(no subject)
Title: Passion Spent (1? Probably 2-3)
Summary: Because of his father Draco Malfoy now spends his days in a brothel, until an unexpected customer comes to visit him. Harry/Draco.
Genre: Drama
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Words: 4.196
Special Thanks to: TwoTwenty & Tracy_Loo_Who
It is hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head.
Sally Kempton
Sucker love is heaven sent.
You pucker up, our passion's spent.
My hearts a tart, your body's rent.
My body's broken, yours is bent.
Placebo ♥
Passion Spent
He inhaled deeply, sucking as much oxygen into his body as possible. They came, laughed and now they’d left; finally leaving him alone again. It still wasn't easy, but it was becoming almost bearable to deal with the humiliation every week.
Although he dreaded each new day to come, he didn’t give up. One day he would have himself back, one day his body would be his again. Images flashed through his head, some of them he could barely remember. Yet each one had left its mark. Some left Scars, some bruises and some even left him with a broken bone or two. It was nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Nothing that couldn’t be hidden. His skin was always flawlessly white and fragile.
He looked out of the window again, staring into space. He tried not to look at the people who were passing him by. He was scared to recognize and to be recognized. Customers found him intriguing and mysterious, he found them perverts and felt like biting off their dicks. He hated every man that came to ‘visit’ him with passion. He hated the people behind the glass even more. They would stare at him, with lust or disgust. Every now and then he would be recognized and there would be pity or laughter. He despised both reactions; he did not need pity and could not stand to be laughed at.
Every Friday night the whole Gryffindor gang would come by, presumably on their way to some nightclub. They would shout and make gestures at him, eventually becoming bored once they’d taken their pound of flesh. Draco couldn’t hear the words through the thick glass. He didn’t need to, the looks of hatred on their faces said more than words ever could. It repeated itself every week and Draco hated it. He hated them. Every Friday night he silently swore that he would have his revenge.
There was a soft knock on the door that made Draco sigh. It was probably Mr. Pathetically-small-dick again, who was always shy. Draco had nicknames for almost all his loyal customers, he couldn’t bother to remember their real names and sometimes the nicknames he made up made him smile.
“Come in,” he called, Running his fingers through his hair.
The door opened slowly, now that wasn’t like Mr. Pathetically-small-dick. Mr. Pathetically-small-dick normally rushed in, only to rush out 5 minutes later. The person in the doorway seemed to be hesitating. Draco couldn’t identify the man, and leaned to the left to get a better view.
“You can come in now,” he called again, this time in a somewhat sweeter voice.
This seemed to help as the man finally moved into the room. Draco’s fake sweet smile fell when he saw his new costumer. Utter horror was written all over his face. Standing before him was none other than Harry Potter, savior of the bloody world.
“It’s not what you think.” The dark haired man said quickly, extremely uncomfortable.
Draco, realizing he was gawping, shut his mouth and sent Harry a glare.
“I’ve come to tell you that I got you out of here.” Harry explained quickly.
At this Draco’s eyes widened dramatically. “What? You must be kidding me.” he said, utterly stunned. “Why in Merlin’s name would you of all people want to get me out of here?”
“I paid the money you still owe that man at the front; you’re free,” Harry continued, completely ignoring Draco’s questions.
This surprised Draco even more; he was tempted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. “Potter, I still owe that man over one million galleons.” Draco said, beginning to think that Harry might have lost his marbles.
“Well, not anymore.” Harry declared, almost happily.
“Potter, you must be drunk. Are you drunk? Have you been using drugs?” Draco asked, getting up from where he was sitting in front of the window and moving closer. Harry shifted nervously as he moved close enough to sniff the man’s breath.
“Don’t be stupid, of course I haven’t.” Harry said angrily. When he realized what Draco was doing, he immediately moved backward.
“Then why did you do this for me?” Draco asked, getting angry himself. Although he didn’t know why he was getting angry, the dark haired man just had that effect on him.
“Well, because I ran out of charities to give my money to,” Harry shrugged, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to help out ones arch enemy. “Merlin, can’t you just be thankful this once?”
“I don’t want your pity and I certainly don’t want to be some charity of yours you brag about,” Draco sneered, disgusted by the mere thought of being saved by the savior of the wizarding world.
“Well, the money is paid. What you do is up to you, you can walk away or you can stay here. Although I can’t imagine you’re enjoying yourself in this godforsaken place,” Harry glared, throwing up his arms in anger. His eyes flashed around the room, nose wrinkled in disgust.
Of course the room wasn’t anything like the rooms Draco was accustomed to. The room was dark and the lights were red. There was one big bed in the middle of the room, a wardrobe for all the work requisites. A walk in wardrobe for the little clothes he owned and a nasty old bathroom. Draco did like the bath, because it was so old, but never used it. It had little lions’ paws and wasn’t built in like all the other baths these days. When Draco wasn’t working, he spent all his time in the bathroom. It was the only room in the whole place that didn’t smell like sex. He hated the smell of his room, especially after the sweaty Mr. Wobbly-tits had paid him a visit.
