Seven [2/7]
Title: Seven [2/7]
Author: idontgiveafaux
Rating: R
Word Count: 8300
Summary: After the world Draco once knew comes to a crashing halt he and Harry are left to fend for themselves in Muggle London. What forced them together is very quickly about to become the thing that will ultimately destroy them both.
Warnings: Hard drug use, language, violence, scenes of a sexual nature
Notes: Originally written pre-HBP [slightly reworked]
This chapter expands over:
June 6th and June 7th
The beat was fast and constant, relentlessly spewing out its hypnotic charms over the clubbers who were taking it all in wildly. Sweaty bodies writhed with each other as the pulsating beat grew more urgent. Shores of men and men, women and women, men and women and women and men were all dancing together throughout the whole club. Together, they were alone yet as a whole, they were together.
But one man wasn’t hypnotised. He’d seen it all before and having made his way through the club twice only to see the same old repetitive soulless faces hidden behind a façade of alcohol and drugs, he’d sank back to the sidelines and watched it all with a rather bored expression on his face. A couple of men came up and asked him to dance. He replied no. They weren’t his type. A couple of men came up and asked him to fuck. He replied no. They weren’t his type. Besides, he had a boyfriend at home and he wasn’t one to stray.
Instead he sat and watched the clubbers being controlled by the music. They moved robotically to the mesmerizing rhythms, unaware that they were being taken in. The man saw them being controlled so easily and couldn’t stop a small smile that formed on his flawless face. He was indeed stunning and had the crowd not been so glassy-eyed, they would have seen it too. He had pulled his shoulder-length blonde hair into a ponytail that evening. The feminine style was accentuated by his delicate nose and slightly glossed lips, but there was no mistaking that he was a man, especially when looking into his grey, brooding eyes.
“Alright?”
He turned and was greeted by the sight of a slightly weathered-faced man. The clubbing scene had long surpassed him yet he clung onto its coattails, desperately riding the youthful bandwagon for all it was worth.
“Hello Roger,” he replied flatly. He had no interest in talking to this man and he didn’t bother to hide this fact. The thick-skinned Roger didn’t appear to be fazed by his tone.
“So how long are you gonna say no to my generous offers then, mate?” Roger shouted in his cockney accent, leaning into his newly found companion closely.
“Forever,” he replied coldly, not liking the way Roger had called him his mate. “I’ve told you already, I’m not into the drug scene.”
Roger’s face was a picture of exaggerated surprise. “But why?” he exclaimed. “You’re young! How old are you again?”
“I’m twenty-one, but -”
“Twenty-one! You should be over there with them lot!”
He sneered. “Those twats?” he shouted over the music, nodding his head to the sea of clubbers. “They’re all off their faces, look at them! They may think they’re having a good time now but by the end of the night they’ll be sobbing into their drinks and telling everyone how much they love them. The next day they’ll wake up with a massive comedown and be depressed until next week when the cycle starts all over again.”
Roger snickered. “That’s what I rely on!”
He shook his head disapprovingly. Roger tried to make more small talk with him but when he folded his arms, pointedly turned in the other direction and didn’t reply to whatever he said, Roger got the hint and joined the crowd to hassle some other innocent bystanders. He lazily watched the spectacle in front of him. Girls in skirts too short and heels too high were drunkenly making their way down the stairs, laughing in a hyena-like fashion. Underage boys were sipping drinks delicately, looking virgin-like for any men who would hopefully take them home that night. The older people, like Roger, were desperately trying to fit in and covered up their aging bodies with the latest club wear, adorned with whistles and luminous glow-sticks. It was pathetic.
It wasn’t always this bad. He had long learnt that the key to a successful night was alcohol and the more he consumed, the less depressing the night would be. However, he’d taken it easy that night with four double brandies and cokes and that wasn’t nearly enough to obscure the circus taking place around him. Finishing the last of his latest drink, he slammed the glass down hard on the table and wondered whether to return home or not. Simultaneously, a shattering sounded off to the right of him. He turned his head as bouncers efficiently ran over to the scene while the unaware clubbers danced in their own world.
There was blood. Crimson blood trickling down caramel skin. Crimson blood on pale hands. Too much blood and too much violence. The man felt a familiar sickening feeling wash over him.
Crimson blood slowly trickled down a delicate wrist that lay limply as if unattached to the body next to it. The helpless captive - so young, yet looking older than I had ever seen him - was slumped, lifeless and emotionless against a tall pillar that didn’t look out of place in the huge, magnificent stone room. The knife that had done its job so well lay next to the captive while the captor stood over him triumphantly.
“Finally,” he said satisfactorily, in a voice so hoarse it sounded like a whisper. “Finally, it shall be fulfilled.”
I couldn’t see his face; he was facing the captive at the moment and I was glad. I had been dreading this moment for a long time and I wasn’t ready for it. I could feel my knees shaking violently underneath the black silk robe that swamped me. I tried not to feel so scared. He could smell fear. He could smell it miles away and where there was fear there was doubt and where there was doubt there was betrayal and betrayal equalled death.
So I kept my eyes on the captive and tried to feel satisfied. Too long had he been plaguing me, too long had he been a nuisance in my life and finally he was going to get what he deserved. But in my heart of hearts I knew he didn’t deserve this. My fear was so strong that I thought I was going to vomit up my heart so I couldn’t imagine what he was going through. I tried to find out as I stared into those green eyes of his, once so magnetic, yet now replaced with a dull dampened version.
“Malfoy!”
His voice swept through my body and hit me like a ten ton weight in the pit of my stomach. I stayed rigid, digging my nails into the palm of my hand to try and distract myself from my fear. It didn’t work.
I inclined my head slightly to the left to where my father stood. He was still staring at the back of the dark lord, so I returned my gaze in the same direction. Just as well because at that precise moment the dark lord turned around and looked straight at me.
There are moments in life that you will never forget and this was one of them. I will never be able to forget those fiercely red eyes that felt like an electric laser when directed at me. Nor will I ever forget those teeth, so monstrously vampire-like and menacing. But most of all, it was the skull. Over the years, the dark lord had wasted away into nothing. Until tonight. He finally had everything he needed to cast the spell that would allow him to live eternally. But it had come at a price. His skull had not grown back fully and as he had turned to me I saw the unconcealed burning flesh over the right side of his face.
I still stared straight ahead. Inside I was screaming.
The dark lord swept over to me. “Malfoy,” he said softly. The use of my name allowed me permission to look at him and I knew what the price would be if I didn’t. It took everything inside of me to stop myself from flinching. I quickly recomposed myself, remembering that he could smell the scent of betrayal for miles. I forced lost Quidditch matches into my head and remembered the fury at being beaten so many times by Potter.
“Malfoy, you are to pluck a feather from the Phoenix I have captured that lies in the watchtower underneath the full moon to aid me in completing my spell. Bring it to me in no less than three minutes, is that understood?”
I bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
He turned around without another word and so did I.
Draco Malfoy turned away from the bloody scene in front of him and sank back into his chair. He drew in sharp breaths but they weren’t helping. The sight of blood always made him nauseous and he knew that no amount of alcohol would make that memory fade away tonight. He needed something stronger.
*
“Alright there D, what can I do you for?”
“What have you got?” Draco asked, getting straight to the point.
Roger’s eyes lit up. “You mean? Do you -”
“Yeah. what have you got?”
“Anything you want mate, anything you want.”
“Fine, I’ll have some coke.” It was a surreal situation but Draco barely felt it. He didn’t register the fact that he was talking, nor the fact that he had walked into the toilet for some drugs, nor the fact that he was in a cubicle snorting a line of cocaine up his left nostril through a rolled up ten pound note. He felt the powder make its way to his head and he blinked his eyes widely a few times to stop them from watering. He didn’t feel any different to how he did before, except maybe slightly more awake, and he didn’t know how the clubbers on the dance floor could get off on the stuff so much. He found some excess on the toilet seat and rubbed it all over his gums the way Roger had told him to do so.
He left the dingy cubicle and was aware that eyes were roaming his body. He was used to it, even when he was wearing something as simple as his outfit that night; a slightly fitted black t-shirt and faded black jeans.
“Nice arse.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t know who had given him the compliment nor who he was saying his thanks to.
“Want me to fuck it?” The compliment giver turned out to be a man in his mid-thirties. He was fairly decent looking with sandy-coloured hair and blue eyes, yet his body was packed with so many steroids that even his muscles had muscles.
“Nope,” Draco said, looking in the mirror self-consciously. He gave his nose a quick rub and sniffed, lest there be any remaining powder in his nose. He turned to the man and gave him a brief smile before going over to the door.
As his hand touched the cool steel handle and he pulled open the door slightly, the man slammed it shut again easily. The toilet-goers that weren’t drunk or drugged-up watched the scene with a mixture of interest and fear.
“Why not?” The man asked, wetting his lips with his tongue.
“I have a boyfriend,” Draco replied shortly and tried to pull open the door. It didn’t budge through the weight of the man’s hand that held it shut.
“So do I,” the man said, not giving up. “The names Gary.” He offered Draco the hand that wasn’t holding the door steadfastly.
“Draco,” Draco said flatly and shook his hand politely. Gary grinned and returned the handshake but when Draco tried to pull away, he didn’t release it.
“Let go,” Draco said shrilly, trying to wrench his hand away from Gary’s grip.
“Give me a blow job and I’ll think about it,” Gary replied. A few of the spectators snickered at this.
