Big 2 by derryere [NC-17]
Exchange Story for leeharding123
Title: Big
Author: derryere
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Sex 'n DRUGS 'n ROCK AND-- I mean, language.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Author Notes/Beta Credits: Okay, a HUGE HONKIN' shout out to sandi_wandi who beta'd this on a supersuper short notice and did an amazing job (Otherwise you'd all be reading about drug dealing squids right now) aaand saved my buttkes. AND!! To yuying_luo, my non-stop support system.
Summary: When it rains, it pours. When you're Draco Malfoy, it's a fucking monsoon.
MOON NIGHTS
When things hit rock bottom
It was a shame the night sky was so clear around this part of town of all the districts, really. That the heavy mid-summer clouds foreshadowing rain and thunder and other pleasantries decided to drift apart and proudly reveal a beautifully pregnant moon and its child stars exactly there where no head could be arsed to turn upwards, where the only faces that did were half unconscious and half in the gutter beneath the dark heavens.
Draco roared. Roared again and kicked a lantern, regretted kicking it and roared even louder. But his anger was short-lived considering the amounts he was lashing it out with, and it slowly began to tip over into nausea. The contracting of his muscles as he gripped and clutched everything within arm’s length - ready to tear it to pieces - subdued into a lazy hum in the back of his head and all of a sudden he couldn’t exactly remember what that thing he was supposed to do in order to stay on his feet. Wavering a little, he drunkenly threw his arms around the lantern in an attempt to keep himself up. Which was rather amusing, he thought, because he wasn’t drunk at all.
‘We can fix that,’ his mind vaguely remarked as he slid to the ground, landing messily in a puddle of water.
“Oh look!” he called to no one in particular, pointing up at the sky, lying on his back as he did. “Full moon.”
A cough from a distant street and the distinct sound of someone rummaging through garbage bins was all the reply he got.
Draco snarled, letting his arm drop back down. “I hate the moon,” he mumbled, lifting himself back up on his elbows. “Too ugly. Looks like a spotted arse,” then he spat at the sky, staggering to his feet. “Too big, anyway.”
‘No time for thoughts!’ his mind yelled at him. ‘Decisions, man! Decisions NOW!’
Agreeing with himself, Draco straightened up, inspecting his surroundings properly for the first time. He drifted off quite a bit, but he could still vaguely recognize these streets. On the other side of the road was a bus station pole - numbers 42, 17, and 93. He drove through here before, never stepped out though. The clacking of heels farther down the street drew his attention just in time to see a woman of the night disappear into a dark alley.
‘For a bloody solid reason I never stepped out here, I say.’
Not that he was any better now. The muddy back of his jacket and dirty streaks of dust and sweat across his face - well, it didn’t do wonders to his credibility at the moment. His loud sigh came as a surprise, and he numbly realised it was because it was dead silent; the heels stopped walking. He frowned, idly wondering why a woman would go and just sit in a dark alley like that. An answer wasn’t that hard to think of around here, nor was it pleasant. It was only as he took a few steps in that direction when he noticed the blinking neon-light sign of a bar jutting out of the wall. It was peculiar, for a place of profit to be hidden in a deserted alcove like that, only noticed by those who were looking for it.
It is the devil who prefers regular trouble to unexpected.
Draco frowned, unable to recall who it was he once heard say those words. He shrugged it off quickly though; it could’ve been anyone these days. People had developed an annoying sense of useless angst lately that grated his nerves endlessly.
‘DECISIONS!’ his mind cried once more, disliking the fact that standing around pointlessly was all Draco seemed to be doing. Now of all times!
With a low growl he pulled his jacket closed, determinately walking towards the dark alley. His hand reached towards the doorknob leading into the bar, but hesitated. Licking his lips nervously he pressed an ear to the door - the muffled humming of low voices talking animatedly calmed him down a bit. As long as there was no public screaming, Draco figured he was safe… as safe as it got, that is.
He pushed open the door, walking inside with a lot of excessive, pompous confidence. It was a pity no one paid him attention; he was putting on quite a show. At first sight it looked like a normal bar, this one, and Draco assumed it most probably was. A few groups of elderly men sat at the number tables scattered about, most of them playing cards, some asleep - hand protectively clutching on to their glass like a child to its teddy bear. At the bar itself he found the heel-woman sitting, talking quietly to the barman.
Draco ran a hand through his hair, combing out any remaining clutters of mud. Advancing the counter as nonchalantly as he could, he then slid down on a stool next to the heel-woman. Neither her nor the barman seemed to notice him at all, and it took a few lethal glares and a cold ‘Ahem!’ before the barman lazily excused himself from the conversation, turning to Draco with a forced grin.
“Can I help you, Sir?”
“Yes…” Draco replied, drawling it out as though it was of great importance. The man raised his eyebrows.
“I have made a decision,” he told him, leaning into the bar.
The barman looked amused. “Did you really?”
“Yes,” Draco nodded. “I have decided to get insanely drunk. You think you can help me with that, Sir?”
For a moment Draco thought the man recognized him, his eyes were narrowed and Draco was sure he saw him glancing down at his forearm. He was then convinced the barman was going to ask him to leave, but after a moment of silence he managed a ghost of a smile. “Good decision,” the man said, fishing a small glass from under the counter, pouring Draco an unfamiliar substance. It smelled awfully, like muggle. Oh hell, who cared at this stage anymore, anyway? He downed it quickly, knocking on the table as he did because shit - muggles must make decisions like his all the time around here, for them to be selling this kind of crap by the litre.
“ ‘Nother one!” he peeped, his mouth still dry and eyes watery from the last glass. The barman shrugged, and filled the glass again. As he made to put the bottle back Draco grabbed his arm, shaking his head. “No,” he said. “Leave the bottle.” The man gave him a half-hearted nod as if to say, ‘suit yourself’, and let the bottle stay put. Rather cheerfully Draco knocked down another glass, following it with choked, throaty noises that certainly did not compliment his masculinity. After the forth glass the barman appeared to have had his share of the show, and slid into the back while shaking his head. Draco ignored this and turned to the heel-woman to his right, who seemed to be extremely preoccupied by the magazine before her.
“Hi,” he grinned at her, somewhere between his sixth and seventh shot; he didn’t bother himself with counting. The lady didn’t look up, so Draco assumed she didn’t hear him. “HI!” he nearly shouted next to her ear.
Slowly the lady looked up from her magazine. “What?” she spat in his face, making him pull back a little.
Draco blinked with difficulty. He hadn’t thought this far into the conversation. “I saw you go in here,” he tried, nodding knowingly. It didn’t seem to work though, and she was once again looking down, flipping through the pages.
After rewarding his effort with another glass, Draco turned to observe her again. “You’re very pretty, you know that?” he started, reaching to touch her bleached hair. “For a muggle, that is.”
Annoyed, she swatted away his hand, closing her magazine dramatically. “Look, kid, I’m on my break here, all right?”
“Yeah,” he nodded in agreement, leaning closer to her as though he was about to say something really important, whispering, “But I’m a wizard!”
She chuckled. “That’s a new one.” Looking him over once, noting the mud sticking to his clothes, she added, “What next? Your wand needs mending?”
Draco frowned, considering her words seriously. “No,” he said earnestly, quickly reaching into his jacket and pulling out his wand and to show her. “Nothing wrong with my wand.”
The woman seemed a little disturbed by that. He tucked it away, then slowly shook her head. “No…” she stretched the word as far as she could, eyeing him suspiciously. “Yeah, I’m going to leave now.”
“WAIT!” he exclaimed, confused as she hopped off the stool. “I’ll pay ya’ fifty Galleons!”
The woman paused, looking at him pitifully. “Look, you’re crazy,” she told him. “And I’m on my break.”
“I’ll double the price!” he blurted, holding up two fingers. Looking at them he suddenly realised there were four, so he took down two. To his dismay and surprise, no fingers were left. He shrugged it off, deciding to return to that another time. But the woman, on the other hand, seemed to reconsider his offer.
“So you’ve got money?” she asked, sucking on her cheeks.
“PHUAH!” He made a wide gesture, digging into another pocket of his jacket, revealing a leather pouch. Proudly, he spilled its content on the counter, wiggling his eyebrows at her. Wide-eyed, the woman stepped forwards, reaching for one of the strange shaped coins.
“What the fuck is this?” she whispered, letting it fall back onto the pile.
A little offended, Draco looked from his money to her. “What d’you THINK it is?” he retorted. “Wizard money, of course!”
That seemed to do it, though. With a disgusted noise the woman turned on her heel, storming out of the bar, her heels clacking loudly on the wooden floor. To this a few heads turned around, observing Draco questioning.
