience questions and Circe’s tits Draco couldn’t handle that.

Draco blocked it all out to find his button. It had flown over under a table and he had to dip down to pick it up. Only, now he had a button and no wand to cast an attaching spell with. He looked around for anyone to help, only all the PAs were frantic and their wands had been just as swiftly confiscated. Draco scrambled to come up with something. The cuff was clearly gaping open in an unintended way that would make him look sloppy when he was already rattled. He couldn’t afford to be sloppy. He sure as fuck couldn’t afford to be rattled.

“Here, let me.” It was Silas who stepped up to Draco. Draco, not knowing what else to do, held out the button. Silas ignored it and lifted his arm instead in order to carefully fold back the sleeve. They rolled it halfway up his forearm, stopping just before the Dark Mark would be visible. Then they did the same for the other side. “This works well. You look better when you dress down.”

“It’s a live audience interview,” Draco said as if that was a justification for formal attire. He mostly just sounded terrified.

Silas nodded calmly as they finished the final turn of the fabric. “You’re good in front of people, remember? Your presentation was funny.”

Draco gulped. “The war isn’t… Vo-” no, he still couldn’t say his name, “The war isn’t funny.”

Silas squeezed his arm. The smallest of encouragements. A lifeline that Draco didn’t know if he could hold tight enough to. “Harry likes how sincere you are,” they added, “you just have to be yourself.” It was the same thing they’d said to thousands of fans, but Draco had to admit it hit different with Silas gazing profoundly into your eyes. He could tell why their fans loved them so.

The moment shattered when Draco saw Susan strut back backstage. She smirked at Draco as Lee called out his name.

Oh fuck. He had to follow that. And Susan had almost certainly riled them up on purpose.

Breathe. Breathe. Even Draco needed oxygen to not pass out and passing out would possibly be the worst thing he could do.

Then walk. Smile. Keep smiling. Don’t worry that it doesn’t feel the least bit charming and the audience cheers are tepid at best.

There’s a step up to the hosts. Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Don’t trip. And Merlin, fucking smile.

Elowen did not offer a handshake, little less a hug. Her smile was a cold professionalism and her gaze looked vicious behind those quirky glasses.

Step up to the stage. Climb onto the tall, center chair. Do not fall in front of all these people.

He forced himself to smile and not wonder who Elowen lost in the war.

“Welcome, Draco!” It was Lee who kicked it off, possibly reading the room and knowing all his talents would be needed to thaw the icy reception to Draco. “Our see-saw candidate. Twice last chosen, once First Rose. What is your take on this volatility?”

Draco was so nervous he said the first thing that came to mind. “Keeps me humble.” There were barely there titters of laughter but the sound cut through the sea of suspicious faces Draco otherwise faced.

“Humble, eh?” Lee was doing his best to banter. “Is that why you’re more reserved than other contestants when you spend time with Harry?”

Reserved? Draco felt like he was more open than he’d ever been in his life. Was Lee acknowledging how he acted, or some edited version they’d put on screen? He felt his smile falter, but forced it back on for the audience. He felt the sick urge to make a joke of it. “My friend recently told me mine was a repressed love.” He shrugged bashfully. “It’s my upbringing. I wasn’t taught to be open with my emotions.”

“Your upbringing?” Elowen chimed in, having waited for a moment to pounce. Draco liked to think he didn’t flinch at her voice but who was he kidding. “I think I speak for the entire Wix Ever After audience when I ask, how do you expect to make a life with Harry when the two of you have such different upbringings?”

There were so many things that weren’t funny. The war. The dark lord. Draco’s horrendous choices from the ages of 11 to 17. His and Harry’s upbringings? He could smirk at that and toss off a line that the sort of joke one makes only for themselves. “My only love sprung from my only hate. Too early seen unknown, and known too late.”

There was a long, long pause before, “What?”

Draco dipped his head and chuckled in a self deprecating way. God he was really quoting poetry in front of hundreds of strangers. If Harry liked him sincere he sure as fuck better like him sincerely making a tit of himself. Still, he took a chance at trying to explain. “It’s from a muggle play. It’s about struggling with the realization you’re in love with the child of your family’s enemy.” He looked back up to make eye contact with Elowen. “I can relate.”

“Why don’t you tell us how it felt when you were accepted onto the show?” Lee asked, trying to pull the conversation back to safe waters.

Draco had felt a deep well of relief only reachable when one was excruciatingly desperate. Complete terror, because even when he swore up and down he wasn’t doing it to find love, he couldn’t stop a kernel of hope from forming in the pit of his stomach.

“It was like a dream come true,” Draco said instead. A bit Pansy made him rehearse until it sounded natural. “I’ve wished long and hard that I’d get a second chance with Harry.”

Elowen cleared her throat with a little “hem” sound that reminded Draco of one of his worst Hogwarts instructors. “Remind us, what happened with your first chance with Harry?”

All Draco’s urge to fidget nervously died away under his blaring instincts to stay still. Like holding himself imobile would make himself invisible to the blinking red lights of the camera like it hid you from a giant snake. Draco’s smile was brittle and the fragility of it must be obvious to everyone watching.

