Harry And Draco Chronicles

Chapter 11: Resurfacing

Draco rested his head against the cool brick wall and gazed up at the sky as Catherine's words drifted into his ears; it was twilight. The incoming darkness signaled for the start of the congestion on motorways as thousands of Londoners raced home. But for the youngsters in that community, the night only meant the start of their work. Cloaked by the shadows, they were easily able to steal money from pockets of couples going to the theatre or out to dinner with their families. And they were also able to conduct more lascivious acts in the alleyways and street corner without drawing too much attention from the police.

He was only half listening to the young woman standing next to him, who was the last remaining Manchester girl. One of her friends had returned home after three months, and the other one had disappeared after climbing into a car with a client. "Were you able to get anything today?" she asked as she leaned close to him and lifted her hand to the side of his face.

Draco flinched and moved away when he felt her nails graze his skin; he had never gotten used to her touch, or of anyone else's for that matter. However, his reaction was not warranted, as she had done so much for him in the past. He glanced at her; she had changed out of the jeans she normally wore around the factory and into attire suitable for what she hoped would be a busy night.

His gaze skimmed past her heavily made up face and focused just past her shoulder. "I haven't gone on my rounds yet," he muttered. He had recovered from his illness several days before, but still had not gotten into the routine of visiting shops. He and Lloyd, the other resident thief, had planned on robbing the stores on Bond Street. Lloyd would never have considered even venturing to those high-class establishments, but everything changed once Draco came into the picture. The plan was for Draco to steal the jewelry while the other man acted as a lookout.

"We can get you some nice clothes," Lloyd had said, "because you clean up better than me." The older man had lived in the community for much longer and had showed Draco the ropes when he first came to that part of town. "Plus, your accent reeks of Eaton. If I started talking to the salespeople, they would immediately alert the security." He reached over and touched Draco on the shoulder. "And you seem to know a lot more about high class shit like cut and clarity."

He and Lloyd would have gone on their biggest heist the day before, but the blond had changed his mind. Although the danger of the activity appealed to him and he was surely capable of pulling off the scam, Draco nonetheless lost his drive. When most in the building went off on their various moneymaking ventures, Draco would sit outside the factory and watch the passersby on the street. But this lack of motivation was dangerous, as he knew he could no longer rely on the kindness of the prostitute forever.

"You'll have to do something fast," Catherine began, "or else you'll starve to death."

Draco nodded; he had thought of that many times in the past, but that inevitable end never really scared him. "I'm working on it."

"You know I'll help you out as much as I can, but I barely make enough to keep myself go--" She stopped talking when a car pulled up to the curb and parked several feet away. The concern that had been on her face while she talked to him quickly disappeared; her mind switched gears as she adapted her working persona. She lifted the hand that was lying on Draco's shoulder and brought it to her hair, as she soothed back several bleached blond strands that were out of place. After adjusting her black miniskirt, she approached the car and leaned into the open passenger side window.

Draco watched her exchange with the man in the beat-up vehicle. After some bickering back and forth, the man opened his car door. The moment the man got out of the car, the tires seemed to elevate, as if a freed from a great pressure. And Draco could see why too. His eyes grew large as he gazed upon the man's great size; the soiled shirt he wore barely covered his hairy belly.

He stared at the portly man, watching as he struggled to follow Catherine into the nearby alley. Many men who were too broke or cheat to afford the motel down the block - or perhaps wanted the thrill of possibly getting caught in the act by passersby - were brought to that alley. And others who cared less about their surroundings would be taken to one of the factory's mold covered rooms, where they would get their sexual urges satisfied on a soiled mattress or blanket that had seen many past lovers.

A grimace spread on Draco's face, as he looked the other way; he wished Catherine would be more discriminate about her clients. But he knew it must have been difficult for her to be selective when everyone she encountered was homely. Draco was about to stroll down the block to escape the sickening grunting noises that wafted through the night air from the alley, when another vehicle approached and stopped close to his feet. He immediately recognized the black limo. He squeezed his eyes and threw back his head as he cursed himself for standing there too long.

