Switchblade Glances: Chapter Five
Again, my love to sordid_humors who can turn my pigs' ears into silk purses. Your friendship is worth so much.
-Cola
Title: Switchblade Glances: But Your Body Still Rocks
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco. Includes Ron/Hermione. A bit of Harry/Ginny.
Summary: AU; Draco is the successor to his Family's Mafia. Harry is the leader of the most powerful street gang in the city. More than bullets are going to fly.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Language, Violence, Sexual Content
Word Count: 5,347
Author's Notes: This particular chapter is R
Harry leveled his gun at the man's kneecaps. His finger curled around the trigger, unleashing a torrid burst of fire. The shoulder stock shuddered against him. A spray of blood erupted, stirring a savage glint in the cruel green of Harry's eyes. The man hit the freighter's deck with a dull metallic thud. Harry got to his feet and ran over to where he'd fallen. Harry's boot came down on the man's neck; vertebrae strained and snapped beneath his heel with a gut-lurching crack. Most of the sound was swallowed in the racket of bullets and battle cries. Harry snatched up the AK-47 his newly deceased target had dropped, slinging it over his shoulder before ducking around another storage crate.
In a blink, Harry's gun went up when he saw one pointed right at him. But then both weapons were lowered. Harry let out a breath and crouched down next to where Ron was kneeling.
"Do you ever get bloodstains on that coat?" Ron teased before he checked around the crate again.
"How many left?" Harry asked. He shoved a new magazine into his submachine gun and turned the safety off again.
"A good few. Still gotta take care of the lower levels-secure the engine room and all that-but that shouldn't be a problem. Fred and George are already rigging up the stuff to smoke 'em out."
"Good. Hold tight."
Harry gave his friend a smack on the shoulder and then ran past him, knowing that Ron had his back covered.
Brooding waves lapped against the ship, blanketing corpses as they were tossed overboard. Briny breezes and salt spray glanced off the dark waters, fueling Harry's adrenaline. He wove between multicolored crates and tucked himself in the small spaces between kills.
These idiots were no good, Harry thought to himself. If they couldn't handle a small-scale raid like this, then the Families must've been scraping for people wherever they could get them. Harry took a breath and crouched down, crawling along between a long line of crates and the very edge of the barge, working his way towards the steerage cabin. These men guarding the ship were too focused on the commotion the other Red Bolts were making on the docks-too busy, startled by the sudden chaos, to watch their own backs.
Harry, Ron, Neville and the twins had already boarded the ship itself, their small group was steadily picking off the crew: taking out the few who stood out in the open and then waiting for the others to poke their heads up to see what happened. Some of the goons were actually starting to notice something was wrong up top-the dumb fucks. Things were just about to get interesting.
Harry ground his teeth together, tightening his hand around the gun's foregrip, a new target in his sights-a new corpse to warm the water. One second of fire and there'd be a new Pollock-impression to paint the crates. This one caught sight-Harry drew a breath-of someone down on the docks. The man bolted to the edge of the ship to shoot at whoever he'd seen.
That was just the opportunity to take him down. Beyond the muffle of plugs in his ears, his shots rang out, sending his target reeling. With a bloodied seizure, the man fell overboard. Harry let out a short sigh and then continued on his mission towards the cabin. Before he could take one step, another goon had run out to take the other's place. A bit quicker on the uptake, this one instantly caught sight of Harry and raised his gun. Before Harry had the moment to eliminate the threat, loud shots rang out from offside. One took the newcomer's head off; it burst like a water balloon of viscera. The second shot blew through a nearby propane tank.
Harry ducked behind a crate and hit the deck, managing to avoid the brunt of the explosion. But just as the blast calmed, there came a roar of ripping metal. Harry put his hands over his head and braced himself as something huge and heavy crashed through the deck, rocking the ship back and forth with an angry jolt. He lifted his head cautiously when things had settled; a crane-bolted to the deck to load supplies-had toppled with the tank's explosion, busting a hole right into the cargo hull. Harry cursed. Wildly, he scanned the upper walkways of the docks to see who had fired that shot.
Standing on the observing deck above the docking zone was Seamus with his sawed-off shotgun still braced against his shoulder and horror in his wide eyes.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Harry ran. He tore out of that place, going for the flare at his hip, but…fuck, he couldn't! Not with propane leaking everywhere. Couldn't risk starting more fires. So he ripped the radio from his belt, screaming into it.
"Hermione! Throw up the retreat, now!"
"What's happened?" her static-hazed voice panicked from the docks. "Are you alright?"
"NOW!"
He didn't wait for her response. Harry continued to run, dodging between crates, ripping the customs papers from as many as he could. Seamus! Fucking idiot! Harry had told them all not to hide up in the observation area for this exact reason. That crane probably punched right through the fuel supply; that barge was just a bomb waiting to blow. Some of his lieutenants were already yelling through their radios, crowding the channel with frantic voices, but Harry didn't have time to answer.
"Neville!" he called when he caught sight of the man. "Grab the papers! We need to get out of here, now!"
Neville obeyed immediately, running alongside Harry, ripping documents from the crates they passed. "What about the others?" he asked urgently. "Fred? George?"
"If they're smart, they'll get their arses in gear! Run!"
A roar of a sudden blaze exploded behind them and Harry took off towards the ramp. He could already see the giant bloom of yellow smoke rising from the harbor into the overcast skies.
A bellow from behind him made Harry turn. Without second thought, he shot through the man's chest and watched him fall.
Panic burned in Harry's eyes like the peripheral blaze not far from him. But he wasn't getting off the freighter until he'd seen all his men leave before him. Neville had already rushed down to the docks, snatching papers as he went. Just then, the twins came running. George went drifting around the corner with such effortless grace; his slide through that puddle of blood and brain matter looked deliberate. Fred wasn't far behind. He vaulted over corpses and overturned palletes, one hand pressing a stitch in his side and the other brandishing his Desert Eagle.
"Go on! Move it, move it!" Harry waved them over and scanned the deck again for Ron. His best mate skidded into sight and sprinted right at Harry, practically leaping onto the ramp when he reached it.
