Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling, the real author of Harry Potter's 'biography'.

Proving a Theory

"Potter, everybody thinks that we're secretly in love with each other."

They were the first words that Draco Malfoy spoke to Harry Potter after more than a decade of awkward silences, polite nods and one-word greetings whenever their paths crossed in Diagon Alley.

Everybody thinks that we're secretly in love with each other.

Not, 'Hello, how are you?' or 'Maybe we should try to put the past behind us?' or 'How's your first year as a Hogwarts professor been?'

Just a bizarre statement involving the words 'we', 'in love' and 'with each other'.

It might not have been too bad for Harry, if Malfoy had actually said this line in the middle of a packed Diagon Alley in broad daylight (preferably with Ron and Hermione somewhere close by), but as it happened, he chose to approach Harry not in the middle of a busy street, but instead in an almost empty Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade on a cold September evening.

The fact that Harry was sitting alone at a table in the corner of the pub, coupled with the fact that Malfoy had walked unsteadily towards him looking ever so slightly tipsy before he came out with the strange line, only served to add to Harry's sense of discomfort and confusion.

What was going on? Why was Malfoy bothering to speak to him now, after so many years of silence? And if he had to speak to him, why did he have to start the conversation with a line like that?

"I'm sorry…what?" Harry eventually asked, finally able to speak after a few seconds of shocked silence as he stared at the blond with his mouth open and his eyes wide. He could actually feel his heart beating faster. He hadn't felt a similar rush of panic and confusion since his Auror days.

He briefly considered the possibility that he had dozed off at some point between the occasional sip of his drink and was now having some sort of Butterbeer-induced nightmare. It wasn't an entirely implausible idea. He had definitely been trying to stifle a yawn when Madam Rosmerta's husband came over to take his order twenty minutes ago, and he had been staring sleepily out of the window for a few minutes before Draco Malfoy made an appearance.

The first few weeks of term at Hogwarts were always exhausting for the professors, and for the second September in a row, Harry had seen for himself just how tiring Welcome Feasts, Sorting Ceremonies and the organisation of timetables could be now that he was a full-time professor rather than an Auror who made the occasional appearance to teach certain classes.

The whole month had been busy, really, and after a long Friday afternoon of repeatedly telling fifth and seventh year students just how important this academic year would be for them, he had been tempted to crawl into his warm bed immediately after the last class of the day and remain there until Saturday morning.

It had been the desire for a walk and a warm drink that had finally changed his mind, and after less than half an hour of sitting in his room, he had thrown on his robes, half-heartedly tried to comb his hair and headed to Hogsmeade for what he had thought would be a quiet drink at the Three Broomsticks, perhaps with the occasional interruption from Madam Rosmerta or a few of the older professors who often drank at the pub on Friday evenings.

Malfoy exhaled slowly in apparent irritation, as though it were Harry who was staggering around the Three Broomsticks and coming out with ridiculous statements about potentially being in love with his former arch-nemesis, rather than the other way around. "Don't make me repeat it, Potter!" he snapped.

His tone of voice might have sounded slightly threatening, if Harry hadn't still been in a state of shock, and Malfoy hadn't started to sway slightly on the spot.

On the other hand, whenever Harry had been confronted with nightmares about Draco Malfoy in the past (and in the years that followed the Battle of Hogwarts, this had happened more often than he cared to admit), he was never standing over him in a pub looking slightly drunk and dishevelled.

The Malfoy in his dreams was calm and silent, always dressed in smart, expensive-looking black robes with the sleeves rolled up so that the Dark Mark tattoo on his left arm was visible.

In these dreams, which nearly always started out in a dark and misty Diagon Alley, he would glance over in Harry's direction as though he still had something important to tell him, then he would walk through the mist and fog in the direction of Knockturn Alley, whilst Harry would stay rooted to the spot, wondering if he was supposed to follow him.

Back in his Auror days, Harry had seriously considered the possibility that the nightmares were trying to send him some kind of subconscious warning, and for a while, he had watched Malfoy very carefully from a distance on the days when they had both been in Diagon Alley at the same time.