“Don’t be so mentally deficient and tell me what this is really about,” Draco spat, knowing for sure that Harry was hiding something. The man’s eyes were avoiding his.
“I already told you what this is about!” Harry answered, his eyes widening a bit when he spotted a big bowl of condoms next to the bed.
“Well, I don’t believe you. Last time I checked, you and your pathetic little friends were telling me I had myself to thank for all this,” Draco argued. He followed Harry’s gaze towards the bowl and rolled his eyes. ‘Bloody prudish Gryffindors.’
“Alright! Fine, I found out it was my fault and felt guilty,” Harry exclaimed.
Draco frowned. ‘What in heavens name is the man talking about’. “Potter, you will have to explain that to me. Because I fail to see how this could be your fault, as much as I would like to blame you.”
“When I learned that it was your father’s perverted little fantasies with boys that put you here, I was reminded of the fact that I put your father in Azkaban. When he broke free I killed him, before he could make things right. So-” Harry rambled, his cheeks flushed.
“Oh, bloody hell. Potter, would you just stop it? If you think like that everything is your fault!” Draco said, beyond irritated. “My father wouldn’t have made things right. He was so caught up with pleasing Voldemort that the contract he signed here was completely forgotten by that time. It was his fault; he donated almost all our money to Voldemort’s little projects.”
“You don’t speak very highly of your father anymore. You used to adore him.” Harry noted.
“My God, Potter. What do you expect? What would you think if your father signed a contract that clearly stated ‘If you fail to pay your debt, your son will be paying it for you by selling himself until the debt is paid’?” Draco whispered harshly, getting upset.
“Maybe he thought it would never come to that,” Harry offered.
Draco let out a sigh and sat down on the edge of his bed. “Let’s hope he did, I wouldn’t like to think he knew this was going to happen to me.” Then he snorted, “You know, I should have seen this coming. Even my boyfriends seemed to always mysteriously end up in his bed,”
“I can’t believe the Ministry approved of this,” Harry said. He was still standing in the middle of the room, looking as if he truly believed he could get some contagious disease if he touched something.
“It was a wizard contract. I had a choice, either this or die. I tried to get out of it, but it wasn’t as if the Ministry was jumping to help me. In their eyes I probably deserved it.” Draco said, more to himself than to Harry. He was staring to his feet, looking as if he was thinking back in time.
“Well, you’re free now.” Harry said, as if that solved everything, and maybe it did.
That, however, snapped Draco out of his trance. “No, Potter, I won’t have it. I don’t want to owe you.”
“You won’t owe me. It’s already done. You’re free to go, or free to stay. It’s up to you, but if you go you’re coming with me first. You look awful; we need to get you checked too and…” Harry was once again in his babbling mode
“Potter! Stop it,” Draco growled. “I want you to take that money back and get the hell out of here. I don’t need your pity or your care.”
“But you need help and I’m not going to take it back, so you do whatever you please. Here’s my address and my floo-address. I’ll see you… When I see you,” With that he apparated out of the building and was gone.
Draco stared at the little piece of parchment in his hand, that had Harry’s address scribbled, on it. He growled and looked around his room, white with anger. How dare Harry Potter barge into his life and save him against his will? It was just unheard of, unacceptable in his eyes.
He let out a frustrated groan and stamped his foot childishly out of frustration.
“Mr. Bugwelt is having a fuckin’ fit downstairs; he’s fuckin’ screaming and fuckin’ trashing the place because you’re leaving.” A boy, barely 14 years old, named Harold stepped into his room. He had a thick accent and liked to say ‘fuck’ a lot.
“He can throw as many fits as he likes, I’m out of here,” replied Draco coldly. Oh how he hated that boy, how he hated everyone in this brothel.
“You might want to hide for a bit. You know how fond he is of you. He always says you’re his fuckin’ pearl.” Harold continued babbling, he reminded Draco of the mudblood Creevy brothers, although they would never say ‘fuck’.
“And that is not something I’m taking pride in, Harold. Nor am I going to hide for that bastard, I am Draco Malfoy and from now on I will do whatever I damn well please.” Draco said haughtily, suddenly overwhelmed by the sense of freedom.
“But you don’t have any money, maybe you should work here a bit longer just-“
“Oh stuff it, Harold,” Draco interrupted. “It’s not going to work. Now would you just get out of my face and let me get out of here.”
“Well, fine. I never liked you anyways.” Harold said, crossing his arms over his chest and sending him a glare.
Draco rolled his eyes, “Likewise, now sod off. I need to pack my things,”
The boy huffed but left all the same.