Harry did a final check of the deck, the fires slowly climbing further and higher. Straggling members of the crew ran towards the blaze, trying to quell it in whatever ways they could. Harry growled, resisting the urge to shoot them and instead followed after his men.
"Harry! Harry, what happened?" Ginny came up to meet them as they arrived at the docks.
"How much has the retrieval squad managed to get?" Harry demanded, looking behind her to check on the Bolts. Everyone was running around, yelling. The bullets had stopped flying. For one moment, Harry glanced up at the stairs that led to the observation platform. Seamus wasn't there anymore.
"Only the shipments they already loaded onto the docks," Ginny said. There was blood dripping down into her eyes.
"That's gonna have to do; deck's breached. Fire gets to the tanks, we're all fucked." He ushered Ginny away and made a break for the overlook where all their vehicles were parked. "Everyone go!"
There was a mad rush of people as they all ran. Then the terrifying chase of gun fire as someone on deck took notice and shot at them. Harry yelled angrily and jumped onto his bike, Ginny grabbing onto him as he revved it and took off.
He didn't look back. Ahead of him, the vans and trucks full of the "acquired currency" were already reaching the gates. Harry was the last man to go through, bringing up the rear as the Bolts picked up speed and burned rubber for a few good kilometers. It wasn't long until they reached the city limits again. Right as they hit the border, the sky caught fire.
The force of it shook through the streets and rattled the entire island. Nearby pedestrians who were already panicking at the onslaught of reckless drivers shrieked in terror. Harry could feel the heat of the blast at his back, though Ginny's stranglehold grip around his waist. His bike was unsteady only for a moment and when he regained traction, Harry gunned it hard, pushing towards his crew. The sound of the engine growling echoed the snarl of anger unfurling in his chest.
Hot like molten iron.
"Seamus Finnigan."
There was a hush over the Red Bolts as they stood, gathered in the Spot. Called that simply because it was the common meeting territory for the gang: an old, abandoned train station with tracks long since disconnected from the running lines. They all stood in the main hall-bloodied, dirty and sweating-a crowd not too far from the doors with Harry several steps ahead. He faced the back wall, towards the passages that led to the platforms. Behind him there was the shuffling of tired feet and clinking of weaponry. Solitary footsteps approached and stopped a metre or so behind Harry. He turned.
Seamus stood there, staring at his leader with barely disguised fear in his steady gaze. Harry walked towards him with a leer and came to a halt at his diagonal, shifting his focus to the gang. They were all more visibly shaken, dozens of eyes knowing just what was happening and not having to put up a brave face for anyone. They'd already had those masks up where it counted. Their fight was over.
Harry put his hand on Seamus' shoulder and shoved him into an about-face. Then he began pacing behind the man's back. Every eye in the room, save Seamus's, followed him.
"Who are these people, Seamus?" Harry asked, hands going into the pockets of his coat as he walked. He watched as Seamus swallowed, looking out at everyone. Most of them were looking at Harry, a sort of terror in their eyes.
"The Red Bolts," Seamus answered. His voice cracked.
"Are they all here?" Harry asked further. "Go ahead. Count them."
It took a while. Harry didn't mind waiting. He knew how many there were; he'd done the headcount himself and then made Hermione double check the number.
"Everyone's here," Seamus finally said after a few minutes.
"Look here."
Seamus turned to face Harry where he stood at the man's left side now. As soon as he did, Harry whipped out his switchblade and slashed it diagonally up Seamus's face. The scream Seamus let out was more from being startled. Harry had deliberately made the cut shallow and was sure to avoid eyes. Seamus still fell to his knees and bled. It spilled down into his fingers and pattered along the floor. Seams clenched his teeth, every exhale pushing out in pain.
"I gave you an order," Harry snarled, looking down at him, the blade still in his hand, barely a drop of blood on it. "Before we started this raid, I gave everyone here an order to stay low and watch that propane. I specifically pointed out that deck as off-limits because of the risk of hitting the tank. What the fuck did you do?"
"I…I-I went there a-anyway," Seamus bit out.
"You did exactly what I warned against."
"I saved your life!"
"Fuck that, Seamus, you could've killed everyone!" Harry lifted a foot and kicked Seamus onto his back, planting his boot on the man's sternum as he stared down in absolute fury.
"I give you orders for a reason! If you can't get it into that thick skull of yours that my orders are to be obeyed, you need to get the fuck out of this gang! I will not have ANY of my men killed for stupid shite like disobedience! Got it?"
There was such silence. Harry's rage writhed around in it and turned the air electric, crimson. The others might as well have been invisible. Harry only saw the bloodied face of the one under his foot, only heard the low ringing of fury that danced about his head. Adrenaline and cruelty boiled through his veins. He wanted to tear into Seamus, rend him to pieces, force him to pay back in ripped flesh and broken bone what he'd risked today.
But he didn't.
With a slow, rattling breath, Harry put the knife away and took his boot from Seamus's chest. He backed away before turning to his crew, hands returning to his pockets, curled into tight fists. They all stared at him, stock still, looking like they knew they were next.
"I'm warning all of you," Harry said lowly, forcing the wrath back into its cage at the darkest part of himself. "If anyone disobeys me, you'll pay for it in blood. Go home. Rest. You've done well today."
There was a soft scuffing of feet as the crowd dispersed. Harry turned and moved towards the platforms without giving a second glance towards Seamus.
"Harry, what about the papers!" Hermione called out behind him. Harry just shook his head and let the shadows fold around him.
"Let him be," he heard Ron say. "Doubt he can think straight right now."
Harry walked to the very edge of the platform and sat down, letting his legs dangle over the edge as he leaned into himself, clenching his hands in his hair.
They'd lost so much. Grabbing the customs papers was a step in the right direction. But they'd only managed those and the few palates of cash that had already been brought onto the docks. That was all money that had been siphoned from government mint, going straight to some Family vault to bolster their underground trading and black market deals. Cash that would be better off in the hands of the inhabitants of the Drops, people who needed it just to buy bandages for their kids' scraped knees, people who didn't have enough food to keep their families alive.
