Summary: Can it really be him at a most unexpected of places?
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Bondage, Dub-con, Parseltongue, Slash, Veela coercion, major spoiler (highlight if you want to know in advance) * implied mental-illness (created by me) *
Word Count: ~5600
Author's Notes: Dear faynia, I am sorry that this is not designed to your personal preferences, but I hope it will still be to your liking. Thanks to my wonderful betas, you know who you are. All mistakes left would be mine. And special thanks to the HD_hols mods for their immense help and understanding.
April 10th 2007
Bus around the city, walk from SU to Serdika1, then the subway and home.
Sunny. The apples are in bloom.
April 11th 2007
Bus around the city, walk from SU to Serdika, then the subway and home. Again.
The spring in Bulgaria is entirely too warm.
When it happened for the first time Draco Malfoy decided that he had seen incorrectly. And it was possible that he had – he had only glimpsed the man for less than a second. Besides, what were the chances really, after all this time?
When it happened for the second time, however, he was not willing to cast it aside as a coincidence any more. Once was a random occurrence, twice was the nascence of a system. And a system had its own workings that he needed to unravel, for Draco Malfoy didn't like that there could be something that might possibly endanger his plans or uncover his secrets.
He followed the dark-haired man who was walking down a street that didn't even have proper sidewalks. Draco didn't bother with either the statue or the National Assembly2 that another tourist would have stopped to look at. The man he was tracking seemed to be walking with determination. Obviously he was well acquainted with the area and knew exactly where he was heading. Draco walked as fast as he could after the man and was grateful when the street started to sport sidewalks as it made it easier for him – he didn't need to look out for cars that might run him over, the fact that the drivers considered the traffic-lights a mere nuisance was enough of a challenge. Blast those ignorant Muggles, who had no idea who and what he was.
Surprisingly enough his victim either didn't seem to notice he was being stalked or he didn't care; Draco was unsure which one. Then the man dove into the subway that led to the subway.
Draco followed only to encounter a problem he had not considered. While his target had something that allowed him access to the subway, he had no idea how to buy a ticket and he hardly had time to examine the behaviour of the other people around, for fear that he might lose sight of his prey. He considered casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself and jumping inside, but he couldn't be sure the man wouldn't feel it this close. While he was wondering, he saw the man he was after running down the stairs, the artificial light of the lamps reflecting on his glasses, and heard the sound of the train. That was it, he had lost him.
If he was one to let his feelings out in public, he would have started raving and cursing. Now all he did was go back up to the street and head to his hotel3, which was luckily just by the subway.
* * *
It was spring again. Draco had used to love springs as a child. His mother had been the owner of a garden that would start blossoming early in the spring and he had loved it. He would walk around watching the flowers and predicting which bud would be next to greet him the morning. It had all changed soon after his seventeenth birthday. A lot had changed for him then – his life had deteriorated. He wondered if that had been some divine punishment for his adolescent mistakes, especially the one which had led to the invasion of Death Eaters in Hogwarts and ultimately to Dumbledore's death. It was all in the past now. He had been declared innocent, which had not cost that much, considering the charges, but who was he to complain?
But in the autumn of that cursed year, he had discovered that even the Malfoy family had a skeleton in the closet, and quite unfortunately not in the literal meaning of the word, which would have been nothing unusual. No, it had been a secret that generations of Malfoys had done their best to hide and swipe under the carpet.
That autumn Draco Malfoy had gone into his first heat. And Severus Snape, who had been there for him, who had helped him overcome the Dark Lord's rage over his failure in the mission he had been assigned, had been the only person to find out that Draco Malfoy was not as pure of blood as all his ancestors had been claiming for centuries. It had been most accommodating that Snape hadn't survived the war. After all, a secret was a secret if there was only one person who knew it. And Snape had been a Slytherin, a man who had thought first and foremost about himself; Draco could have never been sure if he would not wake one day to discover that the whole Wizarding world knew his secret. He was part Veela. While he would never transform into one of those hideous bird-like creatures that full-blooded specimens morphed into, he still had a few traits he could not control.