He had even tried to follow him a few times, just to make sure that he wasn't really paying visits to places like Knockturn Alley on a regular basis, but after a while, he had decided that after everything that the Malfoy family had been through after the war, it was highly unlikely that any of them would still be up to anything that could potentially result in a one-way ticket to Azkaban.

Plus, Hermione had started to notice the direction that his eyes always travelled in, and the last thing that he had wanted was a maybe-you're-getting-a-bit-obsessed-with-Malfoy-ag ain-Harry lecture from her and Ron. He had heard enough of that lecture from the two of them during the post-war Death Eater trials.

"Fine," Malfoy sighed after a few seconds, causing Harry to snap out of his thoughts about the past. "One more time, okay?" He had apparently interpreted Harry's question and bewildered expression as a request to repeat his opening line.

As Malfoy prepared to speak again, Harry discreetly looked him up and down.

Up close, the real-life Draco Malfoy standing in front of him looked nothing like the version in Harry's dreams. He looked older, which was hardly surprising given that eleven years had passed since they had last been within the walls of Hogwarts at the same time, and his robes looked almost casual compared to his usual choice of designer robes during his teenage years. He also looked more weary, and his once-flawless hair was slightly tousled, as though he had just been walking through the wind and the rain. Which, judging by the noise of the pub windows rattling in the wind, was probably the case. Even the expression on his face was different. The sneer and the look of irritation were still there whenever his eyes caught Harry's, but he also looked less angry than Harry had seen him look in the past, and despite the unsteadiness on his feet, there was an air of maturity about him.

"Everybody," said Malfoy slowly, at the same time spreading his arms wide as though to indicate the whole world, "thinks"-he placed a finger on the side of his head- "that we're"-he pointed from himself to Harry- "secretly"-he put a finger on his lips- "in love" -he placed his hand on his heart before quickly removing it- "with each other." As he finished the sentence, he pointed from himself to Harry again, before grabbing hold of the edge of the table to steady himself.

Well, there had been an air of maturity about him when he was standing there in silence, anyway.

"Trust me, Potter," Malfoy sighed, "I am no happier about this theory than you. I, however, have had more time to process this information…and a few glasses of firewhiskey," he added under his breath.

Harry continued to stare at him with wide eyes. Surely he couldn't be serious? Who could possibly think that he and Draco Malfoy were secretly harbouring any sort of feelings for each other, apart from a once-strong sense of dislike that seemed to have faded into indifference over the years? And even if anybody had suggested it, there was no way that Malfoy would ever actually believe it. Something wasn't right about the situation…

"Potter, what are you doing?" Malfoy demanded as Harry looked from left to right before turning in his seat to look over his shoulder.

"Looking for Goyle and Parkinson," Harry responded as he turned his head to the side again. "They have to be around here somewhere..."

"But…why?" Malfoy asked him, now looking slightly alarmed. He tried to take a step back from the table, but he stumbled slightly and had to stop to grab hold of the chair opposite Harry instead.

"Well, this is some kind of practical joke, isn't it?" Harry asked him, hoping that his voice wasn't shaking. It sounded slightly ridiculous when he said it out loud, but he almost wished that this were in fact the case. He had heard that Malfoy still spent a lot of time with the two former Slytherins, and Ron had commented once that he had seen the three of them drinking together at the Leaky Cauldron. So, in the strange event that Harry was the subject of one of Malfoy's practical jokes, chances were, they would be the ones to help him. "The three of you probably planned it together," he continued to accuse Malfoy, "and after you've annoyed and confused me for long enough, I'm sure that they'll both jump out from wherever they're hiding and you'll all have a good laugh at my expense."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Malfoy scoffed. "Pansy's absolutely terrified of you. She's convinced that you're still holding a grudge against her and that you'll try to send her to Azkaban if she so much as looks at you the wrong way. There's no way that she'd get involved in any sort of joke at your expense. And believe it or not, Goyle has actually developed a new-found sense of respect for you…" Malfoy stopped talking for a second and wrinkled his nose in an expression that could easily be interpreted as disgust, but the neutral expression quickly returned when he caught a glimpse of the look on Harry's face. "Anyway," he continued, "he keeps saying that we should all try to be nicer to you now. He even went so far as to suggest that I thank you for-"

Malfoy's eyes widened and he instantly stopped talking, as though he had just said something that he wasn't supposed to say.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Just when he thought that the situation couldn't get any more awkward...