All that money was gone, now. Burned and turned to waterlogged ash. All because of some stupid….
Harry howled. The sound of it echoed through the black hall, ricocheting off the walls and through the tunnels, out into the night. His fists pulled at his hair and stubbed nails dug into the flesh of his scalp. Shite like this…. Fucking shite like this….
Another roar.
Wasted. All that effort for so little gain.
Harry wanted to break something. Didn't matter what. It just needed to break. To shatter. The desire for destruction clawed up his spine like a vicious parasite and his hands trembled.
He swallowed. Breathed. Turned his face towards the high, blackened ceiling.
"No," he murmured. "No. Don't. Walk it off. Just walk it off, Harry."
And with that, he pushed himself off the ledge and started following the tracks. It might take him hours to 'just walk it off.' But Harry had learned long ago that giving in to impassioned impulses could get people hurt. He'd only just managed to keep from scalping Seamus. Nothing and no one else would suffer at his hands tonight.
So Harry walked it off with those hands in his pockets and his mind on something other than regret.
Draco laughed. He laughed like he hadn't in a long while. And though the action made the tender flesh of his chest tighten in protest, he couldn't help himself. The newspaper had fallen to his lap as he put his face in his hands and tried to stifle his chuckles.
"Red Bolts Bomb Family Freighter," the headline read, followed by a colorful article detailing a wild raid manned by hundreds of ruthless youth with an armory of military proportions. Draco didn't know what was more amusing, the newspaper's blatant hyperbole concerning the destructive force of the Red Bolts or the fact that the Red Bolts had managed to make such a mess with what few able bodies they actually boasted. Draco ultimately concluded he was impressed the Red Bolts made such a ruckus; he'd felt the explosion himself, and it was miles away.
That blaze wasn't hard to see from the glass-walled space of his flat. Draco had been sitting on his sofa with a cup of tea and a stack of contracts to pretend to read and care about. Then the ground shook and fire burst into the sky from over by the docks. Draco had stared, silent and wide-eyed. For some reason, even though he honestly had no idea what had happened, he knew that Harry Potter and his Red Bolts had something to do with it.
Which was why it was twice as funny when he picked up his paper the next morning and saw how the gang had been turned into some anarchist legion. Honestly, the propaganda this island spouted was downright comedy.
Draco was positive that everything detailed in the article was either a complete fabrication or just absurdly embellished truth. But he was still curious. No one had ever blown up a ship on a raid. They must've had some pretty impressive pyrotechnics and a grudge against someone. So Draco, being the curious and bored man that he was, picked up his phone and searched through his contacts.
When he found the one he wanted, Draco sat with the phone to his ear, just grinning. God, this was the most fun he'd had in ages and it wasn't even his own doing. No one picked up the first time, but he tried again. He wasn't going to give up on this one: then he'd be bored again. No point in that when he could be out entertaining himself.
"Do you realize what time it is?"
Draco raised an eyebrow, smirk widening at the sound of a rather exhausted voice finally picking up. "It's well after nine, Potter. Most of the world has been alive and functioning for a few hours."
There was an annoyed groan and the sound of shifting, the squeak of a mattress.
"What do you want?"
"I wanted to congratulate you on your latest daring conquest at the harbor. Bravo, bravo."
Another groan.
"It's in the papers then?"
"Front page, even."
"Brilliant…."
"My thoughts exactly," Draco said, the grin permanently plastered to his face. "So I thought I'd offer you a celebratory drink over at N&C this evening."
"What? No, Malfoy, I-"
"I won't let you refuse me, Potter. I've been bored out of my fucking mind and you're the best excuse I've got to get out of here. Plus, you owe me for unnecessarily ripping me open and then making me drink that horse piss you call vodka."
"You were the one who-"
"You're honestly going to turn down all the free booze you can drink?"
Draco heard Potter groan and grumble in frustration before finally letting out a long sigh.
"Fine. Ten o'clock?"
"I'll see you there."
Draco hung up and tossed the phone onto the table with a small chuckle. Apparently the leader of the Red Bolts was easily negotiable in the morning. That'd be a good little tidbit to hang on to. That, or he just really liked to get smashed. Equally useful in its own right. Draco stuffed the last bit of his toast into his mouth and gently ran his fingers across his shirt, feeling the sting of the fabric as it brushed against his sutured wound.
"You ever been here before?"
Harry shook his head and continued to look around, scoping the bar. It was in a basement beneath some sparsely-inhabited building in Weslock. You could only get to the entrance by walking down a dark, narrow alley and practically tearing your arm out of socket to get the scuffed metal door open. The bar was dark, with stairs leading straight down into a wide, open space. It glowed with a soft indigo light among dark granite tabletops and black metal. The bar itself was backlit in a more easily managed white light, so that's where Harry sat with Malfoy, green eyes flicking up at the bartender every now and then.
The woman paid him no mind, but he'd never seen so many piercings in a human being before.
"I'm surprised that you know about a place like this," Harry said to Malfoy. Several of the patrons looked like those gothed-up fanatics only found at industrial metal concerts.
"Draws a weird crowd, for sure," Malfoy agreed, "But Mona here makes a kicking cocktail, don't you, love?"
"Keep your coddling to yourself, Draco," the buxom woman said, wagging an empty tumbler at him in warning. "What can I get you gents this evening?"
"I'll have a Greyhound and this one's going to have a Moscow Mule."
"Am I?"
"Just take it, Potter. You can get whatever you want afterwards." Malfoy rolled his eyes and cracked a grin at him.
Harry sighed and shrugged. It was Malfoy's treat, so he supposed the least he could do was let the man give him one recommendation. Not that it made him feel any better about being there in the first place. True, the alcohol was welcome enough, particularly after the grating regret of yesterday's failures lingered.
"So what really happened, then?"
And, of course, Malfoy just wanted to have a good laugh at Harry's expense and dropped salt right into that open wound.
"I really don't see how that concerns you at all, Malfoy," Harry huffed out.
"Well, of course it does. Unless you want me to believe that you're planning on bombing the courthouses next."