Oh, the Veela Charm had proved useful over time, especially considering that people didn't even have an idea why they went head over heels and did the impossible to give him what he wanted, but that blasted heat was what made his springs and autumns hell. Three weeks of random bouts of desire to procreate and thus his being willing to bed any man his hormones decided was a good gene-donor. For not only was he a Veela, he was a homosexual to boot, and for some reason this made him act as a female Veela would.
So Draco spent his time going for men who were in their prime and were strong physically and/or magically. Not that it mattered really, it wasn't like he could make do with those genes anyway, lacking the necessary equipment. Thank Merlin for small favours. It was very nice, only his hormones never bothered with the sexual preferences of his 'mates' and over time he had encountered a large variety of most unpleasant displays of post-coital treatments, when his partners were temporarily resistant to his charm. That was why he always went someplace far from England during heat. Not that it really mattered; in the end, only Draco remembered what had transpired between them. He had the strict rule of Obliviating his partners after sex. One could never be too careful.
He never went to the same country twice and the only thing in common between his sex-tourism destinations was that they had prominent Quidditch championships, which served two purposes – he had a good face-value reason for his travels and he had at least one other entertainment beside sex.
He had no particular system of choosing his next destination; it was always a spur of the moment decision. This time it was Bulgaria. It was, after all, the natural habitat of Veelas. That had been a reason to avoid it for some time, but this year he had decided to try it. An acceptable choice really. And rather ironic. At least the spring was sunny and if one had money, which he had in abundance, one could pretty much do whatever they desired.
* * *
April 12th 2007
Bus around the city, walk from SU to Serdika, then the subway and home. Once more.
The third time Draco Malfoy saw the man there was no mistake. The brilliant green eyes behind round glasses that sat slightly askew and the trademark lightning bolt-shaped scar were an absolute confirmation that it was indeed Harry Potter. That was also when Draco realised that there was some sort of routine to Potter's behaviour. For he did exactly the same thing as he had the previous time Draco had followed him. Draco, still unacquainted with the subway, lost him again.
But the day after, once again Potter was there at the same time and acting the same; this time Draco had it all ready, right to the little blue ticket bought in advance waiting in his pocket.
He followed Potter to a small house where he didn't dare enter, for the wards were no easy game. But at least he had a lead. And something to fill his days with. After all even Quidditch was only two days of the week, which left him with too much free time.
And even a Veela couldn't have sex 24/7.
* * *
April 17th 2007
Bus around the city, walk from SU to Serdika, then the subway and home.
It gets boring writing the same thing over and over.
Seems like summer's coming early.
By the fifth time he grew tired of the repetition of one and the same routine without any variation.
On the sixth he cast a small hex at a man close to Potter just to see if there would be a reaction by his prey. No such luck.
On the seventh, man he was really bored if that was all he could do for entertainment, so he tripped Potter with a well aimed jinx. Unfortunately, with no visible result. Again.
On the following day Draco decided that he would either out his presence to Potter or stop this stupid charade.
* * *
He was behind the statue with a camera in hand, playing the stupid tourist, and when his prey neared it, he acted surprised.
"Potter, what the hell? I'd heard rumours you were dead." Whatever reaction Draco had expected it was not the lost confusion that swam in the green depths. Or the sudden stirring of his hormones that demanded that Potter was a powerful wizard and would make a good fuck. To hell with them! The mist in the man's eyes cleared so fast that any other person would have doubted there had been any.
"Malfoy." The black-haired head tilted slightly in a greeting. "I see why you'd choose to come here."
Draco was surprised. This was not the Potter he remembered. This man was collected and in control. The Potter of yore would have become emotional, angry at him – shouting and demanding. This man was almost intriguing and Draco's hormones were absolutely delighted to be in his company. He had to rein in the Charm, as he was not going to humiliate himself if Potter's resistance to Imperius extended to Veela Charm. Yet the comment worried him.