“Just let go,” Draco demanded again, his voice getting higher. Gary didn’t relent. The room started to slide sideways and Draco closed his eyes, trying to fight the throbbing pain in his head. He stayed there rooted to the spot for several moments, helpless to do anything, nobody daring to step in and get involved with this steroid injected monster of a man.
“What’s that noise?” Draco suddenly asked hurriedly.
“Huh?”
“That ticking noise, what is it? Where’s it coming from? What’s going on? Why is -”
A mobile phone sounded off cutting Draco’s panic short. He was suddenly hit by its jingling sound. Each note sounded like it had been composed by a musical genius. He stopped struggling and listened to it in awe with his mouth slightly hanging open.
“Hey, where’s it gone?” Draco asked crestfallen as the owner answered the call. “I want to hear the music again! I want to dance!” He turned to Gary who was watching him with a slight smile on his face. “Dance with me Gary!”
“You taken anything?” Gary asked with a grin.
“I took some magic white powder. I snorted it. Up this nostril here, see?” He tiptoed and showed Gary his slightly reddened left nostril.
“Yeah, I see,” said Gary uninterestedly.
“I snorted it like a pig,” Draco said, snorting loudly to effect. “And put some on my gums. Look!” He bared a sinister smile in Gary’s face, who smiled awkwardly and tried to push his face away.
“So how about that blowjob you wanted?” Draco asked groggily. “You ask my boyfriend, I give the best ones ever! I will make you scream, baby!”
“You’ll bite it off,” Gary said, now wanting nothing more than to disown Draco. “Here, chew on this gum grinder.” He gave Draco a piece of chewing gum and let go of his hand.
Draco barely heard him as he staggered back into the club. He opened the door and was greeted by the loud music again that had sounded muffled inside the toilet. It had gotten louder since he’d been gone and it now felt like it was about to burst his eardrums. Instead of shying away from it however, he moved onto the dance floor. Giggling, he suddenly found it funny how the music had turned itself up while he was gone. It was almost as though it was like a stereo or something, he thought to himself. For some reason, that random thought made him giggle even more and when he realised that he didn’t even know what he was giggling about, he spluttered into hysterical laughter.
Suddenly the club just seemed better. The dance floor got wider, the people got friendlier and even the oldies now looked a few years younger. He felt his inhibitions slip away one by one and when the DJ asked the crowd if they wanted more, he found himself screaming with the rest of them and dancing wildly.
“Havin’ a good night mate?”
“Yeah!” screamed Draco to nobody in particular. The way people looked at him quizzically made him realise that nobody was talking to him but instead of feeling embarrassed he collapsed into fresh giggles. He looked around the club happily. A strobe light caught his eye and he stared at it entranced by its fast paced movements as he swayed from side to side softly.
He suddenly got bored of the strobe light and gave it a dirty look and turned away. He stumbled through a crowd of people who protested their anger loudly, none of which Draco actually heard, and leant on the bar heavily.
“Can I have a ...” His voice trailed off and he squinted his eyes stupidly at the bottles that lay behind the bar. “... One of those ones,” he said pointing to a clear bottle.
“You want a vodka shot?” the barman asked.
“Yeah,” Draco said, chewing on his chewing gum as hard as he could. His mouth felt numb yet he could feel it fizzing like someone had poured acid over his gums. His teeth grinded together viciously and he chomped on his chewing gum harder.
The barman produced a small glass, measured out a shot of vodka and poured it in. “That’ll be three pounds mate.”
“No, no, no wait, I want ...” He screwed up his face, lost in deep thought. “I want three,” he said holding up two fingers.
“Three?” the barman checked.
“Yeah,” Draco demanded, banging a fist down on the bar counter rudely, “Three.”
The barman produced the drinks and Draco gave him a twenty. “Keep the change babe,” he said, struggling to hold all of the shot glasses at once. He lifted them to his mouth at the same time and downed all three glasses. Most of it ended up down his front but the poison still did its damage as it slid intoxicatingly down his throat, burning it up and lighting an inferno inside his stomach.
He went back down the stairs and hit the dance floor again, but it didn’t seem as much fun anymore. The dance floor had gotten smaller, the people got nastier and the oldies now looked like they were about to drop dead right there and then. And when the DJ asked the crowd if they wanted more, he realised he was sick of the shit music he was playing.
He felt chronically depressed. He tried to lighten up his spirits again but it was no use. Everyone in the club were having a good time, except him. He caught a few people looking at him before turning away quickly and he instantly felt paranoid. The whole club was laughing at him. There was an inside joke what he didn’t know about. It was probably a set-up or something and everyone in the world was laughing at him having a horrible night. He looked around wildly at any signs of people pointing at him.
“You alright mate?”
“Yeah, I was just -” He tried to remember what he was doing but he couldn’t keep his train of thoughts. “I was just -” he turned to the person who had asked him but there was nobody there. He looked around at the people beside him but they all seem to be engrossed in their own conversations. He suddenly wanted to cry. Everyone here was so selfish. They didn’t even bother to ask if he was having a good time or not, they were all too busy with themselves. With tears threatening to spill from his eyes he marched over to where Roger was sitting.
“Roger, I need some more stuff,” Draco said desperately, his voice shaking with emotion.
Roger grinned, showing a row of mismatched yellow tombstone teeth. “I’ll give you a gram for fifty. It’ll keep you buzzing all night, I promise you that.”
Draco thrust two twenty pound notes and a ten in his face.
“Done.”
*
“Hi honey, I’m home!”
Draco staggered up the stairs and burst into the large bedroom he shared with his boyfriend. He had decorated it well. Settling on a black and white décor, he had chosen all the furniture and picked out matching curtains and duvet covers. But right now, having burst into the bedroom, he instantly hated it for being too dark. He needed something light. He needed strobe lights. He needed loud music. He was fuelled up and his house was too boring to stay in. He contemplated turning around and leaving to go to another club when he heard a stirring from the bed.
“What time is it?” Harry Potter mumbled, rubbing his eyes with a fist in a childlike manner. He fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table and put them on clumsily. Taking a look at the clock he exclaimed, “Draco, it’s four-thirty in the morning! You promised me you’d be home by two.”
“You were asleep, you didn’t miss me,” Draco said dismissively, walking over to the cabinet on the opposite side of the room and taking a handful of sweets from there. He gorged himself on them, mashing his teeth firmly against the rock hard candy shell which threatened to crack from the pressure he bit down with.
“Did you have a good time?” Harry said in the middle of a yawn. His messy bed hair looked cute and Draco suddenly felt a warm sense of affection come over him. He jumped onto the bed excitedly and pulled Harry into a rough hug.
“You had a really good time by the looks of it,” Harry said gently, trying to pull himself away from Draco’s grip. “Drunk a fair bit again?”
Draco grinned. “Nope, I didn’t drink hardly anything and I had the most fantastic time!” He scrambled to his feet and started bouncing on the bed.
“Draco!” Harry protested but Draco didn’t listen and carried on doing it. “Draco, stop it!” he repeated forcefully.
Draco bounced to a halt and fell down into a cross-legged position. “Don’t be such a bore,” he whined. Before Harry could retort he had scrambled from the bed and delved into his walk-in wardrobe.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked confusedly.
“I’m trying to ... ” His voice became muffled through the sounds of coat hangers being rustled about aggressively.
“What?” Harry asked. “What are you doing?”
Draco appeared out of the wardrobe with an amused smile on his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted and burst into hysterical laughter. “I don’t know what I’m doing!” The repetitive statement became more humorous and he shook with laughter as tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Draco, just stop it,” Harry said. “Look, do you want me to get you something to drink? Some water or -”
“I’ll have a double vodka straight please barman,” Draco giggled.
Harry sighed. “I hate it when you act like this Draco,” he said in defeat. “You act like such a fucking dickhead when you’re drunk.” With that statement he buried himself under the covers.
Draco watched his sleeping form under the bed sheets with a serious expression on his face before a car horn tooting outside distracted him. He ran to the window and pressed his nose up against the glass. He stayed in that position for a couple of minutes while unbeknown to him, Harry peeked at him from under the covers, slightly fearful of the hyper replacement of his boyfriend.
Draco eventually stumbled downstairs and turned on the TV. Music blared loudly through from downstairs and Harry cringed from underneath his bedcovers. One half of him felt as though he should supervise Draco when he got into these states, but the second half protested that he wasn’t a child and if he chose to get himself into these drunken states then he should be able to get himself out of them.
With that in mind, he buried himself deeper under the covers and forced himself to block out the sounds from downstairs. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a slight fear lurch in his heart when he heard the sounds of a news report investigating the murder of a woman and her three children. The graveness in the newsreaders voice was unsettling, but Draco’s manic laughter at the news story was far more horrific.
*
“Here, drink this.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Drink this.” The command came more forceful this time and Draco complied. He knew Harry wasn’t happy with him that morning. He could vaguely remember waking him up when he came home from the club and again when he finally went to bed that morning. But if he had had any previous doubts that Harry was pissed off with him, they would have vanished by now by the way Harry slammed down the hot mug of tea in front of him. He knew that Harry making sure that he washed the previous night out of his system with tea was more of a case of duty than affection.
Draco brought the steaming liquid to his lips tentatively and yelped when his tongue was burnt.
“Sorry, too hot?” Harry said uncaringly, going over to the kitchen sink and washing up plates that were already cleaned.
“I said I was sorry,” Draco replied through gritted teeth. He felt like shit that morning and although he knew that Harry might be a little mad at him, he didn’t need his holier-than-thou crap spouted at him today. His head was killing him and he didn’t want nothing more than to crawl back into bed and go to sleep. Harry had made sure that that didn’t happen however by suddenly having the urge to vacuum the room loudly at nine-thirty that morning, particularly enjoying banging it into the side of the bed.