She wanted him to say Death Eaters. She wanted him to name any of the atrocities he committed that Harry could rightfully hate him for.

“We met in Madam Malkin's while being fitted for our school robes,” was the truth of it. “I think I said something unconscionably bigoted about blood status.” There wasn’t a trace of Draco’s smile left. He sat perfectly still and stared at no one. “Wisely, Harry didn’t choose to associate with me when we arrived at school.” Draco could feel the weight of eyes on him but didn’t have the guts to look up at the audience and face them.

“How did you get from there, to Harry speaking on your behalf after the war?” Lee asked in his gentlest, most soothing tone. Draco noted how he didn’t directly reference the trials, as if he was still trying to salvage the story even though it was royally fucked.

There were so many ways Draco could answer the question and almost all of them were even true. In fifth year he learned he couldn't trust his father. In sixth year he learned he couldn’t save his family. In seventh year he learned, if unchecked, the Dark Lord would kill his entire family and destroy everything they loved while he did it. None of it had been for blood supremacy, and once that door was unlocked it wasn’t long before Draco walked through it and took a hard look at all the things he’d been taught that were absolute shit. That was when he started praying to the universe for Harry to save him. Harry was a savior. He’d done it before and he was prophesied to do it again. Draco longed to be like Harry. He longed for it when he cried himself to sleep at Hogwarts. He longed for it when he was too terrified to sleep in Malfoy Manor, even behind warded doors.

He longed for it. But he’d been too big of a coward to do anything. Too cowardly to stand up to his parents, or the Death Eaters, or his friends. He’d been cowardly almost every single moment of the war, except for one.

Draco got up the nerve to look Lee in the eyes. “I think Harry is just very eager to see the good in people,” he said. He glanced at Elowyn, then to the crowd because even if some glared they were less hostile. “I did so many unforgivable things, but he decided to care only for the one thing I did right.” The crowd was listening instead of yelling, and it made Draco just comfortable enough to fidget. He reached for the rolled up cuff on his left forearm, which just covered his faded Dark Mark. “I’d fancied him for ages, but it was his faith in people, his optimism, that made me think I could love him for real.” He gulped, feeling flayed open. “It made me want to be the sort of man someone like that could love in turn.”

His words didn’t leave the audience teary eyed, but they were captivated nonetheless. Draco felt the weight of their stares and this time tried to look back. He was terrified that he couldn’t keep his fearful expression off his face. That he’d be too open. Too vulnerable. That the dam would break, and someone would shout at him that it wasn’t good enough. Harry’s forgiveness wasn’t enough for Draco to be free from guilt for all the horrors he and those he loved committed.

Perhaps Elowyn intended to do just that, because Lee suddenly jumped in with a too jovial, “I think it’s time for audience questions!” Draco sat up ramrod straight and tried not to look bleak at the prospect.

There wasn’t the same rush of people to queue up with their questions, but it was a crowd of die-hard fans and there were enough that wanted to ask a question even if it wasn’t for their favorite contestant.

A mousy woman in a knitted jumper was the first given the chance. She wore a Witch Weekly pin, presumably marking her as a super fan of some sort. “Do you think it’s fair to Susan that she has to share space on the show with a Death Eater?”

Draco felt his adopted smile dry up again on his face. He could feel tension in his neck and shoulders, and probably everyone could see it thrum through his body.

The war wasn’t funny. There was no way to make light. Draco tried to remember Silas’ advice to just be himself. Tried to remember that maybe out there Harry was watching and would value it if he was just sincere. Hope that there was a way out of this felt like a lie, but not trying felt like being the coward he was as a child and he couldn’t go back to that.

“I don’t think it’s fair to Susan, or anyone in her family, what-” Draco paused too noticeably because saying the name still terrified him, but if there was a time to say it, it was here and now - “Voldermort,” Draco had to pause to inhale, “did to Susan’s family. And too many family’s like Susan’s. It is horrendous and shameful and I am glad,” another pause, too conspicuous but the best Draco could do, “Voldermort lost.”

“You didn’t really answer the question,” said the next person, a young man who had ‘well, actually,’ energy. “Is it fair that a Death Eater be allowed to be in a contest to marry Harry Potter?”

Draco dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands and tried to keep eye contact with the man as he answered the question. It would be cowardly to look away, he thought. “The most important thing in this show is that Harry finds someone he can build a life with. I understand that Harry provided criteria for his suitors, and I met that criteria. It’s now Harry’s decision whether I stay or go, and I trust him to know what’s in his best interest.”

Dissatisfied grumbling permeated the audience and put Draco on edge. He didn’t know what else to say. Wasn’t it enough that Harry chose him to be there?

“Why don’t you ever talk about your past on the show? Are you hiding it?” Was the next jab.

Unfortunately, Draco laughed. He knew it might come off as heartless the moment it left his mouth. Only, what could he say? “Harry and I lived through the war together. You all seem to know quite a lot about my past, just imagine how much more he knows.” Oh god it sounded haughty and pretentious. Draco tried, he really tried, to ground his comments. “I would answer any question Harry asked me with complete transparency. But, it’s been twelve years. I was a child then, and who I was then is not who I am now. I want Harry to have a chance to get to know me as I actually am.”