Harry rolled his eyes. La Croix newspaper writers needed to think about making a career change for screenplay writing.
"We weren't trying to blow the damn boat," Harry said. "It was an accident that it went up before we were through."
"That's what I thought," Malfoy said, nodding to himself. "I know you all are hell-bent on tearing down organized crime and whatnot-rather hypocritical of you, by the way-but this move seemed a bit too drastic for your style. Too…pointlessly thrilling."
Harry chuckled under his breath. No delicacy with this one, apparently. He looked over at the man next to him, meeting grey eyes that sparkled with challenge and amusement. They peered at him from over those piano fingers that were laced placidly, attempting to hide the smirk on Malfoy's lips.
"I thought the aristocrats were supposed to keep their insults thinly veiled," Harry said just as the bartender came back and set a copper mug garnished with a lime slice in front of him. He thanked her and then brought the drink to his lips. It was cold-sour and sweet and just a bit fizzy. Harry smiled as he swallowed, welcoming the lovely burn down his throat. There was ginger beer in it. He gave a short laugh.
"What's funny?" Malfoy asked after putting down his own glass.
"Nothing," Harry said. "You have good taste."
"Of course I do. Now, would you mind sharing what your gang was really trying to accomplish at the docks?"
Harry looked over at Malfoy…who was looking right back, completely unapologetic.
"I would," Harry said pointedly.
"Really?" Malfoy took another sip from his glass. "If you were looking to be covert, you rather blasted that plan to hell when you…well, when you turned that barge into a fireworks display." The laugh was silent, but Harry leered at the glitter of it in Malfoy's eyes.
"I'm not in the habit of divulging plans to the enemy, Malfoy; you'll have to forgive me."
"Enemy?" Malfoy scoffed. "I'm not your enemy, Potter."
"The hell you are," Harry said. "You're the son of Lucius Malfoy, the top threat to my cause: the icon of everything I stand against. For Christ's sake, you're the bloke who challenged me to a bloody knife fight over spilling beer on a girl's outfit." He took a deep draught from the copper mug and then smacked it back down on the bar-top. "I still don't even know why the hell I'm sitting here with you; I don't fraternize with enemies."
"That's because I'm not your enemy," Malfoy repeated with another roll of his eyes. "Good lord, if you're basing that assumption on the fact that I happen to be a Family heir then you're under the wrong impression."
Harry scrunched his brow and shook his head, the cool, heavy sway of the drink in his stomach making heat gush through his veins. "How d'ya figure?" he asked, tongue swiping a droplet from his top lip.
"My father's work is his own. It's of no deep interest or consequence to me what he does with his life," Malfoy said. "You honestly think I'd treat you to drinks over this if I gave a rat's arse about Family prosperity?" He swirled the ice around in his glass. Tired eyes stared at the backlit shelves of liquor bottles and Malfoy chuckled humorlessly. "Being a mafia boy is easy for me, so that's what I'm doing for now. Something better comes along, I'll be off this rock before my father can even turn his head."
With his mug empty, curiosity piqued and rather unsatisfied, Harry stared at Malfoy, trying to find his answers without asking any questions. All he could glean, though, was that the man looked well rested for someone who'd been slashed up a few days before. His face was still pale, but Malfoy's skin was clear and smooth, with no dark circles beneath his eyes like Harry had seen on most of his men.
Harry was under no illusions. Malfoy might've said that he didn't care about his circumstances, but he didn't know what it was like to sleep on a shitty mattress stuck in the corner of a halfway house. He never had to wonder when his next meal would be or if he'd be able to go to the store without getting mugged. There was a horror story from every member in the Red Bolts. Harry bet that the worst experience Malfoy ever had was almost getting gutted by a switchblade.
"So you're a coward, then," Harry said after asking the bartender for a Gin and Tonic. He could feel Malfoy gaping at him. "You've got no ambition." A thick silence settled over the two of them. Harry just sat there and watched for Malfoy's reaction. Eventually, the blond sighed and gave a smooth grin.
"Sure, I can see that," he conceded. "Call it what you like, but it works for me."
Well, he may have been a coward, but at least he owned it with pride. Harry could respect that. The real issue-he mulled it over as he took up his drink-was that now Harry couldn't fit Malfoy into either of the neatly labeled boxes in his head: Enemy or Ally.
If the heir didn't honestly have his heart in supporting his Family's goals, Harry didn't have a way to approach him anymore. At least not one that he was comfortable with. As an enemy, it was easy just to say that he'd keep his defenses up, glean what secrets he could from their sparse interactions, watch for an opening and then take him out when that opportunity presented itself.
That was the original plan, anyway. But Malfoy had effectively removed himself from that target area with that unexpected confession of his. Harry believed him. Not enough to divulge his gang's objectives, of course. Family loyalty wasn't something you scoffed at unless you were willing to put your head in the cross-hairs. Harry wondered if Malfoy realized how much danger he was in by claiming what he had. In this city, keeping your loyalties to yourself meant fighting by yourself. A great risk to take in a war of merciless opponents.
These were things that Harry was still turning over in his mind as he left the bar later in the evening. Draco Malfoy gave him a hearty pat on the back, mentioning something about repeating the outing another time and then sauntered away with a bit of a drunken stumble. Harry blamed the swell of alcohol in his brain for his wild gaze lingering on the sway and dip of Malfoy's arse as he departed. Wasn't like he was looking because he wanted to; just zoning out and that's where his eyes happened to focus while he thought about…oh god, he didn't even care now.
The phone in his pocket buzzed and Harry picked it up a bit slower than usual.
" 'lo?"
"You should come home," Ginny said softly. He could hear the little grin in her voice. It made him smile too. "I know you're still upset about yesterday, but I think I can find a way to take your mind off it."
"Brilliant," Harry said. A laugh sighed out of his tired smile. "I'll be there before you know it."
"Be safe."
Harry made his way back to the train station, glad to leave his mind behind in that alley. It'd be back for him in the morning-dizzy and hung-over after sliding along filthy sidewalks and sunbathing in yellow streetlights-but for now he was content to let the booze and his best girl push away the things that mattered for a while.
