𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐇/𝐃/𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐄 2008

Fear and Loathing at the Phoenix (3/4)

Chapter 3: thursday.may.1.2008 cont'd

Chapter Text

The Herowhores gather early and often, drawn like addicts to small, dank rooms for the latest in communal wanks, the cultivated solidarity of lifestyle with the illusion of choice. There's variety here, all costumes and choice, but they're all here for the dichotomy, so it's variations of sameness in really fancy robes.

None of which Herowhore founders will acknowledge. Perfectly reasonable, dragging the names and faces of celebrated strangers into the realm of cheap, easy sex, and it's pretty clear pretty fast they don't see the flaws.

Expect, insanely, that while they'll be vilified for this by the masses, that they'll be adored by those they're whoring. That they'll be understood.

There's easily a hundred Harry Potters under this roof, most of them spread lewd for their own gratification, all of them apparently incapable of admitting they're not sure how the Chosen One might take all this.

Flattery, some say, as though it is.

Because maybe once there was a boy called Harry Potter and maybe once he did things for others, stopped a war and all that, but what's he done for them lately?

Fear and Loathing at the Phoenix, Regulus Black, p.147

Slytherin Common's clearly a mistake, because they're not there ten minutes before Harry's got a fan. Draco studiously ignores the bit of blonde bint bouncing on the seat between them, all obvious glee she's stumbled over Regulus Black.

Honest-to-shit, that's who she's babbling about, and she's laughing like it's funny, like it's bloody hilarious Harry's dressed as Harry, because she swears she's always known Regulus Black was a sick fuck and she's thrilled to see it's true.

She says "sick fuck" like Harry thinks the interns should, like it's a gift or something instead of an apparent personality flaw.

"I knew I knew you," she says, leaning in, hand on Harry's arm, and he's not sure he likes that, the touching, so he tries to wiggle away. Can practically hear Draco hissing at him to stop squirming, behave like a bloody grown-up already, Scarhead, you wanted to bond with them? So fucking bond.

And Harry, Harry just needs Truth for Deadline, backbone of Journalism, this, and he's thought maybe Slytherin Common might be something Draco'd like, closest to "friendly" they're likely to find. Seems a bit off, both of them sitting in what's clearly not the dungeons, but Harry's not sure why. And yeah, all right, so he's still a bit oblivious when he's homing in on Deadline, but fuck, Draco already knows.

"I can't believe you're really Regulus Black," she says, the bouncy bint, lowering her voice in a right awful flirt. Harry's fairly sure he's written things, made it clear he's gay, but he can smell the Firewhisky on her so he assumes it's all just bar scene. Even if there's not really an official bar. He looks up at Draco then, and apparently so does she, because she squeals, "Oh my Merlin, you're his attorney, aren't you?" and then she's touching Draco, Harry doesn't like that at all.

Draco's smile looks like a sneer. "Pleasure," he says, sounds like every syllable hurts him, like it all grates.

She babbles again, things about the column on the werewolf school and ahahaha, Harry's last lawsuit, and she flutters a sidelong look at him that's all too sweet, very early Ginny, and says, "Don't see why you'd need an attorney, you're smashing in court all on your own."

Draco's eye tics, a metronome of pissed.

***

"I love what you've done with Potter," she says. "I mean, really, that tattoo's too much, yeah?"