"What pray tell might you be implying with these words?" Draco snorted and raised his chin, looking haughtily down at Potter.
"You're a Veela, right?" More of a statement than a question. Draco had not been this close to losing his calm since the time after Dumbledore's death. The green eyes flashed with a spark of humour. "Everyone here would recognise one, especially during the heat."
Draco nodded his head non-committally. "Want to go for a tea somewhere?"
"Might as well, I guess. Though the tea here is generally in a bag and you might find it beneath your usual standards." Potter looked around, his eyes taking in the statue and the buildings around, then looked at the sky that was blue and deep with only a few stray puffy clouds chasing at each other. "Want to come to my place?"
"Why not? Two old friends making up for the lost time." The dry tone was counter-pointed by the sly smile on his lips.
* * *
The house was small and looked a bit shabby. The garden around had orchard trees that seemed to have been left to their own devices a few years too long. There were a few vines, however that were cut and were already sprouting new leaves. Strange contradiction.
"A neighbour said it was a sacrilege not to care for the vines. I let him take care of them and he collects most of the grapes. I can't eat it all on my own."
"Uh-huh. So there's no Mrs. Potter I presume?"
"No. Is there a Mrs. Malfoy then?" The wards were lifted, allowing them to enter the garden. As they reached the house, Potter dug in his pocket for the key and waved it with a victorious gesture. He slipped it into the hole and unlocked the door.
"Nope." Just for the shock value he added. "A bit of a man's man, I am." The house was quite common, the rooms rather small. How pedestrian of Potter. But you could only expect that much of a man who could wear clothes that would easily fit two of him in them.
"I see. No wonder you stay out of England during heat."
"I can't quite fathom what you mean, Potter!" Draco's voice could freeze a polar bear. "It's the second time you've made a comment like that. What is that supposed to mean?"
The eyes blinked at him and the lips curved in a smile. "Sit here," he was led to a table and offered a chair, while Potter busied himself at the stove, preparing tea.
Draco took the time to explore with his eyes. The kitchen was full of Muggle devices. He noticed that his host used no magic and filed it for further exploration.
"Have you tried 'Spartacus'?" The question didn't seem to follow any logic.
"I beg your pardon?"
"A gay club. Usually quite full of willing men and a lot of Veela of your predilections, especially during the Season. That's what they call it here – the Season, they think 'heat' sounds a bit animalistic."
"Well, they are animals!" Draco had not expected to erupt like this, but Potter's casual regard of a topic he had avoided for as long as it had been an issue, really annoyed him.
The sugar and the milk floated to the table, ruining his conspiracy theory as far as Potter's magic went. A minute later the man brought the tea, letting Draco serve himself.
"You are in denial, aren't you? The perfect pureblooded Draco Malfoy can't accept that he's not as pure as he's always claimed." The old Potter resounded in these words and in the expression on the man's face. Draco could feel himself shrink back to the angry and petty teen that had confronted the Gryffindor on every matter.
"It's hardly your concern, Potty."
"You think so, ferret-face?"
Draco's hand itched to grab the wand and hex Potter into next week. His opponent's hands however sat calmly on the table and one would think he was talking about the weather.
"Shut up!" He almost shouted it.
"It's the hormones, I presume."
Draco ground his teeth in annoyance as he realised that it was indeed his hormones that boiled in him and forced him to act so childish.
"Fuck you!" He wanted to jump the man and do exactly that. "Yes! Are you happy now?"
"Are they after me?"
The casual tone really got under Draco's skin. "Yes," he challenged. "So, gonna sleep with me?"
Potter stood and waved his wand banishing the china to the sink. He extended his arm. "The bedroom is this way."