-To Be Continued-
-Cola
Title: Switchblade Glances: But Your Body Still Rocks
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco. Includes Ron/Hermione. A bit of Harry/Ginny.
Summary: AU; Draco is the successor to his Family's Mafia. Harry is the leader of the most powerful street gang in the city. More than bullets are going to fly.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Language, Violence, Sexual Content
Word Count: 5,347
Author's Notes: This particular chapter is R
Harry leveled his gun at the man's kneecaps. His finger curled around the trigger, unleashing a torrid burst of fire. The shoulder stock shuddered against him. A spray of blood erupted, stirring a savage glint in the cruel green of Harry's eyes. The man hit the freighter's deck with a dull metallic thud. Harry got to his feet and ran over to where he'd fallen. Harry's boot came down on the man's neck; vertebrae strained and snapped beneath his heel with a gut-lurching crack. Most of the sound was swallowed in the racket of bullets and battle cries. Harry snatched up the AK-47 his newly deceased target had dropped, slinging it over his shoulder before ducking around another storage crate.
In a blink, Harry's gun went up when he saw one pointed right at him. But then both weapons were lowered. Harry let out a breath and crouched down next to where Ron was kneeling.
"Do you ever get bloodstains on that coat?" Ron teased before he checked around the crate again.
"How many left?" Harry asked. He shoved a new magazine into his submachine gun and turned the safety off again.
"A good few. Still gotta take care of the lower levels-secure the engine room and all that-but that shouldn't be a problem. Fred and George are already rigging up the stuff to smoke 'em out."
"Good. Hold tight."
Harry gave his friend a smack on the shoulder and then ran past him, knowing that Ron had his back covered.
Brooding waves lapped against the ship, blanketing corpses as they were tossed overboard. Briny breezes and salt spray glanced off the dark waters, fueling Harry's adrenaline. He wove between multicolored crates and tucked himself in the small spaces between kills.
These idiots were no good, Harry thought to himself. If they couldn't handle a small-scale raid like this, then the Families must've been scraping for people wherever they could get them. Harry took a breath and crouched down, crawling along between a long line of crates and the very edge of the barge, working his way towards the steerage cabin. These men guarding the ship were too focused on the commotion the other Red Bolts were making on the docks-too busy, startled by the sudden chaos, to watch their own backs.
Harry, Ron, Neville and the twins had already boarded the ship itself, their small group was steadily picking off the crew: taking out the few who stood out in the open and then waiting for the others to poke their heads up to see what happened. Some of the goons were actually starting to notice something was wrong up top-the dumb fucks. Things were just about to get interesting.
Harry ground his teeth together, tightening his hand around the gun's foregrip, a new target in his sights-a new corpse to warm the water. One second of fire and there'd be a new Pollock-impression to paint the crates. This one caught sight-Harry drew a breath-of someone down on the docks. The man bolted to the edge of the ship to shoot at whoever he'd seen.
That was just the opportunity to take him down. Beyond the muffle of plugs in his ears, his shots rang out, sending his target reeling. With a bloodied seizure, the man fell overboard. Harry let out a short sigh and then continued on his mission towards the cabin. Before he could take one step, another goon had run out to take the other's place. A bit quicker on the uptake, this one instantly caught sight of Harry and raised his gun. Before Harry had the moment to eliminate the threat, loud shots rang out from offside. One took the newcomer's head off; it burst like a water balloon of viscera. The second shot blew through a nearby propane tank.
Harry ducked behind a crate and hit the deck, managing to avoid the brunt of the explosion. But just as the blast calmed, there came a roar of ripping metal. Harry put his hands over his head and braced himself as something huge and heavy crashed through the deck, rocking the ship back and forth with an angry jolt. He lifted his head cautiously when things had settled; a crane-bolted to the deck to load supplies-had toppled with the tank's explosion, busting a hole right into the cargo hull. Harry cursed. Wildly, he scanned the upper walkways of the docks to see who had fired that shot.
Standing on the observing deck above the docking zone was Seamus with his sawed-off shotgun still braced against his shoulder and horror in his wide eyes.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Harry ran. He tore out of that place, going for the flare at his hip, but…fuck, he couldn't! Not with propane leaking everywhere. Couldn't risk starting more fires. So he ripped the radio from his belt, screaming into it.
"Hermione! Throw up the retreat, now!"
"What's happened?" her static-hazed voice panicked from the docks. "Are you alright?"
"NOW!"
He didn't wait for her response. Harry continued to run, dodging between crates, ripping the customs papers from as many as he could. Seamus! Fucking idiot! Harry had told them all not to hide up in the observation area for this exact reason. That crane probably punched right through the fuel supply; that barge was just a bomb waiting to blow. Some of his lieutenants were already yelling through their radios, crowding the channel with frantic voices, but Harry didn't have time to answer.
"Neville!" he called when he caught sight of the man. "Grab the papers! We need to get out of here, now!"
Neville obeyed immediately, running alongside Harry, ripping documents from the crates they passed. "What about the others?" he asked urgently. "Fred? George?"
"If they're smart, they'll get their arses in gear! Run!"
A roar of a sudden blaze exploded behind them and Harry took off towards the ramp. He could already see the giant bloom of yellow smoke rising from the harbor into the overcast skies.
A bellow from behind him made Harry turn. Without second thought, he shot through the man's chest and watched him fall.
Panic burned in Harry's eyes like the peripheral blaze not far from him. But he wasn't getting off the freighter until he'd seen all his men leave before him. Neville had already rushed down to the docks, snatching papers as he went. Just then, the twins came running. George went drifting around the corner with such effortless grace; his slide through that puddle of blood and brain matter looked deliberate. Fred wasn't far behind. He vaulted over corpses and overturned palletes, one hand pressing a stitch in his side and the other brandishing his Desert Eagle.
"Go on! Move it, move it!" Harry waved them over and scanned the deck again for Ron. His best mate skidded into sight and sprinted right at Harry, practically leaping onto the ramp when he reached it.