“Going to tell her friends about me!” he cheered loudly for everyone to hear, nodding at the door where the woman had just disappeared. Mumbling about stupidity, the men returned to their game and Draco to his drink, carefully putting his coins back in his pouch, one by one - as though they needed comforting after being so badly insulted.
GOOD ADVICE, BAD ADVICE
In which big decisions are made by little men
It was very odd, he thought, for it to be raining at a time like this. The air seemed to drench in humidity, and moving one inch forward was like walking through his mother’s favourite mushroom soup. It sounded weird as well. The droplets were heavy, and clashed loudly on the dying vegetation, the asphalt and garbage cans. If he were to close his eyes, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to distinct the rain from something very large, crushing hundreds of tiny shells. It sounded a bit like that, you see.
If he hadn’t anything else to think of right now, he would probably tell himself it were some sort of a sign. An apocalypse-like sign, telling him to run while he could. To run like hell, like he should’ve many time before.
But he never did run. And the peculiar thing was, it had so little to do with heroic tendencies. And so much more with being very scared, and very gutless and very proud. Immensely proud, really. There was nothing in this world bigger than his pride.
Draco blinked, trying to look up through the rain. There was nothing indicating all was about to clear up soon; it was a cloudy night, and even in the dark he could distinguish the grey clouds shifting about the London sky. Farther down the street a couple of birds flew around, up and down at a great speed making loud noises as if they were having the time of their lives. Draco scowled; here he was, getting himself very much killed, and all two bloody birds no less than a yard from him could think about was sex.
He would very much have liked to think about sex right now. Hot, hard, sweaty screaming-it-out kind of sex. On a bed, or on the floor - even a table was good in his book, really. Anything. Just not this. Anything but this!
He elbowed the boy next to him. “How long is it going to take?”
“I dunno, Malfoy. He said it might take a while, you know that,” Thompson replied, showing him the coin. “You can hold it yourself if you’re that antsy.”
Draco took it, hands a little shaky from anticipation, and turned it over a few times. Nothing yet. The rim was still empty. Personally, Draco thought he should always be in charge of their coin. After all, he was the one who introduced the idea! He didn’t do many things right any more, but that certainly was a smart move. He’d even heard stories about how out of paranoia, anyone who walked around the Order with a coin in his of her pocket these days were immediately thrown out, no questions about it. Draco still smiled at the thought. Imagine that, all thanks to him!
He looked up again, and groaned quietly. His robes were already soaked, and although it did wonders to the deliberately made rips and fake bloodstains, it didn’t exactly make him feel that great. It was warm, and he had barely moved from his crouching position behind the low stone wall for over a half an hour. His knees hurt and he had trouble breathing, and honestly? He was kind of having second thoughts.
“Can’t we just go back inside?” he whispered. “It’s raining anyway, they won’t know. We just go back in, wait for it to stop, and come back. Like nothing ever happened.”
But Thompson didn’t seem to agree. Roughly, he grabbed Draco by the collar, his face close to his ear as he spoke. “You’re staying right here, Malfoy. You get that? One move and you ruin the whole plan.” Draco pushed him off, straightening his collar with a hateful glare as Thompson added quietly, “wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Whatever,” mumbled Draco, trying to move as far away from his partner as the small space would let him.
Thompson was older than Draco. He didn’t know by how many years, because the boy wouldn’t exactly talk about it, but Draco guessed he couldn’t be older than twenty-five, perhaps twenty-six, tops. He wasn’t the smartest person, or the most talented or well-bred but hell, did he have the spirit to compromise. At the beginning he got very annoyed by the way Draco pronounced his name, for some reason, and insisted to be addressed as T-bone. The whole name-changing idea amused Draco greatly, but he quickly found out Thompson was dead serious, and didn’t prefer to be called ‘Timmy boy’. They finally settled for Tom, and the peace more or less returned to number 15, Grimmauld Place, London.
It had been well over a month since they moved into the old house. Before he’d even seen the place, or even knew the details of the plan, Draco was absolutely in the clouds. He’d messed up before, but getting a chance like this after everything…it was all he ever wanted, really. The acknowledgement he was able to control things. Because if he could do this, if he was allowed on the field again, who knows what his Lordship would ask of him to do next?
He bragged about it quite a lot, and to so many people. If they could only see him now, fuck. The house, in his mind a modern little castle with all the equipment and material needed for him to complete the task, was the most disgusting place he’d ever set foot in. The pipes were rusty, and if you opened a tap in the kitchen, someone in the bathroom died. Under the wood of the floor colonies of cockroaches and rancid animals lived, crawling to surface only at night time. The roof leaked and there was no furniture, the stairs were as lethal as the bathroom and in all honesty - he was surprised he and Thompson had survived it thus far. Headquarters of Secret Operation 36, they called it at meetings.
Draco bet they were all having a real laugh there, putting him through all of this on purpose.
It was horribly embarrassing as well, going to the meetings at first considering it took two whole weeks before anyone emerged from the bloody house across the street. Or more likely, the empty space across the street. Number 12, number 12! Thompson told him where to direct his binoculars over and over again. THERE IS NO FUCKING NUMBER TWELVE! Draco screamed back for what must’ve been the nth time. They explained though, about how they weren’t supposed to see the house. All THEY had to do was wait. Wait, and wait, and watch closely. Wait for some idiot to appear out of nowhere, and disappear into nowhere. And that’s all the bastards did, really. And they weren’t even to be attacked! Even when those sordid Weasley people appeared, Draco wasn’t to touch a hair.
Write it down, write down the time, Malfoy! His partner reminded him, shaking his shoulders while Draco was concentrating on not going for his wand. YOU write the sordid time, Tom. Seems to get you off, so go ahead! TASK IS ALL YOURS!
But now they were done. So close to getting out of that hole, so close to recognition, so close to a normal bath, holy hell! He missed baths. Charts and diagrams of a month’s work paid off, and by now every young member had the Order’s routine memorized so well they could chant it in their sleep. It was going to be a quick one, they said. Backup was waiting for Draco and Thompson’s cue, ready to take it over from there on. Sure, Draco was planning on staying for the big bam-boom fight and all - but he was perfectly fine with casting a few nasty curses and getting the hell out of there. Going home and having a nice, long, clean bath. Oh, heavens above.
And the rain stopped.
Frowning, Draco looked up as though to make sure nothing was playing any tricks on him. The clouds were slowly packing up, thinning out, but the stars were still invisible to the eye. “Fucking weather,” he mumbled somewhat annoyed. “Weird ass shit”
Tom huffed. Draco turned to him with a quirked brow. “What?” he barked.
“Everyone thinks the weather is strange before a battle,” answered Tom. “You’re not special or anything.”
Draco frowned. “What thefuck are you talking about, Thompson?”
Tom licked his lips, looking around the street as he talked, “You know how when you read reports from great battles and stuff, and they always go on about how weird and strange the weather was? Like… like some omen or something?”
“This is not a battle. It’s barely an attack, you saw our backu-“
“Doesn’t matter,” he cut him off. “Thing is, there’s no such thing. The weather really can’t be arsed as to what we are doing today. Before a fight, you know, everyone always looks for signs like that. Like, they’re afraid they’re doing the wrong thing, so they look for something to tell them they’re supposed to be there. Like this shit, for example.” He pointed to a newly formed puddle on the curb next to them. “Rain in the middle of July. Looks fishy, right? But it’s not. Your mind is just playing tricks on you, Malfoy. You better just keep to the target now.”
Oh yes.
Thompson had a thing for advice.
Advice no one really ever asked for. Ever.
Draco rolled his eyes, having learned it was best not to try and tell the guy how ignorant he was while his fists were still attached to him. He flipped his coin over, once, twice, switched hands, and…
“OH, SHIT!” He grabbed Tom’s sleeve, still looking at the coin. “We have to get out of here!”
Tom groaned in annoyance. “I TOLD you Malfoy, it’s your mind playing-“
“I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE PUDDLE, IDIOT!” Draco shouted, shoving the coin in Tom’s hands. “WE HAVE TO MOVE!”
Draco watched as Tom registered the message on the coin’s rim, and hoped it was a little bit of fear he saw spreading about his face because shit-he sure wasn’t feeling that strongly about this whole thing either.
But when Thompson looked up, whatever it was, was gone. Only determination was seen in his eyes. “What are you waiting for?!” he exclaimed, getting to his feet and dragging Draco up with him. “You heard the man, Malfoy, GO!”
“Right,” Draco said, more to himself than to anyone else. “Okay.”
“THEN GO!”
