Fic: Every Little Thing He Does is Magic (Pete Wentz/Draco Malfoy)
I'm having incredibly guilt at not being at work even though it's a Bank Holiday and possibly because I'm still not completely convinced that my colleagues aren't all lying to me about it being a holiday. Obviously, I don't care enough to actually try and go into work, so I am sitting in front of the TV watching OC reruns. I love Taylor so much.
Anyways, that's not the point.
Here you go kueble:
Title: Every Little Thing He Does is Magic
Fandom/Pairing: Bandom/HP crossover. Pete/Draco (with mentions of Pete/Jeanae and Pete/Patrick)
Rating: PG13
Word count: ~2500
Disclaimer: Funnily enough, not real. The boys are not mine- Draco belongs to JKR and Pete belongs to Patrick.
Summary: Pete. Draco. In a relationship. It’s all a bit fucked up, really, but what do you expect?
A/N: Written for kueble. For some reason I love the idea of this pairing. I think they compliment each other rather well. Completely unrelated to the other Pete/Draco I wrote. Unbetaed.
"When you invited me up to see your wand, this wasn't exactly what I imagined," Pete says dryly, leaning his hip against the doorframe.
Draco looks momentarily embarrassed, stares down at the wand in his hand which probably just looks like a pointy stick, and then the old Malfoy sneer is back in place. "Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all, “when you said you didn't believe I was a wizard, I thought you wanted proof."
Pete shrugs. “Then prove it,” he says, folding his arms across his chest and Draco narrows his eyes and scowls, because no-one’s supposed to do indifferent and superior better than he can.
He channels his annoyance into his spell and rapidly changes his armchair into a small elephant and back again, sends books from the stack beside his bed flapping around Pete’s head, and finishes off with a small indoor firework display which could put the Weasleys to shame (it couldn’t really, but old habits die hard and he still likes to think he’s better than they are, even though the surviving ones are carving out successful lives for themselves and Draco’s living in a tiny bedsit in a crappy neighbourhood of London and earns his keep by writing under a pseudonym for the Daily Prophet).
“Huh,” Pete says, unfazed. “Cool.”
There are only two options Draco has faced with such a non-reaction. He can perform a quick memory charm and kick him to the curb. Or he can keep him.
“Do you ever use your wand?” Pete asks, later, once his naked limbs are tangled up with Draco’s and Draco rolls his eyes and starts to say ‘Yes, of course, you idiot, maybe I should have kicked you out when I had the chance’ when he realises what Pete means.
“Oh,” Draco says. “No. Ew. It’s a bit…pointy. Probably wouldn’t be comfortable.”
Pete looks disappointed.
“There are…spells though,” Draco continues hurriedly, and Pete perks up. “Potions too, but the charms are easier. Enhancement charms are the best- enhance pleasure, enhance size…”
Pete smirks at him.
“Then,” Draco continues, blushing a little as he sorts through potentially useful spells in his mind, “depending on how kinky you want things to get…there are spells for tying things up, for numbing pain, for suppressing natural reflexes. There are spells for sensory deprivation. There are potions that can make you look like other people- even become a member of the opposite sex for a short time. There are spells to temporarily clone yourself, or other people. There are glamours and illusions and animation spells. Depending, of course,” he finishes, giving Pete a level look, “on whatever takes your fancy.”
Pete stares up at him with wide eyes. “I want to try them all,” he says, breathlessly. And since there’s no humanly way possible- even with magical assistance- that anyone could have that much sex in one night, Draco takes this to mean that Pete is sticking around for awhile. So Draco figures he might as well take the ‘keep him’ option from before.
~~~
“I hate Muggles,” Draco says apologetically one day
Pete doesn’t care. There’s a lot of people in the world he hates, and the ‘but not you’ that is unvoiced isn’t quite as insulting here as it’s been in the past when so-called friends had said ‘I hate spoilt rich kids’ or ‘I hate emo bands’ or ‘I hate homos’.
“If all Wizards are like you,” Pete tells him honestly, “I’d probably hate them too,” because Draco is a fucking ass 99% of the time, but that’s fine by Pete, because he’s probably an ass 100% of the time.
