Chapter Text
Life continued as normal for Draco despite Val’s absence, he worked a few porn shoots, a few photoshoots, screen tests for films and a pilot of a tv show. He went out with Angelo, had him and Alejandro over for dinner. And in the quiet by himself played with Opal and read his books, but in the back of his mind, he kept thinking about Harry. He knew he shouldn’t, it felt like a betrayal to Valerius. Val called every night, and they talked for a good hour, Draco filling him in on everything he’d done that day. Valerius was vague about his own dealings, promising Draco he’d be home soon. Draco missed him. He was lonely without him, it felt like he was a child again, waiting for his parents to come home to that big, old manor.
The days blurred together in a gentle monotony, punctuated by flashes of laughter and the low murmur of conversation, but always with that persistent emptiness at their edges. Draco moved through his routines like a figure in a snow globe—present but distant, watching the world through glass. Opal would curl up at his feet in the evenings, her purrs a fragile thread that tethered him to the moment. Sometimes, as he washed dishes or arranged books on the coffee table, he would catch himself glancing at the unopened box of Bertie Botts, still hidden in the folds of his bag, as if the right moment might arrive if only, he waited long enough.
There were times, too, when the ache of waiting grew too keen to ignore. He'd linger in the bath, letting the water turn cool around him, eyes closed as he replayed the sound of Harry’s voice or the way the light had caught in his hair at the market. Memories drifted in, soft and unexpected, the brush of hands, a quiet smile, the promise of something not yet named.
Angelo brought stories and wine, filling the rooms with easy chatter and the scent of rosemary from the little plant he’d insisted on gifting Draco. Alejandro’s laughter was a counterpoint, bright and bracing, like a bell rung against the hush of memory. Draco was grateful for them both, for their willingness to inhabit the silence without trying to fill it completely.
At night, he lay awake in the half-dark, listening to Opal’s quiet breathing and the distant hum of city traffic. When Val called, Draco let his voice fill the hollow spaces, painting stories with just enough detail to keep the loneliness at bay. Yet each call ended with a familiar ache, a longing for something steady, something certain.
He tried to write, once or twice, opening his battered notebook and pressing pen to paper. But the words that came were halting, strange, as if they belonged to someone else. So instead, he read, losing himself in stories of distant places: windswept moors and midnight gardens, cities trembling with possibility. And always, in the quietest hours, he wondered if Harry was thinking of him, if the hope tucked away in Draco’s bag was mirrored somewhere, waiting to be unwrapped.
One morning, as sunlight pooled across the floor and Opal batted playfully at his toes, the door to the apartment opened and Valerius swept in. Draco’s face lit up with a bright smile and he rushed over to his boyfriend who wrapped him in his arms. “My darling, how I’ve missed you.” Valerius kissed him softly.
“Missed you too.” Draco looked up at him. “Welcome home.”
Valerius smiled, leaning in to kiss him again. He pulled back and cupped his face. “Darling, I heard from the people for the movie of Dorian Grey, they loved you and want you for the role.” He told him.
Draco’s eyes widened. “You’re joking.” He exclaimed.
Valerius shook his head, laughter shimmering in his eyes. “I’m completely serious. They called this morning. They’re sending over the contract this afternoon and want you to come in for costume fittings and a table read next week.”
For a breathless moment, Draco could only stare, his thoughts refusing to line up, heart drumming with disbelief. This wasn’t porn but a real film, he remembered the audition, it had felt so strange to go in and read the lines and become the character, but he’d love it more than he realised but didn’t think he’d ever get it.
He felt suddenly weightless, as if the sunlight itself had buoyed him up, and for a moment he struggled to speak, to find anything that could possibly express this raw, astonished joy. Valerius only grinned wider, smoothing his thumb across Draco’s cheek as if to ground him.
“I… I need to sit down,” Draco managed, his knees wobbling in earnest now. They sank onto the plush sofa together, Opal leaping lightly into Draco’s lap, her emerald eyes blinking up in silent approval.
“I can’t believe it.” Draco whispered, voice trembling but bright. “Me, Dorian Grey.” He laughed then, a breathless, startled sound and pressed his face into Valerius’s shoulder. “What if I make a mess of it?”