The driver rolled down the window and cocked his head to the side, eyeing Draco up and down. He then shook his head, before the tinted windows rolled up again. Soon, one of the back doors opened and a silver cane landed on the sidewalk. Its elderly master followed it. It took him awhile to get out of the car as there were muddy puddles all along the sidewalk and he didn't want to get his leather shoes soiled. But after finding some dry patches, he tiptoed his way towards Draco and was soon standing before him.

"I don't know how you can stand to live here," the elderly man said as he looked around the neighborhood with his nose upturned.

Draco didn't answer him. He slowly turned his head and looked at the busy intersection at the end of the block. His attention was then caught when two cars nearly collided with one another.

"I was wondering if you reconsidered my offer," said the old man. When Draco didn't answer him right away, he lightly touched the young man's cheek with the back of his hand. Thoroughly entrenched in watching the drivers yell at each other, Draco didn't register the caress. The man touched him a second time.

Draco jumped back and glared at the man. "I thought I told you not to touch me."

The old man began to wring his hands. "I'm sorry about that. But that's the only way I was able to get your attention." He paused for a moment as a smile crinkled onto the edge of his lips; he was obviously still enjoying that stolen caress he had been longing for since he first laid eyes on Draco three weeks before. "Your skin is very soft."

Catching a glimpse of the hardened expression on Draco's face, the old man tried his best to conceal his happiness. He cleared his throat and adopted a more serious tone of voice. "I wanted to know if you had changed you mind about the other day."

"Like I told you the first, second and third time, I'm not interested. Why don't you go and see one of those boys over there?" He pointed to the corner, where a group of young men dressed in short shorts and mesh tops stood.

"I don't want them. Lots of men have already used them. I want you."

Draco took a step backwards after he caught sight of the amorous expression glimmering in the man's eyes. He rocked back and forth on his feet when the man began to gaze slowly up and down his body, as though imagining how well he would perform in bed. Draco had never grown used to those stares. And for that one moment, he was unable to hide his discomfort. "Leave me alone," Draco finally said. He then paused and muttered in a tight voice, "I'm not a pouf."

"It's okay. I'm not after sex anyways. I just want to spend some time with you. Just talking."

Draco brought his arms to his chest and looked the man straight in the eyes. "But you can talk to any one of those guys over there. Why do you want to talk to me?"

"Because you seem like you have half a brain. That you're gorgeous doesn't hurt either." There was then an ominous silence as he waited for Draco's response. But his beeping watch soon obliterated that quiet. He looked down at the instrument for several minutes, as he mumbled under his breath. "Look, I have to go to a meeting. But I'll send my driver back here at nine o'clock for you. I don't want anything from you, but your companionship. I'm just a lonely old man who likes to hear himself talk." He reached for Draco's hand to bid him farewell, but the young man pulled his arm away. The man lowered his head and walked back to his vehicle.

Before he left, the old man rolled down his window. "By the way, I'll still pay you the same amount I offered last week. I sure hope you decide to take it." He glanced at Draco one last time in hopes of conveying his sincerity, but the young man looked away; he was apparently not convinced by the man's seemingly 'innocent' request for mere conversation and nothing more. The old man sighed loudly and then tapped his cane against the partition between him and his driver, and the car slowly made its way down the street.

Draco remained at the wall and watched as the black limo turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. He closed his eyes as his mind flooded with thoughts of the proposition. The money was something he could use; and he knew that most of the youngsters on that corner would have gone with the old man for half that amount - he even heard tales of others engaging in vile activities for a fifth of what he was being offered.

He was deep in thought when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "What was that all about?" asked Catherine, as she counted the money in her hand. She made a face when she realized it wasn't as much as she'd assumed.

"It was that same man again," Draco mumbled under his breath. "Says he'll pay me to talk to him." He eyed Catherine's disheveled hair and smeared lipstick. A look of disdain spread on his face, as he was suddenly reminded of what he could become.

Catherine suddenly got over her anger of not being properly compensated for her services and glanced up at him. "Did you say you'd do it?"

"Of course not." Draco huffed loudly, as he straightened his body. "I'm not a whore."