Harry did a final check of the deck, the fires slowly climbing further and higher. Straggling members of the crew ran towards the blaze, trying to quell it in whatever ways they could. Harry growled, resisting the urge to shoot them and instead followed after his men.
"Harry! Harry, what happened?" Ginny came up to meet them as they arrived at the docks.
"How much has the retrieval squad managed to get?" Harry demanded, looking behind her to check on the Bolts. Everyone was running around, yelling. The bullets had stopped flying. For one moment, Harry glanced up at the stairs that led to the observation platform. Seamus wasn't there anymore.
"Only the shipments they already loaded onto the docks," Ginny said. There was blood dripping down into her eyes.
"That's gonna have to do; deck's breached. Fire gets to the tanks, we're all fucked." He ushered Ginny away and made a break for the overlook where all their vehicles were parked. "Everyone go!"
There was a mad rush of people as they all ran. Then the terrifying chase of gun fire as someone on deck took notice and shot at them. Harry yelled angrily and jumped onto his bike, Ginny grabbing onto him as he revved it and took off.
He didn't look back. Ahead of him, the vans and trucks full of the "acquired currency" were already reaching the gates. Harry was the last man to go through, bringing up the rear as the Bolts picked up speed and burned rubber for a few good kilometers. It wasn't long until they reached the city limits again. Right as they hit the border, the sky caught fire.
The force of it shook through the streets and rattled the entire island. Nearby pedestrians who were already panicking at the onslaught of reckless drivers shrieked in terror. Harry could feel the heat of the blast at his back, though Ginny's stranglehold grip around his waist. His bike was unsteady only for a moment and when he regained traction, Harry gunned it hard, pushing towards his crew. The sound of the engine growling echoed the snarl of anger unfurling in his chest.
Hot like molten iron.
"Seamus Finnigan."
There was a hush over the Red Bolts as they stood, gathered in the Spot. Called that simply because it was the common meeting territory for the gang: an old, abandoned train station with tracks long since disconnected from the running lines. They all stood in the main hall-bloodied, dirty and sweating-a crowd not too far from the doors with Harry several steps ahead. He faced the back wall, towards the passages that led to the platforms. Behind him there was the shuffling of tired feet and clinking of weaponry. Solitary footsteps approached and stopped a metre or so behind Harry. He turned.
Seamus stood there, staring at his leader with barely disguised fear in his steady gaze. Harry walked towards him with a leer and came to a halt at his diagonal, shifting his focus to the gang. They were all more visibly shaken, dozens of eyes knowing just what was happening and not having to put up a brave face for anyone. They'd already had those masks up where it counted. Their fight was over.
Harry put his hand on Seamus' shoulder and shoved him into an about-face. Then he began pacing behind the man's back. Every eye in the room, save Seamus's, followed him.
"Who are these people, Seamus?" Harry asked, hands going into the pockets of his coat as he walked. He watched as Seamus swallowed, looking out at everyone. Most of them were looking at Harry, a sort of terror in their eyes.
"The Red Bolts," Seamus answered. His voice cracked.
"Are they all here?" Harry asked further. "Go ahead. Count them."
It took a while. Harry didn't mind waiting. He knew how many there were; he'd done the headcount himself and then made Hermione double check the number.
"Everyone's here," Seamus finally said after a few minutes.
"Look here."
Seamus turned to face Harry where he stood at the man's left side now. As soon as he did, Harry whipped out his switchblade and slashed it diagonally up Seamus's face. The scream Seamus let out was more from being startled. Harry had deliberately made the cut shallow and was sure to avoid eyes. Seamus still fell to his knees and bled. It spilled down into his fingers and pattered along the floor. Seams clenched his teeth, every exhale pushing out in pain.
"I gave you an order," Harry snarled, looking down at him, the blade still in his hand, barely a drop of blood on it. "Before we started this raid, I gave everyone here an order to stay low and watch that propane. I specifically pointed out that deck as off-limits because of the risk of hitting the tank. What the fuck did you do?"
"I…I-I went there a-anyway," Seamus bit out.
"You did exactly what I warned against."
"I saved your life!"
"Fuck that, Seamus, you could've killed everyone!" Harry lifted a foot and kicked Seamus onto his back, planting his boot on the man's sternum as he stared down in absolute fury.
"I give you orders for a reason! If you can't get it into that thick skull of yours that my orders are to be obeyed, you need to get the fuck out of this gang! I will not have ANY of my men killed for stupid shite like disobedience! Got it?"
There was such silence. Harry's rage writhed around in it and turned the air electric, crimson. The others might as well have been invisible. Harry only saw the bloodied face of the one under his foot, only heard the low ringing of fury that danced about his head. Adrenaline and cruelty boiled through his veins. He wanted to tear into Seamus, rend him to pieces, force him to pay back in ripped flesh and broken bone what he'd risked today.
But he didn't.
With a slow, rattling breath, Harry put the knife away and took his boot from Seamus's chest. He backed away before turning to his crew, hands returning to his pockets, curled into tight fists. They all stared at him, stock still, looking like they knew they were next.
"I'm warning all of you," Harry said lowly, forcing the wrath back into its cage at the darkest part of himself. "If anyone disobeys me, you'll pay for it in blood. Go home. Rest. You've done well today."
There was a soft scuffing of feet as the crowd dispersed. Harry turned and moved towards the platforms without giving a second glance towards Seamus.
"Harry, what about the papers!" Hermione called out behind him. Harry just shook his head and let the shadows fold around him.
"Let him be," he heard Ron say. "Doubt he can think straight right now."
Harry walked to the very edge of the platform and sat down, letting his legs dangle over the edge as he leaned into himself, clenching his hands in his hair.
They'd lost so much. Grabbing the customs papers was a step in the right direction. But they'd only managed those and the few palates of cash that had already been brought onto the docks. That was all money that had been siphoned from government mint, going straight to some Family vault to bolster their underground trading and black market deals. Cash that would be better off in the hands of the inhabitants of the Drops, people who needed it just to buy bandages for their kids' scraped knees, people who didn't have enough food to keep their families alive.