He had a feeling that he knew what Malfoy had been about to refer to. They had never talked about what happened in the Room of Requirement during the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry had no desire whatsoever to discuss it on a Friday evening at the Three Broomsticks. He was already exhausted enough without the added burden of that conversation.

Judging by the look on Malfoy's face, the feeling was mutual. "As I was saying," he hurriedly continued, "neither of them-or me for that matter-are involved in any sort of practical joke. I think we've outgrown all of that somewhat, Potter, don't you?"

Harry was about to reply when he noticed that Malfoy had grabbed hold of the table again. He wondered how much he had had to drink, and whether he had in fact been sitting somewhere in the pub long before Harry arrived.

If it wasn't a joke, then what was it? Harry ran through several more possibilities in his mind, each one as unlikely as the last.

He could put it all down to drunken rambling, but there was something in Malfoy's facial expressions and tone of voice that seemed to suggest that he knew exactly what he was saying.

On reflection, he probably wasn't up to something that could do any serious damage. Those days had definitely passed, and the Malfoy family had received clear warnings a decade ago about what they could expect if they put anybody in the wizarding world in danger again.

At the same time, it also seemed highly unlikely that Malfoy had innocently and coincidently headed to the Three Broomsticks for a quiet drink at exactly the same time as Harry. There was no mistaking the look of mistrust and barely disguised anger that Madam Rosmerta kept throwing in his direction every time she walked past the table, which strongly suggested that this place wasn't exactly his regular drinking spot.

Yet the idea that he genuinely believed 'everybody's' claim that the two of them were secretly in love with each other and now wanted to discuss this theory seemed completely ludicrous.

If only Ron and Hermione or Ginny or George had been available to meet for a drink. Maybe then Malfoy would have stayed away from him and he could have avoided the stress and tension and enjoyed a few glasses of Butterbeer with his friends.

But then, it wasn't too late to send him away. Harry knew that he could just tell him to take himself and his strange theories away from the table and then he could go back to drinking his Butterbeer in peace. He just had to tell him-

"Maybe you should sit down?" Harry heard himself ask, before he winced internally.

In his head, that line had sounded a lot more like: "Maybe you should go and sit down and sober up somewhere on the other side of the pub, or in another pub, or at home, or anywhere far away from here?"

But out loud, it sounded suspiciously like an invitation for Malfoy to join him at the table.

Malfoy had apparently interpreted the comment in the same way. "Okay, Potter," he said, shooting Harry an almost grateful look before he sat down in the vacant seat opposite him.

Oh well, it was too late to do anything about it now.

Maybe he really was dreaming. That, or he was simply too tired to think about what he said before the words left his lips.

"So…" Harry started to say slowly, surprised by the idea that a part of him was curious to find out who the mysterious 'everybody' was who had been discussing his love life. Or lack of it. He knew from experience that a lot of witches and wizards were rather fascinated with Draco Malfoy, and that certain people liked to talk and gossip about him, but not once had Harry heard anybody mention this particular theory. "Who says that we're secretly in love with each other?"

After years of ignoring each other, it seemed so unnatural to Harry to be sitting there having any sort of conversation with his former rival, but at least his question would (hopefully) lead to a more ridiculous and therefore safer area of conversation than other possible topics that Draco Malfoy could have brought up under the influence of firewhiskey, such as accusations about events in the past or a discussion about his trial at the Ministry of Magic.

And of course, Harry felt obliged to silently remind himself, the sooner he found out more details about the theory, the easier it would be to disprove it.

Malfoy shrugged, his eyes inexplicably looking past Harry's shoulder in the direction of the pub door.

Harry heard footsteps, followed by the faint sound of the door gently opening and closing before another awkward silence descended on the table.

"Well, maybe not everybody," Malfoy muttered before he went silent.

This was getting ridiculous.