Somewhere along the line this fling has grown and become a relationship and for the first time in ages Pete isn’t freaking out at the thought, even though he knows this is the stupidest relationship he’s ever got himself into, more stupid than when he and Patrick attempted to be more to each other than friends and almost fucked the band up, more stupid even than psychotic, underage Jeanae.
But, despite being incredibly wrong in so many ways, this whole thing seems incredibly right. Sometimes Pete even thinks he might love Draco, but he never tells him that. That’s not the sort of relationship they have. He doesn’t need to tell Draco he loves him, and he doesn’t need Draco to tell him (with Jeanae he needed to be told, constantly, and with Patrick he needed to tell, all the time, and he still does).
What Pete loves the most is that Draco has a secret bigger than all of Pete’s secrets put together. A secret that if he told anyone would get him locked in a padded cell, get Draco dissected in some lab, and who knows what else. It’s a strange sort of power, having someone’s trust, being able to hold it over them if he wanted to. He doesn’t, of course, because Pete’s been on the losing side of betrayal too many times to ever want to maliciously hurt someone he’s loved, but the fact that he could, that Draco’s placed blind faith in him makes his insides squirm gleefully at odd moments.
What Pete hates the most is that Draco can do magic, and Pete can’t and it’s blatantly unfair and there’s nothing he can do about it. He makes Draco cast spells for him until Draco gets pissy and refuses to be Pete’s performing monkey and tells him to “get up and get your bloody coffee yourself and stop making me float it over to you”.
Sometimes in Pete’s dreams, he imagines he has magical ability too, and he thinks about what he and Draco could do together if he did, of everything they could achieve, and when he wakes in the morning, he’s a little drunk with power. When he mentions this to Draco, once, over breakfast, Draco goes even paler than he already is and frowns.
“It’s not a toy,” Draco says, hands shaking a little on the cup of tea he’s holding. “It’s…you’re lucky you don’t have powers, that you never…it can corrupt you, you know? Make you think you’re better than you are, stronger than you are, invincible. People die, people have died, people will die, all because of magic. The things you can do with it…it’s crueller than anything you can imagine.”
Pete watches memories flutter behind Draco’s eyes and wants to ask, but he can never bring himself to make Draco’s face contort with pain more than it is now. He knows Draco has seen bad things, that bad things have happened to him, that he’s done bad things, that he’s obviously made mistakes. He doesn’t care what Draco did in the past, because that was then, and his Draco is now and Pete’s fucked up enough times to know it’s the present person that matters. He wishes he could tell Draco this, but there’s never a chance to bring it up without it leading to questions on both sides, and he doesn’t think that’s something either of them want.
Still, he has to get these thoughts out of his mind the only way he knows how, and so he spends the day curled on Draco’s bed, sending long, jumbled email poems to Patrick, while Draco sits at his desk and scratches out words onto a piece of yellow parchment.
~~~
“Eeeeeiiii!” a kid screams, and Draco winces, hand moving to his wand automatically. The last time he’d heard young voices raised like that had been at Hogwarts, that final time he’d been there amid the dust and destruction and the blood and the bodies and the fear and the fighting.
He sees Pete’s confused look at Draco’s flinch- because Draco’s never explained to him what happened, wouldn’t know how to say it or where to begin or what he’d say that wouldn’t make Pete look at him in disgust and leave him. He’s never explained why he’s persona non grata in some places, tolerated politely in others, shunned by most. Has never explained why, despite who his parents and grandparents and great grandparents are, he’s living in the sort of hovel that illegal immigrants would refuse to stay in. And Pete has never asked, which always suited Draco fine.
“You’re Pete from Fall Out Boy!” the girl who had screamed exclaims and throws herself at Pete, thrusting a copy of Standard Book of Spells grade 3 and a ratty quill at him. “Will you sign my book? Oh, and can I have a photo with you?”
Pete blinks down at her, laughs in a strangely fake way and signs the book, quill squeaking uncomfortably on the pages, and poses for the picture and then turns to Draco with a frown and says ‘Huh.’
Diagon Alley was, Pete had told Draco, his favourite place, even though technically he shouldn’t have ever been there and Draco would probably get into even more trouble if anyone found out. Which, judging by the mob of young teenagers heading in their direction, alerted, no doubt, by the cries of the first girl, was in danger of happening very soon.