He was running as fast as he could, even though it was a distance of no more than a yard. He knew these houses from the inside out, knew exactly how the paint hung a little from the windowpane at Nr. 11, how the concrete of the sidewalk before Nr. 13 crumbled off and how you had to be careful walking there-but right now, standing there, in the middle of the street, looking at them almost like a normal passer-by, they just looked different. Much bigger than from his window view.
“HELP!” he shouted, clutching onto a nonexistent wound in his shoulder. “HELP! PLEASE! I NEED HELP!”
Draco fell to his knees, shouting it out in pain. “PLEASE, I KNOW YOU’RE HERE! THEY’RE AFTER ME! POTTER, THEY WANT TO KILL ME!”
You had to give it to him, though, he was rather talented with these kind of shows.
“THEY’LL BE HERE ANY SECOND, PLEASE! I’M INNOCENT!”
It was only a matter of time before they’d buy it, really. Rumours about Draco’s supposed betrayal had long ago been spread by the said boy himself, and their sympathy… well, everyone had an Achilles Heel. With the Order it just happened to be a big, fat, in-your-face kind of heel.
“I-I SWEAR! I… I can’t… keep on… PLEASE! IT HURTS!”
And now one more, Draco, for the finishing touch.
“PLEASE!”
“Stop shouting, Malfoy! STOP SHOUTING! We’re here!”
He knew she’d be there. She always took the evening shift with the older ones.
He counted on it.
Just like he counted on Tom to give the sign, and on the tens of masked figures with curses on the tip of their tongue to appear behind him that very moment.
SAID ROCK BOTTOM
Or something with an escape route, anyway…
Curled up in the large armchair, Draco idly watched the mother cat attend the defenceless little ball of fur. He felt sorry for it in some way, but was also annoyed with the fact it didn’t even try to escape. He’d never allow his mother to treat him like that, honestly - he’d push her away and show her he was big enough to take care of himself.
The cat started bathing her child’s head, making his small hairs stand in a foolish way. Yech. He was glad he wasn’t a cat. The thought of it only! He could take a bath by his own. He could! Yesterday night he even told the house elf to go away when he was having a bath, told her he didn’t need her help getting undressed, or putting enough bubbles in the bath or brushing his teeth. None of that!
And she did. She obeyed, and he was very proud. And he would’ve been so for a very long time if it weren’t for the fact the bubbles wouldn’t come, no matter how much he splashed. And that his left sock wouldn’t come off so he just stepped in the bath with it - and that he couldn’t find his toothbrush and went to bed without having brushed his teeth. But that didn’t matter! Because he’d get better, over time he’d get better and no one needed to know.
Above the fireplace hung his left sock to dry. He had hid it under his mattress when mother came to bid him goodnight. Now he was on the lookout. Because the moment mother would come back from her shopping he’d jump, jump and snatch the sock off the fireplace and hide it in his back pocket. Because really, there was no use in anyone knowing. Especially father.
At that thought Draco straightened up, letting his feet dangle over the edge of the chair. He tried to put his arms on the chair arms, but they were too far apart and he could barely put a hand on each. He looked up. His head barely reached halfway the back of the chair. Draco wished he would grow up faster so that he could sit in the chair like his father could; because when father sat in the chair, it was really very impressive. His feet reached all the way down to the floor, and his arms fit perfectly, his head could easily lean back onto the supportive cushiony padding at the top - but his father would never lean back. He’d sit straight; proud; like a bull or a steam boat, or the butcher’s dog. Only without the sharp teeth and smelly breath.
Draco pulled a serious face at his sock, trying to mimic his father’s expression when pensively looking into the fireplace. He thought he was doing a rather fair job, actually, when light giggling shook him out of it.
“What are you laughing at?” he snapped, turning to the intruder.
“Your face looked stupid,” she said, scrunching her nose.
“Did not!” he protested, then quickly realised that-“what are you doing here?”
The little girl shrugged, taking a seat on the footstool next to the hearth, feet apart, bumping her knees together nervously.
“Are you a house elf?” Draco asked. “You look a little strange for a house elf.”
Her tiny jaw dropped indignantly, showing her two large front teeth - minus a few bottom ones, which probably fell out. Just like Draco’s fell out. He missed one on the upper row, a little to the right - a sharp one, it was! And another three at the bottom, one up front, and two in the back. And he didn’t even cry when they fell out - even though there was loads of blood and he swore he could see his bone. It was wicked. He carried the teeth in his pocket for a week but…mother found out and told him that was disgusting. Too bad, really. He really wanted to see what would’ve happened if he fed them to his frogs.
“I am not an elf of any sort!” she peeped indignantly. “It’s very obvious I’m human, I say!”
“Then you must be a burglar,” concluded he. “Yes, you must.”
“Would you stop that! I am not a burglar!” she cried. “For all I know, you can be the burglar!”
Draco frowned, thinking it over for a moment. “No I can’t,” he suddenly realised. “I can’t be a burglar in my own house! That’s stupid!”
She pouted. “You’re the one who’s stupid. Everyone knows elves don’t exist.”
He balled his hands into fists, and squeezed the best he could. “I’ll show you stupid,” he hissed, squinting his eyes like he saw mother do whenever she was displeased with him. “When father comes home, he’ll show you stupid!”
He could see her stubborn face fall for a moment, but her ugly nose scrunch quickly returned and she squinted her eyes as enthusiastically in return. “Oh yeah? What could he possibly do? I’m a girl. He can’t hurt me.”
“My father doesn’t care about that!” Draco replied loudly, gleeful as she startled. “He’d pick you up by your stupid pigtails-” -she grabbed her braids - “-drag you out the door-!” -her eyes widened - “-swing you around-!” -bit her lip - “-AND FLING YOU OUT OF HERE!”
She let out a small gasp, covering her mouth. Draco smirked.
“Then I’ll make my dad come here,” she retorted upon seeing his satisfied grin. “And my dad will make your dad go to jail.”
Draco pushed himself to the edge of the chair, up to where he nearly fell out. “I’d like to see him try!” he spat. “Until my father will turn him into a frog, of course. I bet he’ll even let me keep him!”
“What?” she cried, honestly surprised, he believed. “No one can turn my dad into a frog! No one can turn anyone into a-!”
“My father can!” interrupted Draco rudely. “My father can do anything! He’s the tallest father on earth!”
The little girl narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” he lied. “He’s… he’s the tallest person ever!” Draco added, hoping that at one point he could simply scare her into silence. “Nothing is taller than my father!”
“That’s ridiculous!” she jumped up, seemingly more insulted than when he threatened her with her life. “There are plenty things taller than your father! There are trees and…and houses and giraffes, loads of things!”
How could she say that? She never even met his father! Good thing, too, because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t like her at all. Draco thoughts his father didn’t like other kids in general most of the time. He didn’t mind, as long as he got gifts on Christmas and on his birthday he knew father still liked him best. And Draco’s gifts were always better than his friends’. No other father could compete his - what was this girl on to?
“ ‘Houses and giraffes and loads of things,’ ” he mimicked her whiny voice, pulling a nasty face to it. “Well, you’re wrong! My father can reach the moon if he wants to.”
And it was true, too. Just last summer, when they all went for an evening stroll on mother’s insistent request, he remembered walking the whole time looking up, fascinated by the full moon. He eventually tripped over a prominent root, of course, and while mother tended his bruised knee he asked father how big the moon was - for a moment afraid it might just fall down on him if he tripped like that again - and father sat next to him, holding his fist to the sky so that it was just covering the moon. He then brought his hand down for Draco to see and said, “See, Draco? It’s not big at all.” Astonished, Draco forgot all about his knee, jumping up and trying to see if he could cover the moon with his hand as well. He was more than a little disappointed when that didn’t work. Imagine how his friends would’ve reacted to him having the moon in his room! “Can you reach it, father?” he asked, looking up at the tallest man ever. His father looked down, almost smiling. “Yes,” he replied with an inclination of the head. “Why don’t you, then?” Draco wanted to know, the idea itself exciting him more than any Christmas or birthday ever did. “Well, Draco, I believe it will upset many people,” the man replied seriously. “And besides, your mother likes it this way.” Draco thought it was the kindest thing he ever heard. If he could’ve just taken the moon down, by Merlin, he would’ve done so ages ago!
“Draco! DRACO!”
Brought out of his reverie, Draco’s attention snapped back to the little girl who was now stamping and jumping about the room in frustration. How does she know my name? He thought curiously, letting himself slide off the armchair, taking a step in her direction to have a closer look at the furious little creature.
He immediately wished he hadn’t.
