Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, and the licensed copyright holders including Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money has been exchanged and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: Mush and fluff warning…not for diabetics or people with cavities. It's also not for the underaged or people who don't like slash or mpreg. Oh and eventually there are some song lyrics but this isn't a song fic. Did I mention this is H/D slash? You know what that is right? Boys in love…okay good. Don't want you to get to ch. 2 and cuss me out cause you don't approve.
The forkful of eggs stopped mid-way between the plate and Hermione's mouth as she perused the latest issue of Reverb, a Muggle magazine on youth culture, art and music. She might be a witch, but she was a Muggle-born witch who lived in a mixed neighbourhood and she liked to keep on top of the world's happenings. She put the fork down and tugged on her flatmate's arm. "Harry have you seen this?" she waved at the glossy magazine.
Her best friend, engrossed in The Daily Prophet, made a non-committal noise and flipped the page to continue the report on the changes made to the Dark Creatures laws.
Her best friend started, sloshing coffee from his mug onto the very annoyed pictures of the Wizarding paper who glared at him. "Wh-What? Merlin Mione, where's the fire?"
"Here, right here," she pointed, slapping the magazine in front of her friend. The stylised headline was catchy and colourful, just the sort of thing to appeal to younger audiences. "Have A Little Faith—Bad Faith That Is" Harry cocked a brow at his friend, "What's the big deal about some Muggle rock band Mione? I was reading about the new laws Remus is trying to get passed."
Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed, "That's important Harry, but it can wait a few minutes read this article."
Harry noted the 'you're not getting out of this until you do exactly as I say so you might as well give in now and save us both the hassle' look laid his newspaper aside and picked up the copy of Reverb opened to the article his best friend wanted him to read.
It was well written he had to say, and it was an interesting story. A small band of British transplants somehow got together in New York and started a band with their own unique sound. They used all kinds of instruments, bringing in musicians to handle what they couldn't play on their own. The 7 member band was wildly popular throughout the world and for once because they were truly talented and innovative not just because of a few pretty faces.
The article went on to interview the band's lead singer, a man whose "soulful silver eyes hold both misery and mystery." The interviewer described Dragon, the band's reclusive front-man for the article. Merlin, what a pretentious name, Harry thought. It was standard fodder: how the band got started, which of their songs was his favourite, what kinds of music or artists influenced him, what did he use as inspiration in writing new material, how many instruments did he play, while the article was somewhat interesting, and Harry had to give this Dragon fellow some credit as he seemed very well versed in musical styles and tastes and was very articulate, which was refreshing considering so many rock and pop icons had trouble stringing together coherent sentences.
Harry flipped past the next several pages, obviously a glossy photo spread and delved into the next segment was about Dragon's personal life. Harry sympathised with the man, he knew all too well what it was like being unable to avoid the spotlight. He was impressed though. Instead of falling for the interviewers increasingly prying questions Dragon redirected the conversation to tid-bits about his bandmates and their skills and talents, tossing in a few personal details here and there. His efforts were indulged for a page but then the interviewer asked him about his love and family life. It seemed Dragon's answers were more circumspect at that point. He spoke only of his son "the greatest joy of my life," and how the young boy toured with them along with the children of his bandmates and technical crews. He briefly explained about the "mobile one room schoolhouse" they'd set up while they were on the road so that the children could learn in a collective environment.
When asked about the child's mother he redirected the conversation to Evan's latest achievement, a successful rendition of 'Familia' a Bad Faith song that relied heavily on violins. It was perhaps the wrong thing to say as the interviewer picked up on the theme of family and asked if Dragon had an interest in fathering additional children.
Dragon turned the question back on the interviewer, "Do you believe in soulmates? I do. I had one and my son is proof of that love. Rarely if ever do people get second chances like that." With that the interview was concluded with a brief ramble from the interviewer on Bad Faith's newly released album, Mobilicorpus.
When he'd finished he tried to give the magazine back to Hermione, "Interesting article Mione, and that album name…do you think they're wizards or squibs or something?"
She pushed the magazine back toward him, "You didn't look at the pictures Harry."
He shrugged, "Seen one rock star, seen 'em all."
Hermione frowned, "Look at the bloody photo spread Harry!"
He sighed and lay the magazine down next to his now cold breakfast. There was no arguing with Hermione when that tone of voice made an appearance.
He flipped to the pages he'd skipped over and his breath caught in his throat. The first picture was of the full band and their families just before a show to judge by their outfits and instruments. The next was of what he assumed were the children that toured with the band in a pseudo-classroom, proud parents looking on as two or three little hands were raised. The second was of a smiling platinum blond man in a skin tight white t-shit that did nothing to hide his chiselled physique and navy silk pyjama bottoms, bouncing on a huge bed with a giggling raven-haired little boy who couldn't have been more than 7 or 8. The next was of the same pair walking hand in hand through a park, and the last was of that same young boy basking in his father's attention as he played his violin. His flaxen-haired father's pride, devotion and love plain as he sat next to his son playing a beautiful violin. There were captions with each of the photos but Harry couldn't be bothered to read them. He was transfixed by the face before him.
Draco was found.