Title: I Want To Believe

Author: Jori

A Harry Potter/X-Files m/m slash crossover.

Summary: While trying to escape his everyday life, a 27-year old Harry Potter meets a man who seemingly believes in everything.

Rating: R

A/N: Blending two worlds is never easy. Some things do have to be changed here and there. Please forgive any errors I might have made in either canon trying to make this work. Also, for those who don't know the whole Harry Potter and/or X-Files timeline, in August of 2007, Harry Potter would be 27 years old and Mulder would be 45. Quite a difference but at least Harry isn't 'ikkle' Harry. There are also some characters who are already dead by the time this story is set. There really is no other way to make it work.

Sometimes, I get crazy ideas in my head. This was one of them. This story came about after commenting on my Live Journal that Harry Potter is one of the few fandoms I went into without slashing Mulder with someone. I decided I needed to change that. I will probably go to hell for that.

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The X-Files belong to 1013, FOX and Chris Carter.


August 27, 2007

Harry could always recognize someone trying to escape their daily life because they often looked a lot like him. The man sitting across from him in the pub was a prime example. He had a certain look about him as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders and there was no easy way to shrug it off beyond a stiff drink. Or a good shag. That always helped.

Although the weight of the world was sitting squarely on his shoulders no more, Harry still had plenty to deal with concerning his position at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall asked that he temporarily fill the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor and at the time, it sounded like a good idea. Temporarily had somehow gone on now for four years, making him the first teacher in this position to last so long in ages.

He was always amused when the first year students came in (like they were to do in a few days) with a look of awe over the fact that they were going to be taught by Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. And lived twice at that. By the end of the year, they would grow to know him for what he really was. He was simply Professor Potter, the instructor who taught them everything they needed to know about something he hoped none of them would ever have to see and then handed out exams harder than Professor Snape's.

Yet, there were still days where he grew tired of being Professor Potter and Harry Potter and wanted an escape. Even if he covered up his scar and walked with his head hunched down, someone would always recognize him. It made it very difficult to shrug off everything. Or to enjoy a drink. Or a shag.

But thanks to his childhood with his aunt and uncle, he did have one way to escape easily. Because of them, he could blend in with Muggles and no one was ever any the wiser to the fact that somehow, he just might have been the person who saved their bloody boring Muggle existence from being crapped upon by the former Lord Voldemort. Luckily, very few Muggles died during those final days and the ones that did were usually just victims of circumstance. The Ministry did its job, covering it all up neatly.

Muggles. Harry looked around the pub at the lot of them, clueless to the fact that there was something else out there that they could never be a part of. Then his eyes settled back on the man across the way.

He was staring back at Harry, an odd look on his face. Harry looked away quickly, afraid that perhaps the man was another wizard who recognized him. It had happened all his life; being recognized was nothing new to him. Even before he knew what he was, people used to come up to him and ask to shake his hand.

Today, he really didn't want any of that.

He moved to a different seat, one in the darkness near the back of the establishment, and looked at the few people here today. Term at the nearby Muggle university hadn't started yet so it wasn't very crowded. The man was no longer looking his way and Harry felt a little foolish for thinking he was more than just a man sitting in a pub. Wasn't that what he was here to meet? A common, ordinary person with whom he could forget about life for a while?

Harry still watched the man. He had to be in his mid-forties but he was in good shape. He had on glasses similar to his own and Harry guessed he was an American. That really wasn't hard to do. He could even pick out American wizards easily. Their robes were always different, they cheered on teams Harry had never heard of and their wands were made out of wood such as American elm or American sycamore. Whatever the type of wood it was, they made sure to get American in there.

Even with everything that made the man stand out as an American, he still seemed to fit in easily. He didn't order something out of place, he joked along with the bartender and handled money without even thinking about it (much like how Harry could handle Muggle money with ease). He had probably been in the country for a while.

Why would anyone like him show up here, at this place, unless they wanted to escape? It was where men came who needed something they couldn't find at home with their wives or girlfriends. It was where men came to meet other men and forget about everything else. It wasn't a boisterous nightclub in the middle of London but rather a much quieter, out of the way place.

But still, it was what it was and that's why Harry was here.

There were places to go in his own world but he had to work too hard to be anonymous. His skills at changing his appearance were just fair even though Tonks had taught him well. Sometimes, though, he just wanted to be himself. Only, not so much by himself, perhaps.

Looking over the few patrons in the pub at this time of day, no one really struck Harry's fancy. A lot were boys from the University, which usually satisfied his desire, but not today. His eyes wandered back to the American man who was sipping his pint of beer while watching the football match on the telly.