"It's not about that. It's about trying to survive." She reached into her purse for her mirror and began to reapply her makeup. "You make it sound like you're above everyone," she said, as her eyes flittered from him and then back to her image. "Like you grew up in some lap of luxury. Anyway, you can probably nick a few things while you're at his house. That's what Sarah did. How do you think she got the money to go back to Manchester?"

*****************************

Draco stood still as the three pairs of hands reached for his face and hair. It had been like that for nearly an hour; the women surely wanted him to look his best for his "date." He hated it when they referred to it as that; it made him feel as though he was one of them. But he was not, he kept repeating in his head. He would never allow himself to become like some of the young men and women around him - the ones he would often see on their knees, pleasing the most unattractive of men.

His heart began to quicken when his father's face flashed in his head. He knew the man would curl his lips in disgust if he ever discovered what he had to do to get money. Draco lowered his head, as he tried to drown out those horrible thoughts.

After ten more minutes of allowing the girls to have reign over him, he was finally able to look at his appearance in the mirror. Although he wore clean clothes, which were stolen by one of the other boys off someone's clothesline, Draco's appearance had not returned to its normal splendor. He reached for his face, as his fingers grazed his sunken cheeks, before gliding along the dark circles around his eyes. The expression on his face grew grimmer as he continued to stare at his image.

"Don't worry about those," said Catherine, when he caught the way he kept touching his eyes. "They should go away once you get a good night's sleep." She walked up beside him and lightly touched his long hair. "You're still the best looking guy around here."

Draco glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He put the mirror down and walked past the young woman to the dusty large window, which was near his makeshift bed. He looked down, and saw the black limo waiting outside for him. He stayed by the widow for several minutes and stared down at that vehicle, instead of immediately heading to the rickety stairs. His deep pride was forcing him to stay put. But the grumbling in his empty stomach and the pain in his back from having to sleep on the hard floor told him to take the opportunity; a chance to stay at a hotel seemed so appealing to him right then, regardless of the shame of having to be an old man's companion for the night.

"I could just snatch something," he said to himself, "and run out the door."

*******************************

Draco's gaze darted from left to right, as he eyed the fine furniture in the man's home. Everything from the Oriental rug to the grandfather clock in the corner reminded him of his former house; but Malfoy Manor was filled with much more exquisite and rare items, he thought. He had planned on taking a gold Faberge egg that was on the mantle top in the dining room, but the servants were in there clearing the table.

And now he was left alone in the living room, staring out the large window that overlooked Kensington Gardens. In his pocket lay the man's gold watch, which he had carelessly laid on an end table. Draco could have left then, as the watch would have gotten him far more than what the man was paying him; but he was in no hurry to leave such extraordinary surroundings. He leaned into the cushions of the sofa and closed his eyes, as the light sound of the piano wafted in from the other room.

"Here you go love," said the old man, as he handed Draco a glass.

Draco took the glass, but he did not drink from it; he had heard far too many stories of clients putting drugs in a youngster's drink and then having their way with them while they were unconscious. He placed the glass on a nearby table. He tilted his head and looked up at the chandelier above, as the man told him stories about past lovers. The night had consisted mainly of the man talking and of him sitting back and pretending to listen.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as the warmth of the old man's house was conducive to sleep, unlike the cold factory. After several minutes of talking about how lonely he had been during those past couple of months, the old man grew quiet. Draco waited patiently for him to begin talking once more, but he did not say anything else. But while his eyes were still closed, Draco felt something graze along the side of his face. He opened his eyes; the man was kissing his cheek.

Draco pushed the man away and bolted to his feet. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He stood over the man, who was now sprawled out on the floor, breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry," said the old man. "I couldn't resist. I thought you were asleep and didn't think you'd mind." He grabbed onto the end table and pulled himself to his feet. He looked down at his chest and gingerly rubbed the area the young man had hit. He then stared up at Draco.

"You had it coming," said Draco. The look in the old man's eyes obviously did nothing to stir up any feelings of guilt within him. "I'll do it again if you try to touch me."

The old man took a step forward and was about to touch Draco on the arm, but stopped himself when he observed the expression in his gaze, and the way his fists were now rolled into tight balls. "I won't do it again. Now, why don't we just sit down and continue with our talk?"