Valerius kissed the top of his head, gentle and certain. “Darling, you won’t. You’re meant for this. I always knew you’d be brilliant given the chance.”
For a while, they sat there, tangled together in the hush of the apartment, the city’s hum filtering gently through the open window. Draco let himself imagine it then, the arc of camera lights, the hush before a take, the strange alchemy of becoming someone else. Excitement fluttered in his chest, edged with a sweet, bone-deep terror.
He wondered what would Harry say. Would that low, fond voice slip into teasing, or would he hear something else in it, pride hidden beneath laughter? The thought made Draco’s heart twist, almost painfully.
Later, as Valerius bustled to make coffee and Draco scrolled through the morning’s messages, he caught his reflection in the window: hair tousled, eyes bright with disbelief, a small, secret smile curling at his mouth. For the first time in a long while, the ache in his chest was threaded through with hope, unruly, golden, impossible hope.
Draco stepped into the film studio, Vernon walking behind him, Valerius beside him. A man and a woman he remembered from the audition walked over to them with big smiles. “There’s our shining star.” The man, Jackson Emerson, the director smiled at him, shaking Draco’s hand. “Draco your audition was some of the rawest I’ve ever seen, you really understand the mind of Dorian. I cannot wait to work with you.”
“It’s a favourite book of mine.” Draco admitted, blushing slightly.
“This is Tanya Davis, our producer.” Jackson introduced him to the woman.
Tanya extended a hand, her grip firm and warm. “We’re so thrilled to have you, Draco. I think you’re going to bring something truly electric to the role.”
Draco found himself nodding, a flurry of nerves and anticipation churning inside him. The studio was bright with possibility, and every corner seemed to hum with the promise of stories waiting to be told. Crew members bustled past with stacks of script sides and coils of cables, their laughter echoing off high ceilings. In the far corner, an art director fussed with a gilded picture frame, a detail from the set, he supposed, and Draco shivered with delight.
Valerius clapped him gently on the back, beaming with pride.
A young woman with long black hair tied back in a braid walked over clutching a clipboard. “Sorry to interrupt but I need to get Draco over to costume for his measurements and makeup would like a quick consult before the table read.”
Draco glanced at Valerius, who looked at him with such open pride that warmed Draco like a beam of sunlight.
“Ah yes, Draco this is Summer Matthews, she’s our assistant director and one of the most organised people, I’ve ever met. You’ll be in good hands with her.” Jackson introduced them.
Summer whisked him away towards the costume department, as they moved deeper into the thrum of the studio, Draco tried to commit every detail to memory, the scent of sawdust and coffee, the dazzling overhead lights, the low, purposeful murmur of people who believed, fiercely, in the work ahead.
Draco followed her into a room where a group of women were sat around discussing fabric samples and chatting loudly, laughing and drinking coffee.
“Ladies, I have Draco Malfoy here for you, go easy on him now.” Summer smiled at Draco. “I’ll come back and get you when it’s time for the reading.” She placed a comforting hand on his arm and then left him alone.
“Come on in sweetheart, I promise we don’t bite.” A short, plump woman with a kind smile led Draco into the room. “I’m Cathy, this is Trina and Jo.” She motioned to the other two women. “My aren’t you a pretty thing, you’re going to have all the girls after you and a few boys too I imagine.” She winked at him.
Draco blushed. “I’m not sure about that.” He mumbled.
Cathy chuckled, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses as she measured out a length of silver tape. “Modest, too. We like that.” With deft hands, she gestured for Draco to stand on a small wooden platform in the centre of the room. Trina, tall and brisk, unfurled a measuring tape as Jo scrawled notes on a pad, her pen moving almost as fast as her tongue.
“Shoulders back, chin up—there you go, love. Let’s see what we’re working with.” Trina instructed, looping the tape around Draco’s chest. Jo peered over her glasses and asked. “Any allergies? Latex, adhesives, feathers, existential dread?”
The room burst into laughter and Draco managed a smile, his nerves softening in the warmth of their camaraderie. He answered their questions, no allergies, except perhaps to last-minute changes and Cathy nodded approvingly.