Lee, admitting defeat, tried to end the questions then, but Elowyn stepped in to insist they had time for one more.

Next in line was an older girl in a full skirt and cream colored blouse. It was immaculately tailored and sophisticatedly designed. Like something his mother might have worn, or one of the Greengrass girls. Even Pansy, when she was young and still trying to please her parents. Pureblood, just like Draco.

“I was just wondering,” the girl said, speaking so quietly the magic microphone hardly picked up her soft voice, “What was the play you quoted? Do you get to see a lot of muggle plays?” There was a collective breath as the entire crowd was caught off guard by the question.

“Oh,” Draco breathed out in a woosh. He bit his lip as he considered. “I actually don’t get out much,” he admitted, very deliberately not eyeing the hostile crowd that he would hate to run into if ever in public. “So I’ve never actually seen one of the plays. But my-” he almost said manor but that would just be rubbing in his presumed status and snobbery, “-library has a robust collection of medieval texts. In fact, Lucius the first,” Merlin, was he even allowed to say the name Lucius? “was an admirer of muggle stories and…” he trailed off when he realized he was getting bogged down in family tales again. Draco cleared his throat. “It was Shakespear. Romeo and Juliet. One of my favorites, because I relate to being young and passionate and making stupid, irrevocable decisions.” He kept eye contact with the girl as thoroughly as he had with all the people berating him, and he was rewarded by seeing her perk up with interest. Like she’d discovered something new and exciting. Draco licked his lips and added on,”If you’re new to muggle stories, I’d start with Twelfth Night or A Midsummer Night’s Dream. They have happy endings. I rather prefer happy endings.”

And that’s how he left his disastrous interview in the public eye. Rambling about a muggle playwright and telling the entire world he’d rather have comedy than tragedy. As if his whole life wasn’t a tragedy. As if a former Death Eater could ever have a happy ending, with the boy who lived.

-

Pansy stood right on the line between stage and back stage, ready to be there for him as soon as she was able. They didn’t speak, because they didn’t need to speak. Words were for private places. In the world was where they built barriers that protected them from all the people who’d see them harmed.

It was clear there were no barriers to protect Draco. Not when he was in the public eye. Where he’d have to be, if Harry chose him.

Pansy tried her best anyway. She went so far as to wrap an arm around him. Pansy, who hated touching people on any occasion, held Draco to walk him past the contestants still waiting for an interview and to the room where contestants huddled in the aftermath. Later, Draco would wish he could have appreciated it, but in the moment he wasn’t even aware it was happening.

The aftermath room was big. Big enough for a large television screen live-airing contestant interviews, which meant everyone here had seen it all. Big enough for Marcus, Rene and Susan to spread out and have their own space, surrounded by entourages that Draco recognized as their PAs, stylists, and hair and makeup specialists. Big enough for Harry fucking Potter to be there, too.

Harry. He had seen it. For some reason Draco hoped that he wouldn't have. That because Harry hadn’t been backstage that meant he wasn’t here to watch at all.

“Draco,” Harry said, and maybe it was gentle but maybe it was just Harry not having the words to tell Draco he finally realized what a mistake it was not to have kicked Draco off the show when he had a chance.

“I have to go to the lavatory,” was the first escape that popped into Draco’s head. He turned every which way until some knowledgeable person pointed in a direction he could flee towards.

Draco wished it wasn’t the first time in his life he had locked himself up in a lavatory to have a good cry. He wished hiding in one didn’t have such bad associations. He wished he cared more to do anything else, but he didn’t. His tears flowed, his heart ached, and he stayed exactly where he was until time ran out and Pansy came to summon him back to the castle.

Wednesday

“I’m sick, Pans,” Draco said from under his covers. His whole body ached and he couldn’t imagine getting up for the day.

Pansy harrumphed. “He’s inviting you on a date. A solo date.”

Draco pulled the bedding tighter to try to drive out the cold. “I’m sick,” he said again.

It was true. It had to be true. It had to be the reason Draco couldn’t show his face to Harry. He stopped fighting Pansy when she called him a coward. He’d used up all his bravery yesterday and cowardice was all that was left. He just huddled further into his blankets and hid from the world.

Thursday

Pansy brought a healing potion, pepper up, and even draught of peace. She made Draco take them all. The last one dulled his senses, and that was probably why he agreed to get out of bed.

He floated through breakfast. There was only one table for everyone to sit at. Even still, Rene went out of her way to sit near him and ask, “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Draco answered, when what he thought was how she was an absolutely perfect person. Harry was going to choose her over Draco. Or one of the other perfect people. Or one of the basic people who’d done the bare minimum of not being a Death Eater.

“Hello lovebirds,” Lee said as he glided into the room. “I hope you enjoyed your rest day. That’s one more than Harry normally gets in a week, so it’s time you get back out there. Ready for today’s activity?”