"No. I've had enough. Just give me my money, so I can go." Draco stretched out his arm towards the other man; but he made sure to keep several feet between them, just in case the man tried to grab him. Although he was a lot stronger, the old man outweighed him by several stones.

"But you've just arrived. Why don't you stay a while longer?"

Draco shook his head. "No. I want to leave right now."

"I know you're still a little upset about the kiss, but once you have a drink or two, you'll feel more relaxed." He eyed the small table in the corner, where Draco had placed his glass. "Why don't I get you something a little stronger?"

"I don't want anything else. I just want my damn money."

The old man remained quiet for several moments, but finally reached into his pocket when he realized Draco could not be convinced otherwise. After some rifling, he finally pulled out the money. He slowly counted it out loud, while keeping a watchful eye on Draco's expression. "You know," he began slowly, when he saw Draco's eyes light up at the sight of the money, "you can earn a lot more." He stopped counting. "Just spend one night with me and I'll triple this."

Draco quickly snatched the cash out of the man's hand and started for the door.

"Please reconsider," said the man as he followed Draco. "I promise I won't do anything perverse. I just want a bit of a cuddle with you. In fact, I'll even pleasure you. I would love to give you a--"

Draco halted at the door. "Listen, I don't want you giving me anything."

"Is it because you're new at this?"

Draco didn't respond to his question and merely lowered his head.

The old man tentatively reached out his hand and allowed his fingers to gentle drop on Draco's shoulder. "I know the first time can be a little nerve racking, but I'll be very gentle with you. Have you ever had someone do that to you in the pas--" He stopped talking and threw back his head as he laughed. "What am I saying? Of course you have. Girls must be lining up to get on their knees for you."

Draco's eyes remained focused on the pattern in the marble floor, as he was suddenly consumed by thoughts of intimate moments between him and Harry. When he felt his eyes begin to sting, he shook his head in attempts to compose himself and stop the flood of emotions that were just below the surface.

When he finally pulled himself from his memories, he found that he was now pushed against the door. The old man was on his knees in front of him, his wrinkled fingers - which were eagerly awaiting the opportunity to venture to his trouser zipper - were steady around his waist.

"I will give you more pleasure," said the old man, "than any of those girls you've ever been with." His eyes then seemed to plead with Draco to allow him that one indulgence.

"Get the hell away from me," Draco said as he swatted the man's hands away. He turned the doorknob and left the house.

**************************

Draco walked onto the street feeling pleased with himself and full of confidence, which was in large part due to his groomed appearance and the large amount of money in his pocket. He turned the corner on his way to the hotel he had used in the past; although he craved a more luxurious place like The Ritz, the moderately priced one several blocks away was more suitable for his limited budget.

As he walked up Springhills Road, he caught sight of several men standing next to a bus stop. They looked like the group of men who always congregated near the factory, as they waited for the women to give them a percentage of their night's earnings. He would have proceeded, but the men turned to look at him; several of them began to whisper to one another.

Draco froze. Because his poor dress and disheveled appearance, he could normally walk past such crowds without getting hassled. But things were different tonight.

One of the large men approached him. He spit out the cigarette he had been smoking and eyed Draco. "It's kinda late to be strolling out by yourself, don't you think young man?"

Draco didn't respond.

Another man with black hair walked away from the crowd and stood next to his friend. "You're a little too dressed up to be from around here." He then leaned closed to his friend and whispered something into his ear.

Draco's heart pounded as he watched the two men's exchange. The calm look that was ever-present on his face disappeared. He took a step backwards when he saw the rest of the men at the bus stop make their way towards him. His swiveled his head left to right in hopes of finding a place to run. There was a restaurant down the block, which was packed with customers. He could easily hide out there, he thought. But he never did make it to Maggio's Italiano, as one of the men grabbed him before he could take a step.

*************

Harry lay on the sofa and looked up at the handbook. Although he was not going to be starting for another month, Firebolt Inc. had already sent him numerous literatures detailing the company's history. He put the book down and picked up the rolled up parchment on the floor, which focused on the designs his department was working on at that moment.

But he put this down as well when he heard Sirius approach. Harry followed the man with his eyes as he made his way to the kitchen. He sat up in his seat and began to look down at his half bitten nails when his godfather walked back into the room and took a seat in a nearby chair.