“We’ll see about getting you something that makes you feel like you could conquer the world.” She said, scribbling a few more notes. “Or at least look good doing it.”
The conversation drifted to stories of disastrous costume mishaps and tales from past productions; the kind of colourful anecdotes that made Draco feel like he belonged to something rare and electric. By the time the women finished fussing over fabric swatches and jotting down his measurements, his initial unease had faded, replaced by a budding excitement for the role, and the world he was about to step into.
Summer returned with her sunny smile. “All right ladies, I need to take Draco in for the table read now.”
“We’re all done.” Cathy set down her measuring tape. “We’ll see you in a few weeks for the costume fitting.” She winked at him.
Draco nodded. “I look forward to it.” He smiled at her.
“Summer, we took measurements for the wig, but it seems a shame to hide such beautiful hair and darker hair might make him look far too pale on camera without caking him in makeup.” Cathy told her.
“I’ll speak with Jackson.” Summer nodded her head. “Thanks Cathy.” She turned and led Draco into a large room with a big table with name cards and scripts. Summer led him over to the table where a few people were stood around talking. “Draco, this is Jacob Lynch, he’s playing Lord Henry, Daniel Meyer will be playing Basil Hallward and this is Alice King who will be playing Sibyl Vane.” She introduced him. “And this is Draco Malfoy, our Dorian Grey.”
Jacob, tall with an easy smile, reached out to shake Draco’s hand. “Welcome to the madness,” he said, the words threaded with genuine warmth. Daniel, all sharp angles and thoughtful eyes, nodded in greeting, a faint smudge of graphite on his fingers betraying some last-minute notetaking on his script. Alice’s handshake was brisk, her grip steadier than her bright, hesitant smile.
“First time?” Alice asked, tilting her head.
Draco nodded, glancing at the neatly arranged scripts, the faint scent of paper and coffee mingling in the air. “Yeah, I’m really excited to be here.”
Jacob grinned, “Don’t worry, we were all the new kid at this table once. You’ll get used to the chaos.” He flicked his script open and gestured for Draco to take the empty chair beside him.
Daniel slid a mug closer. “Coffee? Or tea? Alice swears by the peppermint, but I think the filter coffee is the only thing keeping me upright.”
Alice rolled her eyes but laughed, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “Just don’t let Jackson catch you sneaking biscuits, he says crumbs are the enemy of the script pages.”
Summer perched at the end of the table, surveying the little group with a proud smile. “I’ll let you all get to know each other, but we’ll be starting in about ten minutes. Get comfortable, there’s no rush, and plenty of caffeine if you need it.”
Draco took the seat, his heart thumping an odd mix of nerves and anticipation. The scripts rustled, chairs creaked, and the low buzz of friendly banter filled the space, weaving him into the fabric of this new world. For the first time, as he glanced around at his castmates, future co-conspirators in art and mischief, he felt the exhilarating promise of transformation, as though anything, on this film set, might be possible.
Valerius sat in the corner watching his boy get to know his cast mates, pride couldn’t begin to explain how he was feeling. Draco truly was becoming the star he knew he could be. It had been a long few weeks being away from him, training a new boy for sale and while Valerius enjoyed the thrill of moulding another boy, he wasn’t the same as his Draco. He watched as Jackson walked over to the table and sat down. “Okay everyone, it’s lovely to see everyone here, this is going to be a fantastic project and I’m excited to be working with all of you. We’ll be beginning filming in six weeks. Shooting schedules will be sent out to you. Today we just want to read through the script, make sure everything flows and see if we need to make any changes.” He explained to them. “But first if we could just go around and introduce ourselves. I’ll start. I’m Jackson Emerson, director. This will be my fifth project.” He introduced himself, motioning to his left.
Around the table they went, each person stating their name, role in the film be it in front of the camera or behind it and a little about themselves. Then it was Draco’s turn.
“Hi, I’m Draco, I’ll be playing Dorian Grey. This is my first film, I’ve done other stuff, a few music videos and such. I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone and bring this iconic character to life.” He said glancing around nervously.
Once everyone had introduced themselves, they got into the script, Summer reading the scene directions.