All that money was gone, now. Burned and turned to waterlogged ash. All because of some stupid….
Harry howled. The sound of it echoed through the black hall, ricocheting off the walls and through the tunnels, out into the night. His fists pulled at his hair and stubbed nails dug into the flesh of his scalp. Shite like this…. Fucking shite like this….
Another roar.
Wasted. All that effort for so little gain.
Harry wanted to break something. Didn't matter what. It just needed to break. To shatter. The desire for destruction clawed up his spine like a vicious parasite and his hands trembled.
He swallowed. Breathed. Turned his face towards the high, blackened ceiling.
"No," he murmured. "No. Don't. Walk it off. Just walk it off, Harry."
And with that, he pushed himself off the ledge and started following the tracks. It might take him hours to 'just walk it off.' But Harry had learned long ago that giving in to impassioned impulses could get people hurt. He'd only just managed to keep from scalping Seamus. Nothing and no one else would suffer at his hands tonight.
So Harry walked it off with those hands in his pockets and his mind on something other than regret.
Draco laughed. He laughed like he hadn't in a long while. And though the action made the tender flesh of his chest tighten in protest, he couldn't help himself. The newspaper had fallen to his lap as he put his face in his hands and tried to stifle his chuckles.
"Red Bolts Bomb Family Freighter," the headline read, followed by a colorful article detailing a wild raid manned by hundreds of ruthless youth with an armory of military proportions. Draco didn't know what was more amusing, the newspaper's blatant hyperbole concerning the destructive force of the Red Bolts or the fact that the Red Bolts had managed to make such a mess with what few able bodies they actually boasted. Draco ultimately concluded he was impressed the Red Bolts made such a ruckus; he'd felt the explosion himself, and it was miles away.
That blaze wasn't hard to see from the glass-walled space of his flat. Draco had been sitting on his sofa with a cup of tea and a stack of contracts to pretend to read and care about. Then the ground shook and fire burst into the sky from over by the docks. Draco had stared, silent and wide-eyed. For some reason, even though he honestly had no idea what had happened, he knew that Harry Potter and his Red Bolts had something to do with it.
Which was why it was twice as funny when he picked up his paper the next morning and saw how the gang had been turned into some anarchist legion. Honestly, the propaganda this island spouted was downright comedy.
Draco was positive that everything detailed in the article was either a complete fabrication or just absurdly embellished truth. But he was still curious. No one had ever blown up a ship on a raid. They must've had some pretty impressive pyrotechnics and a grudge against someone. So Draco, being the curious and bored man that he was, picked up his phone and searched through his contacts.
When he found the one he wanted, Draco sat with the phone to his ear, just grinning. God, this was the most fun he'd had in ages and it wasn't even his own doing. No one picked up the first time, but he tried again. He wasn't going to give up on this one: then he'd be bored again. No point in that when he could be out entertaining himself.
"Do you realize what time it is?"
Draco raised an eyebrow, smirk widening at the sound of a rather exhausted voice finally picking up. "It's well after nine, Potter. Most of the world has been alive and functioning for a few hours."
There was an annoyed groan and the sound of shifting, the squeak of a mattress.
"What do you want?"
"I wanted to congratulate you on your latest daring conquest at the harbor. Bravo, bravo."
Another groan.
"It's in the papers then?"
"Front page, even."
"Brilliant…."
"My thoughts exactly," Draco said, the grin permanently plastered to his face. "So I thought I'd offer you a celebratory drink over at N&C this evening."
"What? No, Malfoy, I-"
"I won't let you refuse me, Potter. I've been bored out of my fucking mind and you're the best excuse I've got to get out of here. Plus, you owe me for unnecessarily ripping me open and then making me drink that horse piss you call vodka."
"You were the one who-"
"You're honestly going to turn down all the free booze you can drink?"
Draco heard Potter groan and grumble in frustration before finally letting out a long sigh.
"Fine. Ten o'clock?"
"I'll see you there."
Draco hung up and tossed the phone onto the table with a small chuckle. Apparently the leader of the Red Bolts was easily negotiable in the morning. That'd be a good little tidbit to hang on to. That, or he just really liked to get smashed. Equally useful in its own right. Draco stuffed the last bit of his toast into his mouth and gently ran his fingers across his shirt, feeling the sting of the fabric as it brushed against his sutured wound.
"You ever been here before?"
Harry shook his head and continued to look around, scoping the bar. It was in a basement beneath some sparsely-inhabited building in Weslock. You could only get to the entrance by walking down a dark, narrow alley and practically tearing your arm out of socket to get the scuffed metal door open. The bar was dark, with stairs leading straight down into a wide, open space. It glowed with a soft indigo light among dark granite tabletops and black metal. The bar itself was backlit in a more easily managed white light, so that's where Harry sat with Malfoy, green eyes flicking up at the bartender every now and then.
The woman paid him no mind, but he'd never seen so many piercings in a human being before.
"I'm surprised that you know about a place like this," Harry said to Malfoy. Several of the patrons looked like those gothed-up fanatics only found at industrial metal concerts.
"Draws a weird crowd, for sure," Malfoy agreed, "But Mona here makes a kicking cocktail, don't you, love?"
"Keep your coddling to yourself, Draco," the buxom woman said, wagging an empty tumbler at him in warning. "What can I get you gents this evening?"
"I'll have a Greyhound and this one's going to have a Moscow Mule."
"Am I?"
"Just take it, Potter. You can get whatever you want afterwards." Malfoy rolled his eyes and cracked a grin at him.
Harry sighed and shrugged. It was Malfoy's treat, so he supposed the least he could do was let the man give him one recommendation. Not that it made him feel any better about being there in the first place. True, the alcohol was welcome enough, particularly after the grating regret of yesterday's failures lingered.
"So what really happened, then?"
And, of course, Malfoy just wanted to have a good laugh at Harry's expense and dropped salt right into that open wound.
"I really don't see how that concerns you at all, Malfoy," Harry huffed out.
"Well, of course it does. Unless you want me to believe that you're planning on bombing the courthouses next."
Harry rolled his eyes. La Croix newspaper writers needed to think about making a career change for screenplay writing.