It wasn’t even a girl! But it wasn’t anything else, either. She, IT, seemed to be… growing. Her stomping legs stretched and grew, her arms lengthened as her shoulders rose and rose and suddenly she was huge, her bushy head almost reaching the ceiling.
Draco staggered backwards, tripping over his own legs - but was too afraid to get up, with her looming over his head. He was positively shaking. What kind of creature was she? He upset her, that must’ve been it. He upset her and now she was going to eat him and no one would ever, ever find his remains. He whined. Who would take care of his frogs? Mother hated the animals!
“Don’t be afraid, Draco,” the giant girl spoke in what could best be described as a soothing voice, considering it nearly boomed throughout the room.
He squeaked, turning around on fours, tucking his head in his hands. All right then, just let her be quick and get it over with. He often saw the cat play with her caught mice before she ate the poor animals and it was a cruel game. Perhaps this creature was hungry, and wouldn’t hurt him much…
“Look at that, a new victim. Don’t get these here that often,” he heard her say, although it made no sense to him whatsoever. He felt a rough nudge at his shoulder, and imagined he was very close to being this beast’s dinner.
“Hey, boy!” There was another nudge, more persistent this time. “Had a hard day, huh?”
The peculiar thing was, her voice seemed to drop an octave with every syllable she spoke…
“HEY, BOY!”
Not really knowing where the voice came from all of a sudden, Draco looked around him with heavy-lidded eyes. It took a moment or two before realising he wasn’t moving his head at all. It took him quite some more effort to turn to the man on his right-hand side, who currently looked like a big blotch of grey.
“Nghmpffm,” he said, trying to push his head from the bar but suddenly finding it immensely heavy, for a head.
The blotch of grey laughed softly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Did you…” Draco tried to speak, but his tongue was dry and rough, and his head hurt enough to distract him from any known grammar. He blinked a few times, brushing the sand out of his eyes, trying to get a little more perspective on things. “Giant…Giant Granger…”
“A what, boy?” said the grey blotch, which was starting to look more and more like a big, bald human in his mid-fifties.
“A girl, giant girl…”
The man smiled at Draco. “So that’s what you were dreaming about. I was wondering, with the noises you were making.”
Carefully not to break it, Draco shook his head. “No… not a dream,” he mumbled, pushing the bottle next to him away at the upcoming nausea. “Nightmare. Definitely a nightmare.”
The man gave a small shrug, contradicting Draco’s move by drinking massively from his foaming pint. “Suit yourself,” he said, not exactly clear on what he was referring to while wiping off his moustache.
“How long was I asleep?” Draco wanted to know, hoping it wasn’t morning yet. He wasn’t ready for morning.
“How should I know?” the man retorted, raising a brow. “Came in here fifteen minutes ago, and you were out of it. Then you started flopping around like a fish, making noises and all. Thought I’d wake you before you hurt anyone.” And then, as an afterthought, “I’m a nice guy.”
Cringing at the man’s loud voice, Draco tried to move away but realised doing such would result in falling out of his stool completely. Instead he tried to go for the still-as-possible approach, hoping the man would shut up on his own account.
But no such thing happened.
“Y’look like shit,” he said when Draco didn’t reply. “Now you, my friend, could really use a fix.”
With a sigh Draco turned to look at the man again. “A fix?” he repeated in question.
“Yeah, you know. Crystals,” he alliterated the word as though it went without saying. Nudging Draco closer he then reached into his pocket inner, taking out a bright orange, small box that looked like something from a toy store. A numb part of Draco’s brain screamed at this, but he remained quiet as the man took off the lid, showing him a few rows of strange balls that vaguely resembled pills.
“It’s new,” he said. “You’ve never had anything like this in your life. Freshly stamped, imported from Iran. Got it from a friend of a friend, was quite pricey. But for you, I’ll make it a hundred for six.” He smiled greasily. “I like you, kid.”
Blinking down at the man’s ware, Draco wasn’t exactly sure how to react. Whether he was supposed to cry or to get very angry at the hopelessness of it all - or perhaps just try to find a way to benefit from it a little, because that too was very plausible.
Instead he chose for a much more direct approach.
“Wha…” The man frowned at him, quickly putting away his box in sudden distress. “What are you laughing about?”
Draco couldn’t possibly reply yet. The few seconds that could’ve been used for speech, he was using to gulp for air. His stomach hurt and his head spun, but it was too funny for him to care. In a way though, it wasn’t funny at all. In a way, it was very sick. But it seemed that with amusement was the best fashion he could look at it at the moment.
All the while, the man next to him was only starting to panic, having no clue as to what the hell was happening.
“You…” Draco breathed, tears in his eyes, not really trying to calm himself down. “You tried to… to sell me…” He gripped the ends of the counter as he felt another fit of giggles coming, (hoping deeply he had the manliest giggle ever), clenching his teeth so he could finish his sentence properly. “You tried to sell me Feezing Whizzbees.” Draco considered these words for a moment, and then added, “You tried to sell me Feezing Whizzbees for a hundred pounds.”
The man’s eyes widened considerably - which was saying a lot, with the beady pair he had on him - although there could be something akin to relief noted in their gleam.
“You’re a wizard,” he whispered to himself in more of a statement than a question.
Draco scowled. He didn’t like the tone on the man, as though he was a delinquent, or something. “I’m sure as hell no squib,” he said, leaning into the bar again. The barman was back again, standing a distance away, eyeing them airily.
“Sorry,” the man mumbled awkwardly, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at his sweaty face with. “It’s been a while, you see,” he continued. “Since I’ve met an actual…you know,” his voice dropped to a mere whisper, “wizard.”
“Really, now?” Draco raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Then I bet those just POPPED into your pocket, right?” he added, gesturing towards the bulge in the man’s jacket.
The man smiled grimly, and pointing towards himself he said, “Squib.” He comforted himself with a gulp of beer before adding, “My brother does me a favour every now and then. Picks me up a few packs whenever he passes in town.” He shook his head. “Poor bloke thinks I can’t get enough of the stuff. Hasn’t a clue…”
At this the post-intoxicated wheels in Draco’s head started turning. Was this guy serious?
“Wait…” he said, frowning blankly ahead for a moment. “Wait, are you saying that muggles actually buy this stuff? For that kind of money?”
The man shrugged. “Small sensations go a long way around here.” With a small inclination of the head he nodded towards the other visitors. “They don’t care if it’s real or not as long as it feels good.”
Draco snorted. He could name more than a few people with whom he’d love to share this information, just to see their expressions as he cackled in their faces. That just shows, muggles. “Idiots,” he said softly.
Making a disapproving sound as he took a sip of his glass, the man quickly made to object. “Don’t underestimate them, boy. The reason they don’t acknowledge it is because that they refuse to. You see, these people, they’re perfectly aware that being ripped off is a part of the business. Necessary, even,” he nodded earnestly. “The whole word ‘crime’ is completely arbitrary, anyway. It’s a convention and just like the law itself a construction to keep the prices higher. What they are paying,” he said, tapping his jacket pocket significantly, “is for the risk the deliverer between two markets is taking. Trias Politicas is just another word for three hands on one belly; the holy three-unit of the business, if you know what I mean. Crime is the heart of a post-war economy, boy.”
Draco took a moment to process these words. Funnily enough, they made more sense to him than anything lately - and they came from a squid. Irony had this nasty habit of crawling up behind him, biting him in the ass like this when he least expected it. The man saw Draco’s pensive expression, and grinned at him approvingly. “Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Being told you’re supposed to break the law?” His grin widened at Draco’s suppressed smirk. “Yeaaah, I thought so too when I got told the same. But I tell you, it’s not that easy as it sounds, boy.” He took a deep breath, turning in his seat so he was facing Draco completely, leaning onto the bar with one arm. “Thing is, you can’t make it too obvious. If you’re over-doing it, they HAVE to put you away. Not because of the law, but because you’re stupid. It’s a theatre, boy, and those who get themselves caught only choose a new role for themselves. Stupidity is punishable.”
With something close to awe, Draco grinned at the man. “You know,” he started, nodding as he did, “I’m glad I met you.”
Loudly laughing at this, the man offered Draco his hand. “Geoff Demey,” he said. “ And it’s nice you meet you too… eh…”
Draco swiftly accepted his hand. “Dr-“ He caught himself quickly, clearing his throat. “Densil,” he declared, shaking Geoff’s hand.
“Densil,” Geoff repeated, trying it out. “Is there a last name to go with that?”
“No,” Draco replied decisively. “Now, tell me some more about that brother of yours…”
Part 3
Thank-you for participating in the Hot Summer Nights with Draco and Hermione fic exchange.