The first lines slipped into the air, tentative at first, as voices found their rhythm with the story. Draco listened, script trembling slightly between his hands, as Alice delivered her lines with bright, brittle ease, and Jacob’s dry wit coloured the dialogue with subtle warmth. Daniel, already deeply in character, drew out each phrase with a careful, lived-in gravity that lent the table an immediate sense of stakes.
As the reading unfurled, laughter sparked at unexpected moments, a wry aside in the narration, a cleverly timed line. Notes and suggestions were scribbled in the margins, the group pausing now and then to puzzle over a clunky bit of dialogue or the pacing of a scene. Jackson, ever patient, guided these discussions, his presence both anchor and encouragement.
Every so often, Draco caught Valerius’s gaze from across the room, a small, secret exchange. Each time, a little more of the tension in Draco’s shoulders eased, replaced by a burgeoning sense of belonging. Here, in this ring of mismatched mugs, highlighters, and dog-eared scripts, he could feel the first sparks of something real: the messy, exhilarating birth of a story, and the quiet comfort of finding his place within it.
“How’s he doing?” Harry asked sliding into a seat in the quiet café across from Dudley.
Dudley snorted. “Hello to you too. I’m fine, thanks for asking.” He smirked, sipping his tea.
“Sorry.” Harry cringed. “It’s just… It’s been months.” He ran his hand through his hair.
Dudley’s lips twitched, not unkindly. “Yeah, I know. He’s doing okay.” He hesitated, glancing out the window at the steady drizzle painting the glass. “This movie is keeping him busy and Valerius happy.” He sipped his tea.
Harry nodded. “Have you found out anything about Valerius?”
“Not much, he’s been coming and going more now, I think now he knows he has Draco firmly under control, he feels more confident to leave him alone.” Dudley explained. “But this isn’t going to be a short sprint Harry, these sort of cases, they can take years.”
Harry traced a finger absently along the condensation blooming on his mug. The café’s hush was punctuated by the soft clatter of ceramic and the muted hum of rain. For a brief moment, neither of them spoke; the weight of things unsaid pressed between them.
Finally, Harry broke the silence. “I just wish I could do more. Sitting on the sidelines, waiting for the right moment… It’s maddening.”
Dudley shrugged, sympathy softening the edges of his usual bravado. “You know how it is. Sometimes waiting is all there is. Besides, Draco’s stronger than you think. He’s got people now. Friends, he’s built a life for himself, even if he is under Valerius’ thumb, his not some maiden trapped in a tower.”
Harry managed a faint smile. “Yeah. It’s strange, seeing him like this… Almost happy. Like he’s finally found a bit of light.”
Dudley nodded. “You’re pretty smitten with him, aren’t you?”
“What? No.” Harry flushed. “I just… I feel like I owe him something.” He shook his head with a sigh. “I don’t want him to get hurt. He’s trapped with a man who’s dangerous without even knowing it. You said Valerius is happy right now but what happens when he’s unhappy?”
Dudley studied the swirling dregs in his cup. “Then we’ll be here. For Draco. For when it changes.”
Something about the certainty in Dudley’s voice drew a line through the fog of anxiety that had been coiling in Harry’s chest. He took a slow breath, feeling the warmth from his mug seep into his palms.
“Do you think he knows?” Harry asked quietly. “Draco, I mean. That Valerius isn’t who he seems to be?”
A raindrop traced a crooked path down the windowpane. Dudley shrugged again, a slow, thoughtful motion. “Maybe. I’m sure he probably sees things no one else does.”
Harry’s gaze dropped to the table, with a sigh. “I hope so.”
For a while, they let the hush settle. The world outside drifted into a misty blur. Around them, the café’s gentle life moved on, cutlery chimed, a barista laughed somewhere out of sight, the espresso machine hissed.
Eventually, Harry straightened. “I’m not giving up, I’ll wait, however long it takes.”
“Stubborn as usual.” Dudley chuckled. “Listen, as much as I love talking about Draco with you, I did have another reason for asking you for tea.” He smirked.
Harry frowned. “What?”