"We weren't trying to blow the damn boat," Harry said. "It was an accident that it went up before we were through."
"That's what I thought," Malfoy said, nodding to himself. "I know you all are hell-bent on tearing down organized crime and whatnot-rather hypocritical of you, by the way-but this move seemed a bit too drastic for your style. Too…pointlessly thrilling."
Harry chuckled under his breath. No delicacy with this one, apparently. He looked over at the man next to him, meeting grey eyes that sparkled with challenge and amusement. They peered at him from over those piano fingers that were laced placidly, attempting to hide the smirk on Malfoy's lips.
"I thought the aristocrats were supposed to keep their insults thinly veiled," Harry said just as the bartender came back and set a copper mug garnished with a lime slice in front of him. He thanked her and then brought the drink to his lips. It was cold-sour and sweet and just a bit fizzy. Harry smiled as he swallowed, welcoming the lovely burn down his throat. There was ginger beer in it. He gave a short laugh.
"What's funny?" Malfoy asked after putting down his own glass.
"Nothing," Harry said. "You have good taste."
"Of course I do. Now, would you mind sharing what your gang was really trying to accomplish at the docks?"
Harry looked over at Malfoy…who was looking right back, completely unapologetic.
"I would," Harry said pointedly.
"Really?" Malfoy took another sip from his glass. "If you were looking to be covert, you rather blasted that plan to hell when you…well, when you turned that barge into a fireworks display." The laugh was silent, but Harry leered at the glitter of it in Malfoy's eyes.
"I'm not in the habit of divulging plans to the enemy, Malfoy; you'll have to forgive me."
"Enemy?" Malfoy scoffed. "I'm not your enemy, Potter."
"The hell you are," Harry said. "You're the son of Lucius Malfoy, the top threat to my cause: the icon of everything I stand against. For Christ's sake, you're the bloke who challenged me to a bloody knife fight over spilling beer on a girl's outfit." He took a deep draught from the copper mug and then smacked it back down on the bar-top. "I still don't even know why the hell I'm sitting here with you; I don't fraternize with enemies."
"That's because I'm not your enemy," Malfoy repeated with another roll of his eyes. "Good lord, if you're basing that assumption on the fact that I happen to be a Family heir then you're under the wrong impression."
Harry scrunched his brow and shook his head, the cool, heavy sway of the drink in his stomach making heat gush through his veins. "How d'ya figure?" he asked, tongue swiping a droplet from his top lip.
"My father's work is his own. It's of no deep interest or consequence to me what he does with his life," Malfoy said. "You honestly think I'd treat you to drinks over this if I gave a rat's arse about Family prosperity?" He swirled the ice around in his glass. Tired eyes stared at the backlit shelves of liquor bottles and Malfoy chuckled humorlessly. "Being a mafia boy is easy for me, so that's what I'm doing for now. Something better comes along, I'll be off this rock before my father can even turn his head."
With his mug empty, curiosity piqued and rather unsatisfied, Harry stared at Malfoy, trying to find his answers without asking any questions. All he could glean, though, was that the man looked well rested for someone who'd been slashed up a few days before. His face was still pale, but Malfoy's skin was clear and smooth, with no dark circles beneath his eyes like Harry had seen on most of his men.
Harry was under no illusions. Malfoy might've said that he didn't care about his circumstances, but he didn't know what it was like to sleep on a shitty mattress stuck in the corner of a halfway house. He never had to wonder when his next meal would be or if he'd be able to go to the store without getting mugged. There was a horror story from every member in the Red Bolts. Harry bet that the worst experience Malfoy ever had was almost getting gutted by a switchblade.
"So you're a coward, then," Harry said after asking the bartender for a Gin and Tonic. He could feel Malfoy gaping at him. "You've got no ambition." A thick silence settled over the two of them. Harry just sat there and watched for Malfoy's reaction. Eventually, the blond sighed and gave a smooth grin.
"Sure, I can see that," he conceded. "Call it what you like, but it works for me."
Well, he may have been a coward, but at least he owned it with pride. Harry could respect that. The real issue-he mulled it over as he took up his drink-was that now Harry couldn't fit Malfoy into either of the neatly labeled boxes in his head: Enemy or Ally.
If the heir didn't honestly have his heart in supporting his Family's goals, Harry didn't have a way to approach him anymore. At least not one that he was comfortable with. As an enemy, it was easy just to say that he'd keep his defenses up, glean what secrets he could from their sparse interactions, watch for an opening and then take him out when that opportunity presented itself.
That was the original plan, anyway. But Malfoy had effectively removed himself from that target area with that unexpected confession of his. Harry believed him. Not enough to divulge his gang's objectives, of course. Family loyalty wasn't something you scoffed at unless you were willing to put your head in the cross-hairs. Harry wondered if Malfoy realized how much danger he was in by claiming what he had. In this city, keeping your loyalties to yourself meant fighting by yourself. A great risk to take in a war of merciless opponents.
These were things that Harry was still turning over in his mind as he left the bar later in the evening. Draco Malfoy gave him a hearty pat on the back, mentioning something about repeating the outing another time and then sauntered away with a bit of a drunken stumble. Harry blamed the swell of alcohol in his brain for his wild gaze lingering on the sway and dip of Malfoy's arse as he departed. Wasn't like he was looking because he wanted to; just zoning out and that's where his eyes happened to focus while he thought about…oh god, he didn't even care now.
The phone in his pocket buzzed and Harry picked it up a bit slower than usual.
" 'lo?"
"You should come home," Ginny said softly. He could hear the little grin in her voice. It made him smile too. "I know you're still upset about yesterday, but I think I can find a way to take your mind off it."
"Brilliant," Harry said. A laugh sighed out of his tired smile. "I'll be there before you know it."
"Be safe."
Harry made his way back to the train station, glad to leave his mind behind in that alley. It'd be back for him in the morning-dizzy and hung-over after sliding along filthy sidewalks and sunbathing in yellow streetlights-but for now he was content to let the booze and his best girl push away the things that mattered for a while.
-To Be Continued-