* * *
Potter was a strange case indeed. Not many could go three rounds with a Veela in heat and still be coherent. They had really been vigorous; Draco could feel his muscles complain in a most sedated way, indicating that they had been put to good use. The shower washed away a bit of his fatigue and Draco decided it would do till he got to his hotel room. He never spent the night with his flings; that would suggest some significance that he was unwilling to permit.
He waited for Potter to lift the wards and allow his exit. As usual Draco held his wand in hand ready to swipe away all memory of the sexual relationship they had shared with his current lover, but the look in Potter's eyes and the cautious vigilance with which he held his own wand made him change his mind. It was not likely that Potter would go out and shout to the world Draco's condition. The man was a reclusive after all.
And Draco could always ambush him around the statue and still Obliviate him.
* * *
Draco waited for Harry on the next day and, quite predictably, Potter passed by the statue at almost the same time as every other day Draco had seen him. He couldn't explain to himself why he had gone to the statue, when the subway was just by his hotel. Potter had that slightly confused look when he first saw him and then there was that small smile that did strange things to Draco's libido. The travel to Potter's house was a repeat of the one a day earlier.
* * *
"What kind of culinary joke is this, Potter?" Draco stared at the weird meal that was sitting in a bowl in front of him. It was a white watery liquid that had small pieces of cucumber and some greenery that his nose recognized as Anethum graveolens, commonly known as dill, swimming in it. He could smell some garlic in there, too. On top there was a small amount of crushed walnuts.
"This, Malfoy is a summer soup – tarator4, it's very popular here. I thought you should try the local cuisine." Harry happily ate his portion.
"I hate to break it to you, Potter, but it isn't summer yet. And neither is it warm enough to serve cold soups."
"Come on, Malfoy, at least try it."
Draco carefully sank his spoon in the bowl and tasted the new meal. It was weird, not much of taste, since it was mostly water anyway, but it wasn't bad. After a few tentative spoonfuls, he decided it was edible.
"You are not kissing me until you clean you teeth. I detest the thought of garlic breath," he said to Potter, who laughed at him.
"Fine, Malfoy, whatever you say." His green eyes sparkled and his lips trembled with amusement. He looked rather sexy, despite the small trace of white over the left corner of his mouth.
* * *
Sex on the kitchen table had never been among Draco's plans, but it turned out to be rather enjoyable – fine very enjoyable, and even the pain in his back wouldn't convince him otherwise. Potter just knew how to lift Draco's legs and how to sway his hips just so, that Draco could feel him all over his prostate.
And even the garlic breath had not spoiled the experience. Draco was sure Potter had done it on purpose.
* * *
Draco woke at sunrise, as was his habit. The first rays of the morning sun were filtering through a tree in the garden and the curtains, creating a tapestry of lights and shadows. As soon as he left the bed Potter moved and sprawled on it claiming all the space, the typical behaviour of a person not used to sharing their bed. With his hands and feet spread, Potter just begged to be bound to the bed and taken advantage of. Draco's hormones approved of the idea, but his bladder demanded it was more important at the moment. He headed for the bathroom.
The facility was barely bearable. Really, how Potter could live without a bathtub was beyond him. And those horrible flower-patterned tiles were absolutely vile.
Draco relieved himself, spelled his teeth clean and took a shower. Then he decided that with Potter asleep it was his opportunity to explore the house. One never knew what discrediting and potentially blackmail-worthy material could be acquired until one looked for it.
He left the kitchen for last; even Potter wouldn't be as stupid as to keep his secrets in a place he invited his guests to. The first thing Draco noticed was the lack of any memorabilia from Potter's past. No pictures, no small trinkets of emotional value, nothing. It was true the Weasel was dead and the Mudblood was as good as, lying in St. Mungo's with her brain permanently damaged, which even Draco admitted was unfair. It should have been the other way around. Weasley hadn't had brains to begin with. But still, it was as if Potter's life before he had moved here didn't exist.