Draco was far from ready, but he finished his breakfast and got to his feet with everyone else. He expected another portkey, but this time they loaded into a tall, long muggle vehicle that resembled the Knight Bus. Draco must not have been too far off, because while their transport dabbled with muggle traffic, now and again it would slither between other vehicles and slip past red traffic lights. Those sharp shifts in direction could make a man queasy, and Draco spent the last half of the journey wondering why on Earth they were being subjected to the lurching. He wondered it right up until they slipped between one street and the next, and, with the blink of an eye, they’d left muggle London and found themselves pulled up to a massive brick building with “Cleansweep Broom Company” in large letters on the side.

The cobbled street out front of the building had been roped off to save space for their vehicle to park. The rope must have had a magical enhancement because when the bus came to a stop the people crowded along the street all surged forward in a raucous cacophony of sound.

“Look alive,” Lee advised. “They’ve been waiting since the wee hours of the morning for a chance to see you.” It was wise advice. The crowd’s noise reached new heights the moment Sol, the first contestant, stepped off the bus. Each contestant was hit with their own wave of cheers, even Draco. He blinked at the bright sun and flashes of light that he realized a moment too late where cameras.

Inside Cleansweep’s headquarters was a spacious atrium. There must have been a hundred brooms hanging from the ceiling. Draco had the sudden memory of his father explaining how they were every model Cleansweep ever made. Enormous paintings at least five meters tall showcased historic quidditch matches. The paintings moved like pictures, showing off the best of the best quidditch history in glorious scale. It was the sort of marvel that had Draco catch his breath and fall in love with magic all over again. Even with senses potion-dulled.

The effects of the drought of peace were well on their way to wearing off by the time he’d taken his seat at a long table, right between Susan and Sol. He fiddled with one of the many thick tipped quills in front of him. The nib was already shining silver with what must be never ending ink.

Instructions were barked out by a once-again hyper enthusiastic Rae. Only sign your page. Don’t dawdle. Don’t eat or drink anything handed to you. Draco looked around at his fellow contestants then, and not one looked as confused as he felt.

Oh fuck, he’d missed something yesterday, hadn’t he? It was too late to ask. The atrium doors swung open, and in a barely contained rush, a mob of fans stormed in.

They queued up at the end of the table and Draco had to watch nervously as the first person in line, a perky blue-haired teen in a T-shirt with Silas’ face on it, barely went through the effort of holding out what must be a Witch Weekly magazine to each contestant. Each flipped a page and signed their name before the person moved on to the next contestant. Susan tried to engage in light chatter but the teen was having none of it. Which meant that when they got to Draco and put the magazine in front of him they certainly had no patience for the time he took to stare.

It was him. Well, some wildly transformed version of him that was beautiful and warm and enchanting. It was like light radiated from his skin and you wanted to draw near and feel its warmth. It was like the dark fairy prince in the picture felt the thrall of it. Like he couldn’t help but lean towards Draco’s welcoming smile. It was entirely unreal. Impossible. And in every magazine held by every wix lined up for ages to see him, all of them, today.

“Excuse me,” said the wix who didn’t have time for Draco to gawk at his own picture. Draco startled at their rough tone, then grabbed his quill so hard it cracked. Silver ink spilled out over his fingers and he tossed it down on the thankfully covered table before nabbing a second quill. He scrawled Draco Malfoy out in perfect script and was given no time to ponder what it meant that a stranger would want that from him.

Time for pondering didn’t come. Just a wave of people.

The initial rush was all there for Silas. Silas had been stationed last so everyone had to stay for the other contestants before greeting their idol. Draco could hear Silas’ laugh chime out as they skillfully navigated their fans without the bottleneck ever getting too severe.

The next rush were Wix Ever After super fans. Many took time to talk to every contestant, relaying some detail for each one from the show. Draco could hear their chatter to either side of him, how many fans gushed to Susan about her brilliant transformation in that first episode, or to Sol about how he was welcome to make them cocktails any time.

Draco’s engagement was… lackluster. Most superfans tried to talk to him, because they were the sort who wanted to talk to Harry’s potential spouse, but Draco could tell they’d all watched the Witch Weekly special and the horrors of his past were fresh in their mind. Still, many tried.

“That was a fine treacle tart.”

“You were right clever in that escape room.”

“I reckon you spend more time casting curses than ending them.”

Draco’s signature swerved for that last one, but he handed the magazine back without looking up or fixing it.

He was staring down at his silver smeared hands with his face burning red when the strangest thing happened.

“We brought this for you!” Draco looked up. There were two girls standing there, one in pigtails and a Slytherin scarf, the other with a pixie cut and a green sweater. Pixie cut was holding out something for him to take. Other contestants had been given gifts. Draco had to listen to Susan coo over hand made cards and crafts, the picture of gratefulness. No one had brought anything for him.

Draco tentatively reached out to take the gift. It was a narrow slip of hard paper with all sorts of information written on it by what looked like a muggle printer. He turned it sideways to better read, and immediately centered his gaze on the words “Much Ado About Nothing.”

“You said you’d never been to a play,” pig tails said. “And we thought, if you’re free, you could come to ours.”

