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The Hogwarts Reunion Is When Everything Changes (1/6)
Title: The Hogwarts Reunion Is When Everything Changes (And Torchwood Is Ready)
Author: Lilith (![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
lilithilien)
Fandom: Harry Potter/Torchwood
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Draco
Summary: They say you can't go home again. But what happens when you try?
Rated: NC-17
Length: 21,400 words
Disclaimer: All rights to these characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Russell T. Davies and their people. They have people, I don't, which should prove that I don't own anything.
Notes: This started out as an exercise in writing smut, but turned into something a little more. Call it plot-heavy PWP. ;) I know that class reunions aren't done in the U.K, but please suspend your disbelief—this is a story of wizards and alien-hunters, after all. As for the timeline, ten years after Hogwarts sets the HP side of the story in 2008, while the TW side comes in the first series (after "Countrycide" but before Jack and Ianto's second series' relationship). Finally, many thanks todysonrules, whose TW/HP crossover put this idea in my head, and to sarcastic_jo, my beloved beta and Jack-picker, who wouldn't let it leave until I wrote it down. Runner-up, Best Crossover, Doctor Who/Torchwood Slash Awards 2008!
The Hogwarts Reunion Is When Everything Changes (And Torchwood Is Ready): The Invitation
The envelope waited for him at the Information Centre. Tucked between glossy brochures for Llangollen Canal boat tours and a stack of National Express day return tickets it sat, creamy parchment adorned with old-fashioned calligraphy:
Mr Ianto Jones, Tourist Information Centre, Cardiff
The pads of his fingers tingled before he even touched it, whorls craving that hint of residual magic that hummed between the fibres. His thumb, slipping under the cut to crack the seal, released just the faintest whiff of wax. If scents could be portkeys he'd have sworn this was one, transporting him back to chilly mornings in the Great Hall, to half-awake eyes after too-late study sessions, to hands raised towards airborne talons laden with mail. Missives from home, those cherished moments simultaneously magnified and soothed his homesickness, bringing a momentary hush to the Ravenclaw table.
He shook his head to empty it. Sense memories were powerful things even without magic, and he couldn't afford to get lost in them. Instead he focused on the words before him:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
You are hereby invited
To spend the weekend of 20th June
With your friends, classmates, and professors
For a celebration of ten years of peace and prosperity.
Spouses and family are most welcome.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Ianto nudged a knuckle into a stinging eye, stunned by a profound sense of approbation. In these words was confirmed his survival, his own and his classmates. Indeed, they spoke to the constancy of a life that he might have forsworn but that would continue on, long after he and everyone he ever knew was dead.
Everyone but Jack, who of course chose that very moment to come blustering through the door like a storm off Cardiff Bay.
"Ianto Jones, you are truly a sight for sore eyes. I've been staring at Tosh's rift schematics since dawn and I'm about to go blind. And not in the enjoyable way, either. I thought maybe you could whip up some of your coffee magic and join me in my office ... and what is that you're hiding behind your back?"
His words startled Ianto, who wasn't even aware that he'd shifted the invitation out of view. It was simply an unconscious reflex born from years of avoiding scrutiny at Pistyll Rhaeadr. His home behind the waterfall was charmed against Muggle eyes, but still his family had always been on guard.
A silent banishing spell did away with the evidence now, and he raised empty hands to Jack's inquisitive gaze. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir."
Jack stared, blinked, and then shook his head. "I really must be going blind." Ianto's face remained impassive, despite noticing how sexy his boss looked with his eyes sparkling in confusion. "So how about that coffee magic?"
"Coming right up."
A few minutes later, while tamping down the grounds, Ianto remembered Jack's choice of words. Coffee magic. If Jack only knew.
*****
The envelope arrived with his weekly trans-Atlantic owl. Tucked between Mother's letter fragrant with lilac perfume and the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet it sat, creamy parchment adorned with old-fashioned calligraphy:
Mr Draco Malfoy, Westmount Square, Mount Royal, Québec
Another request for donations, no doubt. That old castle was a money pit, so full of draughts and crumbling foundations that it really should be razed, rebuilt with modern conveniences like double-glazed windows. Draco wasn't bothered if they were a Muggle invention. If they could keep out the fierce winds that blew in off the St. Lawrence, they could do wonders for those frigid classrooms.
Draco slipped the blade of his dragonbone letter opener under the cut, cracking the seal without ceremony and reading the words contained within:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
You are hereby invited
To spend the weekend of 20th June
With your friends, classmates, and professors
For a celebration of ten years of peace and prosperity.