The furniture looked pathetic; really, Potter's taste left much to be desired. Draco's inspection moved to the second floor, which he hadn't been to. There were three rooms, two of which were used for storage. The third looked like an office and Draco carefully checked for wards. There were, and he couldn't mess with them – even if he managed to break them down and restore them later Potter would still notice the foreign magical signature.
He moved back to the kitchen, just to check it, but as expected nothing was to be found there. He decided that if he were careful, he should be able to check the bedroom too. Besides he could always distract Potter if he woke up.
Potter still slept, his naked form teasing Draco's Veela hormones, but Draco could control them long enough to inspect the room. It held little beside the big bed and a nightstand. He carefully threaded and examined every surface and niche, to his utter disappointment. The only places he had not checked were under the bed and under the mattress but the latter was a bit risky to say the least.
He slipped to his knees and looked under the bed and his instincts peaked. There was some kind of a notebook lying there. Open. He checked it for traps and then looked up to see if Potter was still sleeping. He was.
The notebook turned out to be something like a diary. Only the daily inputs were rather disturbing in their content. The last dated a few days back – April 17th. He started at the beginning, careful not to close the diary, for it would probably lock itself for anyone but Potter.
There were series of similar short entries that would change to another similar pattern at random intervals.
The first was from a few months after Potter had disappeared.
November 24th 2000
Saved a daily reminder in the mobile, reminding me to write an entry every day. Just as the doctor advised.
Can't believe there's not been any snow yet.
Doctor, Draco knew, was some kind of a mediwizard, though why Potter would choose one over a good Healer was beyond him. Maybe Potter just didn't want anyone in the Wizarding to know of his condition. And what kind of condition was it?
He noticed the word 'fine'. The same single word marked the entries for almost 6 months, followed by random remarks, most often on the weather, then:
May 9th 2001
I'm in Plovdiv. By train. Saw the old town and the Roman Theater.5
Hate the poplars, make me sneeze.
May 10th 2001
Still in Plovdiv. Saw the fair.
Even when cloudy it is still warm.
This one repeated for 15 days with variation only in the second phrase. Then the 'fine' entry started again.
May 23rd 2001
Hate the honking around proms.
Then more than a year before the 'traveling' entries started again. And then after a few days – back to the 'fine'.
The fact that the last entries were of the 'traveling' kind, suggested Potter was in one of his 'not fine' cycles. That might explain why he seemed a bit off.
This smelled like something big, but the information was far from enough. Still, Potter used the word 'fine' to describe his condition when he was not travelling. It would suggest that he was not fine otherwise. Potter stirred and a glance showed his eyeballs moving and his lids fluttering; he was close to waking up. Draco hastily shoved the diary back where it had been.
He jumped and decided to act before Potter could wake up fully. A wave of his wand and Potter was loosely but securely tied to the bed – legs and arms spread. Draco's hormones finally let free, took over his system and his prick started to get hard, just by the sight Potter presented.
The lids fluttered one last time and hazy green eyes fixed Draco. He was already used to the confusion they expressed at first, but this time there was something different. A stark, sharp assessment and the slightest tightening of Potter's jaw. Could he be 'fine' again?
Draco grinned and let his Charm engulf his victim. Potter was as susceptible to it as any other person it had turned out. The green blurred a little and the lids fell heavy, almost closing his eyes. Potter's prick started to take interest in Draco. The Veela hormones rejoiced and Draco let them take over completely.
Potter's breathing was irregular, his neck straining as he tossed his head. His arms and legs twisted and futilely tried to flex against the restrains. He was biting his lower lip, making it puffy and dark pink.
Draco spelled Potter's morning breath away and bent over taking to the lip himself. He bit at it and then carefully caressed the part in his mouth, soothing it with the tip of his tongue. Potter gasped his mouth opening, inviting Draco to plunge in it, to explore it. He did. His tongue slipped in the warm moist cavity as he simultaneously sucked at it. Potter's tongue met his and rubbed. Just as the kiss became frantic Draco let go.