Without thinking about it any longer, Harry stood up and approached the bar, his intentions obvious when he sat next to the man. The word Butterbeer nearly rolled off his tongue but he checked himself in time and ordered an ordinary Muggle beer. He hated the bitter taste but drank it anyway.

"You're name isn't Christopher Addington by any chance?" the man asked, startling Harry a bit. He choked on his beer and turned to face the man.

"No, I'm sorry, it isn't. I'm Harry. Harry Potter," he said, extending his hand to the man who shook it quickly. Harry loved to do this with Muggles. He loved to watch their expressions as he said his name because there was no response. No widening of the eyes or big smile. Just an ordinary look of complete disinterest.

"I didn't think so. You don't look like you'd let a guy sit here waiting for four hours. And you also don't look old enough to be an expert in crop circles," Mulder said and Harry almost choked again.

The Muggle reaction to crop circles always amused him. If they only knew the truth . . . but they could never know. Any Muggle who had come close to finding out the truth got a visit from an Obliviator.

"No, I reckon I can say I know nothing about them," Harry lied, looking down at his beer and trying not to smile.

"When I went to university here, I should have paid more attention to them but how was I to know?" he said. Harry realized the man never told him his name.

"Know what exactly?" Harry asked.

"About . . . everything," he said, taking another sip of his beer. So, he had a secret. Harry knew everyone had secrets, even Muggles.

"I don't think I caught your name."

"I didn't tell you my name. But it's Mulder. Fox Mulder," he said, and for a second, Harry thought he said Fawkes but then realized that most Americans wouldn't have a clue so it had to be . . .

"Fox?" Harry asked, cringing. That was nearly as bad as going through life with a lightning bolt on one's forehead. In his world, he had heard of some pretty silly names but they were normal to other wizarding people. Except maybe Nymphadora. That one was odd no matter what world it came from. But to be stuck going through primary school with a name like Fox? It had to be rough.

"I go by Mulder," he said.

"I don't blame you, Mulder," Harry said, looking at him. "You went to university here, did you say?"

"Yes, years ago. You were probably a baby then, with your 'mum' changing your 'nappy,'" Mulder said and Harry cringed again. How was this stranger to know? He was used to everyone knowing but isn't this what he wanted -- someone who didn't know? "I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to imply that you're . . . well, too young."

"Oh, no. It's not that at all. My parents died when I was a baby. I don't remember much about them," Harry said. It was the truth. He personally didn't remember much about them even though he had now seen them through other's memories.

"I'm sorry. That's tough," Mulder said and Harry could tell he wanted to add more.

"It was for a good cause," Harry added.

"What could be cause enough to die when they had a small child to take care of?"

"Keeping me alive," Harry said, being as vague as he could possibly be, and the other man nodded.

"Parents. It's amazing what they'll sacrifice to protect their children," Mulder said with a faraway look on his face. "Or what they should do. My sister was abducted when we were kids and no one did enough."

"I'm terribly sorry," Harry said, remembering that he wasn't the only one who ever suffered during his childhood. It was something he knew but occasionally, he had to be reminded of it. "They never found her?"

"She died . . . I . . ." he started and cast his eyes back towards the telly.

"Let's discuss something cheerier, shall we? You're really here about crop circles? What is it you do?" Harry asked, hoping the conversation would move beyond their tragic youths and onto something better. Like was the man really here to meet someone about crop circles or was he here to meet . . . someone?

"I used to investigate the paranormal for the FBI. Now, I'm trying to stop the end of the world," Mulder said without cracking a grin. Harry waited for the punch line. It never came.

"Okay. Right, then. FBI. That sounds interesting," Harry said, his brain vaguely remembering just what that was while wondering what kind of crackpot this man was. Of course, that was easy for Harry to think. He knew what caused most paranormal activity such as crop circles and many of the lights in the sky. Looking at Mulder, Harry realized that he wasn't kidding. Did he really think he had to stop the end of the world? What kind of person . . .

Harry kicked himself. 'A person just like yourself, you dolt,' Harry thought to himself. Perhaps no one believed this man anymore than they believed him when Voldemort had returned years ago. Harry eventually had the proof he needed but what if that never happened? Would he have ended up sitting in a bar looking dour or would he simply be dead? That would have been proof enough.

"The job gave me access to certain things that were helpful. Without it, I have to wait around for Christopher Addington and his damn study," Mulder said, glancing quickly at his watch.

"Why would you arrange to meet here?" Harry asked. Everyone knew what this pub was and by now, it had to be obvious to Mulder, too.