Draco looked up at the two Slytherins, uncomprehending. “You’re in a play?”

“We are!” Pig tails enthused. “And it’s pretty good. Not, you know, fantastic, but you won’t regret watching.”

“And it’s one of his comedies,” said pixie cut. “I like those better, too. I’m playing Beatrice.” She looked so proud of it, which Draco supposed was warranted because it was a lead role.

“And you want me to come?”

“Oh yeah!” said pigtails. “It would be so cool.”

“Definitely,” said pixie cut. “I thought I was the only pureblood who loved Shakespeare, you know? Granddad nearly disowned me when I told him I was doing it.”

“But he’d come if you did!” said pigtails, before glancing at her friend sheepishly. “Probably,” she amended.

Draco looked at the pixie cut girl. “Your granddad knows who I am?” he asked, somewhat bewildered.

The girl actually laughed. “Yeah, I’m a Rosier. We’re basically related.”

“Oh,” Draco said, dumbfounded. A Rosier was here inviting him to a muggle play. He looked at the other girl. “And you are?”

She laughed, too. “A Smith!” she said as if it were a well-known joke. She winked at Draco’s confusion and stage whispered, “I’m muggle-born.” She threw the tail of her Slytherin scarf further around her neck just to draw attention to it. As if she wanted it noted that a muggle-born was proudly a Slytherin. “Still cheering for you, even if you’re not my third great cousin or whatever.”

“You’re cheering for me?” They both laughed this time. Draco was completely in over his head talking to these children.

“Course,” pixie cut said. “You’re, like, doing us proud.”

“Proud?” Draco asked. Maybe he was putting too much on the shoulders of students but they seemed thrilled he was giving them his time.

“Oh yeah, it’s so cool to have a Slytherin on TV, and like a real one, you know?” said pixie cut. Draco wasn’t sure what she meant by real one, but thankfully she was eager to explain. “Like, I’m so tired of the stereotypes that we’re blood purist bigots. I get that it’s part of the school’s past, but I don’t have to make the same choices my granddad did, and just because he made bad choices doesn’t mean we can’t do better now.”

“Exactly,” said the muggle-born pigtails. “It’s awesome to, like, see someone like us, who enjoys muggle stories but also uses his platform to support the Solstice rites. That’s proper Slytherin, yeah?”

It was dawning on Draco that he might not have any idea what made a proper Slytherin these days, but he was pretty sure he’d have loved the chance to be part of it. In lieu of agreement, he settled on, “I think a proper Slytherin doesn’t let anyone get in their way of achieving their dreams.”

Both girls beamed at him like he’d said the most magical thing in the world. “I knew he’d marry you,” said pixie cut.

Draco’s eyes bulged from that leap in logic. “He hasn’t, I’m not-”

“And if he doesn’t, you’ll have time to come to our play!” pigtails said, and Draco felt in his soul that she was a Slytherin born and bred. Muggle had nothing to do with it.

-

The line went on for hours. Literal hours. Draco’s hand cramped and he broke another quill. He didn’t judge other contestants who got up and left to use the toilet or seek out sustenance. Once they left, no one came back.

Draco didn’t leave, though. No matter how uncomfortable he got. Any time he might have, he remembered the two Slytherins who’d shown up to invite him to their play. He remembered the old witch who handed him their own treacle tart recipe, saying “you have room for improvement” in a scathing tone that reminded him of his great aunt, all bluster and no rancor. He remembered the wix who didn’t even like him, but loved Harry and wanted to meet whoever it was that Harry chose to marry. Draco might have only a small kernel of hope that it would ever be him, but he didn’t want to rob these people of their chance to be connected to Harry in some small way.

In the end it was just him and Silas at the table. Silas was kindness itself right through the end. Draco only just managed to be there. Awkward, tired, genuine. There was a kindness to that, too, he supposed. One not easily given, but the obvious choice should even one more person actually show up just to see him. He had a small pile of gifts now. Each precious. Each more than making up for any spew of hate he might have received.

Besides, the aches and pains of hours of sitting and writing were more than a fair trade for this wild chance that he would ever truly marry Harry.

Friday

Even Rene was a little grouchy on Friday, although she apologized immediately after snapping at Everett. It was just that yesterday had been long, and even Wednesday had been work for folks who got out of bed, and the promised whirlwind of a week was wrecking havoc indeed.

It wasn’t over.

Today the bus pulled up to what would have looked like a red-bricked, condemned department store to any muggle, but a wix could see clear as day the wand and bone crossed over each other above the dilapidated sign “Purge and Dowse, Ltd.” Their arrival hadn’t been advertised and no crowd awaited them. One at a time, they stepped through a boarded up window, the muggles around them none the wiser.

St Mungo’s was everything Draco ever expected it to be. An unpleasantly sterile white, too crowded with wix, some looking ill, some looking magically transfigured, all tired from having waited too long to get into the healer. His father had once told him this was a hospital for the less fortunate, but his tone had made it clear he meant less worthy.

These days, Draco would count himself lucky if they admitted him at all.