Spouses and family are most welcome.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Draco's first instinct was to set the invitation aflame. Since his self-imposed exile from Britain he'd kept in touch with everyone he cared to. He played host to Pansy's seasonal shopping frenzies, often with Millicent in tow. Greg stopped by nearly as often as his parents. He'd even escorted Blaise to Lake Louise when his old friend insisted on the full wilderness experience (300 thread-count sheets were as close to wilderness as Draco was willing to go, thank you very much). No, there really was nobody else that he cared to see.
The rustle of sheets drew his attention back his bed, and to the man stirring there. Jules? Julien? Something like that, Draco couldn't be bothered to remember. In any case, he was now waking up enough to stretch sculpted arms, showing off the dark curls that fell over his shoulders. "Bonjour, sexy," he drawled sleepily. "Ça va?"
"Pas mal." Draco debated returning to bed. He should stop in to the office at some point; his partnership in the investment firm would be finalised tomorrow and there were several figures he should double-check. But that wouldn't take the whole day, and his mind would be sharper if he wasn't stressed. A tumble with a doe-eyed Frenchman, all lean chest and wiry arms and perfectly globed bottom, might be just the thing.
But as he tossed the mail to his writing table, the newspaper fell open. Vanquished Voldemort But Luckless in Love the headline read, and that alone would have caught his eye; the Dark Lord's name still made his flesh crawl. But more arresting were the two pictures underneath. Potter and Finch-fucking-Fletchley, placed side by side just like the Prophet had caught them for months. Draco had cringed every time he'd seen their images before, but now Finch-Fletchley was draped over Marietta Edgecombe. Apparently they'd been carrying on an illicit affair right under the Chosen One's nose. Potter looked absolutely wrecked. As well he should. Dumped by a Hufflepuff!
Suddenly this reunion looked much more attractive.
Draco picked up his guest's clothes and tossed them onto the sheets. "You," he said, not even attempting to remember the name, "shove off. I've things to do." Transferring the Richard files to Maurice, Butchart to Jennie, René could take the Leveque case until he got back... The entire list congealed in his head before he noticed that Jules/Julien hadn't moved from the bed. Draco pointed his wand threateningly. "Did you not hear me? Vite, vite!"
He had much to do before returning to Hogwarts.
*****
The envelope waited, unopened, on the coffee table. Tucked under an empty pizza box on the coffee table it sat, clouded coffee rings seeping into the creamy parchment and blurring the old-fashioned calligraphy:
Mr Harry Potter, No. 12, Grimmauld Place, London
"Aren't you going to open it?" Hermione asked, flicking her wand to dispose of the mess.
Harry started to tell her that Kreacher could take care of it, but saved himself from the lecture an instant before the words came out. He shrugged instead. "Don't really need to, do I? It'll be the same as what you and Ron got."
She sighed. "You're not still upset about the Prophet, are you?"
"They're just so wrong! Justin and I broke up two months ago!"
"It's only gossip, Harry. You know that."
"I know, but I'm sick of it. They never quit."
"And they never will. That doesn't mean you have to pay them any attention." Hermione held out the envelope, and after a second he took it. It felt heavy in his hand, just like that first letter from Hogwarts nearly twenty years before. "Come to the reunion, Harry," Hermione said, which was fine until she added, "Show them you don't care who Justin's seeing."
"I don't care!" He frowned at her raised eyebrow, knowing she didn't believe him. "I don't! You know Justin and I had almost nothing in common." Pretty amazing sex, admittedly, but at twenty-eight he'd finally discovered that wasn't enough. He may have given up his dream of a nuclear family when he came out of the broom closet, but he hadn't given up hoping he'd find someone to share his life.
"Then you need to go to the reunion and dance your heart out. You haven't been out dancing in weeks, have you?"
Harry smiled wryly. "A Hogwarts ball is a bit different than a gay club, you know."
"I know, but it'll still be fun, won't it? Dance with everybody under the sun. Dance with Malfoy, if he's there!"
Harry's breath caught. "You don't think Malfoy will show, do you?"
"He could do," said Hermione, her mouth quirked as if she was stifling a smile. "He's donated a lot of money to Hogwarts over the years. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he wanted to see it's been spent well."
Harry could see him already. His old rival would descend on Hogwarts with the same haughtiness he'd always had, his imperious glare daring anyone to mention his family's part in the war. As if throwing money at the building could make up for all the damage. Harry wondered if his insults had gotten any better. He would probably trot out that tired old repertoire, about Harry's family, his hair, his clothes…
"You know, maybe you're right. I'll go to the reunion. Maybe I should get some new robes though..."
