AN: Written for the OTP Prompt Collection on the HPFC forum.

Prompt: Pen Pal!AU

(Originally published on AO3 on February 29, 2016)

"Ah, Harry, mate, there you are!" Ron greeted him cheerfully as he approached their usual table at the Leaky Cauldron. "We were beginning to wonder if we should start eating without you!"

"Sorry, I overslept again," Harry apologized with a slight shrug, but Hermione was still focused on what Ron had said.

"Oh, we were planning on starting without Harry, huh?" Hermione said with raised eyebrows. "You and your food, Ronald, honestly—"

And then the two of them were bickering again—surprise, surprise. It would get old pretty quickly, but for now, Harry just watched in amusement. Though his two best friends had agreed to stay, well, just friends, they could definitely banter like an old married couple. Now, if only they worked out their unresolved sexual tension...

"Harry. Harry," Hermione said, but he still didn't notice. It took her snapping her fingers in front of his face to break him out of his thoughts. "Are you even listening to me right now?"

"Er, no?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I assumed as much. I just told you that Malfoy and I were getting married and you were our flower girl, but your expression was frighteningly neutral."

Harry scowled half-heartedly. "I think I need new friends."

"No you don't," Ron said at the same time as Hermione, who said, "You do, actually."

They both looked at her in shock until she added, "In addition to the ones you already have, of course! Don't look at me like I killed your dog or something, Ron."

"But I don't have a—"

"Ron, mate, it's just an expression," Harry whispered out of the corner of his mouth, genuinely concerned for his friend's safety.

"Oh."

Hermione resisted the urge to bang her head on the table. Repeatedly. Honestly, the only reason they went to the Leaky Cauldron for their fortnightly brunches was because Ron didn't have the tact necessary for Muggle cafés, all of which were cleaner and held less chance of being recognized—which meant fewer Boy Who Lived fangirls interrupting their meal.

"Anyway," she began, "speaking of new friends, I actually found this anonymous pen pal program, and I've signed both of you up."

A moment of complete silence as the boys' brains tried to process her statement. Two. Three.

Then, "You what?" both boys exclaimed at the same time.

Harry stared at the blank piece of parchment in front of him, the words refusing to come. What were you supposed to write to your pen pal, anyway? When Hermione had signed him and Ron up, she hadn't really told them how the whole thing worked.

Sure, she had explained the basics: the program paired up people of similar ages; fake names and aliases were allowed if you wanted to remain anonymous; and if you and your partner didn't get along, you could request a partner change after you stuck it out for two weeks.

All of the rules seemed perfectly reasonable, and he couldn't complain too badly about the publicity it might bring. Hermione, knowing how much he hated the hero worship, had thankfully gone the fake name route and signed him up as James. So that was good, he supposed, but the whole thing was still very awkward. Who came up with the pen pals idea, anyway?

Harry sighed, focusing again on the blank sheet of parchment. Their meeting at the Leaky Cauldron was only yesterday, so he still had time, right? Still, knowing that he had yet to write a single word—and aware of Hermione's ire if she knew that he wasn't taking this whole pen pal thing seriously—he quickly dipped his quill in his inkpot and wrote:

Dear Stranger,

Hi, how are you doing? I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be writing here or if there's any kind of etiquette for this stuff, but do you have any hobbies or play any sports? I'm partial to Quidditch myself.

Sincerely,

James

There. It was short and a bit awkward, but at least he had written something. Harry looked it over to make sure there were no spelling errors—none that he could see, at least—and he had even remembered to sign his name as James, so on a whim, he decided he would just go ahead and send the stupid letter as it was, consequences be damned.

Of course, since one of the distinguishing features was its anonymity, the letters first had to be sent to some sort of mailbox just outside of Gringotts where another owl would actually deliver the letter, probably adding an extra hour or two to the time when his pen pal would actually receive it. Still, Harry couldn't stop himself from checking the skies for any unfamiliar owls as he went about his day.