"It seems like a place where no one cares who you are or what you're doing here," Mulder said. He was staring at his beer now, swirling the amber liquid around in the glass. "Why are you here?"

"Same reason . . . minus the crop circles," Harry said. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry unsure what to say next. Obviously, the man wasn't in here for the same reason he was. He probably had a wife and a bunch of kids waiting for him somewhere. Maybe he wasn't going to get what he really wanted today but so far, Mulder had been far more entertaining than most men he met in here.

"I haven't been cruised in years. At least not by another man," Mulder added with a sly grin and Harry blushed fiercely. 'Cruised' was not a term he had heard often in his lifetime but he knew what the man was getting at.

"I'm sorry. I just assumed since you were here . . ."

"Was I complaining?" Mulder asked, cutting him off.

"No, but your wife might not be too fond of the idea," Harry said, testing the waters though he wasn't sure why.

"I'm not married. No wife. No girlfriend. No anything," Mulder said. From the mournful sigh he added to that statement, Harry knew that there was more to that story but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. He had his fair share of break-ups, from both men and women, and he knew this wasn't the time to go into detail about all of them. That wasn't why he came here.

"And no Christopher Addington," Harry added.

"Right. No Christopher Addington and he doesn't answer his damn phone. It's not like I enjoy coming back here. My fondest memories were not created in this place. Do you attend university here?" Mulder asked.

"No, no I don't. I actually work at a private school quite far from here. I like to visit here, though," Harry said, admitting more about his life than he'd ever done with anyone before.

"Do you teach?" Mulder asked and now Harry had to start lying.

"Physics." That answer was boring enough to be ignored by most everyone. He could tell that Mulder wasn't interested at all. Actually, he looked downright fearful of having to hear about physics. "Dreadfully boring stuff, I'm afraid."

"And the reason you're here is it would tarnish your reputation if you were seen talking to a former FBI agent near your workplace?" Mulder asked.

"Something like that," Harry lied. "So, when was the last time you were 'cruised' by a man?"

"Probably while I was going to school here. If it happened after that, I didn't notice," Mulder said with a shrug.

"And did you take him up on the offer?" Harry asked. The corner of Mulder's mouth started to curve up into a little smile and Harry wasn't sure if he was grinning at him or at the memory of that last time.

"Hell, yes," Mulder said, looking at Harry with such an intensity, it sent a shiver through him. "I was young and it all seemed so much easier then. If you wanted to screw someone, you screwed them. I suppose it's the same now . . . for them." He nodded towards a table of young men, younger than Harry, laughing about something.

"I gather it is," Harry agreed, unable to pull his eyes away from Mulder's stare. It was then that Mulder's eyes traveled up to Harry's forehead. Damn it. He didn't want to even have to make up a story about that bloody scar.

"Nice scar. Better than any of the ones I ever got," was all Mulder said before returning to his beer.

"In the line of duty?" Harry asked, trying not to think about the other scars he received in the 'line of duty.' Some were visible, more were the ones he carried around on the inside.

"You can't even begin to imagine," Mulder said. Harry bit his tongue and stopped himself from saying, 'I bet I not only can imagine it but I can top any story you might have.'

"I've got a rather active imagination. Why don't you try me?"

"Did you know that all governments have knowledge of a secret shadow government they can't reveal?" he asked. Harry looked away, wondering if this man really was what he said he was. He seemed to know too many things. Crop circle studies. Secret governments. Harry panicked that he was trying to find something out about the wizarding world.

"You don't say," Harry said, the pitch of his voice rising up just a little.

"Hiding something that's been known for thousands of years."


"But that's not what you're here for, is it, Harry?" Mulder said, his voice so low that Harry was afraid he'd have to lean closer to him if he said anymore.

"No, it's not," Harry stated, eyes wide as this man turned to look at him again.

"I say to hell with the crop circles. The damn things will still be there tomorrow. Why don't we discuss exactly what it is you're looking for?"


Harry didn't get to see many Muggle guest hotels while growing up with the Dursleys (except for the time Uncle Vernon decided to flee from Harry's Hogwarts letters) and if this was an example of what many of them looked like, he was thankful for that. The rooms at the Leaky Cauldron looked posh compared to this place.

Harry was thankful he wouldn't have to spend too much time here. He carefully slid his coat off, making sure his wand didn't fall out of the inner pocket and onto the floor. Some things were harder to explain than others and that would be one of them.

He turned to find Mulder watching him and for a second, he thought maybe he should keep his wand a little closer. On the way to the hotel, he had listened to all of Mulder's theories on alien life how all life on earth came from an alien source and how he had been abducted himself and was dead but not really dead. How he had a child he couldn't protect and the child's mother had to give him up to keep him safe. Harry tried to take it all in and believe him because if someone could believe in something they'd never seen before, it should be him.