The contestants were led past the crowds and into a side door, as unnoticed by the aspiring patients as they’d been by the muggles outdoors. A disillusionment charm, then. A strong one. They walked through a building that made as much navigational sense as Hogwarts ever did, and at right about the point Draco was realizing his legs weren’t up for as many stairs as they’d been in his youth they arrived at their destination.

Harry and Lee waited for everyone outside a large set of doors painted rainbow colors.

“Darlings, you made it!” Lee, startlingly casual in a pink hoodie, beamed at everyone as if they weren’t heaving from too many flights of stairs. “This might be my favorite challenge yet. Harry, do you want to tell them why?”

“It’s not a challenge,” Harry corrected Lee, who shrugged and grinned as if labels didn’t matter. Which, Draco supposed they didn’t in this game where one wrong move could lose you a chance at love. Harry refocused his attention on his suitors as he further explained. “This is something that’s important to me. I’ve been visiting nearly once a month for years.” He gestured to the rainbow painted door behind him. “This is the long-term pediatric wing. It’s where kids stay when they’re facing extended hospitalization, or have chronic conditions that bring them in a lot.” He ran out of words there, as if he’d only been prepared to explain where they were, not why they’d come. “It makes them happy when people visit. I thought it was something we could all do together.”

It wasn’t a deep speech, but watching Harry a little flustered as he tried to share something deeply personal brought a smile to Draco’s lips. He’d been here six weeks, and this felt like Harry actually opening up.

Draco went through the paces of washing up and letting medical professionals cast protective spells over him so he wouldn’t pass on germs. Harry waited until every contestant was ready before he swung open the rainbow doors and led the group in.

Draco noticed the colors before he noticed the children. Every wall was bright, as if you just surrounded the kids with enough cheer they’d have to feel cheery. Then there were decorations. Drawings of trees and flowers made from hand paint prints, or unicorns drawn with magic pencils so every now and again some would flutter in an attempt to gallop.

Then his eyes adjusted to the surroundings, and he saw the small heads sticking out from doorways or around corners. Draco thought there were an awful lot of children in need of long-term care. The walls didn’t feel cheery enough to ward off a dip in his stomach.

An exacting Rae had mapped out the entire ward and her minions were sending contestants off in all directions. Draco and Silas were sent down a hall together and told to keep watching until they got to rooms in the triple digits. Children waved and giggled at Draco when he passed, even when gaunt or hairless or with a magical malady Draco couldn’t identify. It was a different attention than the super fans from yesterday. Even if the children’s excitement was just as potent.

Draco knew he was meant to keep walking, but he couldn’t not stop on occasion to say hello to the most emboldened children. When asked he said their name was Draco. He asked their name in turn.

“Like Amy Huang, the quidditch player?” Draco asked a young girl after she introduced herself.

“The Ravenclaw herself!” he remarked to a young Rowena.

“My house ghost!” he delighted to a little boy named Phillip.

They all seemed so pleased with the attention, and it broke Draco’s heart more than a little that he couldn’t stay longer.

Silas stayed close to Draco until they reached a corner marking the division between room 99 and 100. It had a door between them marked exit. “I need to step out for a moment,” Silas said, oddly pale and sweaty.

“Everything okay?” Draco asked.

Silas jerked a nod. “Of course,” they said in the same upbeat voice they’d maintained for every fan the day before. “I’ll just be a minute. You go on ahead?” Draco nodded a much smoother nod and pursed his lip worriedly when Silas vanished into a hall.

Harry found Draco much later in the room of a set of twins who kept magically swapping various extremities with each other. What chaos would the Weasley set have caused if they had this affinity? Draco had peeled bare a foot and was hoping one legged while he displayed it, insisting it was one of theirs, when he heard Harry’s rumbling laughter. Draco jerked round to confirm it was Harry, but he wasn’t coordinated enough on one foot and toppled over for his efforts.

“Harry!” The twins shouted in unison, before doing their best running tackle into the other man.

Whatever limitations Harry had explaining why volunteering here was important to him were inconsequential in the face of how much Harry truly cared about the children. He pretended to be bowled over by the twins, before playing out what must be a welcome bit where he mixed up Donald and Ronald’s names, and then pretended to give up and assign them new names altogether. “Bonald, have you been taking good care of Draco?”

“I’m Ronald!” laughed the child.

“You told me you were Ponald,” said Draco, getting in on it.

“It’s Ronald!” insisted his brother.

“Alright Zonald,” said Harry, and Draco laughed louder than the joke deserved but he did it anyway because he was happy.

“Thanks for doing this,” Harry said unnecessarily when they were out in the hallway together.

Draco half shrugged awkwardly. “It was nice of you to share this with us.”

“You think so?” Harry asked, oblivious to how much it meant when he let people in to what he found truly important.

“I’m glad you did,” Draco answered.

Harry smiled at Draco, small and genuine and without the slightest crinkle of bushy brows.

Then Harry blinked and looked over his shoulder down the hall, as if checking for other people. “Do you know where Silas is?” he asked.