Hermione's curious smile spread even as she shook her head. "All the fashionable wizards wear suits these days. When you spend enough, seems the magic-Muggle distinction disappears." She held out her arm. "C'mon, I'll take you to Udeshi and then you can buy me lunch."
*****
*****
On to Part Two
Author: Lilith (
lilithilien)Fandom: Harry Potter/Torchwood
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Draco
Summary: They say you can't go home again. But what happens when you try?
Rated: NC-17
Length: 21,400 words
Disclaimer: All rights to these characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Russell T. Davies and their people. They have people, I don't, which should prove that I don't own anything.
Notes: This started out as an exercise in writing smut, but turned into something a little more. Call it plot-heavy PWP. ;) I know that class reunions aren't done in the U.K, but please suspend your disbelief—this is a story of wizards and alien-hunters, after all. As for the timeline, ten years after Hogwarts sets the HP side of the story in 2008, while the TW side comes in the first series (after "Countrycide" but before Jack and Ianto's second series' relationship). Finally, many thanks to
dysonrules, whose TW/HP crossover put this idea in my head, and to sarcastic_jo, my beloved beta and Jack-picker, who wouldn't let it leave until I wrote it down. Runner-up, Best Crossover, Doctor Who/Torchwood Slash Awards 2008!The Hogwarts Reunion Is When Everything Changes (And Torchwood Is Ready): The Invitation
The envelope waited for him at the Information Centre. Tucked between glossy brochures for Llangollen Canal boat tours and a stack of National Express day return tickets it sat, creamy parchment adorned with old-fashioned calligraphy:
The pads of his fingers tingled before he even touched it, whorls craving that hint of residual magic that hummed between the fibres. His thumb, slipping under the cut to crack the seal, released just the faintest whiff of wax. If scents could be portkeys he'd have sworn this was one, transporting him back to chilly mornings in the Great Hall, to half-awake eyes after too-late study sessions, to hands raised towards airborne talons laden with mail. Missives from home, those cherished moments simultaneously magnified and soothed his homesickness, bringing a momentary hush to the Ravenclaw table.
He shook his head to empty it. Sense memories were powerful things even without magic, and he couldn't afford to get lost in them. Instead he focused on the words before him:
You are hereby invited
To spend the weekend of 20th June
With your friends, classmates, and professors
For a celebration of ten years of peace and prosperity.
Spouses and family are most welcome.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Ianto nudged a knuckle into a stinging eye, stunned by a profound sense of approbation. In these words was confirmed his survival, his own and his classmates. Indeed, they spoke to the constancy of a life that he might have forsworn but that would continue on, long after he and everyone he ever knew was dead.
Everyone but Jack, who of course chose that very moment to come blustering through the door like a storm off Cardiff Bay.
"Ianto Jones, you are truly a sight for sore eyes. I've been staring at Tosh's rift schematics since dawn and I'm about to go blind. And not in the enjoyable way, either. I thought maybe you could whip up some of your coffee magic and join me in my office ... and what is that you're hiding behind your back?"
His words startled Ianto, who wasn't even aware that he'd shifted the invitation out of view. It was simply an unconscious reflex born from years of avoiding scrutiny at Pistyll Rhaeadr. His home behind the waterfall was charmed against Muggle eyes, but still his family had always been on guard.
A silent banishing spell did away with the evidence now, and he raised empty hands to Jack's inquisitive gaze. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir."
Jack stared, blinked, and then shook his head. "I really must be going blind." Ianto's face remained impassive, despite noticing how sexy his boss looked with his eyes sparkling in confusion. "So how about that coffee magic?"
"Coming right up."
A few minutes later, while tamping down the grounds, Ianto remembered Jack's choice of words. Coffee magic. If Jack only knew.
The envelope arrived with his weekly trans-Atlantic owl. Tucked between Mother's letter fragrant with lilac perfume and the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet it sat, creamy parchment adorned with old-fashioned calligraphy:
Another request for donations, no doubt. That old castle was a money pit, so full of draughts and crumbling foundations that it really should be razed, rebuilt with modern conveniences like double-glazed windows. Draco wasn't bothered if they were a Muggle invention. If they could keep out the fierce winds that blew in off the St. Lawrence, they could do wonders for those frigid classrooms.
Draco slipped the blade of his dragonbone letter opener under the cut, cracking the seal without ceremony and reading the words contained within:
You are hereby invited
To spend the weekend of 20th June
With your friends, classmates, and professors
For a celebration of ten years of peace and prosperity.
