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"He’s really into magical creatures lately," Harry said as he opened the door to Flourish and Blotts and let Luna step through, following her in. The shop was as cluttered and cosy as ever, with stacks of books teetering precariously in every corner. "Something about a young dragon tamer, maybe?"
Luna’s eyes lit up. "Or something about lunar frogs. Did you know they only croak on nights when the moon is full? It’s terribly romantic."
Harry grinned. "I’ll take your word for it. Let’s see what they’ve got."
They wove through the shelves, picking up colourful books with fantastical names, until Harry settled on The Young Dragon Whisperer , while Luna examined a book about the legendary Snorcackle Migration.
"This one’s perfect," Harry said, holding up his find. "Teddy’s going to love it."
Luna nodded, her eyes drifting toward a display near the counter. "That does look good. Oh, Harry, look at this."
Harry followed her gaze to a small table arranged with copies of a sleek, dark book titled Shadows in the Fog . "On the cover, a silhouetted figure in a dark trench coat stood illuminated underneath a flickering streetlamp, wand at the ready".
"Is it a magical detective story?" Harry asked.
Luna picked up a copy, flipping through the pages with her usual dreamy expression. "It just came out, the author’s very first book. He writes under a pen name—A. M. Blackthorne. But I’m quite sure it’s Draco Malfoy."
Harry blinked, caught off guard. "Draco? Writing detective novels?"
"Oh, yes," Luna said, nodding serenely. "I got an early copy to write about in The Quibbler , it’s terrific! The writing style is very Draco: clever and precise. He always had a very distinctive way of phrasing things. And the main character, this detective… he’s described as having pale hair and a sharp wit. Doesn’t that sound like him?"
Harry snorted. "Luna, that’s a bit of a leap. Lots of people have pale hair and sharp wit."
"But it’s not just that," Luna insisted. "There’s something about how he describes the magical underground of Knockturn Alley. It’s too specific to be made up. Draco always had a knack for noticing details no one else did."
Harry raised an eyebrow, amused but skeptical. "So you think Malfoy spends his free time writing crime novels?"
Luna placed the book gently back on the table. "Why not? He’s always been good with words."
“I’ll give you that,” Harry said, adding Shadows in the Fog to his shopping. “Maybe I can get it signed by the author, then.”
***
The garden at Andromeda’s house was bustling with laughter and the delighted shouts of children. Strings of enchanted fairy lights wove through the trees, glowing softly in the early evening light. A table groaned under the weight of sandwiches, cakes, and bottles of pumpkin juice, while a corner of the lawn was dominated by a magical piñata shaped like a dragon.
Harry had found Teddy quickly, his face already smeared with icing. He crouched down, handing over his carefully wrapped presents. “Happy birthday!”
Teddy tore into the paper. “ The Young Dragon Whisperer !” he exclaimed, flipping through the pages with wide eyes. “This is so cool, Harry! Thank you!”
“There’s more.” Harry gestured to the second package.
Teddy opened it, revealing a build-your-own dragon model. Its pieces immediately roared to life, little cardboard wings flapping. Teddy’s laughter rang out as he jostled Harry with a hug. “This is brilliant!”
“Thought you’d like it.”
“I’m going to show Victoire!” Teddy shouted and ran to find her.
Standing, Harry made his way to Andromeda.
“Thank you for coming, Harry,” Andromeda said. “You always make his birthday feel special.”
“It’s my favourite day of the year,” Harry said with a grin, glancing over at Teddy, who was showing off his dragon model. “He’s growing up so fast.”
Andromeda nodded, her expression softening with a mix of pride and nostalgia. “Sometimes, I look at him and still see the tiny baby Dora handed me, wrapped up in that ridiculous blanket with the ducks on it. And now, here he is, seven years old, and talking about what house he’ll be sorted into at Hogwarts.”
Harry chuckled. “He’s got time before that. But I’ll bet he’s already rooting for Hufflepuff.”