Dudley rubbed the back of his neck. He hesitated, eyes flickering to the rain-streaked window, then back to Harry. “I, uh… I wanted to tell you something. Actually, more like ask. Well… Invite, I suppose.” His mouth twisted in a self-deprecating grin.
Harry leaned forward, brow furrowing deeper. “You’re making this sound ominous, Dud.”
Dudley rolled his eyes affectionately. “It’s not. Or, at least, I hope not. It’s just… Big.” He drew in a breath. “I’m planning to propose to Julia.”
For a moment, the words hung between them, suspended and shining. Harry blinked, surprise washing over his features, then a slow, genuine smile bloomed. “Dudley, that’s, wow. That’s brilliant.” He knew Dudley had been seeing someone for a good year and a half. Dudley told him, they’d moved in together a few months ago and he was sure Julia was the one for him. She was bright, kind, funny and kept him in line when he started to slip into old ways.
Dudley’s cheeks flushed a little, but his grin was wide and warm. “I think so. I hope she does, anyway.” He ducked his head, then looked up with a hopeful glint. “I’d really like you to meet her, Harry. Properly, I mean. The two of us are having dinner this Friday. Would you come? Join us? It’d mean a lot.”
Harry’s answer was instantaneous, a bright, unguarded joy in his expression. “Of course, Dud. I’d be honoured.”
Dudley let out a relieved laugh, the tension melting from his shoulders. “Good. Because I want her to know my family.”
“Has she met your parents?” Harry asked him, tilting his head to the side.
“No.” Dudley shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to them in years Harry.” He sighed.
Harry’s features softened, old hurts flickering just beneath the surface. “Yeah, I know how that goes,” he murmured, voice gentle. For a heartbeat, the room filled with quiet understanding, the old weight of the Dursley name settling between them, faded, but never quite gone.
Dudley gazed at his hands. “I keep thinking I’ll call or maybe write. Tell them about Julia. About... everything. But then I remember how things were and…” He stopped himself, a rueful smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s easier not to, most days.”
Harry nodded. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Families are complicated. But I’m… I’m glad you found me that night and stuck around to talk when I was conscious. I’m glad we can be friends now. I’m proud of you Dud, it takes a lot for a person to change and you’re doing amazing.”
Dudley let out a shaky breath, relief mingling with gratitude. “Thanks, Harry. Really. Sometimes I think you’re the only family I’ve got left that matters.”
Harry reached out, squeezing Dudley’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I might have my friends now and they’re family but… You get things they never will.”
“Shared trauma and all that.” Dudley grinned. “So, Friday night, seven work?”
“I’ll be there.” Harry agreed. “I’m interested to meet Julia. Have you bought the ring yet?”
Dudley nodded, taking out his phone and showed Harry a picture. “Julia loves old stuff; she’s really into history, kind of has to be for being a history teacher. I went around what felt like a hundred antique shops and then I found this one.” He explained.
He turned the phone so Harry could see the delicate ring, a narrow gold band, set with a small sapphire flanked by two tiny diamonds, the metal softly worn with time. The photo didn’t do it justice, but Harry could imagine the story behind it, the lives it had passed through.
“That’s beautiful,” Harry said. “She’s going to love it.”
Dudley’s expression blended nerves and anticipation. “I hope so. I want it all to feel right, you know? Like… like we’re building something new, not repeating old patterns.”
Harry smiled, a warmth in his eyes that reached back across years and regret. “You are, Dud. You really are.”
For a moment, the weight that always seemed to haunt these conversations lifted. Dudley tucked his phone away, visibly lighter.
“So, do you think she suspects anything?” Harry asked, a teasing edge in his voice.
Dudley laughed, shaking his head. “Not a clue. I’m doing it in two weeks. She thinks we’re just going out to her favourite little Italian place. I’ve even roped in her best friend to help get everyone assembled in the back room I’ve hired. I’m going to take her for a walk to the river where we first met and propose there and then we’ll go to the restaurant and celebrate with everyone, you’re invited by the way. I swear, planning a proposal is like pulling off a heist.”
Harry grinned. “Just don’t let her see you sweating. And I’m rooting for her to say ‘yes’, not that I think there’s much doubt.”