Draco's things were quickly packed. He didn't own much he wanted to take: a few trousers, a few t-shirts, and two decent robes. All his work-clothes were piled up on his bed and Draco wondered what to do with them. He certainly didn’t want to take them with him and had the urge to throw them in the fire. But knowing that he wouldn’t get away with the smell of burned leather, he decided to his leave them there as a present for whoever was next to occupy the room.
Draco looked around the room one more time. “Adieu, Chambre de douleur infernal,” he muttered softly. Unknown emotions washed over him, while he desperately tried to gain control over them. ‘This is not the time to start acting like a Hufflepuff.’
He could hear the muffled commotion from downstairs through his door. He took a big breath and braced himself for a grand exit to freedom. It still felt a bit surreal that he was finally free to leave, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from getting the hell out of here.
Harry sat at his kitchen table quietly, eating his tomato soup. Two full days had passed since he had bailed Draco out. He hadn't told any of his friends yet and wasn’t planning on telling them anytime soon, either. Unless it was absolutely necessary to do otherwise, he would keep it to himself. He knew how they would react, and didn’t feel like provoking that reaction.
They thought Draco deserved it, that it was his own fault he ended up there. Even though they all knew what Lucius had done to his son, it didn’t change their minds. Not all of them dared to voice their opinion, but Harry had seen it in their eyes. The pure hatred they felt to anything that was, or once was, ‘dark’.
He wondered how it could be that their worlds remained so black and white, while his had turned so grey. After everything that happened during the war, he realized that nothing was black or white, good or bad, light or dark; everything was and had always been grey. Hermione was probably the only one of his friends who shared this opinion. For some reason, although they’d never talked about it, he had a feeling that Sirius knew this too.
Draco Malfoy had been accused of being a Death Eater just after the war. He’d spent about a month in Azkaban, but because there was no evidence they had to let him go. He disappeared from the face of the earth for a couple of weeks, until that one night. They were headed towards a nightclub and there he was standing behind the glass. In no time everybody was talking about it, and they kept talking about it every following Friday night.
Harry couldn’t bring himself to laugh, or to make jokes. He just watched, every Friday night, how well Draco Malfoy could hide his shame behind several masks. Then one night Hermione told them what she’d heard at the Ministry, how Draco Malfoy really ended up there and how the Ministry had refused to help him.
From that moment on, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it. He tried to grasp the concept of the utter humiliation Draco was going through, of being out of control and of giving himself to unknown men. By the next Friday Harry’s conscious had made up his mind for him. Draco Malfoy could not stay there; no one deserved what Draco was going through. The feeling of guilt and pity gave him the courage to actually execute his plan.
Now, his nights were filled with worry. He knew Draco had too much pride to actually come to him, but he still couldn’t push away the feeling. He knew he shouldn’t care, he knew he had done everything he could. He knew it was up to Draco now, but it didn’t seem to help to know all this. He didn’t want to leave his house, afraid Draco would come while he was absent. At the same time he wanted to go and look for Draco and drag him home.
He poured himself another glass of wine and dumped his dishes in the sink. He spent the rest of the evening watching a movie, or rather, watching the screen, because when the movie was over he had absolutely no idea what he had just seen. Drowsy due to the many glasses of wine he consumed that evening, he collapsed on his bed and let sleep take over.
The next morning found Harry nursing a painful headache. The bright sun had no respect for a wizard’s hangover. He rolled out of the bed and made his way to the potion cupboard in his bathroom with some difficulty. Luckily found the hangover potion he was looking for almost immediately. His mind cleared slowly and head ache disappeared within minutes. Carefully he opened his eyes and blinked a few times; happy with the results he stepped into the shower.
As he turned off the water he heard something, or rather someone, banging loudly on his front door. With a towel secured around his waist, he quickly made his way downstairs and opened the front door.
“Thank Merlin! What took you so bloody long?” Draco Malfoy marched into his house, looking awfully tired and dirty.
“I just got out of the shower,” Harry explained, closing the door while Draco was looking around his hall.
“Right. First thing’s first. Potter, this is not because I need your help. This is because I really want a shower and some sleep. It’s bloody cold outside and I won’t be able to get a proper job if I smell like this.”
Harry suppressed a relieved smile and nodded. “Yes, right. Of course, well err… the shower is upstairs and so is a bed.” He stuttered, not quite sure what to say. “Just follow me.”
Draco nodded and followed Harry up the stairs. “Quite the manor you’ve got here,” he commented.
“Thanks,”
“Why aren’t you living in London? Where you used to live,” Draco asked.
Harry turned around so abruptly, that Draco almost bumped into him. “How do you know where I used to live?”
“Customers tend to babble a lot,” Draco shrugged, “so why did you buy this gigantic place?”
“Too many memories,” Harry explained, turning back around and continuing his way up the stairs. He hoped Draco would get the message and not ask any further. Luckily he didn’t and followed him silently towards one of the guestrooms.