Pete had said, once, that he’d liked the anonymity of Diagon Alley, that no one knew who he was here, but as with all fads, Muggle music and celebrity leaked into the Wizarding world occasionally, and Draco could see Pete’s wince of annoyance at the unexpected intrusion.
“Sorry,” Draco says, as he drags Pete down a side street, away from the kids. He glances around, and feels a sick sensation begin to crawl up from the pit of his stomach. They’re in Knockturn Alley, which is good, because if the kids are sensible they won’t follow them down there, but is also bad because Draco hasn’t been here in years. He spots Borgin and Burkes, long closed and abandoned (as are large sections of the Wizarding World that have ever been linking to the Dark Lord) and is flooded with the memory of his last time there, the turning point in his life, perhaps in the war. How he’d chosen, that day, the path he wanted to take, and how only sheer luck and kindness (and that was the part that hurt the most) had meant he wasn’t dead or in Azkaban or stripped of his powers and thrust into the Muggle world.
“Are you okay?” Pete asks, looking concerned and Draco gulps in air and says “No, no, not really,” and takes Pete’s hand and Disapparates back to his bedsit.
“Fuck,” Pete gasps, collapsing on the bed and shaking a little, sweat and pain sharing space on his features. “What the fuck was that?”
“Sorry!” Draco says, “Sorry, I forgot you’d never- it was just- I couldn’t stay there, and I know it feels weird but just breathe and-“
Pete pushes him away and heaves a deep breath or two. “Never,” he says darkly, menacingly, “do that to me again.” There’s fear in his eyes, for the first time, like he’s scared of his lack of control over Draco, over his magic. Draco understands and gets up and leaves, gives Pete his space. He walks the back streets of London for hours, goes home as the sun is setting, preparing himself to find an empty flat, to find Pete’s stuff gone.
Instead, he finds Pete in the kitchenette, preparing dinner by hand- something yellow and gloopy and Muggle and it’s one of the best sights Draco’s ever seen.
He stands in the doorway and watches for awhile, until Pete looks up and gives him a slow smile. Draco moves forward and kisses him, gently at first and then harder, deeper, hungrily, and Pete kisses back and they forget about dinner for almost half an hour, until it’s all burnt at the bottom, but Draco thinks it’s the best meal he’s ever had anyway.
They don’t talk, not about their pasts, not about Draco’s reaction to Knockturn Alley, not about the Apparition. But they don’t go back to Diagon Alley unless they have to, and Draco never uses magic on Pete without explaining what will happen to him first, and they both fall into some sort of happy routine.
~~~
When Pete’s hiatus from the band is over (an unintentional hiatus, but the other guys were cool about it and Patrick’s been producing like it’s going out of style, and Joe has a family now that he’s been spending time with and Andy has been doing whatever it is he does and seems perfectly happy with that) and he has to head back to the States, Draco says yes the moment Pete asks him to come with him.
He laughs at Draco’s reaction on the plane, the way he grips the armrests tightly and whimpers a little when they take off and land and bitches about how long it takes to fly from London to Chicago when they could have used a Portkey (Pete doesn’t ask) and taken about 3 seconds. There are paparazzi trailing them when they leave the airport, desperate to catch a picture of Pete now that he’s back, desperate to see who he’s with, but they ignore Draco. Pete suspects Draco’s cast some sort of spell on himself that makes people not notice him, and Pete’s a little jealous, because sometimes it’d be nice not to be in the spotlight.
He introduces Draco to his band mates, and it’s only Patrick who raises an eyebrow in that protective-best-friend way they have with each other, and then they’re back in LA, throwing themselves into recording a new album.
Sometimes Draco tags along, and sometimes he doesn’t and it’s only a month or so before Draco comes home and tells him he’s stumbled over the Wizarding world here and that the people don’t know who he is. They see less and less of each other, now Draco has a job and a life in that other world that Pete can never really understand, and Pete is busy with music and touring, a life that he doesn’t think Draco can ever really understand.
Pete worries, as he’s always done with everyone he’s ever been with, that it’ll all come to a messy end, that there’ll be tears and harsh words and maybe even violence, that there’ll be scattered pieces of his broken heart underneath Draco’s retreating feet.