“Oh,” Draco said, regretting the loss of attention and where it had refocused. He swallowed, wondering if it would be alright, good even, for him to say they weren’t here. He glanced around as if he was looking for them as well, when really he was giving himself a second to think. It turned out to be just long enough to feel guilty he had considered being mean. Guilt was why his voice sounded a bit off when he lied, “They’re around here somewhere. I just saw them.”

Draco turned back to Harry and those bushy eyebrows were back in force. “Which way were they?” Harry asked. Fuck, it sounded like a test.

Draco had no idea what the right answer was for Harry, but under pressure he felt certain about what was right for him. “That way, I think?” he pointed back towards where he came from, which also was technically back towards the door to the hallway Silas left through. Obfuscating the truth without directly lying. Perhaps not the best deception, because Harry would have come from that direction, wouldn’t he? But Draco stood by the lie, not balking under Harry’s heavy gaze.

Harry sighed and looked where Draco pointed. “I should go find them,” he said to the empty hallway.

-

They went out to a fancy restaurant after that had been closed down just so Wix Ever After could have it for the show. A tapas buffet was laid out to feast on and Draco feasted. Everyone had worked up an appetite and were eager to celebrate the end of a hard week with good food and what Lee assured everyone was very good wine. Draco didn’t let the PAs overserve him this time. He was wary of how hawkishly the black-clad professionals watched his peers’ glasses to make sure none were ever empty. They were trying to stir up drama, just as they’d done with Draco the week Lee had angled to have him kicked off the show.

By the time Lee climbed up onto a makeshift stage, several contestants were past tipsy. “Darlings!” Lee called again, a bit on the jubilant side himself. “You have all been wonderful. Simply wonderful. However,” his eyes twinkled with mischief, “we’re about to find out who our fans think was the most wonderful of all. Are you ready?”

The cheers rang out bawdy and/or trepidatious.

A magic screen blinked to life behind Lee, displaying Harry Potter’s ruggedly handsome face staring out from the cover of a wall sized Witch Weekly magazine. The tag line read “Which wix for our savior?”

“Votes are in!” Lee announced. “From last place to first, let’s see who’s romantic charity photo revealed love is in the air.

“At number seven -” one more dramatic pause for effect, then the screen flashed to an image of Everett and Harry holding a set of crups. Not even the cuteness of cruppies licking their faces could bridge the awkward gap between them. Everett might have been giving authentic emotion, but it read as unrequited pining when Harry rigidly gave the camera his polite smile instead of giving Everett anything at all. “Everett! Congratulations for raising awareness and funds for Warbeck’s Kennel for Abandoned Crups!”

Thank Merlin Pansy had held Draco back from choosing crups.

“Number six,” Lee continued. Draco took a deep breath, readying himself to be overjoyed that at least he wasn’t last. The screen flashed. This image was green, but the green of forests and trees. Harry and Sol were dressed up in furs and leather, looking almost menacing as they faced off against each other. The camera focused on Sol slowly leaning forward into Harry’s space. You know, in a very hot way which wasn’t how Draco wanted Harry staring at other people. It had sex appeal, but not romance, and at number six it wasn’t what the people were looking for. “Sol! Your contribution to The Lupin Foundation is appreciated.”

“Five,” Draco’s heart was pounding so hard that it was almost a relief when the screen flashed and he saw his own face shining down from it. The image was more breathtaking on the big screen, and Draco was certain there had to be some magic enhancement because that definitely wasn’t actually him. It was sensual, like Sol’s, but to Draco it looked like the fire in Harry’s eyes was deeper than physical attraction. “Draco!” he paused a second after booming Draco’s name. “You know, I’ve been to Luna’s Solstice Ritual? Good on you, mate.”

Then without missing a beat he was calling out number four and the screen flashed from Draco’s fairy image to a very homey Rene laughing as she splashed flour on Harry’s face in the kitchen. It was the perfect picture of domesticity for a charity that supported children’s nutrition. Draco couldn’t believe it didn’t score higher.

Three was Susan, in an image of her and Harry tossing a heart shaped ball back and forth that Draco found sweet, if underwhelming. Perhaps it was her performance in the interview that set her over the top for Witch Weekly voters.

Everyone pretended to feel suspense for the reveal of the runner up, but it was no surprise when Marcus popped up screen. Both he and Harry wore a strange sport outfit that Draco assumed must be football. They were kicking the ball back and forth and the camera captured the exact moment Harry dashed for it, and the exact moment he grinned at Marcus over the thrill of the game.

Which left Silas, who popped up in a literal sea of blue. They and Harry were decked out in life-like mermaid scales that shimmered over their skin. Strings of shell necklaces draped over their necks. Together they floated on the screen, as if actually in water. Harry had one arm warped around Silas’s waist, pulling them into his body. The other arm wielded a trident, poised to attack. Beneath them, nearly off screen, were the threatening tentacles of a sea monster. It was fucking art, and Silas was the mastermind that created it.

“Congratulations Silas! Come up on stage and tell us all about The Scrofungulus Center. Silas? Where did they go?”

Everyone looked around, but Silas wasn’t there.

And, it turns out, neither was Harry.

Saturday

“Is your life really that much of a whirlwind?” Draco asked while Harry sorted through his question prompts.