“Towels and anything else you might need are in that dresser,” Harry said, pointing to the dark wooden dresser that was standing in the corner of the large bedroom. “When Ron stays over he always forgets to bring half of his stuff, so I always make sure to have everything he might forget.” He turned around to see the disgusted look on Draco’s face. “Oh for heaven’s sake, it’s either clean or new. Don’t be such a baby.”
“I-“ Draco began to defend himself, but Harry wouldn’t let him.
“The en-suite bathroom is through that door, not the one next to it, that’s a wardrobe. I’m going to make us some breakfast. It will be done in about half an hour, so take a shower and I’ll see you downstairs when you’re done. Alright? Great.” Harry exited the room in quite a rush, obviously uncomfortable.
Draco sighed and looked around. It wasn’t what he had expected from Harry at all; it was actually quite tasteful. Far too light in Draco’s opinion, but when he got his new wand he could fix the horrible egg-white on the walls. The furniture, however, was made of a dark wood, probably ebony. It reminded Draco of his old wand that they’d snapped when he was arrested.
He ran his fingertips over the wood and sighed, moving his hand to touch the soft silk sheets. It had been such a long time he’d slept underneath silk sheets. He used to pretend to feel the soft, divine feeling of silk when he was still in the brothel. It was funny that he missed the small details of his home, rather than the big ones. He didn’t miss his gigantic bed, or any of his luxuries, just the small things that screamed ‘home’ to him.
Silently and still swimming in memories, he stripped, throwing the dirty clothes in a pile beside the bed. When he was finished he walked to the bathroom, feeling the soft polished wooden floor beneath his feet. The floors in the brothel had often given him splinters, so he had rarely taken off his shoes there.
He turned the tap and waited a few seconds for the warm water to come flowing out. Ever since he’d been in the brothel, he'd been disgusted by the idea of taking a bath. When he'd been lying in the bath on his first night in the brothel, it had suddenly occurred to him that he was lying in his own fluids. His and his customers' body fluids. Taking a bath was fine, in Draco’s opinion, as long as one were fairly clean yourself.
So he took showers, lots of showers, but he couldn’t push the feeling of being dirty away. It didn’t wash away the feeling of being spent. Even now that he was finally free; he couldn’t wash the pain or the shame away. He'd imagined this to be so different; he hadn’t imagined feeling so used up. As if he’d given everything he was away, and now there was nothing left for himself.
His fingernails dug into his skin. Desperately he tried to scratch the imaginary filthy away. His arms were now covered with red marks as he fell to his knees, sobbing violently. Anger surfaced like bubbles inside of him, bringing up a part in him that had been silent before. It made him curl his fingers into fists. He slammed his fists against the tiles, until he gave into his tiredness and used his hands to stifle his sobs.
Harry waited for more than an hour, before deciding he had better check on Draco. With a cup of tea in his hand he slowly walked to the guestroom he’d given to Draco and listened at the door. When he didn’t hear anything, he hesitantly pushed the door open and peeked inside. He saw a figure lying in the bed and stepped inside to take a closer look.
There he was, Draco Malfoy, sleeping soundly in the big four poster. His blond hair was covering most of the pillow; the way it curled reminded Harry of flowing water. In school, Draco used to paste his hair to his skull and when he was working in the brothel his hair was greasy and damp with sweat and other liquids Harry didn’t want to think about, but now… Now it looked soft and slightly darker because it was still a bit wet. Harry wanted to touch it and wrap the curls around his fingers.
Harry looked away from Draco’s hair, desperate to find something else to fix his attention on. He noticed that there was one sheet covering the blond’s lower body, allowing him to clearly see the curve Draco’s back made. Harry put the cup on the dresser and moved closer.
He was terrified he’d wake Draco up, but he couldn’t walk away. Never had Harry thought about Draco Malfoy as beautiful, but now he couldn’t believe he had ever thought otherwise. This morning he had looked so smug and arrogantly wasted, but now… he looked like an angel, fallen from the skies right into the bed.
The expression on Draco’s face was partly hidden by a pillow, but Harry could see it was peaceful. A ghostly smile played on his lips. Then he noticed the red scratch marks on the man’s arm. When he looked closer he saw that some of them were still bleeding slightly. Harry sucked in a breath as he realized that this was Draco’s own doing and not a sick depravity of one of his clients.
He took his wand and cast a quick healing spell. Draco reacted slightly to the spell; a small smile appeared on his lips but faded away almost immediately. The blond man stirred, and groaned softly.
Harry could probably watch the man until he woke up, but he managed to tear his eyes away from the beautiful scene in front of him. Hastily he exited the room and dashed into his own room. In a state of half shock, brought on by these new feelings for his old adversary, he spent the rest of the morning watching the dark clouds blending together in the sky outside his window.