“Actually, last week, he told me he might like Gryffindor because you were in it,” Andromeda said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “He changes his mind every other day. First, it was Ravenclaw, then Hufflepuff, and now Gryffindor. I don’t think he’s considered Slytherin yet.”
“Give it time,” Harry replied. “He’s got Draco to convince him.”
Before Andy could respond, a loud cry of delight cut through the air. Teddy came rushing back, carrying what looked like a small, polished wooden box. “Harry! Look what Draco got me!”
He flipped open the box to reveal a sleek, muggle microscope. Its lens gleamed under the lights, and a small set of prepared slides sat neatly beside it.
“It’s amazing!” Teddy said breathlessly. “He said I could use it to look at all sorts of things—plants, potions, even dragon scales!”
“That’s incredible, Ted. Do you know how to use it?”
“Not yet,” Teddy admitted, “but Draco said he’ll show me! Isn’t it cool?”
“It’s very cool,” Harry said, his chest swelling with affection.
As Teddy raced off to demonstrate the microscope to his friends, Harry straightened up and glanced across the garden. Draco stood on the other end, shaded by a pear tree, chatting with Neville, one hand tucked casually into his pocket. Harry couldn’t help but appreciate how good he looked in jeans and a simple green jumper—effortlessly put together without seeming like he’d tried at all. It was disarming, how unassuming Draco appeared, standing in the dappled afternoon light. There was nothing about him that suggested he might be the one behind the wildly popular detective book. And yet, at this moment, with the way he tilted his head thoughtfully while listening to Neville, his posture relaxed and open, he was far more captivating to Harry than any character he might have written.
“Where’s the birthday boy?” Ron’s voice came from behind the party tent, pulling Harry abruptly from his thoughts.
Harry turned to find Ron approaching with Hermione, a massive bag of brightly colored Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products slung over his shoulder.
Ron dumped the bag on the grass with a dramatic sigh. “I think this counts as overkill, but George insisted. Teddy’s going to have enough fireworks to rival Hogwarts at Christmas.”
Hermione rolled her eyes fondly before looping her arm through Ron’s. “He’ll love it. And you, Harry, will appreciate that I vetoed the portable swamp.”
“Eternal gratitude,” Harry said with mock solemnity.
***
The clinking of plates and hum of quiet conversation filled the staffroom of The Daily Prophet , where Harry sat across from Pansy Parkinson at a small table by the window. Harry stabbed at his pasta bake while Pansy daintily picked at the crust of her chicken and bacon sandwich. Their weekly lunch had become Harry’s favourite source of gossip and amusement over the past few years.
"So," Pansy began, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. "What chaos did the Quidditch lot throw at you today?"
Harry sighed. "The Cannons are a disaster. Again. Their Seeker’s still insisting he’s cursed because of some bad batch of pumpkin pasties, which I’m pretty sure is code for a bad trip. I spent an hour trying to get a coherent quote out of him."
Pansy smirked. "At least you’re not covering Witch Weekly ’s annual hat awards. I’ve had to endure three different interviews about why purple’s the colour of the season."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Sounds riveting."
"Oh, utterly." Pansy rolled her eyes. "Speaking of things that actually are riveting… Did you hear about A. M. Blackthorne?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"
Pansy leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. "The mysterious author of those magical detective novels everyone’s obsessed with? It’s Draco."
Harry paused, letting his fork hover mid-air for dramatic effect. "Malfoy? You’re joking."
"Not at all," Pansy said, clearly enjoying herself. "His publishers just announced it to coincide with the release of his third book."
Harry forced himself to blink in astonishment, biting back a smile as he thought of his conversation with Luna almost two years ago. "Draco Malfoy? Writing novels? That’s… I mean… really?"
Pansy nodded, reveling in his reaction. "He didn’t want anyone to know at first. Figured his name would put people off. Not exactly the most marketable brand, is it?"
Harry frowned slightly, considering. "No, I suppose not."