Harry looked up from the cards. “You know you’re supposed to let me ask the questions.”

Draco slumped a bit in his chair. “Alright, what did your PAs write for you this time?” He shouldn’t be bratty but he was tired.

Thankfully Harry snorted and set the cards aside. “How’re you doing, Draco?”

Draco pushed himself back up in his seat, suddenly too aware of Harry’s scrutiny. “I’m quite alright, thank you.” He shuffled one foot under the other.

“You’re recovered?” Harry pushed.

It wasn’t so hard for Draco to smile his charming smile at Harry’s concern. He was well practiced from all the times Pansy checked on him. “Quite recovered,” he said with certainty. “It was probably just a cold from being around so many people. Do you pick up bugs when you have a stint of public appearances?”

“Draco.” It was a gentle scold, but a scold nonetheless. Either a reminder for Draco to let Harry lead, or an awareness that Draco was deflecting. “That was a really hard interview.” Hard to watch, or hard for Draco to live through?

It didn’t matter either way. “It was fine,” Draco insisted, as if he didn’t choose to hide from the world afterwards.

“It wasn’t fine,” Harry actually sounded heated. “It wasn’t right for them to bring up Voldermort.”

Only, that was the thing. “No, that was fine,” Draco insisted, and this time he even meant it. “I-” Draco almost said he was a Death Eater. Past tense. As if a Death Eater was something you could stop being. “I took the Dark Mark,” he compromised with himself. His hand went to his left forearm again to cover where the mark marred his skin. Pansy had told him never ever to talk about being a Death Eater, but the ship had sailed. His interview was certainly being aired and re-aired as many times as Witch Weekly could collect views. “Vol-” fuck he had to say it again and he could see Harry notice how he sumbled, “Voldermort hurt people, and I helped him. It’s fine that they don’t forgive me for it. I don’t mind.”

“You were a child!” Harry nearly shouted, outraged on Draco’s behalf in a way Draco hadn’t been since he was seventeen.

“You were a child,” Draco answered as blandly as Pansy said everything. As if emotions were something you could turn off so they couldn’t hurt you. “And we still celebrate you for what you did. How you saved us.”

Harry glowered his darkest of stares. “It’s not the same.”

Draco honestly didn’t see a difference. “How is it different?” Draco asked. “Do you think you’re any less responsible for the choices you made just because you were young?”

Harry opened his mouth like maybe he had something to say and he wanted Draco to have to hear it.

Then his mouth shut. His jaw clenched. His hands fisted.

Then he closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, deep breath.

He let it all out. His eyes opened.

Instead of answering Draco’s questions, he picked up his stack of cards and read the first one on the top. As if what he and Draco talked about didn’t matter.

Draco hadn’t realized what the crush of rejection from Harry Potter would feel like until that moment. He had let himself believe he could connect with Harry. That they could be open and share their lives with each other. That the brief window of Harry doing something he loved at that hospital was one that would stay open and Draco would be allowed to look through any time he wanted. When really, Harry was a closed door and Draco wasn’t going to be allowed in.

-

“Susan,” Harry said from the front of the throne room. “Will you take this rose?”

Susan’s hands flew up to cover her gasp. Her knees looked weak, like they might give out. Water welled in her eyes, like she might start crying. She put herself together enough to traipse across the stage over to Harry and accept.

“I greatly appreciate how open you were this week,” Harry said as he handed over the first rose. Then, to rub it in, “You’re beautiful inside and out.”

Draco held himself stiff, his hands grasped tight behind his back but not fidgeting. If he was going to be sent home for not being open he’d sure as hell show the world how reserved he could be.

Harry picked up the second rose. “Rene,” he said because Rene had always been a favorite. As Harry handed off the rose to her he added, “you light up the world, and I can see myself growing old with you.”

Oh god, this was a thing now. He was going to have to listen to Harry tell each contestant why they meant more to him than Draco did.

“Draco.” Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked around at his fellow contestants, then to Lee, and maybe even into the darkness where PAs lurked. Finally, he had to admit it had been Harry and then stumble forward to where Harry was waiting with Draco’s rose. Draco was breathing hard and fast and he didn’t understand why it was so nerve wracking when it had already happened six times. Harry reached for Draco’s hand, then lifted it up to where he held out the rose. Draco couldn’t look away from where their hands touched. “You look for the good in people, too,” Harry said. “I just wish you could see what I see in you.”

Draco’s eyes flickered up to Harry’s, all wide and panicked and uncomprehending.

Then he had to move to the side to stand next to Rene, who was smiling at him like she knew what Harry meant, and Susan, who was trying not to look pinched.

Marcus and Sol soon joined them and only the final two were left.

Harry stood tall and stiff and looked as serious as Draco had seen him since arriving on the show. Harry picked up the last rose like it was a wand going into battle.

“The contestant I’m choosing tonight has not been the best at opening up and sharing themself with all of us,” Harry started, “but I believe that, deep down, they really want to be. I think they’re here to find love, and I want to give them a chance.”

The words held in the air and everyone waited for what Harry would say next.

“Everett, will you take this rose?”