"More!" The barely audible word was all Potter could utter. His eyes cloudy and needy looked up to Draco. "More!"
Draco moved to the bed and settled on his knees between Potter's spread legs. This was about him, not Potter, but teasing only to disappoint was so satisfying. He reached and traced the tips of his fingers against the other man's face – the forehead and the famous scar, the brows, the cheeks, one still pink from being slept on. His thumbs took the time to caress the lips, pushing in till Potter sucked on them, then he trailed wet traces down his neck. His fingers continued across Potter's chest, ruffling the sparse wiry hairs and circumventing the nipples. He loved how the skin pricked in awareness, how the muscles below rippled as if reaching out for closer touch. The way the back arched seeking more contact. But he never gave more. His fingers went down the sides, tracing the hipbones. Potter was lifting his hips off the bed and Draco could trace the skin back to the crack. He lightly moved his tips down the firm swell of Potter's arse but as soon as Potter tried to trap his hand beneath his bottom Draco removed them.
The grunt of disappointment was music to his ears and the Dark Mark on his left forearm hissed in triumph. It had happened before, albeit rarely, what had not, though, was to hear an answering hiss. Potter's mouth babbled sibilant hisses that caused Draco's skin to crawl.
The last time he had heard this language spoken by a man was from the mouth of the Dark Lord. It had terrified him then: now it aroused him. It was Dark, it was rare, it was appealing to his Slytherin side. It seemed to swirl around him like silk ribbons that pried and coiled under his skin and moved there, all with one single target – his cock.
And his cock loved it. Revelled in it. The way it was Dark and forbidden; and that it was The Boy Who Lived made it twice as exciting.
Draco drank it with his every pore, basked in it. As his fingers continued their path over Potter's body, now on his thighs and calves, first on the outside down to the ankles and then as he traced the way up, he moved to the inner side. He watched Potter's balls twitch and draw up as he reached mid-thigh. He watched his prick oozing a tiny drop of precome that slowly grew and then trickled down the glans in a sticky trail. He didn't want to resist it, and bent to lick it off.
Potter's hisses intensified his hips thrust up in a vain attempt to push his aching prick in Draco mouth.
Draco smiled – teasing Potter was such fun. He was so responsive. Especially under the Charm.
Draco reached for the nightstand, where Potter kept the lube. He was deliberately slow as he stretched over Potter and it was not the least bit per chance as his chest rubbed against Potter's and his prick slid over Potter's thigh and hip, sending shudders across his body. Draco reached the vial and sat back on his haunches without any contact with Potter.
He uncapped it slowly and dribbled it on his left palm to warm up. The smooth liquid ran between his fingers and a few heavy viscous drops fell on the sheets that were already wrinkled and sweaty. Then he slowly slicked his right-hand fingers. Potter followed his every movement, his gasps short and ragged, his hips thrusting in the air in search of friction and relief.
Draco caught and held his eyes as he slowly moved his hands. His fingers caressed behind Potter's balls, trailing a slick path across the perineum and teasing at and around the tight opening. Potter writhed and gasped. Draco's left hand palmed the man's cock and slowly closed around it.
He stroked down until the foreskin was tugging painfully and then back up till the head was almost covered. On the next slow downward motion, he pushed his finger slowly into Potter's arse and wriggled inside, feeling for the prostate.
Potter and his Mark continued their incomprehensible conversation that was more and more riddled with rasps and grunts on the human part.
Potter's balls were drawing closer and closer to his body and his arse was gripping his finger more and more desperately. Just as the man was a breath away from orgasm, Draco moved out and away.
Oh, the sweat on Potter's face and the uneven rise and fall of his chest, the tremors that rippled his muscles, the way is toes curled. It was so satisfying. To know that he was holding someone's pleasure in his hands gave Draco a feeling of power as little else did.
