Bruise Pristine

Bruise Pristine - Chapter four

"I wrote this novel just for you,

That's why it's vulgar, that's why it's blue."

- Blue American

The first show went off relatively quietly; a few people got over excited and fainted, a girl was hauled out of the crowd when she was crushed between the barrier and the heaving masses. A few lads in the middle of the pit got a bit too drunk and started a fight and two men shouted insults at the band for being 'dirty queers' and 'fucking poofs'. None of this phased Draco at all; he was used to the insults, some even amused him, why did they bother spending money and coming to the gig just to shout insults? He half suspected they secretly fancied him but didn't want to admit it and so anger and resentment was their only release. He couldn't really be bothered to hurl insults back at them tonight, instead he dedicated a song to them.

"The next one's 'Nancy Boy' and tonight I'm playing it especially for the two blokes in the audience who are trying so very hard to get me to notice them."

He bade the spotlight follow his finger and nodded when the intense beam fell on their horrified faces.

"If you want my attention that much," he continued in a sugary tone, placing a hand on his slender hip, "then you can come and find me later. I might even let you give me a blowjob if you're lucky, now be good little boys and go buy more overpriced lager at the bar." He smiled at the middle fingers they raised in his direction and got on with the show.

But that was it. He was too preoccupied to care much about ignorant homophobes. No one in the audience would have guessed that their singer was thinking about his past life as a wizard. About days spent in a thousand year old school hidden from ninety-nine percent of the audience's vision. There were in fact two muggle born witches in the audience who, at nineteen had finished Hogwarts, but they had only ever heard passing mention of Draco Malfoy, let alone begun to suspect the person they were watching now was he.

As the band launched into 'Bruise Pristine,' Draco closed his eyes. Many of the songs had been inspired by his old life and this was one of the first. He couldn't wait for the last gig tomorrow, for the after show party where he could get drunk and look forward to a long rest. Of course, as is always the way with Draco Malfoy, rest is not permitted. Maybe it's Karma for the life he used to lead, or just bad timing, but the delicate balance of his life was about to be upset.

*

"Hey," called Hermione from deep within the fridge, "Harry, do you have any sausages? Or eggs even?" She withdrew her head from the chill as Harry came into his sparse kitchen. Ron was sitting at the table reading the comic strips in the paper and Ginny was making tea.

"In fact," she continued, shutting the fridge completely, "when was the last time you went shopping? It's pretty desolate in there, you should know that with Ron around you'll have to food shop on an hourly basis."

Ron looked scandalised. "I have a big appetite, that's all! So would you, if you grew up with my mum giving you triple helpings at every mealtime!"

From the corner of the kitchen Ginny gave an indignant snort, "yeah right, Ron! She didn't force you to eat second or third helpings."

Hermione chuckled. "Well, I'm gonna pop down to the supermarket to get some breakfast. What does everyone want?" She grabbed a pen and paper to write everything down as requests were hurled at her from all directions, "right, orange juice, grapefruit juice, mushrooms...right, bread, juice glasses... juice glasses?" she shot a disbelieving look at Harry, "you haven't got glasses? What have you been drinking out of?"

Harry held up a chipped tea cup Ron had claimed from the Burrow along with some other essential items. Ron held up a measuring jug. Hermione furrowed her brow, turning to Ron, "but last time I came round you gave me a glass of water, where did you get that glass from?" Ron didn't look up from his paper as he extended an arm to point at a small glass vase sat on the kitchen widow sill, now full of enchanted sweet peas Mrs. Weasley had sent down by owl to help the boys feel at home.

Hermione sighed and checked her list again. "You're lucky the milkman puts milk on your doorstep everyday or you wouldn't have that either!"

Harry grinned sheepishly on Ron's behalf. When she finished the list she went to get her bag and coat, but Harry caught up with her.

"Tell you what," he said, "I'll go, I can't let you do our shopping for us, and I've been meaning to find out a little more about the area, apparently there is a good little delicatessen down the road that sells really nice mushrooms."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Alright," she said, handing him the list, "if you're sure."

He took it and smiled at her, walking to the hall to get his shoes and coat, "I'll be back in a sec."

*

It was half past eight on a Saturday morning, and Draco was already looking for some strong substance in Stef's cupboards. He gave up and settled on 'Hot Lava Java' coffee. He went on a hunt for a cafeteria, rooting out an expensive looking lemon juicer shaped like a slender rocket with tripod legs that was still in it's packaging. Underneath, also still in it's box, was a shiny new cafeteria.

"Fucking gay Europeans," he said softly to himself, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he thought of Stef, who had gone on a spree about a year ago, buying up all the things he believed he couldn't possibly live without. He had never used ninety percent of them. Draco didn't actually own many things, never having much desire to spend money on anything other than the essentials like a flat, clothes and the odd drinking session. He was scared that one day he would have nothing, that his life would fall apart, the band would split up or be ripped apart by the industry.