------
Reviews will be very much appreciated.
Summary: Because of his father Draco Malfoy now spends his days in a brothel, until an unexpected customer comes to visit him. Harry/Draco.
Genre: Drama
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Words: 4.196
Special Thanks to: TwoTwenty & Tracy_Loo_Who
It is hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head.
Sally Kempton
Sucker love is heaven sent.
You pucker up, our passion's spent.
My hearts a tart, your body's rent.
My body's broken, yours is bent.
Placebo ♥
Passion Spent
He inhaled deeply, sucking as much oxygen into his body as possible. They came, laughed and now they’d left; finally leaving him alone again. It still wasn't easy, but it was becoming almost bearable to deal with the humiliation every week.
Although he dreaded each new day to come, he didn’t give up. One day he would have himself back, one day his body would be his again. Images flashed through his head, some of them he could barely remember. Yet each one had left its mark. Some left Scars, some bruises and some even left him with a broken bone or two. It was nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Nothing that couldn’t be hidden. His skin was always flawlessly white and fragile.
He looked out of the window again, staring into space. He tried not to look at the people who were passing him by. He was scared to recognize and to be recognized. Customers found him intriguing and mysterious, he found them perverts and felt like biting off their dicks. He hated every man that came to ‘visit’ him with passion. He hated the people behind the glass even more. They would stare at him, with lust or disgust. Every now and then he would be recognized and there would be pity or laughter. He despised both reactions; he did not need pity and could not stand to be laughed at.
Every Friday night the whole Gryffindor gang would come by, presumably on their way to some nightclub. They would shout and make gestures at him, eventually becoming bored once they’d taken their pound of flesh. Draco couldn’t hear the words through the thick glass. He didn’t need to, the looks of hatred on their faces said more than words ever could. It repeated itself every week and Draco hated it. He hated them. Every Friday night he silently swore that he would have his revenge.
There was a soft knock on the door that made Draco sigh. It was probably Mr. Pathetically-small-dick again, who was always shy. Draco had nicknames for almost all his loyal customers, he couldn’t bother to remember their real names and sometimes the nicknames he made up made him smile.
“Come in,” he called, Running his fingers through his hair.
The door opened slowly, now that wasn’t like Mr. Pathetically-small-dick. Mr. Pathetically-small-dick normally rushed in, only to rush out 5 minutes later. The person in the doorway seemed to be hesitating. Draco couldn’t identify the man, and leaned to the left to get a better view.
“You can come in now,” he called again, this time in a somewhat sweeter voice.
This seemed to help as the man finally moved into the room. Draco’s fake sweet smile fell when he saw his new costumer. Utter horror was written all over his face. Standing before him was none other than Harry Potter, savior of the bloody world.
“It’s not what you think.” The dark haired man said quickly, extremely uncomfortable.
Draco, realizing he was gawping, shut his mouth and sent Harry a glare.
“I’ve come to tell you that I got you out of here.” Harry explained quickly.
At this Draco’s eyes widened dramatically. “What? You must be kidding me.” he said, utterly stunned. “Why in Merlin’s name would you of all people want to get me out of here?”
“I paid the money you still owe that man at the front; you’re free,” Harry continued, completely ignoring Draco’s questions.
This surprised Draco even more; he was tempted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. “Potter, I still owe that man over one million galleons.” Draco said, beginning to think that Harry might have lost his marbles.
“Well, not anymore.” Harry declared, almost happily.
“Potter, you must be drunk. Are you drunk? Have you been using drugs?” Draco asked, getting up from where he was sitting in front of the window and moving closer. Harry shifted nervously as he moved close enough to sniff the man’s breath.
“Don’t be stupid, of course I haven’t.” Harry said angrily. When he realized what Draco was doing, he immediately moved backward.
“Then why did you do this for me?” Draco asked, getting angry himself. Although he didn’t know why he was getting angry, the dark haired man just had that effect on him.
“Well, because I ran out of charities to give my money to,” Harry shrugged, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to help out ones arch enemy. “Merlin, can’t you just be thankful this once?”
“I don’t want your pity and I certainly don’t want to be some charity of yours you brag about,” Draco sneered, disgusted by the mere thought of being saved by the savior of the wizarding world.
“Well, the money is paid. What you do is up to you, you can walk away or you can stay here. Although I can’t imagine you’re enjoying yourself in this godforsaken place,” Harry glared, throwing up his arms in anger. His eyes flashed around the room, nose wrinkled in disgust.
Of course the room wasn’t anything like the rooms Draco was accustomed to. The room was dark and the lights were red. There was one big bed in the middle of the room, a wardrobe for all the work requisites. A walk in wardrobe for the little clothes he owned and a nasty old bathroom. Draco did like the bath, because it was so old, but never used it. It had little lions’ paws and wasn’t built in like all the other baths these days. When Draco wasn’t working, he spent all his time in the bathroom. It was the only room in the whole place that didn’t smell like sex. He hated the smell of his room, especially after the sweaty Mr. Wobbly-tits had paid him a visit.