Title: Big
Author: derryere
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Sex 'n DRUGS 'n ROCK AND-- I mean, language.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Author Notes/Beta Credits: Okay, a HUGE HONKIN' shout out to sandi_wandi who beta'd this on a supersuper short notice and did an amazing job (Otherwise you'd all be reading about drug dealing squids right now) aaand saved my buttkes. AND!! To yuying_luo, my non-stop support system.
Summary: When it rains, it pours. When you're Draco Malfoy, it's a fucking monsoon.
MOON NIGHTS
When things hit rock bottom
It was a shame the night sky was so clear around this part of town of all the districts, really. That the heavy mid-summer clouds foreshadowing rain and thunder and other pleasantries decided to drift apart and proudly reveal a beautifully pregnant moon and its child stars exactly there where no head could be arsed to turn upwards, where the only faces that did were half unconscious and half in the gutter beneath the dark heavens.
Draco roared. Roared again and kicked a lantern, regretted kicking it and roared even louder. But his anger was short-lived considering the amounts he was lashing it out with, and it slowly began to tip over into nausea. The contracting of his muscles as he gripped and clutched everything within arm’s length - ready to tear it to pieces - subdued into a lazy hum in the back of his head and all of a sudden he couldn’t exactly remember what that thing he was supposed to do in order to stay on his feet. Wavering a little, he drunkenly threw his arms around the lantern in an attempt to keep himself up. Which was rather amusing, he thought, because he wasn’t drunk at all.
‘We can fix that,’ his mind vaguely remarked as he slid to the ground, landing messily in a puddle of water.
“Oh look!” he called to no one in particular, pointing up at the sky, lying on his back as he did. “Full moon.”
A cough from a distant street and the distinct sound of someone rummaging through garbage bins was all the reply he got.
Draco snarled, letting his arm drop back down. “I hate the moon,” he mumbled, lifting himself back up on his elbows. “Too ugly. Looks like a spotted arse,” then he spat at the sky, staggering to his feet. “Too big, anyway.”
‘No time for thoughts!’ his mind yelled at him. ‘Decisions, man! Decisions NOW!’
Agreeing with himself, Draco straightened up, inspecting his surroundings properly for the first time. He drifted off quite a bit, but he could still vaguely recognize these streets. On the other side of the road was a bus station pole - numbers 42, 17, and 93. He drove through here before, never stepped out though. The clacking of heels farther down the street drew his attention just in time to see a woman of the night disappear into a dark alley.
‘For a bloody solid reason I never stepped out here, I say.’
Not that he was any better now. The muddy back of his jacket and dirty streaks of dust and sweat across his face - well, it didn’t do wonders to his credibility at the moment. His loud sigh came as a surprise, and he numbly realised it was because it was dead silent; the heels stopped walking. He frowned, idly wondering why a woman would go and just sit in a dark alley like that. An answer wasn’t that hard to think of around here, nor was it pleasant. It was only as he took a few steps in that direction when he noticed the blinking neon-light sign of a bar jutting out of the wall. It was peculiar, for a place of profit to be hidden in a deserted alcove like that, only noticed by those who were looking for it.
It is the devil who prefers regular trouble to unexpected.
Draco frowned, unable to recall who it was he once heard say those words. He shrugged it off quickly though; it could’ve been anyone these days. People had developed an annoying sense of useless angst lately that grated his nerves endlessly.
‘DECISIONS!’ his mind cried once more, disliking the fact that standing around pointlessly was all Draco seemed to be doing. Now of all times!
With a low growl he pulled his jacket closed, determinately walking towards the dark alley. His hand reached towards the doorknob leading into the bar, but hesitated. Licking his lips nervously he pressed an ear to the door - the muffled humming of low voices talking animatedly calmed him down a bit. As long as there was no public screaming, Draco figured he was safe… as safe as it got, that is.
He pushed open the door, walking inside with a lot of excessive, pompous confidence. It was a pity no one paid him attention; he was putting on quite a show. At first sight it looked like a normal bar, this one, and Draco assumed it most probably was. A few groups of elderly men sat at the number tables scattered about, most of them playing cards, some asleep - hand protectively clutching on to their glass like a child to its teddy bear. At the bar itself he found the heel-woman sitting, talking quietly to the barman.
Draco ran a hand through his hair, combing out any remaining clutters of mud. Advancing the counter as nonchalantly as he could, he then slid down on a stool next to the heel-woman. Neither her nor the barman seemed to notice him at all, and it took a few lethal glares and a cold ‘Ahem!’ before the barman lazily excused himself from the conversation, turning to Draco with a forced grin.
“Can I help you, Sir?”
“Yes…” Draco replied, drawling it out as though it was of great importance. The man raised his eyebrows.
“I have made a decision,” he told him, leaning into the bar.
The barman looked amused. “Did you really?”
“Yes,” Draco nodded. “I have decided to get insanely drunk. You think you can help me with that, Sir?”
For a moment Draco thought the man recognized him, his eyes were narrowed and Draco was sure he saw him glancing down at his forearm. He was then convinced the barman was going to ask him to leave, but after a moment of silence he managed a ghost of a smile. “Good decision,” the man said, fishing a small glass from under the counter, pouring Draco an unfamiliar substance. It smelled awfully, like muggle. Oh hell, who cared at this stage anymore, anyway? He downed it quickly, knocking on the table as he did because shit - muggles must make decisions like his all the time around here, for them to be selling this kind of crap by the litre.
“ ‘Nother one!” he peeped, his mouth still dry and eyes watery from the last glass. The barman shrugged, and filled the glass again. As he made to put the bottle back Draco grabbed his arm, shaking his head. “No,” he said. “Leave the bottle.” The man gave him a half-hearted nod as if to say, ‘suit yourself’, and let the bottle stay put. Rather cheerfully Draco knocked down another glass, following it with choked, throaty noises that certainly did not compliment his masculinity. After the forth glass the barman appeared to have had his share of the show, and slid into the back while shaking his head. Draco ignored this and turned to the heel-woman to his right, who seemed to be extremely preoccupied by the magazine before her.
“Hi,” he grinned at her, somewhere between his sixth and seventh shot; he didn’t bother himself with counting. The lady didn’t look up, so Draco assumed she didn’t hear him. “HI!” he nearly shouted next to her ear.
Slowly the lady looked up from her magazine. “What?” she spat in his face, making him pull back a little.
Draco blinked with difficulty. He hadn’t thought this far into the conversation. “I saw you go in here,” he tried, nodding knowingly. It didn’t seem to work though, and she was once again looking down, flipping through the pages.
After rewarding his effort with another glass, Draco turned to observe her again. “You’re very pretty, you know that?” he started, reaching to touch her bleached hair. “For a muggle, that is.”
Annoyed, she swatted away his hand, closing her magazine dramatically. “Look, kid, I’m on my break here, all right?”
“Yeah,” he nodded in agreement, leaning closer to her as though he was about to say something really important, whispering, “But I’m a wizard!”
She chuckled. “That’s a new one.” Looking him over once, noting the mud sticking to his clothes, she added, “What next? Your wand needs mending?”
Draco frowned, considering her words seriously. “No,” he said earnestly, quickly reaching into his jacket and pulling out his wand and to show her. “Nothing wrong with my wand.”
The woman seemed a little disturbed by that. He tucked it away, then slowly shook her head. “No…” she stretched the word as far as she could, eyeing him suspiciously. “Yeah, I’m going to leave now.”
“WAIT!” he exclaimed, confused as she hopped off the stool. “I’ll pay ya’ fifty Galleons!”
The woman paused, looking at him pitifully. “Look, you’re crazy,” she told him. “And I’m on my break.”
“I’ll double the price!” he blurted, holding up two fingers. Looking at them he suddenly realised there were four, so he took down two. To his dismay and surprise, no fingers were left. He shrugged it off, deciding to return to that another time. But the woman, on the other hand, seemed to reconsider his offer.
“So you’ve got money?” she asked, sucking on her cheeks.
“PHUAH!” He made a wide gesture, digging into another pocket of his jacket, revealing a leather pouch. Proudly, he spilled its content on the counter, wiggling his eyebrows at her. Wide-eyed, the woman stepped forwards, reaching for one of the strange shaped coins.
“What the fuck is this?” she whispered, letting it fall back onto the pile.
A little offended, Draco looked from his money to her. “What d’you THINK it is?” he retorted. “Wizard money, of course!”
That seemed to do it, though. With a disgusted noise the woman turned on her heel, storming out of the bar, her heels clacking loudly on the wooden floor. To this a few heads turned around, observing Draco questioning.