For now though, they’re both happy, with and without each other, and Draco calls Pete’s house home, and Pete calls Draco his, and that’s good enough for both of them.
Anyways, that's not the point.
Here you go kueble:
Title: Every Little Thing He Does is Magic
Fandom/Pairing: Bandom/HP crossover. Pete/Draco (with mentions of Pete/Jeanae and Pete/Patrick)
Rating: PG13
Word count: ~2500
Disclaimer: Funnily enough, not real. The boys are not mine- Draco belongs to JKR and Pete belongs to Patrick.
Summary: Pete. Draco. In a relationship. It’s all a bit fucked up, really, but what do you expect?
A/N: Written for kueble. For some reason I love the idea of this pairing. I think they compliment each other rather well. Completely unrelated to the other Pete/Draco I wrote. Unbetaed.
"When you invited me up to see your wand, this wasn't exactly what I imagined," Pete says dryly, leaning his hip against the doorframe.
Draco looks momentarily embarrassed, stares down at the wand in his hand which probably just looks like a pointy stick, and then the old Malfoy sneer is back in place. "Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all, “when you said you didn't believe I was a wizard, I thought you wanted proof."
Pete shrugs. “Then prove it,” he says, folding his arms across his chest and Draco narrows his eyes and scowls, because no-one’s supposed to do indifferent and superior better than he can.
He channels his annoyance into his spell and rapidly changes his armchair into a small elephant and back again, sends books from the stack beside his bed flapping around Pete’s head, and finishes off with a small indoor firework display which could put the Weasleys to shame (it couldn’t really, but old habits die hard and he still likes to think he’s better than they are, even though the surviving ones are carving out successful lives for themselves and Draco’s living in a tiny bedsit in a crappy neighbourhood of London and earns his keep by writing under a pseudonym for the Daily Prophet).
“Huh,” Pete says, unfazed. “Cool.”
There are only two options Draco has faced with such a non-reaction. He can perform a quick memory charm and kick him to the curb. Or he can keep him.
“Do you ever use your wand?” Pete asks, later, once his naked limbs are tangled up with Draco’s and Draco rolls his eyes and starts to say ‘Yes, of course, you idiot, maybe I should have kicked you out when I had the chance’ when he realises what Pete means.
“Oh,” Draco says. “No. Ew. It’s a bit…pointy. Probably wouldn’t be comfortable.”
Pete looks disappointed.
“There are…spells though,” Draco continues hurriedly, and Pete perks up. “Potions too, but the charms are easier. Enhancement charms are the best- enhance pleasure, enhance size…”
Pete smirks at him.
“Then,” Draco continues, blushing a little as he sorts through potentially useful spells in his mind, “depending on how kinky you want things to get…there are spells for tying things up, for numbing pain, for suppressing natural reflexes. There are spells for sensory deprivation. There are potions that can make you look like other people- even become a member of the opposite sex for a short time. There are spells to temporarily clone yourself, or other people. There are glamours and illusions and animation spells. Depending, of course,” he finishes, giving Pete a level look, “on whatever takes your fancy.”
Pete stares up at him with wide eyes. “I want to try them all,” he says, breathlessly. And since there’s no humanly way possible- even with magical assistance- that anyone could have that much sex in one night, Draco takes this to mean that Pete is sticking around for awhile. So Draco figures he might as well take the ‘keep him’ option from before.
~~~
“I hate Muggles,” Draco says apologetically one day
Pete doesn’t care. There’s a lot of people in the world he hates, and the ‘but not you’ that is unvoiced isn’t quite as insulting here as it’s been in the past when so-called friends had said ‘I hate spoilt rich kids’ or ‘I hate emo bands’ or ‘I hate homos’.
“If all Wizards are like you,” Pete tells him honestly, “I’d probably hate them too,” because Draco is a fucking ass 99% of the time, but that’s fine by Pete, because he’s probably an ass 100% of the time.
Somewhere along the line this fling has grown and become a relationship and for the first time in ages Pete isn’t freaking out at the thought, even though he knows this is the stupidest relationship he’s ever got himself into, more stupid than when he and Patrick attempted to be more to each other than friends and almost fucked the band up, more stupid even than psychotic, underage Jeanae.