“Yes you did,” Harry spat. “But that doesn’t excuse you coming back and waking me up, Draco. You know I need sleep!” He whirled around to face him. “I’ve told you a thousand times if you want to go out and waste your life by alternating between drinking and sleeping then that’s fine. But I’ve got both of us to support and I can’t go to work feeling so tired that I don’t do my job properly. I won’t get paid and neither will the rent.”
“It’s all sorted out,” Draco mumbled, clutching his head, trying to prise the headache away from his brain.
“No it isn’t,” Harry snarled into his ear. Draco jumped, his head reeling back from the ferocity in Harry’s voice.
“Leave me alone,” he mumbled, trying another sip of tea. It had cooled down a little but Draco still felt the liquid burn his throat more than vodka.
“No I wont,” Harry retorted. He pulled up a second chair and sat down at the oak table that dominated the centre of the large kitchen. “What exactly did you have to drink last night?”
“What?” Draco avoided the question with another question though he knew it wouldn’t distract Harry, only bide him a couple more seconds time with which he could hopefully think of an answer.
“You heard me,” Harry snapped. “What did you drink? I don’t remember you suffering this bad a hangover since your birthday, and even that event was partially excusable. So you must have drunk a lot to get so bloody wasted like this.”
“I didn’t drink a lot,” Draco protested. It was truthful, by his usual standards. “I had one shot and two brandy and cokes.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Is that all?”
Draco nodded, his eyes wide and youthful. “Honestly, that’s all I had to drink.”
Harry sighed. Draco was a master manipulator and he knew it. But he had lived with Draco for a while now and although there was the odd time where he had falsely mistook one of his lies for the truth, most of the time he could tell when he was telling the truth or lying. Yet this time was different. Harry knew how excessive alcohol affected Draco and he was unsure whether to believe him or not. “So why are you suffering such a bad hangover?” he probed, more gently this time.
Draco shrugged, struggling to look into Harry’s eyes. “I don’t know ... Maybe my drink was spiked!” Enthusiasm flooded into his voice now. “Maybe my drink was spiked and that’s why I was drunk. I mean, I’ve drunk a lot more than that before, right?”
“Yeah, I guess -”
“And they do say that you can’t remember the previous night if your drinks been spiked, don’t they? And I’ve already told you that I can’t remember much of last night.”
“But that might be because -”
“And I’m pretty sure that I lost muscle control towards the end of the night.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open at this. “W-what?” he managed to stammer out in shock.
Draco nodded seriously. “My legs just felt like they had no muscle in them,” he lied. “I just remember walking around the club and clutching onto people because I thought I was going to fall over at any minute.” Seeing Harry’s shocked expression he decided it would be best to play on this story. “Yeah, and then I went into the toilet and this guy followed me in. He looked really suspicious and he kept sneering at me, like he had one over on me. I didn’t see it at the time but now,” he left a dramatic pause. “I guess I see his sneers for what they really were.”
Harry’s mouth opened and closed uncontrollably as he wasn’t sure what to say. Finally he sensibly decided not to believe nor deny Draco’s story. He simply responded with, “You’re safe now, that’s the main thing.”
Draco nodded vigorously, glad he was off the hook. “Yes, I am,” he replied softly and took another sip of tea. It had the taste of triumphant victory.
*
“Don’t go.”
“Draco, you know I have to.”
“No, please don’t ... I feel sick.”
“Draco …”
“But I do! I feel really sick.”
Harry sighed. “Draco, stop it. I have to go. I’ve taken too many days off work for you before only for your sicknesses to miraculously disappear after ten minutes!”
“But this ones different,” Draco whined. “I feel really bad. My stomach hurts and I have a really bad headache.”
Harry perched himself on the edge of the couch that Draco was lying on pathetically. “There’s some medicine if it gets any worse, you know where it is.”
“But I feel really, really bad. I ... I think that the spiked drink is starting to effect me again.” He knew that this statement could either goad Harry into staying or have him leave the house in a temper.
“I ...” Harry began, and then stopped.
“Please, Harry,” Draco said, looking directly into Harry’s eyes. He sat up, wincing for good measure, and took hold of one of Harry’s hands in his own. “Please stay here with me,” he begged, planting soft kisses over his hand. “I don’t like being on my own.”
“Draco,” Harry said, a slight whine coming into his own voice. He hated Draco for manipulating him like this. He couldn’t stand the thought of him being alone and vulnerable in the house, even though he knew in his heart of hearts that that wasn’t the case. He needed to be tougher with him, put his foot down in a while. This wasn’t working; it was more of a parent and child relationship than an equal one. It had to stop.
“No Draco,” he said forcefully, pulling his hand away. “I have to go.” Seeing Draco’s face droop, he added, “Besides, how are you going to afford that sexy underwear I love if I don’t go to work?”
Draco scowled. “Fine, go to work,” he snapped, throwing himself back down on the couch. “But don’t blame me if it’s boring and you want to come home!”
Harry planted a tender kiss on his forehead. “I won’t. See you later babe.”
“Yeah, bye,” he replied uninterestedly. He heard the front door open and Harry’s footsteps shuffling outside into the warm evening air and then the loud slam of the door shutting.
He was alone.
I was alone.
For the first time in my life, I was well and truly alone. As I walked through the dirty streets of London, hidden by the hustle and bustle of the city, I realised that I had nobody to turn to, nobody to help me. I let tears stream down my cheeks unashamedly. It didn’t matter anyway. The city was far too busy to care for me.
I don’t know how it happened. On one hand, it was a blessing. I was terrified of the dark lord and now his reign was over, I could live in peace. I could say his name out loud without fear. Voldermort. Voldermort, Voldermort, Voldermort. But on the other hand I was petrified. How could I live in peace when I was stuck in Muggle London on my own? I wouldn’t be able to cope. I wouldn’t last a day. It certainly felt that way as I wandered through the repetitive streets desperately.
It had been strange. It had actually been fucking surreal. Voldermort had sent me to get the feather from the phoenix and I had walked out of the room. And I had carried on walking until I got out of his sight and then broke into a sprint. I didn’t know where I was running to and I didn’t care. I just couldn’t carry on my life like this, serving a lord who’s beliefs felt wrong to me. Those venomous words and insults I had hurled at people through school came flooding back to me, urging me to run faster. I hadn’t believed in any of it. My father had instilled them into my brain.
I was true Slytherin, all right. The sorting hat hadn’t got it wrong there. As I ran desperately out of the dank dungeons of the dark lords lair, the selfishness of the situation came to me. I was leaving Potter to be tortured before the dark lord and the Death Eaters circle. I was leaving my father to be certainly punished for my betrayal once it had been discovered. And I was leaving behind my whole life forever. I would no doubt be found and brought before the Death Eaters and suffer all of the unforgivable curses before meeting my torturous death. But I didn’t care. I didn’t have time to think about the horrific consequences as I ran from the scene.
Yanking the robes from my body, I hurled myself out of the entrance, which was magically disguised as a dusty shop that had been closed down for a while and found myself in Diagon Alley. I took in deep, grateful breaths as a few people looked at me strangely. I brought my shaking hand to my face, desperately trying to keep it still so I could see the time. It was three seconds to midnight.
And three seconds later, it happened.
Diagon Alley vanished. Everyone in Diagon Alley vanished. And I was later to discover that the whole wizarding world had vanished.
It was the strangest experience that I had ever gone through. My heart felt like it was being ripped from my body without any anaesthesia. The screams around me sounded so hoarse, so full of pain. And the colours seemed to fade. The colours drained from everything and everyone until it was all monotone. And then Diagon Alley existed no more.
I found myself down a back alley in Muggle London. I lay on a pile of bin bags for a while, shaking violently, hugging my arms around my body to keep warm. For a few minutes I stayed in that position until I found the strength to shakily stand up. I looked around and saw that I was at the entrance of Diagon Alley.
Teeth chattering loudly, I pushed the reddish bricks in sequence and waited for the wall to pull itself apart so I could gain entrance. I waited. I waited. And waited some more, but the wall remained firm. I remember thinking that because I was so cold that I probably pushed the wrong brick from shaking too much, so very slowly and very carefully I repeated pushing the bricks. And again, nothing happened.
Desperately I pushed them again for a third time. And a fourth and a fifth but the wall stood still and didn’t allow me entrance into the wizarding world. Trying to remain calm, I reached into my back pocket to find the portkey I always carried around with me. It would take me home and I could ask my mother what the hell was going on. A cold lurch suddenly swept through me. I couldn’t go back. I was a traitor. There was probably a warrant over my head to hunt me down and kill me. I backed away from the wall nervously, as though it was going to scream out and inform the dark lord of my whereabouts.
But even if I would have used the portkey it wouldn’t have made a difference because it wasn’t there. And neither was my wand. The only thing I could feel was the square leather of a Muggle passport and a Muggle credit card - both of which my father had ordered me to have on my premises at all times.
I started to panic now. A wizard without a wand was useless. A wizard without any entrance to the wizarding world nor any magical item on them at all was fucked. So I ran. I raced through the streets of London, barging past people determinedly, their angry cries long disappearing from my ears. I was a man on a mission, though I felt like a little kid again right now. Twenty years of life experience yet I was five years old again at this very moment, running away from trouble.
I’d passed through Muggle London a lot but never had I actually walked through and saw the place. Father had made sure of that. Associating with Muggles was one of the most lowest acts a wizard could perform and had informed me never to do so. So to say I was lost was a bit of an understatement. I didn’t know where I was going but I knew where I needed to get to. Mersey’s.