"But now that the books are a hit, I told him it was time to own up," Pansy continued. "A little controversy never hurts sales. People are eating it up—pre-orders have tripled since the announcement."
Harry shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I’m not sure what’s more surprising—that he wrote them, or that you talked him into going public."
Pansy shrugged, her expression uncharacteristically soft. "Draco’s a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. He knew it was time. And, well, he deserves a little recognition now and then."
***
The bookshop was buzzing with anticipation, every seat in the makeshift auditorium filled and dozens of people standing in the aisles. Ron grumbled about the crowded venue as they squeezed into the second row, but Hermione insisted they arrive early. "We can’t miss Draco’s big moment," she’d said, practically dragging them to their seats.
Harry didn’t mind. Watching Draco in his element was worth the jostling crowd.
Draco stood at the edge of the small stage, chatting with the host as the event began. He was immaculate, as usual, his tailored robes a deep midnight blue that contrasted perfectly with his silver-white hair. The soft lighting caught on his sharp features, making him look like he belonged on a magazine cover.
"You’d think he’s used to this by now," Ron muttered, leaning closer to Harry. "Fourth book in, and he’s still preening like a peacock."
Hermione shot him a withering look. "It’s called professionalism, Ron. You could stand to take a few notes."
Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry said nothing, his attention fixed on Draco. He noted the way Draco’s smile came effortlessly, the ease with which he held himself. He looked confident, like he belonged here.
The host stepped forward, tapping the microphone. "Thank you all for coming tonight! We’re thrilled to welcome A. M. Blackthorne—known to many of you as Draco Malfoy—to celebrate the release of his latest book, Shadows in the Moonlight . Let’s give him a warm round of applause!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, and Draco stepped onto the stage with a graceful nod, his expression a mixture of gratitude and charm. His gaze swept the audience, and Harry was almost certain Draco lingered on him for a beat longer than anyone else.
"Thank you," Draco began. "It’s been an incredible journey bringing Silas Noir’s adventures to life, and I’m thrilled to share the first chapter with you tonight."
As Draco opened his book, Harry glanced at Hermione, who was practically vibrating with excitement, and Ron, who looked begrudgingly impressed. Then he turned his attention back to Draco.
The excerpt Draco chose was gripping, the scene tense as Silas navigated a perilous duel in the shadowy streets of Knockturn Alley. Draco’s voice was steady and clear, his delivery precise and evocative. He had the audience hanging on his every word. Even Ron seemed engrossed, leaning forward slightly as Draco described the snap of spells and the glint of a hidden wand.
When Draco finished, the room erupted into applause. He stepped back with a gracious bow, his cheeks tinged with a faint flush that Harry found entirely too distracting.
The line for the meet-and-greet snaked through the whole shop. Harry didn’t mind.
"You’re staring, mate," Ron said, nudging Harry with his elbow. "Should I be worried?"
"Shut it," Harry muttered, glaring half-heartedly, as they moved towards the front.
When it was their turn, Ron slid his copy across the table. "Sign it to ‘Ron, your biggest fan’. I’ll be the envy of the Cannons’ locker room."
Draco smirked. "You mean you’ll actually read it?"
"‘Course I will," Ron replied, straight-faced. "Need something to put me to sleep on the road."
Draco looked up as Harry stepped forward, his face lighting with a slow smile. "Potter. I had a feeling you’d show up tonight."
Harry grinned. "Couldn’t miss it."
Draco chuckled, a low, rich sound. "How thoughtful of you." He opened the book, poised to sign. "And how would you like me to inscribe this? ‘To Harry, my most devoted admirer’?"
"How about just your name?" Harry quipped.
Draco raised an eyebrow playfully, scribbling on the book before sliding it back to Harry.
"Enjoy the book, Potter."