Surprisingly enough, he received a letter only a few hours after he sent his. As he observed the neat, looping print and the obvious care put into the other's words, it almost made him feel bad for doing the whole program so reluctantly... nah. He was giving this person someone to write to, and wasn't that the whole point of it? That decided in his mind, he turned his attention back to the letter, re-reading it:

Dear James,

I'm well, thank you. As far as I know, writing letters to a pen pal has no specific etiquette, but as long as you're not being pointlessly rude, we should get along well enough. That being said, I like to read, and I used to be a Quidditch enthusiast when I was younger. I'm afraid it wasn't nearly as fun while I was at Hogwarts, though, because there were too many games where some idiot nearly got themselves killed. What about you? When did you start liking Quidditch?

Sincerely,

Luke

Harry frowned a little at the formal tone, but he shrugged it off and grabbed a fresh piece of parchment on which to write his reply. Who was he to judge? Yeah, chances were that he had gotten some snooty, book-obsessed Ravenclaw who he would definitely never be friends with if they met through the regular channels, but he supposed that was the beauty of the pen pal program: you got to meet people you wouldn't have met otherwise, and sometimes, they even became your friends.

Weeks passed, and "James" and "Luke" still exchanged letters. Ron and his partner had stopped before the first month was over: by accident, he'd found out that he was writing to Pansy Parkinson, and their decision to part was mutual. Privately, Harry had thought that he could be writing to Draco bloody Malfoy and at this point, he wouldn't even care. Once he had gotten past the other boy's aloof exterior, he'd actually found Luke to be quite pleasant. He had a wicked sense of humor, and even though Harry didn't know Luke's real name or even his Hogwarts house, Harry now talked to Luke more than he did Ron and Hermione, who were both busy with their careers at this point.

And so weeks passed. Though the letters exchanged between the two weren't quite as frequent, this was due in part to their length. As they learned more about each other and new topics came up, the letters had grown significantly longer than the short couple of sentences used in the beginning. Which led to where Harry was now, staring at his very full piece of parchment, debating if he should add on a little post script of sorts.

Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, he added, "Would you like to meet in person? Your friend, James" and attached it to his owl's leg.

He received Luke's reply only thirty-five minutes later: Are you sure about this?

Yes, he wrote back. The Leaky Cauldron, tomorrow at two?

Fine, I'll be there. Just don't get too disappointed if I'm not who you think I am.

Despite the other boy's warning, Harry was excited. For better or for worse, he was about to meet Luke.

Just in case, Harry got there fifteen minutes early. He was joined five minutes later by Draco Malfoy, who appeared to be waiting for someone, too.

"Hello, Potter," Malfoy greeted—dare he say cordially? "What brings you around here?"

"Oh, um, I'm waiting for someone," he explained.

"Oh, really? Me too," Malfoy said, and though his tone was all innocent surprise, his smirk gave him away. Could it be? Could Malfoy be Luke? He had entertained the possibility, yeah, but just because it was just so outlandish!

Did this change anything?

"Er, Malfoy, weird question for you, but have you happened to join a pen pal program recently?" Harry asked.

"Are you disappointed?" Draco asked him carefully, gauging his reaction.

"No," Harry replied after a moment of thinking. "No, I'm not."

And, strangely enough, it was the truth.

They entered the pub together and took a seat. Harry was amused to note that it was the one he, Ron, and Hermione usually sat at. After they each ordered a butterbeer and the daily special, a thought occurred to him. "Wait, Malfoy," he said. "How did you know I was James, anyway?"

"Well, I've pretty much known since our first letter," Draco drawled. "It wasn't that hard to piece together."

"But I used an alias and everything!"

"Yeah, but you used your father's name, and I'm a Malfoy. We make it our business to know all of the Pureblood families."

"Oh, rub it in, why don't you?" Harry groaned.

"And then you mentioned Quidditch..." Draco trailed off suggestively.

"Okay, maybe it wasn't that great of an alias," he admitted. "But never mind that, how did you come up with yours?"

Draco shrugged. "My father's name is Lucius Malfoy, and Luke sounds plebeian enough, doesn't it?"

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Wow," he said. "Now that you've explained it to me, I really feel like I should've gotten it sooner."

"Oh, don't worry. I have that effect on lots of people."

"You're still a git, you know," Harry informed him before extending his arm. "But I suppose people can change. I'm Harry Potter, nice to meet you."

Draco looked at him for a moment before accepting the handshake. "Draco Malfoy, and likewise."

They shook hands.