Mersey’s was an old corner shop situated somewhere in London. Every capital city in every country had a link between the wizarding world and the Muggle world, and London’s was in the form of a shop. If I could find it, I’d be able to at least ask what was going on.
For two hours I ran, walked and stumbled through desolate back streets. The glamour of the city may have been alluring at day but at night, it was nothing more than a battleground of gang crime and gun culture. I kept hearing shots and looking around wildly. I couldn’t help it. Yesterday I would have gladly walked through the same streets at night with a big target on my back if I had my wand with me, but now I was defenceless and I knew that a single bullet could take my life away. Not that it wouldn’t have been preferable as to what the dark lord would do when he got his hands on me.
And I remember seeing the first sign of the upcoming day through the purplish sky just before I finally found it. An inconspicuous corner shop that looked both out of place, yet well concealed next to the large and important high street shops. I ran to the door and pushed myself against it but it didn’t budge. Now I was really scared. Mersey’s never shuts, it was a golden rule. Wizards all over the world could need it at any point and it had to remain open. I settled down into a sitting position and looked up at the night sky. Silver stars were dotted randomly in the purple hue and it was comforting to know that should this be the last night of my life, it was a beautiful one.
*
I don’t know how long I slept for but the sound of Mersey’s front door opening loudly awoke me with a start. I looked up and saw a fat man with a reddish face step into the shop. I scrambled up and followed him in afterwards. He turned around and a slightly scared look washed over his face.
“I’m sorry, we’re not -”
“I’m a little lost” I said quickly. “Could you help me?”
He thought about it for a second. “Okay,” he replied with a confused look in his eyes. “What’s the problem?”
“Well I just tried to get to Diagon Alley through the brick sequence entrance and it’s not working. I did it five times and then I tried to use my portkey to get home but it’s not there and it was before because I used it that morning and neither is my -”
“Okay, slow down sonny,” he interrupted, cutting off my babbling. “Where did you say you want to go?”
“Diagon Alley,” I said.
He responded by picking up a tattered book from the dusty shelf and flicking through it. “Okay, let’s see ... We have a Digg Street, is that the one you’re looking for?”
“No,” I said. “Diagon Alley.” What was this guy thinking? How could he not know where Diagon Alley is?
He turned a couple of the pages and then put the book on the shelf. It was titled ‘A-Z London’. “Sorry, I can’t help you out mate. Not in there.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be in a book!” I replied shrilly. I couldn’t help it, I was really starting to get scared now.
“That book lists all the streets in London,” he informed me.
“It’s not in London,” I replied frustratingly.
“Well where is it?” he snapped, losing his temper now. “Is it even in this country?”
“How could you not know where it is? Everyone knows where it is!”
“Well you go and ask everyone then if they know,” he retorted. “If everyone knows, how come you don’t, huh? Now I’m sorry but I must ask you to leave. This shop isn’t even meant to be open today.”
“I don’t - what?” I was genuinely confused now. “What did you just say? You’re not open? Why?”
The man looked as confused as I was with my sudden change in the conversation. “It’s not exactly ready to be opened now as you can see,” he said, indicating the dirty shop with his hand. “The last owners didn’t believe in cleaning so it seems.”
“The - the last owners?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve recently brought this shop. Today’s the first time that I’ve came here, actually.”
My jaw hit the floor. What the hell was going on?
“Are you all right?” the man asked nervously. I backed away from him. I didn’t know what was going on. “Mate, you all right?” he enquired again. I responded by running out of the shop. I ran as fast as my legs would take me. The streets were crowded now and I must have pissed off hundreds of people as I sprinted past them, roughly knocking them out of my way. I ran until I found the familiar bricks of Diagon Alley and I pushed them in sequence desperately.
“Come on,” I yelled angrily, tears streaming down my face. The wall didn’t move. I bunched my hand into a fist and punched the bricks as hard as I could. My blood was smeared all over the wall and my hand but the bricks still denied me entrance. I sank to a sitting position bitterly. What the fuck was going on?
And that’s how I found myself six weeks later; still confused. My own theory was the spell that Voldermort had tried to perform went wrong and it wiped out the entire wizarding world. The reason why I was still alive was a bit jumbled up but I put it down to the fact that I wasn’t in the same room at the time. And being a death eater - a disloyal one, but a death eater nonetheless - I had been unaffected by the spell.
It was hard to think that nothing or nobody existed anymore. I didn’t have anybody. My whole family had been wiped out. Everyone I had ever known had been wiped out. Hogwarts had been wiped out. The Daily Prophet, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, spells, wands, port keys, everything to do with wizardry had gone.
Luckily I had a trump card. Two in fact. I never underestimated my fathers cleverness but I didn’t acknowledge how clever he actually was. Though he despised Muggles, he didn’t cut them out of his life completely. When telling me he was setting up a Muggle bank account at the age of fourteen, I wasn’t interested. The Quidditch world cup matches were taking place and that was far more interesting than a stupid bank account. But now I silently thanked him for saving my life as I walked into the branch where he had set it up after my knock back at Mersey’s.
The second trump card I had was my fathers insistence that we each had a duplicated card and we carried it around with us everywhere we went. I stropped sulkily at first for the sake of it, but found as time went on I actually liked having the passport and card. It made me feel more secure somehow.
“Good morning sir,” the bank clerk said frostily. She was a young woman in her early twenties.
“Hi, I’d like to draw some money out of my account,” I said quietly.
“Okay and could I have your card please sir?”
I didn’t want to hand it over but I did reluctantly. She swiped the card through a machine and studied a computer screen for a few seconds. She slowly brought her eyes up to mine in suspicion.
“Your current balance is one million, three hundred and sixty five thousand pounds sir,” she said slowly.
“Okay, can I draw the money out?” I licked my lips nervously.
“I’ll need to see some proof of identification first sir,” she replied. I took my passport out of my back pocket and thrust it at her. She studied it like a hawk and then a small smile came over her face.
“Okay sir, how much would you like?”
“Erm… the sixty five thousand.”
“In fifties, sir?”
“Er, yeah.” I didn’t know what that meant.
She beckoned me closer with a finger. “May I suggest a briefcase or duffel bag sir?” she said quietly. “For the money,” she explained upon seeing my confused expression.
“Oh, right,” I replied, not knowing what she was talking about.
“I have one you can use,” she said giving me a wink. “Only, you’ll have to bring it back. I can give you my address and telephone number, if you want it...” She left the sentence trailing as she stood up, her short skirt exposing her slender thighs. She was outrageously coming onto me. She’d turned from the frosty bitch from hell to the seductive sex siren after learning that I had money in my account. By the way her eyes grew wide as saucers when she looked at my account details, I knew that there must be quite a bit in there.
“Sir, could you follow me please?” She led the way to a small room where, as promised, stood a large bag. She bent over, exposing her shapely ass and reached for a large box.
“In bundles of thousands sir, that’s one, two, three, four ...” She piled in bundles of notes into the bag as she counted and then secured it tightly with a bright smile. “Have a nice day sir,” she purred.
“Thanks,” I replied dully picking up the bag.
“Oh and sir?” I looked back enquiringly.
“If there’s anything I can do to make your day nicer, and I do mean anything -” She stepped closer and massaged my cock through the fabric of my jeans with an expert hand, “- let me know.”
“I will,” I replied, removing her hand from my crotch. “Bye now.”
I spent the next few days in a nice hotel and whiled away the time by swimming in the pool or relaxing in the sauna. I also visited London attractions and despite the strangeness of the whole situation, it was actually nice just to be able to relax. I also started looking at housing prices. I found that I had more than enough money to live in a nice enough house in London. Nothing on my old house of course, but it was liveable and certainly nicer than some of the other shitholes that were featured in the property newspapers.
I didn’t realise how easy it was to buy a house. I started having words such as mortgages and rent thrown at me and I was lost within seconds. When I finally managed to ask whether they wanted the money straight away, things became much more easier. I handed over the cash and signed a contract and it was done. I’d paid a deposit, apparently, and the man selling me the house said I’d have nothing to worry about as long as I kept paying.
I spent the rest of the cash I had drew out on lavish amount of clothes. Materialistic it might have been but it was what I was accustomed to and I could afford it.
It was on one of my many expeditions around London that my life took a dramatic turn. I was walking through the streets of Soho when I bumped into someone. The familiar features were all there. I’d seen that face a thousand times but the emerald eyes, wild hair and that damn scar still came as a shock to me. My link with the wizarding world had just returned.
Through the form of Harry Potter.
Harry had gone.
Draco bit his nails nervously for a few minutes, ruining the manicure he had paid for a week ago. He heard a creak behind him and he jumped in shock, turning around quickly. It was probably nothing but his heart was still beating dramatically, threatening to burst out of his chest.
The phone rang and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. Calming himself down, he walked over to where it sat in the hallway.
“Hello?” he said breathlessly.
“How you doing D?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine Roger,” he replied through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”
“I just got some brand new coke imported from Amsterdam. Beautiful stuff man, beautiful stuff. Makes you feel on top of the world.”
Draco’s world felt like shit at that moment. “How much?”
“Because its you, I’ll give you seventy for a gram.”
“It was fifty last night!”
“Yeah but this is top stuff D!”
Draco thought about it for a second. “Where shall we meet?”
“Waterloo station, half an hour?”
He could imagine Roger grinning like crazy at the thought of having him on his dependency. Right now though, he couldn’t give a shit.
“Done.”
