City Sickness

[Chapter one]

What If?

It's been almost two years since I graduated. It's been almost two years since I've last been inside the safe walls of Hogwarts. It's been almost two years since I last actually talked to anyone I used to know back then.

It's been almost two years since I last saw you.

I would still recognise you without a doubt. Your image has been burnt on my retina. For ever. I would recognise you the minute I saw you.

However, I doubt you would do the same. Most people wouldn't. I met Flint about six months ago. He didn't have a clue it was me. Otherwise he would've fucked me with a bit more respect. Otherwise he wouldn't have pulled at my hair like that and called me his bitch. The disturbing thing is that even though he did not know it was me, he kept moaning out my name when he came. He used to stare at me in the showers after Quidditch practise. And I guess I now know why. I know everything about want and desire.

Every night I am out there, wishing to meet someone who would remind me of you. I'm not looking for an identical copy, just someone with tousled hair or greenish eyes or skin so pale I can see his tissues and veins through it.

It would be the most wonderful and horrendous thing of all, running into you. I think about it so much I often imagine seeing you, driving in a car past me, disappearing around the corner or sitting in the furthermost booth of a smoky and tasteless wine bar.

But it's never you and no matter how hard I keep looking, all I get is empty compliments by endless bar counters, hushed wishes in the endless backseats of endless taxis and clumsy groping in endless cheap, squalid hotel rooms.

For I am a rentboy, Harry. Easy and cheap, flash on the streets. Smeared eyeliner and occasionally split lips. Some of them like to hit me while they're at it. I usually let them do so, but the scars never really heal and I'm not as pretty as I used to be.

You won't find me in Knockturn Alley. I steer clear of it. No matter how much I've always disliked my Father, I don't want to risk being recognised by anyone from the Ministry. I don't want to bring him any more shame than I already have. Not that it really matters any longer. I haven't spoken to him since I finished school. I don't suppose he would even look at me if we met. I'm not his Son any more. And I don't really care to be.

You may wonder why do I do this. Surely not for the money, you must think. You're absolutely right. I wouldn't have to work a single day in my life if I didn't want to, let alone sell myself.

But I've grown to love it. I love being taken and abused. You'd think a Malfoy would never sink so low, but actually it's quite the opposite. I've reached a certain state of sublimity. I've become a God amongst men. They all adore me, every single one who has had or will have me. They are willing to give up everything to have me. I know it, I always have. And I like it.

They make me feel loved, no matter if the name they are whispering while they're inside me belongs to a friend, a brother, a son or a long lost lover. I don't care about that.

What I care about is that for a certain split second when they explode and the only essential thing in their whole universe is me, my divine body and my cool, silky skin, they love me. It may sound stupid, but it's true. For that short moment they really, honestly and sincerely love me. It doesn't matter if they hate and loathe me before and after. It's this one moment that counts.

It keeps me going, although I really don't have much to wait for.

Except you. I'm waiting for you. If you'd only see what I've become, Harry. Maybe you would pity me. Maybe you would take me home and love me.

You wouldn't even have to pay.