Although he had heard many tales about things he wasn't sure existed (Luna to this day never failed to mention some strange unseen creature whenever they met) aliens weren't anything he was used to hearing about. Even so, he had to nod in sympathy when Mulder told him about how people used to call him 'Spooky Mulder' and they sent in someone to debunk all his work.

"I don't do this . . . I was with someone for years. My partner. She was killed . . . murdered, actually and I haven't . . . since her. With anyone. Man. Woman. Whatever," Mulder said, his words coming out in a jumble. Mulder took off his glasses, setting them aside as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Harry was going to offer to leave but before he could, Mulder asked, "Would you like something to drink? Water? I don't have anything here really, but I can find something."

"I don't need anything," Harry replied and now Mulder looked even more lost and confused than he did a second ago.

"I'm sorry. God, look at you. You're so young and attractive and I'm standing here sounding like a complete ass about the whole situation. I just wanted you to know that this isn't something I normally do. I don't care if you do. It's your life. I just . . . I haven't," Mulder said, placing his hands on his hips. He was now standing rather close to Harry and for the first time, Harry realized how small he was in comparison. Years of living in a cupboard will do that to someone and no amount of Quidditch could have made him grow up to be tall like this man.

"A good shag never hurt anyone," Harry said with a shrug and Mulder gave him a half smile. Even now, with another man in his hotel room willing to shag him until they couldn't do it anymore, he still looked like he couldn't shake that weight from his shoulders. "I know when my life was in a shambles and everything around me was going to hell before my very eyes, it always helped."

"Your life was in a shambles?" Mulder asked, looking at him quizzically.

"You can't even begin to imagine," Harry answered, throwing Mulder's answer from earlier back at him. He closed his eyes and images from those days came creeping out of the cold shadows of his mind. Everyone was certain they were going to die. Harry was afraid that Voldemort would figure out how to murder him before he got up the nerve to kill him first. 'You have to want it. You have to mean it next time, Harry. If you don't, you'll never get him out of your head,' Ginny said to him one night after they had first started sleeping together.

Funny how even after all these years, Voldemort was still in his head. Ginny was dead but Voldemort still lingered there, showing up at the most inopportune moments. If he had meant it the first time he tried to kill him, perhaps Ginny would be alive but he was positive Voldemort was going to be rattling around his brain forever.


He opened his eyes to find a very concerned look on Mulder's face. Harry didn't know why he was having these thoughts now. He came here to avoid that life, not to ponder it.

"Did you ever kill someone? While you were an agent?" Harry asked, not sure why because it wasn't getting him away from that whole topic he didn't want to think about.

"Yes." He said it without even blinking. No one ever asked Harry that question because in his world, they already knew the answer. He so wanted to say he also killed someone, but was afraid of ending up in a Muggle jail for admitting such a thing.


"I even spent some time in jail for allegedly murdering someone who couldn't be killed. I'm still a bit of a fugitive though I think they gave up the search a few years ago," Mulder said, pulling his passport out of his pocket and handing it to Harry. He opened it to find a picture of Mulder but a different name.

"George Hale? You don't look like a George," Harry said, handing it back to him. "And why are you telling me this?"

"I thought you should know before we did anything together," Mulder said and Harry felt guilt wash over him for lying about so many things. He knew what would happen if he told him the truth and he didn't feel like erasing anyone's memories today. If he wanted to do that, he could have found someone in his own world to be with.

Before he could let himself say anything, Harry stepped closer to him and into his arms, their mouths meeting in a kiss. Mulder plied Harry's mouth open with his tongue, slipping past his lips and flicking against his own tongue. And that was only the beginning. It was so incredibly carnal.

Mulder pulled away, his hand slipping down the front of Harry's jeans. "Youth," he muttered, his hand sliding the zipper down.

"I'm not that young," Harry said. He always thought he looked old beyond his years but maybe he was wrong.

"And you're not that old, either," Mulder said, nearly finished with Harry's jeans. None of this was going to work if he still had his shoes on so he bent over and took them off along with his socks. It was then that he realized he was wearing a crazy pair of socks that Dobby had made for him when he became head of the house that said 'Go' on one and 'Gryffindor!' on the other in tiny yellow lettering across the top of the toes. Harry shoved them inside of his shoes quickly, sure that Mulder didn't see them.

He slipped out of his jeans and Mulder started unbuttoning Harry's shirt. It was only after it dropped from his shoulders to the floor that Mulder's eyes went wide. Harry fought the urge to cover up the various scars across his chest and abdomen and formulated a story in his head that didn't involve a curse being sent his way by a Death Eater.