Next: Chapter Three
Previous: Chapter One
Author: idontgiveafaux
Rating: R
Word Count: 8300
Summary: After the world Draco once knew comes to a crashing halt he and Harry are left to fend for themselves in Muggle London. What forced them together is very quickly about to become the thing that will ultimately destroy them both.
Warnings: Hard drug use, language, violence, scenes of a sexual nature
Notes: Originally written pre-HBP [slightly reworked]
This chapter expands over:
June 6th and June 7th
The beat was fast and constant, relentlessly spewing out its hypnotic charms over the clubbers who were taking it all in wildly. Sweaty bodies writhed with each other as the pulsating beat grew more urgent. Shores of men and men, women and women, men and women and women and men were all dancing together throughout the whole club. Together, they were alone yet as a whole, they were together.
But one man wasn’t hypnotised. He’d seen it all before and having made his way through the club twice only to see the same old repetitive soulless faces hidden behind a façade of alcohol and drugs, he’d sank back to the sidelines and watched it all with a rather bored expression on his face. A couple of men came up and asked him to dance. He replied no. They weren’t his type. A couple of men came up and asked him to fuck. He replied no. They weren’t his type. Besides, he had a boyfriend at home and he wasn’t one to stray.
Instead he sat and watched the clubbers being controlled by the music. They moved robotically to the mesmerizing rhythms, unaware that they were being taken in. The man saw them being controlled so easily and couldn’t stop a small smile that formed on his flawless face. He was indeed stunning and had the crowd not been so glassy-eyed, they would have seen it too. He had pulled his shoulder-length blonde hair into a ponytail that evening. The feminine style was accentuated by his delicate nose and slightly glossed lips, but there was no mistaking that he was a man, especially when looking into his grey, brooding eyes.
“Alright?”
He turned and was greeted by the sight of a slightly weathered-faced man. The clubbing scene had long surpassed him yet he clung onto its coattails, desperately riding the youthful bandwagon for all it was worth.
“Hello Roger,” he replied flatly. He had no interest in talking to this man and he didn’t bother to hide this fact. The thick-skinned Roger didn’t appear to be fazed by his tone.
“So how long are you gonna say no to my generous offers then, mate?” Roger shouted in his cockney accent, leaning into his newly found companion closely.
“Forever,” he replied coldly, not liking the way Roger had called him his mate. “I’ve told you already, I’m not into the drug scene.”
Roger’s face was a picture of exaggerated surprise. “But why?” he exclaimed. “You’re young! How old are you again?”
“I’m twenty-one, but -”
“Twenty-one! You should be over there with them lot!”
He sneered. “Those twats?” he shouted over the music, nodding his head to the sea of clubbers. “They’re all off their faces, look at them! They may think they’re having a good time now but by the end of the night they’ll be sobbing into their drinks and telling everyone how much they love them. The next day they’ll wake up with a massive comedown and be depressed until next week when the cycle starts all over again.”
Roger snickered. “That’s what I rely on!”
He shook his head disapprovingly. Roger tried to make more small talk with him but when he folded his arms, pointedly turned in the other direction and didn’t reply to whatever he said, Roger got the hint and joined the crowd to hassle some other innocent bystanders. He lazily watched the spectacle in front of him. Girls in skirts too short and heels too high were drunkenly making their way down the stairs, laughing in a hyena-like fashion. Underage boys were sipping drinks delicately, looking virgin-like for any men who would hopefully take them home that night. The older people, like Roger, were desperately trying to fit in and covered up their aging bodies with the latest club wear, adorned with whistles and luminous glow-sticks. It was pathetic.
It wasn’t always this bad. He had long learnt that the key to a successful night was alcohol and the more he consumed, the less depressing the night would be. However, he’d taken it easy that night with four double brandies and cokes and that wasn’t nearly enough to obscure the circus taking place around him. Finishing the last of his latest drink, he slammed the glass down hard on the table and wondered whether to return home or not. Simultaneously, a shattering sounded off to the right of him. He turned his head as bouncers efficiently ran over to the scene while the unaware clubbers danced in their own world.
There was blood. Crimson blood trickling down caramel skin. Crimson blood on pale hands. Too much blood and too much violence. The man felt a familiar sickening feeling wash over him.
Crimson blood slowly trickled down a delicate wrist that lay limply as if unattached to the body next to it. The helpless captive - so young, yet looking older than I had ever seen him - was slumped, lifeless and emotionless against a tall pillar that didn’t look out of place in the huge, magnificent stone room. The knife that had done its job so well lay next to the captive while the captor stood over him triumphantly.
“Finally,” he said satisfactorily, in a voice so hoarse it sounded like a whisper. “Finally, it shall be fulfilled.”
I couldn’t see his face; he was facing the captive at the moment and I was glad. I had been dreading this moment for a long time and I wasn’t ready for it. I could feel my knees shaking violently underneath the black silk robe that swamped me. I tried not to feel so scared. He could smell fear. He could smell it miles away and where there was fear there was doubt and where there was doubt there was betrayal and betrayal equalled death.
So I kept my eyes on the captive and tried to feel satisfied. Too long had he been plaguing me, too long had he been a nuisance in my life and finally he was going to get what he deserved. But in my heart of hearts I knew he didn’t deserve this. My fear was so strong that I thought I was going to vomit up my heart so I couldn’t imagine what he was going through. I tried to find out as I stared into those green eyes of his, once so magnetic, yet now replaced with a dull dampened version.
“Malfoy!”
His voice swept through my body and hit me like a ten ton weight in the pit of my stomach. I stayed rigid, digging my nails into the palm of my hand to try and distract myself from my fear. It didn’t work.
I inclined my head slightly to the left to where my father stood. He was still staring at the back of the dark lord, so I returned my gaze in the same direction. Just as well because at that precise moment the dark lord turned around and looked straight at me.
There are moments in life that you will never forget and this was one of them. I will never be able to forget those fiercely red eyes that felt like an electric laser when directed at me. Nor will I ever forget those teeth, so monstrously vampire-like and menacing. But most of all, it was the skull. Over the years, the dark lord had wasted away into nothing. Until tonight. He finally had everything he needed to cast the spell that would allow him to live eternally. But it had come at a price. His skull had not grown back fully and as he had turned to me I saw the unconcealed burning flesh over the right side of his face.
I still stared straight ahead. Inside I was screaming.
The dark lord swept over to me. “Malfoy,” he said softly. The use of my name allowed me permission to look at him and I knew what the price would be if I didn’t. It took everything inside of me to stop myself from flinching. I quickly recomposed myself, remembering that he could smell the scent of betrayal for miles. I forced lost Quidditch matches into my head and remembered the fury at being beaten so many times by Potter.
“Malfoy, you are to pluck a feather from the Phoenix I have captured that lies in the watchtower underneath the full moon to aid me in completing my spell. Bring it to me in no less than three minutes, is that understood?”
I bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
He turned around without another word and so did I.
Draco Malfoy turned away from the bloody scene in front of him and sank back into his chair. He drew in sharp breaths but they weren’t helping. The sight of blood always made him nauseous and he knew that no amount of alcohol would make that memory fade away tonight. He needed something stronger.
*
“Alright there D, what can I do you for?”
“What have you got?” Draco asked, getting straight to the point.
Roger’s eyes lit up. “You mean? Do you -”
“Yeah. what have you got?”
“Anything you want mate, anything you want.”
“Fine, I’ll have some coke.” It was a surreal situation but Draco barely felt it. He didn’t register the fact that he was talking, nor the fact that he had walked into the toilet for some drugs, nor the fact that he was in a cubicle snorting a line of cocaine up his left nostril through a rolled up ten pound note. He felt the powder make its way to his head and he blinked his eyes widely a few times to stop them from watering. He didn’t feel any different to how he did before, except maybe slightly more awake, and he didn’t know how the clubbers on the dance floor could get off on the stuff so much. He found some excess on the toilet seat and rubbed it all over his gums the way Roger had told him to do so.
He left the dingy cubicle and was aware that eyes were roaming his body. He was used to it, even when he was wearing something as simple as his outfit that night; a slightly fitted black t-shirt and faded black jeans.
“Nice arse.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t know who had given him the compliment nor who he was saying his thanks to.
“Want me to fuck it?” The compliment giver turned out to be a man in his mid-thirties. He was fairly decent looking with sandy-coloured hair and blue eyes, yet his body was packed with so many steroids that even his muscles had muscles.
“Nope,” Draco said, looking in the mirror self-consciously. He gave his nose a quick rub and sniffed, lest there be any remaining powder in his nose. He turned to the man and gave him a brief smile before going over to the door.
As his hand touched the cool steel handle and he pulled open the door slightly, the man slammed it shut again easily. The toilet-goers that weren’t drunk or drugged-up watched the scene with a mixture of interest and fear.
“Why not?” The man asked, wetting his lips with his tongue.
“I have a boyfriend,” Draco replied shortly and tried to pull open the door. It didn’t budge through the weight of the man’s hand that held it shut.
“So do I,” the man said, not giving up. “The names Gary.” He offered Draco the hand that wasn’t holding the door steadfastly.
“Draco,” Draco said flatly and shook his hand politely. Gary grinned and returned the handshake but when Draco tried to pull away, he didn’t release it.
“Let go,” Draco said shrilly, trying to wrench his hand away from Gary’s grip.
“Give me a blow job and I’ll think about it,” Gary replied. A few of the spectators snickered at this.
“Just let go,” Draco demanded again, his voice getting higher. Gary didn’t relent. The room started to slide sideways and Draco closed his eyes, trying to fight the throbbing pain in his head. He stayed there rooted to the spot for several moments, helpless to do anything, nobody daring to step in and get involved with this steroid injected monster of a man.