***
Review: A. M. Blackthorne’s
Shadows in the Moonlight
Captivates Once Again
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Draco Malfoy—now better known in literary circles as A. M. Blackthorne—has once again solidified his reputation as a master of magical noir with his latest novel, Shadows in the Moonlight . The fourth installment in the Silas Noir series delivers everything fans have come to expect from Blackthorne: razor-sharp wit, intricate plotting, and a moody atmosphere that practically crackles with tension.
Set against the shadowy backdrop of Knockturn Alley, the novel follows detective Silas Noir as he unravels a chilling conspiracy. Noir’s trademark cleverness and moral ambiguity are on full display as he navigates a labyrinth of secrets, betrayals, and high-stakes duels.
Blackthorne’s prose remains as incisive as ever, balancing lyrical descriptions of the magical underworld with punchy, dialogue-driven scenes. The pacing is relentless, and the twists—of which there are many—are both surprising and satisfying. Fans of the first three books will relish this deeper dive into Noir’s character, while newcomers will find a thrilling entry point into the series.
But while Shadows in the Moonlight is already gathering critical acclaim and climbing the bestseller lists, it’s the book’s enigmatic dedication that has set the fandom alight with speculation. Written simply as:
"For the one who allows the shadows, though he is the light."
The cryptic message has sparked a frenzy of debate among readers and literary critics alike. Theories abound on wizarding social media. Some speculate that the dedication refers to a mentor, perhaps an influential professor from Blackthorne’s Hogwarts days. Others wonder if it hints at a personal relationship—an unrequited love, a former rival, or even an anonymous collaborator.
“It’s so Draco,” said Marigold Binns, moderator of the popular fan forum Noir Enthusiasts United . “He’s always been a bit of a mystery himself, and now he’s turning that same aura of intrigue onto his readers. It’s genius, really.”
Whether the dedication is a playful nod to a private joke or a deeply personal revelation, it has only added to the allure of the man behind the pen name. Blackthorne has largely avoided interviews since his identity was revealed. Still, his rare public appearances and the occasional quip on his publisher’s FlooPress page have done little to quell the fascination with his personal life.
Whatever the dedication’s meaning, one thing is clear: Blackthorne’s ability to captivate extends far beyond the pages of his novels. Shadows in the Moonlight is a triumph, a testament to the enduring power of storytelling—and to the mystique of the storyteller himself.
Shadows in the Moonlight is available now at Flourish and Blotts and other fine booksellers. Don’t miss it—you might just discover the answer to the mystery yourself.
***
"I said ‘haute couture’, Harry, haute , and some dunderhead of a copyeditor changed it to ‘high culture’. Do you understand the embarrassment that causes?!" Pansy stabbed a cherry tomato with unnecessary force.
Harry laughed. "The readers will survive. They probably didn’t notice."
Pansy glared. "My readers always notice." She paused, studying Harry as he fiddled with the crust of his sandwich. "You’re quieter than usual. What’s eating you?"
"Nothing," Harry replied quickly, forcing a shrug. "Just busy, you know. Long hours, late deadlines."
"Yes, I’ve noticed." Pansy narrowed her eyes. "You’re practically living here these days. What’s that about? Some new Quidditch scandal you’re chasing?"
Harry avoided her gaze. "Something like that," he said vaguely.
"Well, don’t burn out. You’ll need your wits about you for tomorrow’s match coverage," Pansy said. She leaned back, crossing her legs elegantly. "Speaking of exhausting schedules, have you seen Draco’s itinerary in the US? The poor man barely has time to sleep."
Harry’s heart gave a familiar tug at the mention of Draco’s name. "I saw something in the paper about it," he said nonchalantly.
"That’s because I wrote it," Pansy said with a smirk, clearly pleased with herself. "The American press can’t get enough of him. Every time he steps out for a signing, they’re practically lining the streets. It’s absurd."
"Well, his books are good," Harry said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Look at you, suddenly the literary critic."
Harry laughed lightly. "I’ve read them, haven’t I? Can’t argue with success."
"Have you figured out what that ridiculous dedication means? Because I haven’t, and it’s driving me mad."