But, despite being incredibly wrong in so many ways, this whole thing seems incredibly right. Sometimes Pete even thinks he might love Draco, but he never tells him that. That’s not the sort of relationship they have. He doesn’t need to tell Draco he loves him, and he doesn’t need Draco to tell him (with Jeanae he needed to be told, constantly, and with Patrick he needed to tell, all the time, and he still does).
What Pete loves the most is that Draco has a secret bigger than all of Pete’s secrets put together. A secret that if he told anyone would get him locked in a padded cell, get Draco dissected in some lab, and who knows what else. It’s a strange sort of power, having someone’s trust, being able to hold it over them if he wanted to. He doesn’t, of course, because Pete’s been on the losing side of betrayal too many times to ever want to maliciously hurt someone he’s loved, but the fact that he could, that Draco’s placed blind faith in him makes his insides squirm gleefully at odd moments.
What Pete hates the most is that Draco can do magic, and Pete can’t and it’s blatantly unfair and there’s nothing he can do about it. He makes Draco cast spells for him until Draco gets pissy and refuses to be Pete’s performing monkey and tells him to “get up and get your bloody coffee yourself and stop making me float it over to you”.
Sometimes in Pete’s dreams, he imagines he has magical ability too, and he thinks about what he and Draco could do together if he did, of everything they could achieve, and when he wakes in the morning, he’s a little drunk with power. When he mentions this to Draco, once, over breakfast, Draco goes even paler than he already is and frowns.
“It’s not a toy,” Draco says, hands shaking a little on the cup of tea he’s holding. “It’s…you’re lucky you don’t have powers, that you never…it can corrupt you, you know? Make you think you’re better than you are, stronger than you are, invincible. People die, people have died, people will die, all because of magic. The things you can do with it…it’s crueller than anything you can imagine.”
Pete watches memories flutter behind Draco’s eyes and wants to ask, but he can never bring himself to make Draco’s face contort with pain more than it is now. He knows Draco has seen bad things, that bad things have happened to him, that he’s done bad things, that he’s obviously made mistakes. He doesn’t care what Draco did in the past, because that was then, and his Draco is now and Pete’s fucked up enough times to know it’s the present person that matters. He wishes he could tell Draco this, but there’s never a chance to bring it up without it leading to questions on both sides, and he doesn’t think that’s something either of them want.
Still, he has to get these thoughts out of his mind the only way he knows how, and so he spends the day curled on Draco’s bed, sending long, jumbled email poems to Patrick, while Draco sits at his desk and scratches out words onto a piece of yellow parchment.
~~~
“Eeeeeiiii!” a kid screams, and Draco winces, hand moving to his wand automatically. The last time he’d heard young voices raised like that had been at Hogwarts, that final time he’d been there amid the dust and destruction and the blood and the bodies and the fear and the fighting.
He sees Pete’s confused look at Draco’s flinch- because Draco’s never explained to him what happened, wouldn’t know how to say it or where to begin or what he’d say that wouldn’t make Pete look at him in disgust and leave him. He’s never explained why he’s persona non grata in some places, tolerated politely in others, shunned by most. Has never explained why, despite who his parents and grandparents and great grandparents are, he’s living in the sort of hovel that illegal immigrants would refuse to stay in. And Pete has never asked, which always suited Draco fine.
“You’re Pete from Fall Out Boy!” the girl who had screamed exclaims and throws herself at Pete, thrusting a copy of Standard Book of Spells grade 3 and a ratty quill at him. “Will you sign my book? Oh, and can I have a photo with you?”
Pete blinks down at her, laughs in a strangely fake way and signs the book, quill squeaking uncomfortably on the pages, and poses for the picture and then turns to Draco with a frown and says ‘Huh.’
Diagon Alley was, Pete had told Draco, his favourite place, even though technically he shouldn’t have ever been there and Draco would probably get into even more trouble if anyone found out. Which, judging by the mob of young teenagers heading in their direction, alerted, no doubt, by the cries of the first girl, was in danger of happening very soon.
Pete had said, once, that he’d liked the anonymity of Diagon Alley, that no one knew who he was here, but as with all fads, Muggle music and celebrity leaked into the Wizarding world occasionally, and Draco could see Pete’s wince of annoyance at the unexpected intrusion.