“What’s that noise?” Draco suddenly asked hurriedly.
“Huh?”
“That ticking noise, what is it? Where’s it coming from? What’s going on? Why is -”
A mobile phone sounded off cutting Draco’s panic short. He was suddenly hit by its jingling sound. Each note sounded like it had been composed by a musical genius. He stopped struggling and listened to it in awe with his mouth slightly hanging open.
“Hey, where’s it gone?” Draco asked crestfallen as the owner answered the call. “I want to hear the music again! I want to dance!” He turned to Gary who was watching him with a slight smile on his face. “Dance with me Gary!”
“You taken anything?” Gary asked with a grin.
“I took some magic white powder. I snorted it. Up this nostril here, see?” He tiptoed and showed Gary his slightly reddened left nostril.
“Yeah, I see,” said Gary uninterestedly.
“I snorted it like a pig,” Draco said, snorting loudly to effect. “And put some on my gums. Look!” He bared a sinister smile in Gary’s face, who smiled awkwardly and tried to push his face away.
“So how about that blowjob you wanted?” Draco asked groggily. “You ask my boyfriend, I give the best ones ever! I will make you scream, baby!”
“You’ll bite it off,” Gary said, now wanting nothing more than to disown Draco. “Here, chew on this gum grinder.” He gave Draco a piece of chewing gum and let go of his hand.
Draco barely heard him as he staggered back into the club. He opened the door and was greeted by the loud music again that had sounded muffled inside the toilet. It had gotten louder since he’d been gone and it now felt like it was about to burst his eardrums. Instead of shying away from it however, he moved onto the dance floor. Giggling, he suddenly found it funny how the music had turned itself up while he was gone. It was almost as though it was like a stereo or something, he thought to himself. For some reason, that random thought made him giggle even more and when he realised that he didn’t even know what he was giggling about, he spluttered into hysterical laughter.
Suddenly the club just seemed better. The dance floor got wider, the people got friendlier and even the oldies now looked a few years younger. He felt his inhibitions slip away one by one and when the DJ asked the crowd if they wanted more, he found himself screaming with the rest of them and dancing wildly.
“Havin’ a good night mate?”
“Yeah!” screamed Draco to nobody in particular. The way people looked at him quizzically made him realise that nobody was talking to him but instead of feeling embarrassed he collapsed into fresh giggles. He looked around the club happily. A strobe light caught his eye and he stared at it entranced by its fast paced movements as he swayed from side to side softly.
He suddenly got bored of the strobe light and gave it a dirty look and turned away. He stumbled through a crowd of people who protested their anger loudly, none of which Draco actually heard, and leant on the bar heavily.
“Can I have a ...” His voice trailed off and he squinted his eyes stupidly at the bottles that lay behind the bar. “... One of those ones,” he said pointing to a clear bottle.
“You want a vodka shot?” the barman asked.
“Yeah,” Draco said, chewing on his chewing gum as hard as he could. His mouth felt numb yet he could feel it fizzing like someone had poured acid over his gums. His teeth grinded together viciously and he chomped on his chewing gum harder.
The barman produced a small glass, measured out a shot of vodka and poured it in. “That’ll be three pounds mate.”
“No, no, no wait, I want ...” He screwed up his face, lost in deep thought. “I want three,” he said holding up two fingers.
“Three?” the barman checked.
“Yeah,” Draco demanded, banging a fist down on the bar counter rudely, “Three.”
The barman produced the drinks and Draco gave him a twenty. “Keep the change babe,” he said, struggling to hold all of the shot glasses at once. He lifted them to his mouth at the same time and downed all three glasses. Most of it ended up down his front but the poison still did its damage as it slid intoxicatingly down his throat, burning it up and lighting an inferno inside his stomach.
He went back down the stairs and hit the dance floor again, but it didn’t seem as much fun anymore. The dance floor had gotten smaller, the people got nastier and the oldies now looked like they were about to drop dead right there and then. And when the DJ asked the crowd if they wanted more, he realised he was sick of the shit music he was playing.
He felt chronically depressed. He tried to lighten up his spirits again but it was no use. Everyone in the club were having a good time, except him. He caught a few people looking at him before turning away quickly and he instantly felt paranoid. The whole club was laughing at him. There was an inside joke what he didn’t know about. It was probably a set-up or something and everyone in the world was laughing at him having a horrible night. He looked around wildly at any signs of people pointing at him.
“You alright mate?”
“Yeah, I was just -” He tried to remember what he was doing but he couldn’t keep his train of thoughts. “I was just -” he turned to the person who had asked him but there was nobody there. He looked around at the people beside him but they all seem to be engrossed in their own conversations. He suddenly wanted to cry. Everyone here was so selfish. They didn’t even bother to ask if he was having a good time or not, they were all too busy with themselves. With tears threatening to spill from his eyes he marched over to where Roger was sitting.
“Roger, I need some more stuff,” Draco said desperately, his voice shaking with emotion.
Roger grinned, showing a row of mismatched yellow tombstone teeth. “I’ll give you a gram for fifty. It’ll keep you buzzing all night, I promise you that.”
Draco thrust two twenty pound notes and a ten in his face.
“Done.”
*
“Hi honey, I’m home!”
Draco staggered up the stairs and burst into the large bedroom he shared with his boyfriend. He had decorated it well. Settling on a black and white décor, he had chosen all the furniture and picked out matching curtains and duvet covers. But right now, having burst into the bedroom, he instantly hated it for being too dark. He needed something light. He needed strobe lights. He needed loud music. He was fuelled up and his house was too boring to stay in. He contemplated turning around and leaving to go to another club when he heard a stirring from the bed.
“What time is it?” Harry Potter mumbled, rubbing his eyes with a fist in a childlike manner. He fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table and put them on clumsily. Taking a look at the clock he exclaimed, “Draco, it’s four-thirty in the morning! You promised me you’d be home by two.”
“You were asleep, you didn’t miss me,” Draco said dismissively, walking over to the cabinet on the opposite side of the room and taking a handful of sweets from there. He gorged himself on them, mashing his teeth firmly against the rock hard candy shell which threatened to crack from the pressure he bit down with.
“Did you have a good time?” Harry said in the middle of a yawn. His messy bed hair looked cute and Draco suddenly felt a warm sense of affection come over him. He jumped onto the bed excitedly and pulled Harry into a rough hug.
“You had a really good time by the looks of it,” Harry said gently, trying to pull himself away from Draco’s grip. “Drunk a fair bit again?”
Draco grinned. “Nope, I didn’t drink hardly anything and I had the most fantastic time!” He scrambled to his feet and started bouncing on the bed.
“Draco!” Harry protested but Draco didn’t listen and carried on doing it. “Draco, stop it!” he repeated forcefully.
Draco bounced to a halt and fell down into a cross-legged position. “Don’t be such a bore,” he whined. Before Harry could retort he had scrambled from the bed and delved into his walk-in wardrobe.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked confusedly.
“I’m trying to ... ” His voice became muffled through the sounds of coat hangers being rustled about aggressively.
“What?” Harry asked. “What are you doing?”
Draco appeared out of the wardrobe with an amused smile on his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted and burst into hysterical laughter. “I don’t know what I’m doing!” The repetitive statement became more humorous and he shook with laughter as tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Draco, just stop it,” Harry said. “Look, do you want me to get you something to drink? Some water or -”
“I’ll have a double vodka straight please barman,” Draco giggled.
Harry sighed. “I hate it when you act like this Draco,” he said in defeat. “You act like such a fucking dickhead when you’re drunk.” With that statement he buried himself under the covers.
Draco watched his sleeping form under the bed sheets with a serious expression on his face before a car horn tooting outside distracted him. He ran to the window and pressed his nose up against the glass. He stayed in that position for a couple of minutes while unbeknown to him, Harry peeked at him from under the covers, slightly fearful of the hyper replacement of his boyfriend.
Draco eventually stumbled downstairs and turned on the TV. Music blared loudly through from downstairs and Harry cringed from underneath his bedcovers. One half of him felt as though he should supervise Draco when he got into these states, but the second half protested that he wasn’t a child and if he chose to get himself into these drunken states then he should be able to get himself out of them.
With that in mind, he buried himself deeper under the covers and forced himself to block out the sounds from downstairs. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a slight fear lurch in his heart when he heard the sounds of a news report investigating the murder of a woman and her three children. The graveness in the newsreaders voice was unsettling, but Draco’s manic laughter at the news story was far more horrific.
*
“Here, drink this.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Drink this.” The command came more forceful this time and Draco complied. He knew Harry wasn’t happy with him that morning. He could vaguely remember waking him up when he came home from the club and again when he finally went to bed that morning. But if he had had any previous doubts that Harry was pissed off with him, they would have vanished by now by the way Harry slammed down the hot mug of tea in front of him. He knew that Harry making sure that he washed the previous night out of his system with tea was more of a case of duty than affection.
Draco brought the steaming liquid to his lips tentatively and yelped when his tongue was burnt.
“Sorry, too hot?” Harry said uncaringly, going over to the kitchen sink and washing up plates that were already cleaned.
“I said I was sorry,” Draco replied through gritted teeth. He felt like shit that morning and although he knew that Harry might be a little mad at him, he didn’t need his holier-than-thou crap spouted at him today. His head was killing him and he didn’t want nothing more than to crawl back into bed and go to sleep. Harry had made sure that that didn’t happen however by suddenly having the urge to vacuum the room loudly at nine-thirty that morning, particularly enjoying banging it into the side of the bed.