Harry blinked, surprised. "You don’t know?"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. If anyone should know, it’s me. But Draco’s been maddeningly tight-lipped about it. ‘For the one who allows the shadows, though he is the light.’ ’ Who talks like that?" She sighed dramatically. "It’s probably some metaphorical nonsense about himself. You know how he is."
Harry suppressed a smile. "Maybe it’s meant to keep people guessing," he said.
"Clearly," Pansy said with a scoff. "Still, it’s working. The speculation’s all anyone talks about at those insufferable literary soirées I’m forced to attend."
"Maybe that’s the point," Harry said, unable to resist teasing. "Keep them talking."
Pansy waved her fork dismissively. "Whatever it is, I’ll wring it out of him eventually. He owes me for covering his ridiculous press tour so thoroughly."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Good luck with that. If Draco doesn’t want to tell you, I doubt you’ll get much out of him."
Pansy narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "You know, you’ve been defending him quite a lot lately. Are you two secret pen pals or something?"
Harry nearly choked on his water but managed to laugh it off. "Hardly. Just saying he’s stubborn."
"That’s the understatement of the century," Pansy muttered. She popped the last bite of her salad into her mouth and stood, gathering her things. "Right, back to the grind. Don’t let the Cannons drive you mad before tomorrow’s deadline."
Harry smiled. "No promises."
***
"I still can’t believe you survived all those interviews, Malfoy," Hermione said, raising her glass. "I’d have hexed the third journalist who asked me the same question."
The Tawny Owl was alive with the hum of chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. A round of drinks had been ordered to celebrate the end of Draco’s press tour.
"Practice," Draco replied smoothly, lounging in his chair with the ease of someone who’d spent weeks in the spotlight. "That, and a bottomless reservoir of patience."
Ron snorted. "Patience? You?"
Pansy swatted at him. “Tell us all about your adoring fans."
Draco smirked, swirling his glass. "They were tolerable. Mostly. Except for the one who insisted I sign her Kneazle. I’ll spare you the details."
The table erupted into laughter, and Harry felt warm fondness spread through him. "When are we getting the next literary masterpiece, then?"
"Oh, it’s coming along," Draco replied, one arm draped over the back of the booth. "Not quite ready for the world yet."
"Translation: he’s written, what, a title and maybe a first sentence?" Blaise teased, earning a round of laughter.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "I’ll have you know, I’ve got an outline."
"I’ve heard rumours about this one being a romance, though," Harry said, tilting his glass toward Draco. "Is it true? Have you written a partner for your detective, then?”
The tips of Draco’s ears tinted pink. "You know, the usual. Love, longing, complications…"
"Kisses in the rain," Ginny suggested with a mischievous grin.
"Grand gestures at airports," Blaise added, making an exaggerated swooping motion with his hands.
"Heartbreak and crying into tubs of ice cream," Harry chimed in, grinning.
"Speaking of kisses," Blaise said, leaning forward, pointing his finger at each of them. "Most memorable kiss of your life. I’ll start. Summer of ‘99. I’m at a festival, and this absolute vision of a girl in a flower crown walks up to me…"
Harry couldn’t help but smile as Blaise launched into his story, all dramatic gestures and flourishes. Next to him, Draco shook his head, possibly because he’d heard this story a hundred times before. "So, there I was, covered in mud, completely wrecked, and she just… kissed me. Out of nowhere. Said it was on her festival bucket list—‘kiss a stranger’. Best sixty seconds of my life."
"That’s your best sixty seconds?" Ginny snorted. "How sad."
"Jealousy’s not a good look on you, Gin," Blaise quipped, to a ripple of laughter.
Ginny was next, recounting a drunken New Year’s Eve kiss with a stranger that turned into a short-lived but memorable fling. "We’re counting down the seconds, right? Three, two, one, kiss. But she’s wearing those stupid light-up glasses. Nearly poked my eye out. Still spent the next three weeks seeing her, though. Thought she might turn out to be the one." Ginny sighed wistfully. "She wasn’t."