Spouses and family are most welcome.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Draco's first instinct was to set the invitation aflame. Since his self-imposed exile from Britain he'd kept in touch with everyone he cared to. He played host to Pansy's seasonal shopping frenzies, often with Millicent in tow. Greg stopped by nearly as often as his parents. He'd even escorted Blaise to Lake Louise when his old friend insisted on the full wilderness experience (300 thread-count sheets were as close to wilderness as Draco was willing to go, thank you very much). No, there really was nobody else that he cared to see.
The rustle of sheets drew his attention back his bed, and to the man stirring there. Jules? Julien? Something like that, Draco couldn't be bothered to remember. In any case, he was now waking up enough to stretch sculpted arms, showing off the dark curls that fell over his shoulders. "Bonjour, sexy," he drawled sleepily. "Ça va?"
"Pas mal." Draco debated returning to bed. He should stop in to the office at some point; his partnership in the investment firm would be finalised tomorrow and there were several figures he should double-check. But that wouldn't take the whole day, and his mind would be sharper if he wasn't stressed. A tumble with a doe-eyed Frenchman, all lean chest and wiry arms and perfectly globed bottom, might be just the thing.
But as he tossed the mail to his writing table, the newspaper fell open. Vanquished Voldemort But Luckless in Love the headline read, and that alone would have caught his eye; the Dark Lord's name still made his flesh crawl. But more arresting were the two pictures underneath. Potter and Finch-fucking-Fletchley, placed side by side just like the Prophet had caught them for months. Draco had cringed every time he'd seen their images before, but now Finch-Fletchley was draped over Marietta Edgecombe. Apparently they'd been carrying on an illicit affair right under the Chosen One's nose. Potter looked absolutely wrecked. As well he should. Dumped by a Hufflepuff!
Suddenly this reunion looked much more attractive.
Draco picked up his guest's clothes and tossed them onto the sheets. "You," he said, not even attempting to remember the name, "shove off. I've things to do." Transferring the Richard files to Maurice, Butchart to Jennie, René could take the Leveque case until he got back... The entire list congealed in his head before he noticed that Jules/Julien hadn't moved from the bed. Draco pointed his wand threateningly. "Did you not hear me? Vite, vite!"
He had much to do before returning to Hogwarts.
The envelope waited, unopened, on the coffee table. Tucked under an empty pizza box on the coffee table it sat, clouded coffee rings seeping into the creamy parchment and blurring the old-fashioned calligraphy:
"Aren't you going to open it?" Hermione asked, flicking her wand to dispose of the mess.
Harry started to tell her that Kreacher could take care of it, but saved himself from the lecture an instant before the words came out. He shrugged instead. "Don't really need to, do I? It'll be the same as what you and Ron got."
She sighed. "You're not still upset about the Prophet, are you?"
"They're just so wrong! Justin and I broke up two months ago!"
"It's only gossip, Harry. You know that."
"I know, but I'm sick of it. They never quit."
"And they never will. That doesn't mean you have to pay them any attention." Hermione held out the envelope, and after a second he took it. It felt heavy in his hand, just like that first letter from Hogwarts nearly twenty years before. "Come to the reunion, Harry," Hermione said, which was fine until she added, "Show them you don't care who Justin's seeing."
"I don't care!" He frowned at her raised eyebrow, knowing she didn't believe him. "I don't! You know Justin and I had almost nothing in common." Pretty amazing sex, admittedly, but at twenty-eight he'd finally discovered that wasn't enough. He may have given up his dream of a nuclear family when he came out of the broom closet, but he hadn't given up hoping he'd find someone to share his life.
"Then you need to go to the reunion and dance your heart out. You haven't been out dancing in weeks, have you?"
Harry smiled wryly. "A Hogwarts ball is a bit different than a gay club, you know."
"I know, but it'll still be fun, won't it? Dance with everybody under the sun. Dance with Malfoy, if he's there!"
Harry's breath caught. "You don't think Malfoy will show, do you?"
"He could do," said Hermione, her mouth quirked as if she was stifling a smile. "He's donated a lot of money to Hogwarts over the years. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he wanted to see it's been spent well."
Harry could see him already. His old rival would descend on Hogwarts with the same haughtiness he'd always had, his imperious glare daring anyone to mention his family's part in the war. As if throwing money at the building could make up for all the damage. Harry wondered if his insults had gotten any better. He would probably trot out that tired old repertoire, about Harry's family, his hair, his clothes…
"You know, maybe you're right. I'll go to the reunion. Maybe I should get some new robes though..."
Hermione's curious smile spread even as she shook her head. "All the fashionable wizards wear suits these days. When you spend enough, seems the magic-Muggle distinction disappears." She held out her arm. "C'mon, I'll take you to Udeshi and then you can buy me lunch."
*****
On to Part Two