"You want me, Potter don't you? You're willing to be my slut just so that I give you pleasure, aren't you?" Potter's eyes couldn't fix on him, he was without glasses, but even they wouldn't have helped him in his current condition.
Potter answered in a hiss that Draco was quite sure meant 'Yes!'
"Well, my little wanton slut, this is for me." With that Draco spelled two pillows beneath Potter's shoulders and neck, so that he had better view, and then Draco sat between Potter's legs, spreading his own. He poured some more lube on his fingers and shoved first one, then two of them in his own arse. He watched Potter's myopic eyes stare hungrily at him. He arched at the mixed excitement of his fingers in his arse and Potter's greedy eyes. He wriggled his fingers, spreading them, curving them. He took them out only to put back in three at a time.
He straddled Potter, putting one hand on the man's chest for balance as the other one slicked further and held Potter's hard erection. Then he locked eyes with Potter and pressed against the shaft, feeling the slow give-in of his body.
Soon Draco was sitting on Potter, his balls resting on the man's lower belly. Then he started to move. Slow at first and later faster and harder, slamming down on Potter's erection that was his right at that moment to do whatever he pleased with. His hands held on Potter's chest, occasionally twisting into a fist, catching at the hairs. His head was thrown back the neck exposed, his eyes almost shut.
Potter gave his all as well. He thrust up as far as the bonds allowed, his hands pulling at the restraints.
Draco was lost in his triumph. For once, at least, he would have his victory over the Boy Who Lived. Not on the Quidditch pitch, yes, and not on the battle field, and not in a duel, but still a victory, even if one that no one would know of. Not even Potter, for it was time to Obliviate him.
But Draco would know. He would remember.
Draco fisted his cock almost forcefully and pulled at it, as his toes curled and his eyes lost sight and his chest heaved and the muscled of his body all went rigid and his cock erupted, coating Potter's chest and Draco's hand, and Draco didn't even care whether Potter reached his own peak as he collapsed on his chest.
* * *
Draco stood at the statue where he had first seen the man that could be Potter.
He was walking towards the subway. Draco followed carefully, now used to the lack of sidewalk and the irresponsible drivers. As the man dove in the subway, Draco dug in his pocket for the ticket, ready to slip the blue piece in the machine.
The man went in, Draco right after him. As the man walked down the stairs the lamps light reflected on his glasses. Draco followed him, leaving a few people between them. Just then he heard the train and ran for it as soon as the man did.
Draco managed to slip between the doors at the last possible moment. At least he was in the same car. He looked at the man.
Only to discover that he was not Potter. There were warm brown eyes under a scarless forehead and even the age was not right.
He had been wrong in his weird conspiracy all along. And really, what would be Potter doing in a country like Bulgaria?
April 23rd 2007
Fine again. Fixed the problem.
Legilimency and Obliviate always do the job.
A hot, dry summer is coming.
1 All the places are real. SU stands for Sofia University. Serdika is the name of the closest to it (for now) station of the subway.
2 Here's the National Assembly.
The statue facing the National Assembly is of the Russian Emperor Alexander the Second – pictures -> one, two, three, four;
3 The hotel Draco stays at is Sheraton Balkan
4 Tarator is a cold soup prepared with kisselo mlyako (that is a local kind of yoghurt, using for fermentation the Lactobacillus delbrueckii subsp. bulgaricus and the Streptococcus thermophylus bacteria), cucumber, water, garlic, dill, sunflower oil, salt and walnuts.
5 Plovdiv is the second largest city in Bulgaria. Pictures of the Old Town and the Roman Theater.
In reference to the proms in a following entry – they are usually around May 24th and often involve a lot of noise.
Concerning the spoiler: (in white so that no one spoils themselves while reading the endnotes) * Harry's mental-illness is loosely based on dromomania and a few more personality/behaviour-altering seasonally exacerbated mental disorders. *