"Who says it?" Harry demanded, using the tone of voice that he had once reserved for his interrogations of suspected dark wizards when he worked as an Auror.

"Oh, I don't know," Malfoy replied with a careless wave of the hand as though the precise details were of no particular importance to him. "A few younger witches and wizards at the Leaky Cauldron who were talking about the love lives of famous wizards one evening-"

"I'm sure that you misheard the conversation," Harry commented, refusing to believe that anyone who frequented the Leaky Cauldron would care enough about his love life to discuss it over a few drinks.

"And a few elderly witches who appeared to be writing some sort of article about the inner workings of the mind whilst drinking tea at Madam Puddifoot's the other day," Malfoy continued undeterred. "From what I overheard, they seemed to think that we resorted to arguments and insults as a way of masking some sort of forbidden attraction-"

"Surely they would have had more interesting people to analyse than the two of us?" said Harry as he felt his face heat up slightly. "If this discussion really did happen and you didn't imagine the whole thing-"

"Why would I imagine it, Potter?" Malfoy snapped. "Contrary to what you and Weasley may believe, I haven't completely 'lost it' since the war!"

Harry shifted in his seat, feeling an uncomfortable twinge of guilt. He and Ron might have used those two words during a conversation one afternoon after work a few years ago, after they had spotted Malfoy wandering around Diagon Alley looking lost and miserable and glaring at everyone who walked past him. However, he hadn't known that Malfoy had overheard him.

"The members of The Weird Sisters seem to think so, too," Malfoy persisted as he glared at Harry. "They were singing a strange song about our apparent secret love at the Hog's Head a few weeks ago, and the audience was applauding and singing along as though they agreed with-"

"You must have misinterpreted the lyrics," Harry interrupted him, now certain that his voice was shaking. "Especially if the pub was really noisy or you'd had too much to drink then as well-"

"Possibly," Malfoy shrugged. "But surely I wouldn't have misinterpreted the lyrics ten times over? Theodore Nott had also had a lot to drink and he thought that it would be hilarious to humiliate me by insisting that the band sing the song repeatedly," he explained, making sure to add what looked like a disgusted shudder as he finished speaking.

Harry tried not to dwell too much on the idea that one of his (soon to be former) favourite bands had started to sing strange songs about his love life. He could only hope that the performance had been a one-off and that other bands in the wizarding world weren't doing the same thing.

As Malfoy went quiet for a moment, looking deep in thought, Harry made a mental note to pay close attention to the music blasting out of the wireless the next time he was at The Burrow, just in case that particular song was played and he had to distract the Weasleys so that they didn't hear it.

"Anyone else?" Harry asked quietly.

Malfoy smirked slightly before he responded. "There were also a few witches in Flourish and Blotts who had just finished reading a copy of your biography-"

"My biography?" said Harry, hoping more than anything that Malfoy was referring to one of the more obscure versions of the stories about his past that was hidden away on the top shelf of an old bookcase in Flourish and Blotts.

After the war, the book shops of the wizarding world had been inundated with many, many different versions of stories about Harry's life, most of them written by authors whom Harry had never even met, let alone had a conversation with.

Every 'exclusive-and-one-hundred-per-cent-factually-corr ect' book seemed to tell a different story, especially when it came to speculation about what had happened to Harry Potter after the defeat of Voldemort.

A few of the books had stuck with more plausible theories, claiming that he had returned to Hogwarts to complete his NEWTs and had then decided to stay on as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, or that he had gone straight into the Auror training programme.

Other versions suggested that he was in training to play for a well-known Quidditch team and that he hoped to make an appearance at the next Quidditch World Cup.

There were a few that went for more alternative angles, claiming that Harry had decided to train as a Healer at St Mungo's, or even that he had skipped off into the sunset with a girl who sounded a lot like Luna Lovegood and had then spent several years travelling the world, writing books about magical creatures.

A few years ago, Hermione had come across a book that told a sad story of how Harry Potter had become almost reclusive in the years that followed the war, struggling to find his place in the wizarding world after Voldemort's defeat.