"Car accident," Harry said, using the lie his aunt and uncle always told him about his parents. It worked on him for years. His fingers went to Mulder's shirt, tugging it up over his head. The man had better muscle tone than some of the twenty-year olds he had gone to bed with. Mulder sat on the edge of the bed and untied his shoes, setting them aside. Harry noticed that his socks were perfectly normal. He stood up again and Harry grabbed the waistband of his jeans, pulling him near. "I want to do that."

He found buttons instead of a zipper and popped each one of them open before easing the jeans down over his hips. Mulder had on boxers but even through the loose fabric, Harry could see he wasn't aroused yet. He could take care of that.

Sinking to his knees, it wasn't long before he heard Mulder cry out in pleasure.

Mulder stumbled backwards and fell down on the bed, a satisfied grin on his face. He then propped himself up and looked at Harry.

"Come here," Mulder said, reaching a hand out to Harry. But first, Harry turned toward the chair where he had put his coat. He carefully went through the pockets until he found what he was looking for. "What else do you have in there?"

"Nothing important," Harry said, folding it again so his wand was secured inside. He moved to the bed, both of them scurrying up it and resting their heads on the pillows, Harry careful not to misplace the condom.

"Your eyes are not of this world," Mulder said, propping himself up on an elbow. "How does one end up with eyes that color?"

"How does one end up with eyes that look so sad?" Harry asked back, reaching out to touch Mulder's cheek.

"The same could be asked of you," he said but before the conversation could go any further, Harry pulled him down for a kiss. It was even more passionate than the first one, with tongues dueling it out for control. Mulder's stubble burned Harry's face but he didn't care right now.

Harry pulled away from the kiss and Mulder was looking at him curiously.

"So, do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrial life?" he asked Harry for no reason.

"Do you believe in magic?" retorted Harry without answering.

Mulder snorted softly and Harry couldn't tell if that meant yes or no. "Why? Are you going to pull a rabbit out of your hat?" he asked and Harry shook his head.

"Not exactly a rabbit. And not from my hat." He slipped out of the last of his clothes.

"I want to believe that such a thing as magic exists -- and not that hocus pocus, sleight of hand kind -- but then I'd also have to believe in miracles and I haven't been able to believe in miracles in a long time," Mulder said gloomily.

"Magic and miracles are not to be confused with each other."

"And extraterrestrials are going to take over this planet in five years."

"What would stop that from happening?" Harry asked. This was the strangest conversation he had ever had in bed but then again, Mulder was by far the strangest man -- person, actually -- he'd ever taken to bed.

"A miracle," Mulder answered. Harry eased himself closer to Mulder. Much closer.

"How about magic?"

Another soft snort and Mulder turned to face him, his eyes wide open.

"There's no such thing . . ."

"There are no such things as extraterrestrials," Harry interrupted. He had his wand with him. If this conversation took a turn for the worse, he wasn't afraid to use a memory charm on him.

Neither of them said a word for a few minutes. Neither of them broke eye contact. Harry could only imagine what Mulder was thinking. Here this skinny professor from who knows where approached him in a pub and then started talking about magic. But was that really more bizarre than believing the world was going to be conquered by an alien life form in a few years? Harry thought not.

But he couldn't really think anymore. He didn't want to think. If only for a few minutes, he wanted to forget about who he was; not invite one more person into his world. Today was about forgetting for a while.

So that's what he did. And after a few minutes, he finally reached a blinding white place where no memories existed and he wished he could stay there forever but it was fleeting. Always so damn fleeting.

He fell beside Mulder, his thoughts quickly returning to something besides a quick shag. Why should he help this man, anyway? He had won his battle. He did what he had to do. Why was he even considering this on his day to forget? And could he fight another battle?

He wasn't sure.

Propping himself up to look at Mulder, he made a decision he was sure he'd one day regret. The Ministry was going to give him hell. Magic wasn't meant to solve Muggle problems but was this just a Muggle problem? It's not like Muggles never knew about his world (even his aunt and uncle knew and one couldn't be more Muggle-like than them). And certainly, everyone he knew would give him hell for believing in such a silly thing. Except maybe Luna. And Professor Dumbledore. He trusted Harry beyond reason.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he spoke. "If you want to believe, I have something to show you."


The End

End Notes: I'm not sure how I made it a whole story without mentioning Ron and Hermione once. Maybe they're married and only talk to Harry on the holidays. But why Ginny and not Hermione? Because Harry would never let Hermione die. *g*

Completed 07August2003.