"I thought you might want this," said Sirius, as he placed a mug of hot chocolate in front of Harry.

Harry reached for the mug, but he didn't lift it to his lips; he simply ran his finger along the rim. "Thanks," he finally muttered.

Sirius sat back in his chair and stared at him. After taking a long sip of his drink, and waiting for Harry to say something, he finally spoke. "Are you still troubled about what happened that day?"

Harry met his gaze for a short while before his eyes darted away. He remained quiet after that.

Things have been like that between them for the past couple of days. It was three days ago that Harry had been sitting in his room with Draco's letters sprawled out on his bed. This sudden urge to be surrounded by mementos of the other boy had been brought on by a Dailey Prophet article that centered on his disappearance. In the ten-page article, Lucius Malfoy claimed that he had been practicing on the pitch with his son, when the young man disappeared into thin air.

"We've done everything to get our son back," the man was quoted as saying. Narcissa's comments were conspicuously absent from the piece.

The blatant lie about Draco's death filled Harry with anger. He would have ripped up the newspaper, but there was a large picture of Draco on the front cover. He cut out the picture and stored it in his dresser drawer. He had been busy reading a letter when he looked up and saw his godfather standing at the foot of his bed.

Although Sirius did not read the letters that were open in front of him - he would never impinge on Harry's privacy - it was hard to miss the name on the green stationary that Draco always used. Plus, Draco had made drawings on some of the letters. Many of the pictures were innocent doodles of a green-eyed figure resembling Harry; others were raunchier. Harry still remembered how his heart pounded when Sirius' eyes briefly gazed upon one of the more crude drawings.

Even though Sirius never commented on what he saw and even apologized for not knocking before he entered his room, Harry never got over his embarrassment. That his sexuality was now in the forefront made him extremely uncomfortable. He knew Sirius had heard the tales about him and Draco; but they never had reason to discuss his private affairs until then.

"Harry," Sirius slowly began after the silence between them grew unbearable. "I know you must be a little embarrassed about the whole incident..."

Harry proved this point by bringing his arms to his chest and looking the other way.

"I just want you to know," said Sirius, "that I'm not judging you." He sighed loudly and brought his hand to his neck. His fingers then fluttered along the stubble that was on his chin. He soon leaned forward and touched Harry's knee. "I know it must be tough for you...with his disappearance and all. But I want you to know that I'm here if you ever want to talk."

Harry brought his arms back down to his side and gazed at his godfather. He didn't say anything, but simply nodded. Sirius then let out a deep breath as he fell back into his chair; it must not have been easy for him to bring up such a subject, Harry thought. But Harry was now glad that it was brought up. But was even more pleased at the delicate way his godfather treaded around the issue of his homosexuality.

It was not a subject that Harry was still comfortable with. He remembered being mortified at The Leaky Cauldron when Molly Weasley suggested setting him up on a date with her friend's son. Although he listened patiently as Molly described the young man to him, deep down, Harry desperately wanted to crawl underneath the table and hide.

Harry opened his mouth to tell Sirius about overhearing the Slytherins talk about Draco's true fate, but he stopped; he was certain he wouldn't be able to keep himself composed during the conversation. Plus, Sirius had other matters to attend to shortly.

At around half past eleven, Sirius put on his jacket. "I'll be back in about two hours," he said. "But if I'm not back by then, please don't wait up for me."

Harry rested his chin against the arm of the sofa and watched as Sirius prepared to disapparate. "Be careful. That neighborhood isn't safe."

Sirius nodded, before disappearing.

**************

Sirius climbed down the rusty stairs of the townhouse and stepped onto the sidewalk. His informant had given him a lot of details about Death Eater activities that were sprouting up throughout London. He would of course share all of this with Ministry officials in the morning. But in the meantime, he walked the streets of Fullam instead of immediately apparating back to the house.

Being that his informant's house was hot and full of cigar smoke, Sirius was happy to get some fresh air. Plus, he was not at all bothered by the neighborhood's tough reputation, as he could easily defend himself. On his way to a fish and chips shop down the block, he passed a small alleyway. He would not have given it a second notice, but a moaning noise coming from the darkness caught his attention. He took a few steps forward and squinted, when he saw a figure lying motionless on the ground.