“Yes you did,” Harry spat. “But that doesn’t excuse you coming back and waking me up, Draco. You know I need sleep!” He whirled around to face him. “I’ve told you a thousand times if you want to go out and waste your life by alternating between drinking and sleeping then that’s fine. But I’ve got both of us to support and I can’t go to work feeling so tired that I don’t do my job properly. I won’t get paid and neither will the rent.”
“It’s all sorted out,” Draco mumbled, clutching his head, trying to prise the headache away from his brain.
“No it isn’t,” Harry snarled into his ear. Draco jumped, his head reeling back from the ferocity in Harry’s voice.
“Leave me alone,” he mumbled, trying another sip of tea. It had cooled down a little but Draco still felt the liquid burn his throat more than vodka.
“No I wont,” Harry retorted. He pulled up a second chair and sat down at the oak table that dominated the centre of the large kitchen. “What exactly did you have to drink last night?”
“What?” Draco avoided the question with another question though he knew it wouldn’t distract Harry, only bide him a couple more seconds time with which he could hopefully think of an answer.
“You heard me,” Harry snapped. “What did you drink? I don’t remember you suffering this bad a hangover since your birthday, and even that event was partially excusable. So you must have drunk a lot to get so bloody wasted like this.”
“I didn’t drink a lot,” Draco protested. It was truthful, by his usual standards. “I had one shot and two brandy and cokes.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Is that all?”
Draco nodded, his eyes wide and youthful. “Honestly, that’s all I had to drink.”
Harry sighed. Draco was a master manipulator and he knew it. But he had lived with Draco for a while now and although there was the odd time where he had falsely mistook one of his lies for the truth, most of the time he could tell when he was telling the truth or lying. Yet this time was different. Harry knew how excessive alcohol affected Draco and he was unsure whether to believe him or not. “So why are you suffering such a bad hangover?” he probed, more gently this time.
Draco shrugged, struggling to look into Harry’s eyes. “I don’t know ... Maybe my drink was spiked!” Enthusiasm flooded into his voice now. “Maybe my drink was spiked and that’s why I was drunk. I mean, I’ve drunk a lot more than that before, right?”
“Yeah, I guess -”
“And they do say that you can’t remember the previous night if your drinks been spiked, don’t they? And I’ve already told you that I can’t remember much of last night.”
“But that might be because -”
“And I’m pretty sure that I lost muscle control towards the end of the night.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open at this. “W-what?” he managed to stammer out in shock.
Draco nodded seriously. “My legs just felt like they had no muscle in them,” he lied. “I just remember walking around the club and clutching onto people because I thought I was going to fall over at any minute.” Seeing Harry’s shocked expression he decided it would be best to play on this story. “Yeah, and then I went into the toilet and this guy followed me in. He looked really suspicious and he kept sneering at me, like he had one over on me. I didn’t see it at the time but now,” he left a dramatic pause. “I guess I see his sneers for what they really were.”
Harry’s mouth opened and closed uncontrollably as he wasn’t sure what to say. Finally he sensibly decided not to believe nor deny Draco’s story. He simply responded with, “You’re safe now, that’s the main thing.”
Draco nodded vigorously, glad he was off the hook. “Yes, I am,” he replied softly and took another sip of tea. It had the taste of triumphant victory.
*
“Don’t go.”
“Draco, you know I have to.”
“No, please don’t ... I feel sick.”
“Draco …”
“But I do! I feel really sick.”
Harry sighed. “Draco, stop it. I have to go. I’ve taken too many days off work for you before only for your sicknesses to miraculously disappear after ten minutes!”
“But this ones different,” Draco whined. “I feel really bad. My stomach hurts and I have a really bad headache.”
Harry perched himself on the edge of the couch that Draco was lying on pathetically. “There’s some medicine if it gets any worse, you know where it is.”
“But I feel really, really bad. I ... I think that the spiked drink is starting to effect me again.” He knew that this statement could either goad Harry into staying or have him leave the house in a temper.
“I ...” Harry began, and then stopped.
“Please, Harry,” Draco said, looking directly into Harry’s eyes. He sat up, wincing for good measure, and took hold of one of Harry’s hands in his own. “Please stay here with me,” he begged, planting soft kisses over his hand. “I don’t like being on my own.”
“Draco,” Harry said, a slight whine coming into his own voice. He hated Draco for manipulating him like this. He couldn’t stand the thought of him being alone and vulnerable in the house, even though he knew in his heart of hearts that that wasn’t the case. He needed to be tougher with him, put his foot down in a while. This wasn’t working; it was more of a parent and child relationship than an equal one. It had to stop.
“No Draco,” he said forcefully, pulling his hand away. “I have to go.” Seeing Draco’s face droop, he added, “Besides, how are you going to afford that sexy underwear I love if I don’t go to work?”
Draco scowled. “Fine, go to work,” he snapped, throwing himself back down on the couch. “But don’t blame me if it’s boring and you want to come home!”
Harry planted a tender kiss on his forehead. “I won’t. See you later babe.”
“Yeah, bye,” he replied uninterestedly. He heard the front door open and Harry’s footsteps shuffling outside into the warm evening air and then the loud slam of the door shutting.
He was alone.
I was alone.
For the first time in my life, I was well and truly alone. As I walked through the dirty streets of London, hidden by the hustle and bustle of the city, I realised that I had nobody to turn to, nobody to help me. I let tears stream down my cheeks unashamedly. It didn’t matter anyway. The city was far too busy to care for me.
I don’t know how it happened. On one hand, it was a blessing. I was terrified of the dark lord and now his reign was over, I could live in peace. I could say his name out loud without fear. Voldermort. Voldermort, Voldermort, Voldermort. But on the other hand I was petrified. How could I live in peace when I was stuck in Muggle London on my own? I wouldn’t be able to cope. I wouldn’t last a day. It certainly felt that way as I wandered through the repetitive streets desperately.
It had been strange. It had actually been fucking surreal. Voldermort had sent me to get the feather from the phoenix and I had walked out of the room. And I had carried on walking until I got out of his sight and then broke into a sprint. I didn’t know where I was running to and I didn’t care. I just couldn’t carry on my life like this, serving a lord who’s beliefs felt wrong to me. Those venomous words and insults I had hurled at people through school came flooding back to me, urging me to run faster. I hadn’t believed in any of it. My father had instilled them into my brain.
I was true Slytherin, all right. The sorting hat hadn’t got it wrong there. As I ran desperately out of the dank dungeons of the dark lords lair, the selfishness of the situation came to me. I was leaving Potter to be tortured before the dark lord and the Death Eaters circle. I was leaving my father to be certainly punished for my betrayal once it had been discovered. And I was leaving behind my whole life forever. I would no doubt be found and brought before the Death Eaters and suffer all of the unforgivable curses before meeting my torturous death. But I didn’t care. I didn’t have time to think about the horrific consequences as I ran from the scene.
Yanking the robes from my body, I hurled myself out of the entrance, which was magically disguised as a dusty shop that had been closed down for a while and found myself in Diagon Alley. I took in deep, grateful breaths as a few people looked at me strangely. I brought my shaking hand to my face, desperately trying to keep it still so I could see the time. It was three seconds to midnight.
And three seconds later, it happened.
Diagon Alley vanished. Everyone in Diagon Alley vanished. And I was later to discover that the whole wizarding world had vanished.
It was the strangest experience that I had ever gone through. My heart felt like it was being ripped from my body without any anaesthesia. The screams around me sounded so hoarse, so full of pain. And the colours seemed to fade. The colours drained from everything and everyone until it was all monotone. And then Diagon Alley existed no more.
I found myself down a back alley in Muggle London. I lay on a pile of bin bags for a while, shaking violently, hugging my arms around my body to keep warm. For a few minutes I stayed in that position until I found the strength to shakily stand up. I looked around and saw that I was at the entrance of Diagon Alley.
Teeth chattering loudly, I pushed the reddish bricks in sequence and waited for the wall to pull itself apart so I could gain entrance. I waited. I waited. And waited some more, but the wall remained firm. I remember thinking that because I was so cold that I probably pushed the wrong brick from shaking too much, so very slowly and very carefully I repeated pushing the bricks. And again, nothing happened.
Desperately I pushed them again for a third time. And a fourth and a fifth but the wall stood still and didn’t allow me entrance into the wizarding world. Trying to remain calm, I reached into my back pocket to find the portkey I always carried around with me. It would take me home and I could ask my mother what the hell was going on. A cold lurch suddenly swept through me. I couldn’t go back. I was a traitor. There was probably a warrant over my head to hunt me down and kill me. I backed away from the wall nervously, as though it was going to scream out and inform the dark lord of my whereabouts.
But even if I would have used the portkey it wouldn’t have made a difference because it wasn’t there. And neither was my wand. The only thing I could feel was the square leather of a Muggle passport and a Muggle credit card - both of which my father had ordered me to have on my premises at all times.
I started to panic now. A wizard without a wand was useless. A wizard without any entrance to the wizarding world nor any magical item on them at all was fucked. So I ran. I raced through the streets of London, barging past people determinedly, their angry cries long disappearing from my ears. I was a man on a mission, though I felt like a little kid again right now. Twenty years of life experience yet I was five years old again at this very moment, running away from trouble.
I’d passed through Muggle London a lot but never had I actually walked through and saw the place. Father had made sure of that. Associating with Muggles was one of the most lowest acts a wizard could perform and had informed me never to do so. So to say I was lost was a bit of an understatement. I didn’t know where I was going but I knew where I needed to get to. Mersey’s.