“Going to tell her friends about me!” he cheered loudly for everyone to hear, nodding at the door where the woman had just disappeared. Mumbling about stupidity, the men returned to their game and Draco to his drink, carefully putting his coins back in his pouch, one by one - as though they needed comforting after being so badly insulted.
GOOD ADVICE, BAD ADVICE
In which big decisions are made by little men
It was very odd, he thought, for it to be raining at a time like this. The air seemed to drench in humidity, and moving one inch forward was like walking through his mother’s favourite mushroom soup. It sounded weird as well. The droplets were heavy, and clashed loudly on the dying vegetation, the asphalt and garbage cans. If he were to close his eyes, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to distinct the rain from something very large, crushing hundreds of tiny shells. It sounded a bit like that, you see.
If he hadn’t anything else to think of right now, he would probably tell himself it were some sort of a sign. An apocalypse-like sign, telling him to run while he could. To run like hell, like he should’ve many time before.
But he never did run. And the peculiar thing was, it had so little to do with heroic tendencies. And so much more with being very scared, and very gutless and very proud. Immensely proud, really. There was nothing in this world bigger than his pride.
Draco blinked, trying to look up through the rain. There was nothing indicating all was about to clear up soon; it was a cloudy night, and even in the dark he could distinguish the grey clouds shifting about the London sky. Farther down the street a couple of birds flew around, up and down at a great speed making loud noises as if they were having the time of their lives. Draco scowled; here he was, getting himself very much killed, and all two bloody birds no less than a yard from him could think about was sex.
He would very much have liked to think about sex right now. Hot, hard, sweaty screaming-it-out kind of sex. On a bed, or on the floor - even a table was good in his book, really. Anything. Just not this. Anything but this!
He elbowed the boy next to him. “How long is it going to take?”
“I dunno, Malfoy. He said it might take a while, you know that,” Thompson replied, showing him the coin. “You can hold it yourself if you’re that antsy.”
Draco took it, hands a little shaky from anticipation, and turned it over a few times. Nothing yet. The rim was still empty. Personally, Draco thought he should always be in charge of their coin. After all, he was the one who introduced the idea! He didn’t do many things right any more, but that certainly was a smart move. He’d even heard stories about how out of paranoia, anyone who walked around the Order with a coin in his of her pocket these days were immediately thrown out, no questions about it. Draco still smiled at the thought. Imagine that, all thanks to him!
He looked up again, and groaned quietly. His robes were already soaked, and although it did wonders to the deliberately made rips and fake bloodstains, it didn’t exactly make him feel that great. It was warm, and he had barely moved from his crouching position behind the low stone wall for over a half an hour. His knees hurt and he had trouble breathing, and honestly? He was kind of having second thoughts.
“Can’t we just go back inside?” he whispered. “It’s raining anyway, they won’t know. We just go back in, wait for it to stop, and come back. Like nothing ever happened.”
But Thompson didn’t seem to agree. Roughly, he grabbed Draco by the collar, his face close to his ear as he spoke. “You’re staying right here, Malfoy. You get that? One move and you ruin the whole plan.” Draco pushed him off, straightening his collar with a hateful glare as Thompson added quietly, “wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Whatever,” mumbled Draco, trying to move as far away from his partner as the small space would let him.
Thompson was older than Draco. He didn’t know by how many years, because the boy wouldn’t exactly talk about it, but Draco guessed he couldn’t be older than twenty-five, perhaps twenty-six, tops. He wasn’t the smartest person, or the most talented or well-bred but hell, did he have the spirit to compromise. At the beginning he got very annoyed by the way Draco pronounced his name, for some reason, and insisted to be addressed as T-bone. The whole name-changing idea amused Draco greatly, but he quickly found out Thompson was dead serious, and didn’t prefer to be called ‘Timmy boy’. They finally settled for Tom, and the peace more or less returned to number 15, Grimmauld Place, London.
It had been well over a month since they moved into the old house. Before he’d even seen the place, or even knew the details of the plan, Draco was absolutely in the clouds. He’d messed up before, but getting a chance like this after everything…it was all he ever wanted, really. The acknowledgement he was able to control things. Because if he could do this, if he was allowed on the field again, who knows what his Lordship would ask of him to do next?
He bragged about it quite a lot, and to so many people. If they could only see him now, fuck. The house, in his mind a modern little castle with all the equipment and material needed for him to complete the task, was the most disgusting place he’d ever set foot in. The pipes were rusty, and if you opened a tap in the kitchen, someone in the bathroom died. Under the wood of the floor colonies of cockroaches and rancid animals lived, crawling to surface only at night time. The roof leaked and there was no furniture, the stairs were as lethal as the bathroom and in all honesty - he was surprised he and Thompson had survived it thus far. Headquarters of Secret Operation 36, they called it at meetings.
Draco bet they were all having a real laugh there, putting him through all of this on purpose.
It was horribly embarrassing as well, going to the meetings at first considering it took two whole weeks before anyone emerged from the bloody house across the street. Or more likely, the empty space across the street. Number 12, number 12! Thompson told him where to direct his binoculars over and over again. THERE IS NO FUCKING NUMBER TWELVE! Draco screamed back for what must’ve been the nth time. They explained though, about how they weren’t supposed to see the house. All THEY had to do was wait. Wait, and wait, and watch closely. Wait for some idiot to appear out of nowhere, and disappear into nowhere. And that’s all the bastards did, really. And they weren’t even to be attacked! Even when those sordid Weasley people appeared, Draco wasn’t to touch a hair.
Write it down, write down the time, Malfoy! His partner reminded him, shaking his shoulders while Draco was concentrating on not going for his wand. YOU write the sordid time, Tom. Seems to get you off, so go ahead! TASK IS ALL YOURS!
But now they were done. So close to getting out of that hole, so close to recognition, so close to a normal bath, holy hell! He missed baths. Charts and diagrams of a month’s work paid off, and by now every young member had the Order’s routine memorized so well they could chant it in their sleep. It was going to be a quick one, they said. Backup was waiting for Draco and Thompson’s cue, ready to take it over from there on. Sure, Draco was planning on staying for the big bam-boom fight and all - but he was perfectly fine with casting a few nasty curses and getting the hell out of there. Going home and having a nice, long, clean bath. Oh, heavens above.
And the rain stopped.
Frowning, Draco looked up as though to make sure nothing was playing any tricks on him. The clouds were slowly packing up, thinning out, but the stars were still invisible to the eye. “Fucking weather,” he mumbled somewhat annoyed. “Weird ass shit”
Tom huffed. Draco turned to him with a quirked brow. “What?” he barked.
“Everyone thinks the weather is strange before a battle,” answered Tom. “You’re not special or anything.”
Draco frowned. “What thefuck are you talking about, Thompson?”
Tom licked his lips, looking around the street as he talked, “You know how when you read reports from great battles and stuff, and they always go on about how weird and strange the weather was? Like… like some omen or something?”
“This is not a battle. It’s barely an attack, you saw our backu-“
“Doesn’t matter,” he cut him off. “Thing is, there’s no such thing. The weather really can’t be arsed as to what we are doing today. Before a fight, you know, everyone always looks for signs like that. Like, they’re afraid they’re doing the wrong thing, so they look for something to tell them they’re supposed to be there. Like this shit, for example.” He pointed to a newly formed puddle on the curb next to them. “Rain in the middle of July. Looks fishy, right? But it’s not. Your mind is just playing tricks on you, Malfoy. You better just keep to the target now.”
Oh yes.
Thompson had a thing for advice.
Advice no one really ever asked for. Ever.
Draco rolled his eyes, having learned it was best not to try and tell the guy how ignorant he was while his fists were still attached to him. He flipped his coin over, once, twice, switched hands, and…
“OH, SHIT!” He grabbed Tom’s sleeve, still looking at the coin. “We have to get out of here!”
Tom groaned in annoyance. “I TOLD you Malfoy, it’s your mind playing-“
“I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE PUDDLE, IDIOT!” Draco shouted, shoving the coin in Tom’s hands. “WE HAVE TO MOVE!”
Draco watched as Tom registered the message on the coin’s rim, and hoped it was a little bit of fear he saw spreading about his face because shit-he sure wasn’t feeling that strongly about this whole thing either.
But when Thompson looked up, whatever it was, was gone. Only determination was seen in his eyes. “What are you waiting for?!” he exclaimed, getting to his feet and dragging Draco up with him. “You heard the man, Malfoy, GO!”
“Right,” Draco said, more to himself than to anyone else. “Okay.”
“THEN GO!”