"Hello?" he yelled into the alley, in hopes the sound of his voice would rouse the person. But the man only moaned louder. Sirius approached him. "Sir, are you all right? Do you need help?"

The young man on the ground slowly lifted his head and looked in the direction the voice was coming from. It was hard to see anything, as his eyes were nearly swollen shut. All he could make out was a tall, dark haired figure, which resembled the ringleader of the men who had attached him earlier. The main thing he remembered about the attack was being grabbed by many hands, which flew into his pockets in search of valuables. He then recalled being kicked to the ground. What happened after that was a blur.

In his fright, he began to crawl away; but this task was made difficult, as the broken glass along the ground began to dig into his skin. The young man ignored his momentary pain, and attempted to get to his feet. But he quickly fell back to the ground.

Sirius made his way to him and stood over his body. He knelt down and touched the man's head, pushing back the hair from his eyes. He then stared down at that familiar face. Although they had never been cordially introduced, he knew who the young man was.

*************

Harry's eyes slowly opened and closed as he lay on his bed. He had been trying to wait up for his godfather, but found himself falling to sleep the moment the man diapparated. The television set on his dresser was left on in hopes that the noise would force him to stay awake; but the low hum of the reporters' voices in the background brought about his sleep even faster.

His lids closed for an extended period of time, as he finally succumbed to his drowsiness. He rested peacefully with his arms crossed along his stomach, until he was jolted awake when he heard a voice calling his name. His eyes flew open and his hand went in search of his glasses on his nightstand. He sat up on his bed and listened for any additional noises to assure him that he was not dreaming. And once more he heard his godfather cry out, "Harry come down here."

Harry bolted from his bedroom and into the dark hallway. The grave tone of Sirius' voice forced him to almost run down the stairs, and nearly trip in the process. When he entered the living room, he pulled back as his eyes slowly adjusted to the bright light.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry, as he approached Sirius. "Did something go wrong toni--" He halted when he saw that there was a man lying on their sofa. "Who's that?" He tilted his head to the side to get a look at him, but the man's face was hidden by darkness. The man appeared to be unconscious, as his arm was dangling limply onto the floor.

Sirius touched him on the shoulder. "I need you to get your wand. I don't know where mine is."

Harry didn't move and continued to look from the stranger to his godfather. "What--" He was about to say more, but the expression on Sirius' face silenced him. He headed up the stairs.

He ran into his room and quickly reached into the top drawer of his nightstand for his wand, before heading back to the living room.

Before he could utter a word, Sirius said, "I need you to do a little spell to--"

"You're bleeding," said Harry. He hadn't noticed it before, but the front of Sirius' shirt was covered with blotches of blood. "Are you hurt?"

"No. It's not my blood." He paused for a moment as he eyed the man on the sofa. "It's his. That's why I wanted you to get your wand. I need you to do a levitating spell on him so we can get him upstairs. I think he has some broken ribs and I might hurt him if I try to carry him again."

"Is that the guy you were meeting tonight?"

Sirius stayed quiet as he rubbed his chin. But then his fingers trickled to his neck. He wore a pained expression on his face. "He's...a friend of yours. I brought him here because he muttered something about not wanting to be taken to the hospital. Or to the front gates of his house, for that matter."

Harry continued to look at his godfather for some answers, but the man would not return his gaze. He then took it upon himself to approach the couch. A large bowl filled with murky water was sitting on the coffee table, accompanied by a rag; it was evident that Sirius had tried his best to clean off the man. Harry could definitely see that there were cuts and bruises all over the sleeping man's legs from the torn patches on his trousers.

Harry turned on the lamp nearest to the couch so he could get a better look at the man. He froze when the yellowish glow from the bulb cascaded over the man's silvery hair and pale skin. The wand slipped from his fingers and fell onto the floor with a light thud. Harry didn't say a word, nor did he cry out. His eyes grew wide, as his gaze stayed fixed on Draco. He then turned to Sirius, his eyes pleading with the other man for confirmation that he was not dreaming. When his godfather nodded, Harry brought his hands to his mouth and dropped to his knees.