It would have made for depressing reading, if Harry hadn't been sitting at the kitchen table at The Burrow at the time, with Ron, George and Lee Jordan jokingly reading out extracts from the other side of the room.

Even Rita Skeeter had gotten in on the act, publishing her own unique interpretation of Harry's life in less than a month after the final battle, which in Harry, Ron and Hermione's opinion, had taken the word 'insensitive' to a whole new level.

Harry had found Rita Skeeter's book one day when he was shopping with Hermione in Diagon Alley, and she had dragged him yet again into Flourish and Blotts. He had decided to flick through the pages, half-hoping to find some sort of false claim in there that was so outrageous that Hermione would just have to use her influence in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to try to stop any further publications.

However, he hadn't even got past the introduction when he had already read numerous not-so-subtle hints that The Chosen One was completely unbalanced after the war and still desperately craving attention, and he had been unable to force himself to read any further. Instead, he had settled for slamming the book shut and angrily shoving it to the back of the shelf.

"Yes, Potter, the official books about your life that make up your biography," Malfoy sighed impatiently. "You know, the ones you signed the publication contracts for? The ones you made a fortune from…" As he said the last part of the sentence, an unmistakeable sneer formed at the corner of his lips.

Harry felt a brief rush of anger, but he was in no way shocked by Malfoy's look of disapproval. It was the same look that crossed the faces of many of the former Slytherins whenever they were having whispered conversations about Harry's decision to allow the official publication of the books about his Hogwarts years.

As far as most of them were concerned, the whole thing had been yet another bid for money and publicity, and as usual, it looked like Malfoy agreed with their opinions.

One of the reasons why Harry had finally decided to sign the contracts and give detailed interviews about his past was because he had hoped to put an end to the constant rumours, lies and speculation about his years at Hogwarts, and also to end the almost daily harassment from journalists and photographers whenever he went out in public.

He had been paid a decent amount of money for the publication rights, but he had always believed that he had put the gold to good use, using some of it to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts and to make discreet donations to St Mungo's to help treat the victims of the Battle of Hogwarts, and then he had used the rest of it to open a vault at Gringotts for his godson and later his goddaughter.

Harry had therefore never allowed the negative comments to cause him to feel any sort of regret about his choice...

"Well," Malfoy continued, "regardless of what I think about you making a fortune from the publication rights, most of the witches and wizards I've just mentioned seemed to have found all of the evidence for their theory in your official story."

However, if Harry had known ten years ago that this decision to allow the publication of his account of his time at Hogwarts would one day lead to widespread speculation that he was secretly in love with Draco Malfoy, he would definitely have had second thoughts before he signed that contract.

"Sorry, Malfoy," Harry told him, deciding that it probably wasn't worth the hassle of getting into an argument with a former Slytherin about his personal reasons for selling the publication rights, "but there's nothing in my official story that could be used as evidence to suggest that our feelings for each other ever went beyond dislike." Harry tried to shrug casually as he said it, desperately wanting to appear relaxed and in control of the situation, even though another inexplicable feeling of panic was starting to rise in his chest.

"Well, that's what I thought as well," Malfoy drawled. "But after a while, I was so intrigued by this theory that I decided to look into it further. So, I read your official biography-"

"You did what?" Harry spluttered, completely forgetting that he was supposed to be calm and in control.

This was worse than he had first thought.

Harry had never really dwelled on the idea that hundreds, maybe thousands of strangers had read personal details about his life. Most of them were people who he would never actually meet, and he had always hoped that they would focus more on the fight against Voldemort and the Death Eaters than his private life.

He had also never worried about the fact that Ron, Hermione, other former Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had read the stories. Most of them had been there to experience the events first-hand anyway, and Harry had spoken to a few of them before he gave the interviews, so that they could have some control over how much information about their time at Hogwarts was published.

He had known that a lot of his former classmates would read stories about his life, but he had never considered the possibility that Draco Malfoy would ever be interested in reading one of the books.

Now that he knew that this had happened, Harry felt the same type of anxiety that he was sure people who kept a diary must feel when somebody they disliked decided to steal it and read through the personal and embarrassing entries.