“Don’t be so mentally deficient and tell me what this is really about,” Draco spat, knowing for sure that Harry was hiding something. The man’s eyes were avoiding his.
“I already told you what this is about!” Harry answered, his eyes widening a bit when he spotted a big bowl of condoms next to the bed.
“Well, I don’t believe you. Last time I checked, you and your pathetic little friends were telling me I had myself to thank for all this,” Draco argued. He followed Harry’s gaze towards the bowl and rolled his eyes. ‘Bloody prudish Gryffindors.’
“Alright! Fine, I found out it was my fault and felt guilty,” Harry exclaimed.
Draco frowned. ‘What in heavens name is the man talking about’. “Potter, you will have to explain that to me. Because I fail to see how this could be your fault, as much as I would like to blame you.”
“When I learned that it was your father’s perverted little fantasies with boys that put you here, I was reminded of the fact that I put your father in Azkaban. When he broke free I killed him, before he could make things right. So-” Harry rambled, his cheeks flushed.
“Oh, bloody hell. Potter, would you just stop it? If you think like that everything is your fault!” Draco said, beyond irritated. “My father wouldn’t have made things right. He was so caught up with pleasing Voldemort that the contract he signed here was completely forgotten by that time. It was his fault; he donated almost all our money to Voldemort’s little projects.”
“You don’t speak very highly of your father anymore. You used to adore him.” Harry noted.
“My God, Potter. What do you expect? What would you think if your father signed a contract that clearly stated ‘If you fail to pay your debt, your son will be paying it for you by selling himself until the debt is paid’?” Draco whispered harshly, getting upset.
“Maybe he thought it would never come to that,” Harry offered.
Draco let out a sigh and sat down on the edge of his bed. “Let’s hope he did, I wouldn’t like to think he knew this was going to happen to me.” Then he snorted, “You know, I should have seen this coming. Even my boyfriends seemed to always mysteriously end up in his bed,”
“I can’t believe the Ministry approved of this,” Harry said. He was still standing in the middle of the room, looking as if he truly believed he could get some contagious disease if he touched something.
“It was a wizard contract. I had a choice, either this or die. I tried to get out of it, but it wasn’t as if the Ministry was jumping to help me. In their eyes I probably deserved it.” Draco said, more to himself than to Harry. He was staring to his feet, looking as if he was thinking back in time.
“Well, you’re free now.” Harry said, as if that solved everything, and maybe it did.
That, however, snapped Draco out of his trance. “No, Potter, I won’t have it. I don’t want to owe you.”
“You won’t owe me. It’s already done. You’re free to go, or free to stay. It’s up to you, but if you go you’re coming with me first. You look awful; we need to get you checked too and…” Harry was once again in his babbling mode
“Potter! Stop it,” Draco growled. “I want you to take that money back and get the hell out of here. I don’t need your pity or your care.”
“But you need help and I’m not going to take it back, so you do whatever you please. Here’s my address and my floo-address. I’ll see you… When I see you,” With that he apparated out of the building and was gone.
Draco stared at the little piece of parchment in his hand, that had Harry’s address scribbled, on it. He growled and looked around his room, white with anger. How dare Harry Potter barge into his life and save him against his will? It was just unheard of, unacceptable in his eyes.
He let out a frustrated groan and stamped his foot childishly out of frustration.
“Mr. Bugwelt is having a fuckin’ fit downstairs; he’s fuckin’ screaming and fuckin’ trashing the place because you’re leaving.” A boy, barely 14 years old, named Harold stepped into his room. He had a thick accent and liked to say ‘fuck’ a lot.
“He can throw as many fits as he likes, I’m out of here,” replied Draco coldly. Oh how he hated that boy, how he hated everyone in this brothel.
“You might want to hide for a bit. You know how fond he is of you. He always says you’re his fuckin’ pearl.” Harold continued babbling, he reminded Draco of the mudblood Creevy brothers, although they would never say ‘fuck’.
“And that is not something I’m taking pride in, Harold. Nor am I going to hide for that bastard, I am Draco Malfoy and from now on I will do whatever I damn well please.” Draco said haughtily, suddenly overwhelmed by the sense of freedom.
“But you don’t have any money, maybe you should work here a bit longer just-“
“Oh stuff it, Harold,” Draco interrupted. “It’s not going to work. Now would you just get out of my face and let me get out of here.”
“Well, fine. I never liked you anyways.” Harold said, crossing his arms over his chest and sending him a glare.
Draco rolled his eyes, “Likewise, now sod off. I need to pack my things,”
The boy huffed but left all the same.
