when draco met dudley

[lobelia321]

When Draco met Dudley

Of course, Draco had no idea about any of this mind anguish. He had mind anguish of his own, and none of his own mind anguish even remotely reckoned with the concept of a mind-anguished muggle. Much less a muggle who would remember a minimal encounter in a woods somewhere years ago and spin a whole huge fantasy cocoon out of it. And certainly not in the slightest a muggle who had actually based a major life-decision on that encounter, or partly on that encounter, and who'd nurtured a fragile little memory nugget close to his chest for... for just ages.

All that Draco saw was the muggle hunk who'd been sitting in this same seat three nights in a row. Sitting there, downing his beer, and making Draco, up in his eyrie above, have odd motions in his blood and do something he'd never done before: go up and talk to a muggle.

Actually talk. Face to face. Not just fuck anonymously in a glory-hole loo.

To tell the truth, Draco had not precisely planned to talk to this muggle. He'd had a vague notion of just sort of ambling by. It was the stare that the muggle had given him that had propelled him into that first 'Hullo'. And, incautiously, into muttering a reverse-action spell and causing that glass and bottle to fly up again onto the table. That had been automatic, done without thinking. And now here he stood, knuckles white around the wand secreted under his muggle robes, admonishing himself to think, for hell's sake, to think.

Because think he must. Not all was as it seemed on the surface. Father? What did this muggle know about his father?