"That's right, Potter," Malfoy smirked. Harry knew from personal experience that Malfoy had always been better than anyone he knew at anticipating potential moments of discomfort or embarrassment and using them to his advantage, and it looked like this moment was no exception. "Every single chapter." He smirked again.

Harry tried to focus his eyes on his almost empty glass of Butterbeer, at the same time hoping that he was only imagining a second rush of heat to his face.

"Well, sort of…" Malfoy continued, as Harry looked at him again, feeling even more bewildered. "There were a lot of books. They're not planning on publishing any more, are they?" He asked the question with a pained expression before he paused briefly to roll his eyes. "It would be nice to go to Diagon Alley one summer and not be forced to witness the hordes of screaming fans outside Flourish and Blotts waiting for yet another edition-"

"It wasn't exactly a fun experience for me, either!" Harry snapped at him. "I was staying in Diagon Alley last July, and I couldn't sleep at all the night they released-"

"Poor Potter," Malfoy interjected sarcastically, "can't sleep at night in one of his many homes because he's being kept awake by the sound of adoring fans screaming his name. Can't close the door to his Gringotts vault because there's too much gold inside. Can't open a book without being forced to read about how much of a hero he-"

"And people seriously think that I'm secretly in love with you?" Harry asked him incredulously.

Malfoy shrugged. "The witches at Madam Puddifoot's were writing notes about how deep down, you crave someone like me to be honest with you and keep that huge ego of yours in check."

In any other circumstances, Harry might have laughed. But this definitely wasn't a normal situation, and this was Draco Malfoy who he was dealing with, after all. Instead of smiling, Harry glared at him.

"Oh, okay," Malfoy admitted, "they didn't exactly write 'huge ego', but I read between the lines, and you have to admit that the I-couldn't-sleep comment that you've just made was slightly egotistical…"

Harry decided that it would probably be pointless to mention that he had in fact been staying the night at George and Angelina's flat above George's joke shop in Diagon Alley, and he had been forced to drag himself out of bed feeling exhausted early the following morning after a sleepless night so that he could help out in the shop.

Instead, he opted for a slightly more neutral response: "No, they won't be publishing any more stories…unless I take on another dark wizard in the next few years," he finished, not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"So, how does your official story end?" Malfoy asked with a hint of sarcasm in his own voice.

Harry stared at him, wondering if this was supposed to be some kind of trick question. "At the end of the Battle of Hogwarts…" he said slowly, as though he were talking to a child. "You were there, remember?"

"I know," Malfoy responded with another sigh of exasperation. "I meant after that, Nott and Zabini said that there was something else in one of the books…"

Harry felt another flush of embarrassment as he had a sudden vision of Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini and several other Slytherins sitting in a room together reading his story, no doubt having a good laugh about it or angrily claiming that most of it wasn't true.

"Well, according to the biography that was published in the Muggle world, it was predicted that I'd marry Ginny," Harry told him seriously. "Perhaps Nott and Zabini read-"

He paused for a second to look at Malfoy, and he was surprised to see that he actually looked like he might vomit. Harry would have put this down to a few too many firewhiskies, until…

"Potter," he said slowly, his tone of voice full of disgust, "you actually allowed your biography to be published in the Muggle world? What happened? Were you not getting enough attention in the wizarding world? Did you need all of the Muggles to stare at you in adoration, too?"

Harry was suddenly aware that his embarrassment was rapidly being replaced with flashes of anger. He gripped the side of his chair tightly with both hands, at the same time silently reminding himself that it would no longer be socially acceptable to threaten to hex Malfoy in such a public place. He also felt somewhat surprised that after all this time, Malfoy was still able to provoke this once-familiar feeling of anger.

All of a sudden, Malfoy's eyes widened slightly in realisation, as though he had only just processed what Harry had said. "You marry Ginevra Weasley?" he asked, at the same time looking frantically behind Harry in the direction of the door, as though he expected Ginny to charge into the Three Broomsticks and run at him with her wand raised.

Harry wasn't quite sure that this speculation about his possible future wife really merited such a negative reaction. He liked that particular prediction. It was such a happy ending, and it made it look as though he would know exactly what he was doing and where he was going as he got older, and that he already had his life perfectly planned out.