Dudley’s cheeks flushed with a quiet happiness. “Thanks, Harry. Means a lot, having you in my corner.”
They sat in companionable silence, the past still present but no longer in charge, both quietly glad for the second chances life sometimes offered.
“Come on you two, it’s starting.” Dean called to Seamus and Harry who were in the kitchen arranging the snacks. Their whole friendship group had come together at Seamus and Dean’s flat to watch Draco’s appearance on a late-night talk show, part f the promotion for his film.
“We’re coming.” Seamus passed Harry a large bowl of popcorn and picked up the bags of candy in one hand and the pitcher of sangria with the other.
“I still can’t believe Draco Malfoy is a starring in a muggle movie.” Hermione shook her head.
Ron, already sprawled on the sofa with a cushion hugged to his chest, arched an eyebrow. “Honestly, I’m more shocked that he let them straighten his hair for the poster. Did you see the trailer? He’s practically unrecognisable—looks like he wandered out of a cologne advert.”
Ginny grinned, plucking a fizzy drink from the table. “Well, you have to admit it’s a good look on him. Who would’ve thought Draco Malfoy would end up a heartthrob?”
They all chuckled, the gentle ribbing punctuated by the clink of glasses and rustle of sweet wrappers. The television flickered, the talk show’s host introducing Draco with a flourish. Seamus juggled the snacks onto the coffee table just as Draco appeared onscreen, looking polished and oddly at ease, the studio audience erupting in applause.
“Bet he’s wishing he had his wand right about now,” Dean whispered, settling in beside Seamus.
Harry smiled, watching Draco smile and wave to the live audience before shaking the host’s hand. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored deep green suit with a white shirt and thin black tie.
As laughter and applause echoed from the screen, Hermione leaned in, her voice soft. “Look at him. None of us would have predicted this, back then.”
Ron grinned, bumping her knee with his own. “Not in a million years.”
The host settled back into his chair. “Thank you for coming tonight, Draco. It’s been a whirlwind year for you.”
Draco chuckled. “Thanks for having me. Yeah, it’s been a crazy time, but I’ve been enjoying every second of it.”
Hermione rested her chin in her hand, eyes bright with curiosity. “I wonder if he misses it. Magic, I mean. Doing something so... normal, so out in the open. I doubt even he imagined this would be where he’d end up.”
Onscreen, Draco laughed at something the host had said, his voice carrying an ease none of them remembered from their school days.
“So, The Picture of Dorian Grey, opening on the 12th of May, the trailer is already gathering a lot of excitement and good press. How are you feeling?” The host asked.
“Excited. I’m looking forward to being able to share the project with everyone.” Draco nodded his head. “It’s been a dream working with our director Jackson Emerson and the rest of the cast. I think we’ve created something truly special that honours the original text.” He shifted on the sofa.
The camera panned, catching Draco’s contemplative expression as the audience hushed, waiting for more. “Of course, stepping into the world of film, especially with a story as rich as Dorian Grey, felt daunting at first.” He admitted, fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of his sleeve. “But it’s given me the chance to reinvent myself in a way I never thought possible.”
The host nodded, folding their hands together. “Well, we’re certainly loving this Draco Malfoy, aren’t we?” They addressed the audience who cheered their approval.
Back in the living room, Ron exhaled a soft, impressed whistle. “He sounds different. Happier, maybe.”
Harry watched the flicker of joy in Draco’s eyes onscreen and found himself quietly agreeing. He couldn’t take his eyes off the boy he once knew, now a man he barely recognised. But his friends didn’t know the full story, he hadn’t told them about Valerius, about Dudley and the investigation.
“Hey Harry, you got a little something there.” Seamus teased, pointing to the corner of his mouth, implying Harry was drooling.
Harry rolled his eyes and threw a cushion at his friend. “Shut up.” He turned his attention back to the screen.
The interview moved on, but Draco’s words lingered in the quiet of the flat, mixing with the faint sound of rain against the windows. Hermione shifted, thoughtful. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Watching him like this. He always seemed so certain of who he was, back at Hogwarts. Now… it’s like he’s trying on a new skin.”