Hermione leaned forward conspiratorially, her scarf brushing the table. "Mine was Viktor when he visited last summer.”
Ron smiled at her fondly. “Same.”
“Your turn," Ginny shouted over the wolf whistles that followed, poking Draco in the ribs. “Top that.”
“Ahhhh, well. Can’t compete. Mine is embarrassing if anything: I got kissed by the giant squid when I went swimming,” Draco said, shrugging.
The table exploded with boos; Pansy lobbed a crisp at him, followed by Blaise tossing a napkin. Ron grumbled something about lying cowards.
Harry grinned, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, enough about lake creatures," he said, standing up. "I’ll get the next round."
Later, as the group began to leave, coats shrugged on and farewells exchanged, Harry hung back, watching Draco linger near the doorway, lighting a cigarette.
“Hi,” Harry said, joining him.
Draco offered him his cigarette without a word, their hands brushing briefly. They stood in silence, the tiny orange glow cutting through the dark.
Harry stepped closer, and Draco leaned in, their foreheads touching briefly before their lips met. The kiss was slow, deliberate—a gentle brush of lips at first, then it deepened, Draco’s mouth warm and familiar against Harry’s. One of Harry’s hands curled around Draco’s waist, pulling him closer, while the other still held the cigarette at his side, forgotten.
When they pulled apart, Harry let out a breathless laugh. “Is ‘the giant squid’ my new nickname, then?”
“What makes you think you’re my most memorable kiss?” Draco said.
Harry laughed out loud again, the sound startling in the quiet night. “I missed you so much.”
“So you said,” Draco murmured, taking his cigarette back and exhaling slowly, smoke curling lazily into the lamplight.
Harry kissed him again, deeper, unhurried, savoring the taste of him. Draco responded with a soft hum, sliding a hand up to push Harry’s glasses onto the top of his head. His fingers lingered, framing Harry’s cheek, thumb brushing over the dimple that deepened with every soft smile against Draco’s lips.
Harry closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the moment, into the feel of Draco’s touch, the scent of smoke and mint, the warmth of Draco’s breath so close to his.
“I don’t want to be apart from you for this long again. It was torture,” Draco said, voice low and earnest, as though the words had been waiting too long to come out.
Harry hummed softly, but didn’t respond. He had promised himself he wouldn’t push, that he’d give Draco the space he needed to decide on his own. Keeping their relationship a secret had been Draco’s request from the beginning, and Harry had agreed without hesitation. He wanted to say me neither , but he swallowed the words, waiting.
Draco’s forehead came to rest against Harry’s again. His voice was quieter now, as if speaking the next words too loudly might break the fragile courage they held. “I think I’m ready to tell them about us now.”
Harry opened his eyes and leaned back just enough to search Draco’s face. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope, though he tried to keep it steady.
Draco shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “If you’re up for it.”
Harry didn’t hesitate. “I’ve been up for it since day one.”
Draco let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You’ll regret saying that when the press gets hold of us.”
“I am the press, remember? I’ll make sure we get a flattering headline.”
Draco exhaled slowly. “Something tasteful, then. No puns.”
“‘The Golden Boy and the Slytherin Sensation: Draco Malfoy’s Greatest Plot Twist’?” Harry teased, grinning.
Draco groaned, though there was no real annoyance in it. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here you are. Ready to make it public.”
“I’m more worried about our friends finding out we’ve been lying to them for so long.” Draco flicked the cigarette to the ground, stamping it out before taking Harry’s hand. “Come on, let’s go home. I wrote a lot on the plane and would love your opinion. Also, I want to get you into bed as soon as possible.”
Harry quirked an eyebrow, lips curling into a grin. “No shop talk allowed in bed. That’s a rule.”
Draco pulled Harry close. “Fine. But I’ll expect a glowing review in the morning,” he said as the cool pressure of Apparition swept them away, leaving only the faint scent of smoke and the world none the wiser—for now.