He was running as fast as he could, even though it was a distance of no more than a yard. He knew these houses from the inside out, knew exactly how the paint hung a little from the windowpane at Nr. 11, how the concrete of the sidewalk before Nr. 13 crumbled off and how you had to be careful walking there-but right now, standing there, in the middle of the street, looking at them almost like a normal passer-by, they just looked different. Much bigger than from his window view.
“HELP!” he shouted, clutching onto a nonexistent wound in his shoulder. “HELP! PLEASE! I NEED HELP!”
Draco fell to his knees, shouting it out in pain. “PLEASE, I KNOW YOU’RE HERE! THEY’RE AFTER ME! POTTER, THEY WANT TO KILL ME!”
You had to give it to him, though, he was rather talented with these kind of shows.
“THEY’LL BE HERE ANY SECOND, PLEASE! I’M INNOCENT!”
It was only a matter of time before they’d buy it, really. Rumours about Draco’s supposed betrayal had long ago been spread by the said boy himself, and their sympathy… well, everyone had an Achilles Heel. With the Order it just happened to be a big, fat, in-your-face kind of heel.
“I-I SWEAR! I… I can’t… keep on… PLEASE! IT HURTS!”
And now one more, Draco, for the finishing touch.
“PLEASE!”
“Stop shouting, Malfoy! STOP SHOUTING! We’re here!”
He knew she’d be there. She always took the evening shift with the older ones.
He counted on it.
Just like he counted on Tom to give the sign, and on the tens of masked figures with curses on the tip of their tongue to appear behind him that very moment.
SAID ROCK BOTTOM
Or something with an escape route, anyway…
Curled up in the large armchair, Draco idly watched the mother cat attend the defenceless little ball of fur. He felt sorry for it in some way, but was also annoyed with the fact it didn’t even try to escape. He’d never allow his mother to treat him like that, honestly - he’d push her away and show her he was big enough to take care of himself.
The cat started bathing her child’s head, making his small hairs stand in a foolish way. Yech. He was glad he wasn’t a cat. The thought of it only! He could take a bath by his own. He could! Yesterday night he even told the house elf to go away when he was having a bath, told her he didn’t need her help getting undressed, or putting enough bubbles in the bath or brushing his teeth. None of that!
And she did. She obeyed, and he was very proud. And he would’ve been so for a very long time if it weren’t for the fact the bubbles wouldn’t come, no matter how much he splashed. And that his left sock wouldn’t come off so he just stepped in the bath with it - and that he couldn’t find his toothbrush and went to bed without having brushed his teeth. But that didn’t matter! Because he’d get better, over time he’d get better and no one needed to know.
Above the fireplace hung his left sock to dry. He had hid it under his mattress when mother came to bid him goodnight. Now he was on the lookout. Because the moment mother would come back from her shopping he’d jump, jump and snatch the sock off the fireplace and hide it in his back pocket. Because really, there was no use in anyone knowing. Especially father.
At that thought Draco straightened up, letting his feet dangle over the edge of the chair. He tried to put his arms on the chair arms, but they were too far apart and he could barely put a hand on each. He looked up. His head barely reached halfway the back of the chair. Draco wished he would grow up faster so that he could sit in the chair like his father could; because when father sat in the chair, it was really very impressive. His feet reached all the way down to the floor, and his arms fit perfectly, his head could easily lean back onto the supportive cushiony padding at the top - but his father would never lean back. He’d sit straight; proud; like a bull or a steam boat, or the butcher’s dog. Only without the sharp teeth and smelly breath.
Draco pulled a serious face at his sock, trying to mimic his father’s expression when pensively looking into the fireplace. He thought he was doing a rather fair job, actually, when light giggling shook him out of it.
“What are you laughing at?” he snapped, turning to the intruder.
“Your face looked stupid,” she said, scrunching her nose.
“Did not!” he protested, then quickly realised that-“what are you doing here?”
The little girl shrugged, taking a seat on the footstool next to the hearth, feet apart, bumping her knees together nervously.
“Are you a house elf?” Draco asked. “You look a little strange for a house elf.”
Her tiny jaw dropped indignantly, showing her two large front teeth - minus a few bottom ones, which probably fell out. Just like Draco’s fell out. He missed one on the upper row, a little to the right - a sharp one, it was! And another three at the bottom, one up front, and two in the back. And he didn’t even cry when they fell out - even though there was loads of blood and he swore he could see his bone. It was wicked. He carried the teeth in his pocket for a week but…mother found out and told him that was disgusting. Too bad, really. He really wanted to see what would’ve happened if he fed them to his frogs.
“I am not an elf of any sort!” she peeped indignantly. “It’s very obvious I’m human, I say!”
“Then you must be a burglar,” concluded he. “Yes, you must.”
“Would you stop that! I am not a burglar!” she cried. “For all I know, you can be the burglar!”
Draco frowned, thinking it over for a moment. “No I can’t,” he suddenly realised. “I can’t be a burglar in my own house! That’s stupid!”
She pouted. “You’re the one who’s stupid. Everyone knows elves don’t exist.”
He balled his hands into fists, and squeezed the best he could. “I’ll show you stupid,” he hissed, squinting his eyes like he saw mother do whenever she was displeased with him. “When father comes home, he’ll show you stupid!”
He could see her stubborn face fall for a moment, but her ugly nose scrunch quickly returned and she squinted her eyes as enthusiastically in return. “Oh yeah? What could he possibly do? I’m a girl. He can’t hurt me.”
“My father doesn’t care about that!” Draco replied loudly, gleeful as she startled. “He’d pick you up by your stupid pigtails-” -she grabbed her braids - “-drag you out the door-!” -her eyes widened - “-swing you around-!” -bit her lip - “-AND FLING YOU OUT OF HERE!”
She let out a small gasp, covering her mouth. Draco smirked.
“Then I’ll make my dad come here,” she retorted upon seeing his satisfied grin. “And my dad will make your dad go to jail.”
Draco pushed himself to the edge of the chair, up to where he nearly fell out. “I’d like to see him try!” he spat. “Until my father will turn him into a frog, of course. I bet he’ll even let me keep him!”
“What?” she cried, honestly surprised, he believed. “No one can turn my dad into a frog! No one can turn anyone into a-!”
“My father can!” interrupted Draco rudely. “My father can do anything! He’s the tallest father on earth!”
The little girl narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” he lied. “He’s… he’s the tallest person ever!” Draco added, hoping that at one point he could simply scare her into silence. “Nothing is taller than my father!”
“That’s ridiculous!” she jumped up, seemingly more insulted than when he threatened her with her life. “There are plenty things taller than your father! There are trees and…and houses and giraffes, loads of things!”
How could she say that? She never even met his father! Good thing, too, because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t like her at all. Draco thoughts his father didn’t like other kids in general most of the time. He didn’t mind, as long as he got gifts on Christmas and on his birthday he knew father still liked him best. And Draco’s gifts were always better than his friends’. No other father could compete his - what was this girl on to?
“ ‘Houses and giraffes and loads of things,’ ” he mimicked her whiny voice, pulling a nasty face to it. “Well, you’re wrong! My father can reach the moon if he wants to.”
And it was true, too. Just last summer, when they all went for an evening stroll on mother’s insistent request, he remembered walking the whole time looking up, fascinated by the full moon. He eventually tripped over a prominent root, of course, and while mother tended his bruised knee he asked father how big the moon was - for a moment afraid it might just fall down on him if he tripped like that again - and father sat next to him, holding his fist to the sky so that it was just covering the moon. He then brought his hand down for Draco to see and said, “See, Draco? It’s not big at all.” Astonished, Draco forgot all about his knee, jumping up and trying to see if he could cover the moon with his hand as well. He was more than a little disappointed when that didn’t work. Imagine how his friends would’ve reacted to him having the moon in his room! “Can you reach it, father?” he asked, looking up at the tallest man ever. His father looked down, almost smiling. “Yes,” he replied with an inclination of the head. “Why don’t you, then?” Draco wanted to know, the idea itself exciting him more than any Christmas or birthday ever did. “Well, Draco, I believe it will upset many people,” the man replied seriously. “And besides, your mother likes it this way.” Draco thought it was the kindest thing he ever heard. If he could’ve just taken the moon down, by Merlin, he would’ve done so ages ago!
“Draco! DRACO!”
Brought out of his reverie, Draco’s attention snapped back to the little girl who was now stamping and jumping about the room in frustration. How does she know my name? He thought curiously, letting himself slide off the armchair, taking a step in her direction to have a closer look at the furious little creature.
He immediately wished he hadn’t.