Mersey’s was an old corner shop situated somewhere in London. Every capital city in every country had a link between the wizarding world and the Muggle world, and London’s was in the form of a shop. If I could find it, I’d be able to at least ask what was going on.
For two hours I ran, walked and stumbled through desolate back streets. The glamour of the city may have been alluring at day but at night, it was nothing more than a battleground of gang crime and gun culture. I kept hearing shots and looking around wildly. I couldn’t help it. Yesterday I would have gladly walked through the same streets at night with a big target on my back if I had my wand with me, but now I was defenceless and I knew that a single bullet could take my life away. Not that it wouldn’t have been preferable as to what the dark lord would do when he got his hands on me.
And I remember seeing the first sign of the upcoming day through the purplish sky just before I finally found it. An inconspicuous corner shop that looked both out of place, yet well concealed next to the large and important high street shops. I ran to the door and pushed myself against it but it didn’t budge. Now I was really scared. Mersey’s never shuts, it was a golden rule. Wizards all over the world could need it at any point and it had to remain open. I settled down into a sitting position and looked up at the night sky. Silver stars were dotted randomly in the purple hue and it was comforting to know that should this be the last night of my life, it was a beautiful one.
*
I don’t know how long I slept for but the sound of Mersey’s front door opening loudly awoke me with a start. I looked up and saw a fat man with a reddish face step into the shop. I scrambled up and followed him in afterwards. He turned around and a slightly scared look washed over his face.
“I’m sorry, we’re not -”
“I’m a little lost” I said quickly. “Could you help me?”
He thought about it for a second. “Okay,” he replied with a confused look in his eyes. “What’s the problem?”
“Well I just tried to get to Diagon Alley through the brick sequence entrance and it’s not working. I did it five times and then I tried to use my portkey to get home but it’s not there and it was before because I used it that morning and neither is my -”
“Okay, slow down sonny,” he interrupted, cutting off my babbling. “Where did you say you want to go?”
“Diagon Alley,” I said.
He responded by picking up a tattered book from the dusty shelf and flicking through it. “Okay, let’s see ... We have a Digg Street, is that the one you’re looking for?”
“No,” I said. “Diagon Alley.” What was this guy thinking? How could he not know where Diagon Alley is?
He turned a couple of the pages and then put the book on the shelf. It was titled ‘A-Z London’. “Sorry, I can’t help you out mate. Not in there.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be in a book!” I replied shrilly. I couldn’t help it, I was really starting to get scared now.
“That book lists all the streets in London,” he informed me.
“It’s not in London,” I replied frustratingly.
“Well where is it?” he snapped, losing his temper now. “Is it even in this country?”
“How could you not know where it is? Everyone knows where it is!”
“Well you go and ask everyone then if they know,” he retorted. “If everyone knows, how come you don’t, huh? Now I’m sorry but I must ask you to leave. This shop isn’t even meant to be open today.”
“I don’t - what?” I was genuinely confused now. “What did you just say? You’re not open? Why?”
The man looked as confused as I was with my sudden change in the conversation. “It’s not exactly ready to be opened now as you can see,” he said, indicating the dirty shop with his hand. “The last owners didn’t believe in cleaning so it seems.”
“The - the last owners?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve recently brought this shop. Today’s the first time that I’ve came here, actually.”
My jaw hit the floor. What the hell was going on?
“Are you all right?” the man asked nervously. I backed away from him. I didn’t know what was going on. “Mate, you all right?” he enquired again. I responded by running out of the shop. I ran as fast as my legs would take me. The streets were crowded now and I must have pissed off hundreds of people as I sprinted past them, roughly knocking them out of my way. I ran until I found the familiar bricks of Diagon Alley and I pushed them in sequence desperately.
“Come on,” I yelled angrily, tears streaming down my face. The wall didn’t move. I bunched my hand into a fist and punched the bricks as hard as I could. My blood was smeared all over the wall and my hand but the bricks still denied me entrance. I sank to a sitting position bitterly. What the fuck was going on?
And that’s how I found myself six weeks later; still confused. My own theory was the spell that Voldermort had tried to perform went wrong and it wiped out the entire wizarding world. The reason why I was still alive was a bit jumbled up but I put it down to the fact that I wasn’t in the same room at the time. And being a death eater - a disloyal one, but a death eater nonetheless - I had been unaffected by the spell.
It was hard to think that nothing or nobody existed anymore. I didn’t have anybody. My whole family had been wiped out. Everyone I had ever known had been wiped out. Hogwarts had been wiped out. The Daily Prophet, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, spells, wands, port keys, everything to do with wizardry had gone.
Luckily I had a trump card. Two in fact. I never underestimated my fathers cleverness but I didn’t acknowledge how clever he actually was. Though he despised Muggles, he didn’t cut them out of his life completely. When telling me he was setting up a Muggle bank account at the age of fourteen, I wasn’t interested. The Quidditch world cup matches were taking place and that was far more interesting than a stupid bank account. But now I silently thanked him for saving my life as I walked into the branch where he had set it up after my knock back at Mersey’s.
The second trump card I had was my fathers insistence that we each had a duplicated card and we carried it around with us everywhere we went. I stropped sulkily at first for the sake of it, but found as time went on I actually liked having the passport and card. It made me feel more secure somehow.
“Good morning sir,” the bank clerk said frostily. She was a young woman in her early twenties.
“Hi, I’d like to draw some money out of my account,” I said quietly.
“Okay and could I have your card please sir?”
I didn’t want to hand it over but I did reluctantly. She swiped the card through a machine and studied a computer screen for a few seconds. She slowly brought her eyes up to mine in suspicion.
“Your current balance is one million, three hundred and sixty five thousand pounds sir,” she said slowly.
“Okay, can I draw the money out?” I licked my lips nervously.
“I’ll need to see some proof of identification first sir,” she replied. I took my passport out of my back pocket and thrust it at her. She studied it like a hawk and then a small smile came over her face.
“Okay sir, how much would you like?”
“Erm… the sixty five thousand.”
“In fifties, sir?”
“Er, yeah.” I didn’t know what that meant.
She beckoned me closer with a finger. “May I suggest a briefcase or duffel bag sir?” she said quietly. “For the money,” she explained upon seeing my confused expression.
“Oh, right,” I replied, not knowing what she was talking about.
“I have one you can use,” she said giving me a wink. “Only, you’ll have to bring it back. I can give you my address and telephone number, if you want it...” She left the sentence trailing as she stood up, her short skirt exposing her slender thighs. She was outrageously coming onto me. She’d turned from the frosty bitch from hell to the seductive sex siren after learning that I had money in my account. By the way her eyes grew wide as saucers when she looked at my account details, I knew that there must be quite a bit in there.
“Sir, could you follow me please?” She led the way to a small room where, as promised, stood a large bag. She bent over, exposing her shapely ass and reached for a large box.
“In bundles of thousands sir, that’s one, two, three, four ...” She piled in bundles of notes into the bag as she counted and then secured it tightly with a bright smile. “Have a nice day sir,” she purred.
“Thanks,” I replied dully picking up the bag.
“Oh and sir?” I looked back enquiringly.
“If there’s anything I can do to make your day nicer, and I do mean anything -” She stepped closer and massaged my cock through the fabric of my jeans with an expert hand, “- let me know.”
“I will,” I replied, removing her hand from my crotch. “Bye now.”
I spent the next few days in a nice hotel and whiled away the time by swimming in the pool or relaxing in the sauna. I also visited London attractions and despite the strangeness of the whole situation, it was actually nice just to be able to relax. I also started looking at housing prices. I found that I had more than enough money to live in a nice enough house in London. Nothing on my old house of course, but it was liveable and certainly nicer than some of the other shitholes that were featured in the property newspapers.
I didn’t realise how easy it was to buy a house. I started having words such as mortgages and rent thrown at me and I was lost within seconds. When I finally managed to ask whether they wanted the money straight away, things became much more easier. I handed over the cash and signed a contract and it was done. I’d paid a deposit, apparently, and the man selling me the house said I’d have nothing to worry about as long as I kept paying.
I spent the rest of the cash I had drew out on lavish amount of clothes. Materialistic it might have been but it was what I was accustomed to and I could afford it.
It was on one of my many expeditions around London that my life took a dramatic turn. I was walking through the streets of Soho when I bumped into someone. The familiar features were all there. I’d seen that face a thousand times but the emerald eyes, wild hair and that damn scar still came as a shock to me. My link with the wizarding world had just returned.
Through the form of Harry Potter.
Harry had gone.
Draco bit his nails nervously for a few minutes, ruining the manicure he had paid for a week ago. He heard a creak behind him and he jumped in shock, turning around quickly. It was probably nothing but his heart was still beating dramatically, threatening to burst out of his chest.
The phone rang and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. Calming himself down, he walked over to where it sat in the hallway.
“Hello?” he said breathlessly.
“How you doing D?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine Roger,” he replied through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”
“I just got some brand new coke imported from Amsterdam. Beautiful stuff man, beautiful stuff. Makes you feel on top of the world.”
Draco’s world felt like shit at that moment. “How much?”
“Because its you, I’ll give you seventy for a gram.”
“It was fifty last night!”
“Yeah but this is top stuff D!”
Draco thought about it for a second. “Where shall we meet?”
“Waterloo station, half an hour?”
He could imagine Roger grinning like crazy at the thought of having him on his dependency. Right now though, he couldn’t give a shit.
“Done.”
Next: Chapter Three
Previous: Chapter One