He cursed as he realized that Stefan was out of milk. Making his way back to Stef's room, he slid in between the black silk covers and sidled up to his bassist's still sleeping form. Trailing cold fingers up and down Stef's chest caused his bandmate to stir, then he mumbled something like, 'fuck off....fags...coat pocket."

Draco smiled. "You have no milk or cream, for coffee. Of course, I could always use another type of cream if you'd prefer."

Stef groaned in disgust and rolled over to face the grinning former Slytherin, "don't be so vulgar, it's too early in the morning, there's some change on the table over there"--he waved a hand in an indistinct direction - "go and buy some milk, and no! I don't care how bad your hair looks!" he added before Draco could object.

Draco didn't move; he frowned, he couldn't be bothered to go all the way down to the local shop just to get milk; he'd wanted Stef to go while he stayed warm and curled up in bed.

"Would you like to go to the shop to get some milk, Stef?" Draco said in an enticing voice, "think of all the lovely people you could meet on the way, you might even find a gorgeous bloke wandering the aisles."

"You know," said Stefan sleepily, "you're getting worse at getting other people to do things, you used to be so good at manipulation."

Draco sighed. "That used to be the mark of a good Slytherin," he said in a reflective tone of voice, revealing a little of his past, which was a rare occurrence. "'Why do something yourself when someone else can do it for you', was one of our motto's." He bit his lip. "I think I'm loosing my touch. But," he said, smiling to himself and stroking a finger down Stefan's shoulder, " - if you went - "

"GO!" barked Stef, in amusement, kicking the smaller man out of his bed. "First you hijack my flat because you don't want to stay at yours and now you want me to wait on you? Get yourself a cute Italian man servant Draco." He pulled the covers up around his head as Draco growled and pulled on the clothes he was wearing last night. He grabbed a ten pound note and his black coat and shut the door hard on his way out.

"Slytherin," Stef mumbled into his pillow.

*

"Milk, milk, milk....ahh, Fags!"

So far the hunt for milk wasn't going successfully. Draco had been down only one isle of the small supermarket in Camden Highstreet when his attention was distracted by the tobacco counter, then his wandering eyes were drawn to the alcohol section. Being so early on a Saturday morning there were very few people around to hinder his progress. He wandered around the shelves for a minute looking for a bottle of Baileys Irish cream he could pour on Stefan's cornflakes to get his own back. He was just standing on tiptoes to get at a small bottle on the top shelf, the sight draft of cold air brushing against a band of exposed stomach when he saw something else that gave him goose pimples. He paused, still on tiptoes, hand outstretched, not daring to move as he stared at a young man through the colourful bottles of alcohol.

He drew in a slow, purposeful breath and dropped back onto his heals. Slowly he maneuvered himself to a spot where he could see the man looking at the fruit juices more clearly, and pretended to study a bottle of Bells whisky.

"Harry Potter?" he whispered, almost afraid to say the name. How could it have been anyone else? But at the same time there was the little voice in the back of his mind that reminded him he saw Harry's face everywhere, in every man he slept with, at the back of every audience, in every drug induced dream. But his silent motionless musing was interrupted.

"Can I help you sir?" came a 'helpful' female voice.

Draco came crashing back to reality and slowly realized how dodgy he probably looked, huddled in the corner of the spirit section, bottle in his hands, peering like a pervert through the shelving.

"Oh," he said, somewhat dumbly, "no, I'm fine, thanks." He put the Whisky down and reached up to get the Baileys again. In the meantime the girl had placed his face.

"Hey! You're in Placebo aren't you," she said it as if it were a revelation, "I love that song 'Every you, Every Me'." Draco smiled gracefully, glancing behind him, through the shelves to where the black haired man had stood.

"Can I have your autograph?"

By the time she had found a pen and paper, 'Harry Potter' was nowhere to be seen. Dejectedly, Draco walked up to a free till, where two girls in horrible blue shirts and orange neckties were talking. Draco halfheartedly listened to their conversation as he unloaded the Baileys, Fags and milk onto the conveyer belt and rooted in his own pockets for some more change. The girl didn't stop talking as she rang through his items and placed them in a bag.

"Yeah, did you see him? He was pretty bloody fit, wasn't he?

The girl serving Draco nodded. "Yeah, he had lovely eyes, did you see how green they were?" She paused and frowned slightly as Draco's head snapped up to look at her.

"I think he was a bit too old for us though and did you see that scar thing on his forehead? Nasty that, made him look like a gangster or summat', that'll be £12.15 please." Draco didn't even realize she was talking to him and he paid attention only after she repeated herself. He left the shop at a run but he couldn't see the 'gangster' anywhere. This time however, he had no doubt it was Harry Potter he'd seen.