It was also a happier ending than one which involved solitary drinks in Hogsmeade on cold Friday evenings.

Besides, Ginny was still his friend. She frequently joined him when he went out for drinks with Ron and Hermione or Seamus, Dean and Neville, she occasionally strolled around the shops in Hogsmeade with him on the weekends when she came to visit Hogwarts and Harry went with Ron and the rest of the Weasleys to watch Ginny's Quidditch matches as often as he could.

A year after the Battle of Hogwarts, when Harry had first started to give interviews about the war, and he and Ginny had finally decided to officially get back together, he had been fairly convinced that the predictions in the Daily Prophet of a happy ending with Ginny were going to come true.

But now, even though she was his friend, she wasn't his wife.

It was only after three or four years of an on-again-off-again relationship that Harry had started to question the realistic possibility of the prediction of a fairy tale ending actually coming true, and over the past few years, as the two of them had progressed in their very different careers, the relationship had definitely been more 'off' than it had been 'on'.

Harry had never been able to pinpoint the exact reasons why the relationship hadn't worked out in the long-term. Hermione had always put it down to pressure from the press, and in particular the fact that the Daily Prophet journalists had already started to guess the names of their future children before the Weasleys had even come to terms with what had happened during the Battle of Hogwarts, but Harry wasn't entirely convinced that this had been the only reason. Deep down, he knew that he could have lived with the constant publicity and speculation, if the relationship had been what he really wanted after the war.

After one of their break ups, a few of his friends had suggested that he should try to go out with other women, just in case he felt as though he were missing out on something, but most of the dates had never progressed beyond dull or strained conversations over dinner, and after a while, Harry had accepted the fact that even though he definitely felt like something was still missing from his life, he wasn't going to find it with the women he asked out on dates. He had also decided that he would perhaps be better off staying single for a while, until he worked out what it was that he wanted.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't been out on a date since he started to teach at Hogwarts. Stranger than that was the realisation that until Draco Malfoy showed up at his table, he hadn't even cared about his non-existent love life or given it a second thought for a long time.

"Did you marry her?" Malfoy asked him, looking like he was getting ready to stand up.

Harry suddenly realised that he now had a way out of this strange situation, if he wanted to take it. All he had to do was nod or say something about being engaged or in a long-term relationship, maybe even pretend that he was waiting to meet Ginny at the Three Broomsticks, and without a doubt, Malfoy would hurriedly get up out of his seat and leave Harry alone.

It would be so easy, he just had to say yes-

Harry felt his head move slightly, like he was shaking it to say no. Then, for some reason, he lifted his hand as though to prove that there was no ring on his finger.

Why had he just done that? He didn't want to be having this awkward conversation, did he?

Malfoy exhaled slightly, and if Harry didn't know better, he would have said that he looked relieved. "Somehow, I'm not surprised," he replied in a smug tone of voice.

"But, surely you would have known something about a possible engagement to Ginny, if you really had read my biography?" Harry asked him, deciding not to react to Malfoy's smug smirk and knowing expression, and now considering the possibility that Malfoy was perhaps bluffing to get a reaction and hadn't actually read anything about his life after all.

"Well, I have to admit, I got rather bored of reading about you after a while," Malfoy shrugged unapologetically. "So in the end, I just read the chapters where my name was mentioned."

"Of course you did," Harry muttered, not at all surprised by this revelation.

Malfoy smirked again, and Harry had a feeling that even more insults were about to be thrown around now that it seemed like they were going to discuss the finer details of his biography.

"The chapters made for some very interesting reading, Potter," Malfoy informed him with a raised eyebrow. "Especially when it came to proving everybody's theory…"

"Really?" Harry asked him uncertainly, feeling somewhat surprised that he had unknowingly leaned further forward in his seat. Almost as if he wanted to hear more about this strange-and-definitely-not-true theory.

You don't, do you? a concerned voice in Harry's head that sounded a bit like Ron asked him. What does it matter what people think anyway, mate?

More importantly, another voice that sounded a lot like Hermione asked him, you don't actually believe that there could be any truth to this theory …do you?