Draco's things were quickly packed. He didn't own much he wanted to take: a few trousers, a few t-shirts, and two decent robes. All his work-clothes were piled up on his bed and Draco wondered what to do with them. He certainly didn’t want to take them with him and had the urge to throw them in the fire. But knowing that he wouldn’t get away with the smell of burned leather, he decided to his leave them there as a present for whoever was next to occupy the room.
Draco looked around the room one more time. “Adieu, Chambre de douleur infernal,” he muttered softly. Unknown emotions washed over him, while he desperately tried to gain control over them. ‘This is not the time to start acting like a Hufflepuff.’
He could hear the muffled commotion from downstairs through his door. He took a big breath and braced himself for a grand exit to freedom. It still felt a bit surreal that he was finally free to leave, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from getting the hell out of here.
Harry sat at his kitchen table quietly, eating his tomato soup. Two full days had passed since he had bailed Draco out. He hadn't told any of his friends yet and wasn’t planning on telling them anytime soon, either. Unless it was absolutely necessary to do otherwise, he would keep it to himself. He knew how they would react, and didn’t feel like provoking that reaction.
They thought Draco deserved it, that it was his own fault he ended up there. Even though they all knew what Lucius had done to his son, it didn’t change their minds. Not all of them dared to voice their opinion, but Harry had seen it in their eyes. The pure hatred they felt to anything that was, or once was, ‘dark’.
He wondered how it could be that their worlds remained so black and white, while his had turned so grey. After everything that happened during the war, he realized that nothing was black or white, good or bad, light or dark; everything was and had always been grey. Hermione was probably the only one of his friends who shared this opinion. For some reason, although they’d never talked about it, he had a feeling that Sirius knew this too.
Draco Malfoy had been accused of being a Death Eater just after the war. He’d spent about a month in Azkaban, but because there was no evidence they had to let him go. He disappeared from the face of the earth for a couple of weeks, until that one night. They were headed towards a nightclub and there he was standing behind the glass. In no time everybody was talking about it, and they kept talking about it every following Friday night.
Harry couldn’t bring himself to laugh, or to make jokes. He just watched, every Friday night, how well Draco Malfoy could hide his shame behind several masks. Then one night Hermione told them what she’d heard at the Ministry, how Draco Malfoy really ended up there and how the Ministry had refused to help him.
From that moment on, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it. He tried to grasp the concept of the utter humiliation Draco was going through, of being out of control and of giving himself to unknown men. By the next Friday Harry’s conscious had made up his mind for him. Draco Malfoy could not stay there; no one deserved what Draco was going through. The feeling of guilt and pity gave him the courage to actually execute his plan.
Now, his nights were filled with worry. He knew Draco had too much pride to actually come to him, but he still couldn’t push away the feeling. He knew he shouldn’t care, he knew he had done everything he could. He knew it was up to Draco now, but it didn’t seem to help to know all this. He didn’t want to leave his house, afraid Draco would come while he was absent. At the same time he wanted to go and look for Draco and drag him home.
He poured himself another glass of wine and dumped his dishes in the sink. He spent the rest of the evening watching a movie, or rather, watching the screen, because when the movie was over he had absolutely no idea what he had just seen. Drowsy due to the many glasses of wine he consumed that evening, he collapsed on his bed and let sleep take over.
The next morning found Harry nursing a painful headache. The bright sun had no respect for a wizard’s hangover. He rolled out of the bed and made his way to the potion cupboard in his bathroom with some difficulty. Luckily found the hangover potion he was looking for almost immediately. His mind cleared slowly and head ache disappeared within minutes. Carefully he opened his eyes and blinked a few times; happy with the results he stepped into the shower.
As he turned off the water he heard something, or rather someone, banging loudly on his front door. With a towel secured around his waist, he quickly made his way downstairs and opened the front door.
“Thank Merlin! What took you so bloody long?” Draco Malfoy marched into his house, looking awfully tired and dirty.
“I just got out of the shower,” Harry explained, closing the door while Draco was looking around his hall.
“Right. First thing’s first. Potter, this is not because I need your help. This is because I really want a shower and some sleep. It’s bloody cold outside and I won’t be able to get a proper job if I smell like this.”
Harry suppressed a relieved smile and nodded. “Yes, right. Of course, well err… the shower is upstairs and so is a bed.” He stuttered, not quite sure what to say. “Just follow me.”
Draco nodded and followed Harry up the stairs. “Quite the manor you’ve got here,” he commented.
“Thanks,”
“Why aren’t you living in London? Where you used to live,” Draco asked.
Harry turned around so abruptly, that Draco almost bumped into him. “How do you know where I used to live?”
“Customers tend to babble a lot,” Draco shrugged, “so why did you buy this gigantic place?”
“Too many memories,” Harry explained, turning back around and continuing his way up the stairs. He hoped Draco would get the message and not ask any further. Luckily he didn’t and followed him silently towards one of the guestrooms.