“Sorry,” Draco says, as he drags Pete down a side street, away from the kids. He glances around, and feels a sick sensation begin to crawl up from the pit of his stomach. They’re in Knockturn Alley, which is good, because if the kids are sensible they won’t follow them down there, but is also bad because Draco hasn’t been here in years. He spots Borgin and Burkes, long closed and abandoned (as are large sections of the Wizarding World that have ever been linking to the Dark Lord) and is flooded with the memory of his last time there, the turning point in his life, perhaps in the war. How he’d chosen, that day, the path he wanted to take, and how only sheer luck and kindness (and that was the part that hurt the most) had meant he wasn’t dead or in Azkaban or stripped of his powers and thrust into the Muggle world.
“Are you okay?” Pete asks, looking concerned and Draco gulps in air and says “No, no, not really,” and takes Pete’s hand and Disapparates back to his bedsit.
“Fuck,” Pete gasps, collapsing on the bed and shaking a little, sweat and pain sharing space on his features. “What the fuck was that?”
“Sorry!” Draco says, “Sorry, I forgot you’d never- it was just- I couldn’t stay there, and I know it feels weird but just breathe and-“
Pete pushes him away and heaves a deep breath or two. “Never,” he says darkly, menacingly, “do that to me again.” There’s fear in his eyes, for the first time, like he’s scared of his lack of control over Draco, over his magic. Draco understands and gets up and leaves, gives Pete his space. He walks the back streets of London for hours, goes home as the sun is setting, preparing himself to find an empty flat, to find Pete’s stuff gone.
Instead, he finds Pete in the kitchenette, preparing dinner by hand- something yellow and gloopy and Muggle and it’s one of the best sights Draco’s ever seen.
He stands in the doorway and watches for awhile, until Pete looks up and gives him a slow smile. Draco moves forward and kisses him, gently at first and then harder, deeper, hungrily, and Pete kisses back and they forget about dinner for almost half an hour, until it’s all burnt at the bottom, but Draco thinks it’s the best meal he’s ever had anyway.
They don’t talk, not about their pasts, not about Draco’s reaction to Knockturn Alley, not about the Apparition. But they don’t go back to Diagon Alley unless they have to, and Draco never uses magic on Pete without explaining what will happen to him first, and they both fall into some sort of happy routine.
~~~
When Pete’s hiatus from the band is over (an unintentional hiatus, but the other guys were cool about it and Patrick’s been producing like it’s going out of style, and Joe has a family now that he’s been spending time with and Andy has been doing whatever it is he does and seems perfectly happy with that) and he has to head back to the States, Draco says yes the moment Pete asks him to come with him.
He laughs at Draco’s reaction on the plane, the way he grips the armrests tightly and whimpers a little when they take off and land and bitches about how long it takes to fly from London to Chicago when they could have used a Portkey (Pete doesn’t ask) and taken about 3 seconds. There are paparazzi trailing them when they leave the airport, desperate to catch a picture of Pete now that he’s back, desperate to see who he’s with, but they ignore Draco. Pete suspects Draco’s cast some sort of spell on himself that makes people not notice him, and Pete’s a little jealous, because sometimes it’d be nice not to be in the spotlight.
He introduces Draco to his band mates, and it’s only Patrick who raises an eyebrow in that protective-best-friend way they have with each other, and then they’re back in LA, throwing themselves into recording a new album.
Sometimes Draco tags along, and sometimes he doesn’t and it’s only a month or so before Draco comes home and tells him he’s stumbled over the Wizarding world here and that the people don’t know who he is. They see less and less of each other, now Draco has a job and a life in that other world that Pete can never really understand, and Pete is busy with music and touring, a life that he doesn’t think Draco can ever really understand.
Pete worries, as he’s always done with everyone he’s ever been with, that it’ll all come to a messy end, that there’ll be tears and harsh words and maybe even violence, that there’ll be scattered pieces of his broken heart underneath Draco’s retreating feet.
For now though, they’re both happy, with and without each other, and Draco calls Pete’s house home, and Pete calls Draco his, and that’s good enough for both of them.