It wasn’t even a girl! But it wasn’t anything else, either. She, IT, seemed to be… growing. Her stomping legs stretched and grew, her arms lengthened as her shoulders rose and rose and suddenly she was huge, her bushy head almost reaching the ceiling.
Draco staggered backwards, tripping over his own legs - but was too afraid to get up, with her looming over his head. He was positively shaking. What kind of creature was she? He upset her, that must’ve been it. He upset her and now she was going to eat him and no one would ever, ever find his remains. He whined. Who would take care of his frogs? Mother hated the animals!
“Don’t be afraid, Draco,” the giant girl spoke in what could best be described as a soothing voice, considering it nearly boomed throughout the room.
He squeaked, turning around on fours, tucking his head in his hands. All right then, just let her be quick and get it over with. He often saw the cat play with her caught mice before she ate the poor animals and it was a cruel game. Perhaps this creature was hungry, and wouldn’t hurt him much…
“Look at that, a new victim. Don’t get these here that often,” he heard her say, although it made no sense to him whatsoever. He felt a rough nudge at his shoulder, and imagined he was very close to being this beast’s dinner.
“Hey, boy!” There was another nudge, more persistent this time. “Had a hard day, huh?”
The peculiar thing was, her voice seemed to drop an octave with every syllable she spoke…
“HEY, BOY!”
Not really knowing where the voice came from all of a sudden, Draco looked around him with heavy-lidded eyes. It took a moment or two before realising he wasn’t moving his head at all. It took him quite some more effort to turn to the man on his right-hand side, who currently looked like a big blotch of grey.
“Nghmpffm,” he said, trying to push his head from the bar but suddenly finding it immensely heavy, for a head.
The blotch of grey laughed softly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Did you…” Draco tried to speak, but his tongue was dry and rough, and his head hurt enough to distract him from any known grammar. He blinked a few times, brushing the sand out of his eyes, trying to get a little more perspective on things. “Giant…Giant Granger…”
“A what, boy?” said the grey blotch, which was starting to look more and more like a big, bald human in his mid-fifties.
“A girl, giant girl…”
The man smiled at Draco. “So that’s what you were dreaming about. I was wondering, with the noises you were making.”
Carefully not to break it, Draco shook his head. “No… not a dream,” he mumbled, pushing the bottle next to him away at the upcoming nausea. “Nightmare. Definitely a nightmare.”
The man gave a small shrug, contradicting Draco’s move by drinking massively from his foaming pint. “Suit yourself,” he said, not exactly clear on what he was referring to while wiping off his moustache.
“How long was I asleep?” Draco wanted to know, hoping it wasn’t morning yet. He wasn’t ready for morning.
“How should I know?” the man retorted, raising a brow. “Came in here fifteen minutes ago, and you were out of it. Then you started flopping around like a fish, making noises and all. Thought I’d wake you before you hurt anyone.” And then, as an afterthought, “I’m a nice guy.”
Cringing at the man’s loud voice, Draco tried to move away but realised doing such would result in falling out of his stool completely. Instead he tried to go for the still-as-possible approach, hoping the man would shut up on his own account.
But no such thing happened.
“Y’look like shit,” he said when Draco didn’t reply. “Now you, my friend, could really use a fix.”
With a sigh Draco turned to look at the man again. “A fix?” he repeated in question.
“Yeah, you know. Crystals,” he alliterated the word as though it went without saying. Nudging Draco closer he then reached into his pocket inner, taking out a bright orange, small box that looked like something from a toy store. A numb part of Draco’s brain screamed at this, but he remained quiet as the man took off the lid, showing him a few rows of strange balls that vaguely resembled pills.
“It’s new,” he said. “You’ve never had anything like this in your life. Freshly stamped, imported from Iran. Got it from a friend of a friend, was quite pricey. But for you, I’ll make it a hundred for six.” He smiled greasily. “I like you, kid.”
Blinking down at the man’s ware, Draco wasn’t exactly sure how to react. Whether he was supposed to cry or to get very angry at the hopelessness of it all - or perhaps just try to find a way to benefit from it a little, because that too was very plausible.
Instead he chose for a much more direct approach.
“Wha…” The man frowned at him, quickly putting away his box in sudden distress. “What are you laughing about?”
Draco couldn’t possibly reply yet. The few seconds that could’ve been used for speech, he was using to gulp for air. His stomach hurt and his head spun, but it was too funny for him to care. In a way though, it wasn’t funny at all. In a way, it was very sick. But it seemed that with amusement was the best fashion he could look at it at the moment.
All the while, the man next to him was only starting to panic, having no clue as to what the hell was happening.
“You…” Draco breathed, tears in his eyes, not really trying to calm himself down. “You tried to… to sell me…” He gripped the ends of the counter as he felt another fit of giggles coming, (hoping deeply he had the manliest giggle ever), clenching his teeth so he could finish his sentence properly. “You tried to sell me Feezing Whizzbees.” Draco considered these words for a moment, and then added, “You tried to sell me Feezing Whizzbees for a hundred pounds.”
The man’s eyes widened considerably - which was saying a lot, with the beady pair he had on him - although there could be something akin to relief noted in their gleam.
“You’re a wizard,” he whispered to himself in more of a statement than a question.
Draco scowled. He didn’t like the tone on the man, as though he was a delinquent, or something. “I’m sure as hell no squib,” he said, leaning into the bar again. The barman was back again, standing a distance away, eyeing them airily.
“Sorry,” the man mumbled awkwardly, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at his sweaty face with. “It’s been a while, you see,” he continued. “Since I’ve met an actual…you know,” his voice dropped to a mere whisper, “wizard.”
“Really, now?” Draco raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Then I bet those just POPPED into your pocket, right?” he added, gesturing towards the bulge in the man’s jacket.
The man smiled grimly, and pointing towards himself he said, “Squib.” He comforted himself with a gulp of beer before adding, “My brother does me a favour every now and then. Picks me up a few packs whenever he passes in town.” He shook his head. “Poor bloke thinks I can’t get enough of the stuff. Hasn’t a clue…”
At this the post-intoxicated wheels in Draco’s head started turning. Was this guy serious?
“Wait…” he said, frowning blankly ahead for a moment. “Wait, are you saying that muggles actually buy this stuff? For that kind of money?”
The man shrugged. “Small sensations go a long way around here.” With a small inclination of the head he nodded towards the other visitors. “They don’t care if it’s real or not as long as it feels good.”
Draco snorted. He could name more than a few people with whom he’d love to share this information, just to see their expressions as he cackled in their faces. That just shows, muggles. “Idiots,” he said softly.
Making a disapproving sound as he took a sip of his glass, the man quickly made to object. “Don’t underestimate them, boy. The reason they don’t acknowledge it is because that they refuse to. You see, these people, they’re perfectly aware that being ripped off is a part of the business. Necessary, even,” he nodded earnestly. “The whole word ‘crime’ is completely arbitrary, anyway. It’s a convention and just like the law itself a construction to keep the prices higher. What they are paying,” he said, tapping his jacket pocket significantly, “is for the risk the deliverer between two markets is taking. Trias Politicas is just another word for three hands on one belly; the holy three-unit of the business, if you know what I mean. Crime is the heart of a post-war economy, boy.”
Draco took a moment to process these words. Funnily enough, they made more sense to him than anything lately - and they came from a squid. Irony had this nasty habit of crawling up behind him, biting him in the ass like this when he least expected it. The man saw Draco’s pensive expression, and grinned at him approvingly. “Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Being told you’re supposed to break the law?” His grin widened at Draco’s suppressed smirk. “Yeaaah, I thought so too when I got told the same. But I tell you, it’s not that easy as it sounds, boy.” He took a deep breath, turning in his seat so he was facing Draco completely, leaning onto the bar with one arm. “Thing is, you can’t make it too obvious. If you’re over-doing it, they HAVE to put you away. Not because of the law, but because you’re stupid. It’s a theatre, boy, and those who get themselves caught only choose a new role for themselves. Stupidity is punishable.”
With something close to awe, Draco grinned at the man. “You know,” he started, nodding as he did, “I’m glad I met you.”
Loudly laughing at this, the man offered Draco his hand. “Geoff Demey,” he said. “ And it’s nice you meet you too… eh…”
Draco swiftly accepted his hand. “Dr-“ He caught himself quickly, clearing his throat. “Densil,” he declared, shaking Geoff’s hand.
“Densil,” Geoff repeated, trying it out. “Is there a last name to go with that?”
“No,” Draco replied decisively. “Now, tell me some more about that brother of yours…”
Part 3
Thank-you for participating in the Hot Summer Nights with Draco and Hermione fic exchange.