Ron shrugged, picking at a loose thread on his jumper. “Maybe he finally gets to choose this time.”
Harry let the conversation wash over him, his mind whirring with memories, a pale boy with sharp words and sharper eyes, a history that felt worlds away from the man onscreen. Yet for all the distance, something in Draco’s voice tethered Harry to the present, a silvery thread of familiarity buried beneath all the change.
The host was wrapping up, thanking Draco for his time, but before the segment cut away, Draco glanced at the camera, a fleeting, almost secretive smile curving his lips. For a heartbeat, it felt like he was looking straight at Harry. The air in the room shifted, tense, expectant, leaving Harry wondering if anyone else had felt it too.
Draco thought things would calm down once the film was done but if anything, they became more chaotic. Valerius had already booked him for another film, a historical, romance drama and a reoccurring part in a fantasy television show. He was working more and more, between that and all the press tours for the film, he was run ragged.
The tabloids, never ones to let a story fade, seized on every scrap of news. One day it was a rumour about Draco’s mysterious co-star, the next, wild speculation about his sudden disappearance from social events. Paparazzi lingered outside his building, their flashes like lightning at dusk. Draco handled it with a brittle grace, offering polite smiles, never revealing more than he intended.
Harry followed the headlines, sometimes deliberately, sometimes by accident, his feeds clogged with gossip columns and candid photos. He tried not to care, but each new article left a bruise he couldn’t quite explain. There were moments he wanted to reach out, to bridge that familiar distance, but the words tangled on his tongue and never made it further than his heart.
He went to see the film with Seamus and Dean, his mouth going dry at the raunchier scenes, blushing furiously seeing Draco so raw and exposed. He wondered for a moment; how much more scandalous Draco’s porn portfolio was. He’d been tempted once to rent one but stopped himself, it felt like an invasion in some way.
Sometimes, in the hush between midnight and dawn, Harry would find himself scrolling through old interviews, letting Draco’s voice fill the silent corners of his flat. He told himself it was curiosity, maybe nostalgia, but he knew it was something more persistent, aching, unnameable. When he was honest, he missed the easy animosity of their youth, the way Draco had always demanded his attention, even when Harry had sworn to ignore him.
Now, with Draco’s life playing out in glossy spreads and viral clips, Harry was a spectator, one of millions yet haunted by secrets that no camera could catch. He tried to imagine Draco laughing with his new castmates, or rehearsing lines in a trailer, and wondered if he ever thought of the boy who’d chased him through Hogwarts corridors, all sharp retorts and unreadable looks.
One night, after another swirl of headlines and a particularly invasive article, Harry caught himself clicking onto the porn site where Draco’s old films were still available. Harry had always been curious, and he wanted to find a connection, any connection to Draco. To understand.
He hesitated, finger hovering over the play button, a strange mixture of guilt and longing knotting in his chest. The thumbnail was alluring and anonymous, just a blond head tipped back against white sheets, mouth parted in pleasure. He closed the tab with a sigh, not venturing further, breath shallow, feeling exposed himself, as if someone had turned a lens on his own secrets.
Sleep was slow to come that night. Harry stared up at the ceiling, replaying half-remembered conversations and the echo of Draco’s low laughter. There were so many things he wished he could say apologies and admissions that had never passed his lips. The next day, he woke tangled in sheets, far from rested, and wandered through the morning in a daze, making tea, feeding the owl, watching sunlight glimmer across the kitchen tiles.
Outside, the world continued to move: Draco’s face appeared on a billboard near the station, lips painted with a smirk that was all performance. Harry paused beneath it, squinting against the glare, feeling suddenly, fiercely protective. He wondered if Draco was happy, if the endless carousel of roles and rumour was enough, or if, beneath it all, he was just as lost and searching as the boy Harry remembered.
Later, Ron sent a message, something inane about a Quidditch match and the possibility of pints, reminding Harry that life, despite everything, was still his to shape. But Draco lingered in the back of his mind, a question mark, a possibility, a flicker of hope that maybe, someday, the gulf between them could be crossed; that maybe, after all the years and headlines, they could find their way back to something that felt like understanding, or even forgiveness.