“Towels and anything else you might need are in that dresser,” Harry said, pointing to the dark wooden dresser that was standing in the corner of the large bedroom. “When Ron stays over he always forgets to bring half of his stuff, so I always make sure to have everything he might forget.” He turned around to see the disgusted look on Draco’s face. “Oh for heaven’s sake, it’s either clean or new. Don’t be such a baby.”
“I-“ Draco began to defend himself, but Harry wouldn’t let him.
“The en-suite bathroom is through that door, not the one next to it, that’s a wardrobe. I’m going to make us some breakfast. It will be done in about half an hour, so take a shower and I’ll see you downstairs when you’re done. Alright? Great.” Harry exited the room in quite a rush, obviously uncomfortable.
Draco sighed and looked around. It wasn’t what he had expected from Harry at all; it was actually quite tasteful. Far too light in Draco’s opinion, but when he got his new wand he could fix the horrible egg-white on the walls. The furniture, however, was made of a dark wood, probably ebony. It reminded Draco of his old wand that they’d snapped when he was arrested.
He ran his fingertips over the wood and sighed, moving his hand to touch the soft silk sheets. It had been such a long time he’d slept underneath silk sheets. He used to pretend to feel the soft, divine feeling of silk when he was still in the brothel. It was funny that he missed the small details of his home, rather than the big ones. He didn’t miss his gigantic bed, or any of his luxuries, just the small things that screamed ‘home’ to him.
Silently and still swimming in memories, he stripped, throwing the dirty clothes in a pile beside the bed. When he was finished he walked to the bathroom, feeling the soft polished wooden floor beneath his feet. The floors in the brothel had often given him splinters, so he had rarely taken off his shoes there.
He turned the tap and waited a few seconds for the warm water to come flowing out. Ever since he’d been in the brothel, he'd been disgusted by the idea of taking a bath. When he'd been lying in the bath on his first night in the brothel, it had suddenly occurred to him that he was lying in his own fluids. His and his customers' body fluids. Taking a bath was fine, in Draco’s opinion, as long as one were fairly clean yourself.
So he took showers, lots of showers, but he couldn’t push the feeling of being dirty away. It didn’t wash away the feeling of being spent. Even now that he was finally free; he couldn’t wash the pain or the shame away. He'd imagined this to be so different; he hadn’t imagined feeling so used up. As if he’d given everything he was away, and now there was nothing left for himself.
His fingernails dug into his skin. Desperately he tried to scratch the imaginary filthy away. His arms were now covered with red marks as he fell to his knees, sobbing violently. Anger surfaced like bubbles inside of him, bringing up a part in him that had been silent before. It made him curl his fingers into fists. He slammed his fists against the tiles, until he gave into his tiredness and used his hands to stifle his sobs.
Harry waited for more than an hour, before deciding he had better check on Draco. With a cup of tea in his hand he slowly walked to the guestroom he’d given to Draco and listened at the door. When he didn’t hear anything, he hesitantly pushed the door open and peeked inside. He saw a figure lying in the bed and stepped inside to take a closer look.
There he was, Draco Malfoy, sleeping soundly in the big four poster. His blond hair was covering most of the pillow; the way it curled reminded Harry of flowing water. In school, Draco used to paste his hair to his skull and when he was working in the brothel his hair was greasy and damp with sweat and other liquids Harry didn’t want to think about, but now… Now it looked soft and slightly darker because it was still a bit wet. Harry wanted to touch it and wrap the curls around his fingers.
Harry looked away from Draco’s hair, desperate to find something else to fix his attention on. He noticed that there was one sheet covering the blond’s lower body, allowing him to clearly see the curve Draco’s back made. Harry put the cup on the dresser and moved closer.
He was terrified he’d wake Draco up, but he couldn’t walk away. Never had Harry thought about Draco Malfoy as beautiful, but now he couldn’t believe he had ever thought otherwise. This morning he had looked so smug and arrogantly wasted, but now… he looked like an angel, fallen from the skies right into the bed.
The expression on Draco’s face was partly hidden by a pillow, but Harry could see it was peaceful. A ghostly smile played on his lips. Then he noticed the red scratch marks on the man’s arm. When he looked closer he saw that some of them were still bleeding slightly. Harry sucked in a breath as he realized that this was Draco’s own doing and not a sick depravity of one of his clients.
He took his wand and cast a quick healing spell. Draco reacted slightly to the spell; a small smile appeared on his lips but faded away almost immediately. The blond man stirred, and groaned softly.
Harry could probably watch the man until he woke up, but he managed to tear his eyes away from the beautiful scene in front of him. Hastily he exited the room and dashed into his own room. In a state of half shock, brought on by these new feelings for his old adversary, he spent the rest of the morning watching the dark clouds blending together in the sky outside his window.
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