Pretty Lost Trinket

Pretty Lost Trinket

Draco Malfoy never realizes that he has lost something until he can no longer find it. He remembers that in his youth, treasured possessions often vanished without him learning of it until he wants it again and cannot have it. Though his father would have house-elves whipped for negligence (physical pain worked much better than pain inflicted by magic in some cases), though his mother would bring him other, prettier trinkets, he would still throw a tantrum, yet he would forget the loss in a matter of days, as if the thing lost has never existed. After all, he always has newer, prettier toys to treasure and lose.

Draco doesn't think he can lose Blaise. Blaise is the prettiest trinket he has ever seen, soft soft skin, lush dark hair, clear sapphire eyes, and sharp edges that fit perfectly with his own.

Draco treasures Blaise more than any other bibelot he has because he has to earn Blaise himself. Blaise can slip away easily, like a shadow, and Draco thinks that after all the effort he has to use to make Blaise his, he can't lose Blaise. Draco should have remembered that Blaise needs to be held onto tightly because he slips away easily, like water.

Hindsight is always 20/20. Looking back, Draco realizes that he didn't know much about anything when he was younger, especially how to keep treasured objects close to him. When Blaise asks Draco to go away with him, Draco says he can't, never thinking that he could lose Blaise, the prettiest thing he has ever owned, only thinking that Blaise will stay if he stays, that Blaise would never leave him alone.

Things go downhill from there. When he finally comprehends that he has lost Blaise, Draco deserts in order to find him. After a fruitless five-year search, Draco returns to England to find his name scorned and his inheritance confiscated by the Ministry (Mother and Father had died during the war).

Draco has no place to live, no one he can live with, no confidants, no money, no food, Draco has utterly nothing. Not knowing how to work for a living (because why would he have needed to do so?), Draco resorts to the only trade he can possibly enter into, the crudest and cruelest trade of all.

His skin is soft, his features structured and pronounced, and not many care to say no to such a pretty boy whore. Draco's body is worshipped by the men who accept his service, but he only feels himself being torn apart every night by strangers because none of them are Blaise, and only Blaise can properly savor him.

The days blur together into a drudgery of grey until Harry Potter is the one who stands in front of him, pulling down the zipper of his own pants and fisting his hands into Draco's fine hair. Before he leaves, he offers Draco a proposition. Draco does not answer.

Potter comes back day after day after day, and on the seventh day, Draco agrees. Potter takes him off the streets and into his residence, gives him shelter and clothing and food, and in return, Draco is his consort fucking lapdog.

Potter is arrogant and harsh, hard and cold and a pig. He is easily ruffled, and Draco learns that Blaise is the best way to make Potter angry. Potter always mutters about Blaise angrily at meals whenever something concerning Blaise appears in the media, and Draco gleans everything he can from what Potter says because it's the only way he can learn anything about Blaise.

Potter becomes warmer toward him as the days progress into months. The sex lasts longer, becomes gentler, and it's no longer all take but takegive. Sometimes, Potter even intertwines their fingers together, and Potter's almost kind touch (behavior) makes Draco shudder. When Draco witnesses his progression from consort to lover, he knows he needs to escape because stupid Potter has fallen in love with him, and the only person Draco cares about is Blaise, not Potter, a Blaise look-alike but not quite, perhaps due to his eyes or hair or the fucking ugly scar on his forehead.

Leaving Potter is easy. While in Diagon Alley, Draco wanders away unnoticed when Potter stops to talk to some acquaintance, and soon, Draco is once again in the same area where he had sold himself before agreeing to Potter's deal.

Carefully stepping around the unknown fluid pooling in the dirty streets and avoiding the prostitutes who look at him eagerly, believing he is some wealthy man due to the fine clothes Potter has given him, Draco enters into a pub on the side. He knows now that he can't live by earning just enough money for the day or being someone's lapdog, and he definitely can't win Blaise back if he's nothing but a whore.

Draco starts easy. He begins with odd jobs meant for men like Crabbe and Goyle, and he slowly moves up to unskilled steady work with low pay. He goes from bartender to clerk to secretary, and he realizes soon that working such jobs would never take him anywhere, never earn him back his inheritance and especially never allow him to have enough pride to visit Blaise.

He thinks about his good traits, and Draco finally decides to start his own clothing line; he's always had good taste in clothing and was always in vogue, and Draco trusts himself and his judgment to salvage everything he has lost. After borrowing a couple thousand Galleons, Draco has enough to start. He hires a few hundred workers, and within months, his first item is ready to be sold.

The general populace buys his items with a fanatical frenzy, and Draco makes enough to pay back his loans in half a month. His cooperation grows rapidly as demand increases, and Draco earns enough money to repurchase Malfoy Manor in less than two years.

One year later, Draco finally feels ready to see Blaise. He has wasted three months believing Blaise would return, five years in a futile search for Blaise, four months selling himself, six months obeying Potter's every command, one year working lowly jobs, two years regaining his fortune, and one last year reacquiring his social status and pride. Draco hasn't seen Blaise in nine years and one month, and suddenly, he's afraid that maybe Blaise left him for good.

Draco never sees Blaise at social functions, however, (and Draco is part of the highest social circle, the one he had been in before the war, the one that also boasts Blaise as a member), and as Blaise's birthday approaches, Draco determines that he will visit Blaise no matter what, even if it means having his heart broken (when did he realize he loves Blaise?) because knowing for certain is better than not knowing at all, because pain is better than endless pining and wishing and maybes.

Snow falls on Blaise's birthday, and Draco vaguely recalls that Blaise loves snow as he knocks on the door. A house-elf lets him in, and Draco stands in the foyer, remembering events that had occurred in this place long ago.

Blaise walks down the stairs carelessly yet gracefully, looking downward and lost in thought, and he still looks as beautiful and young as he had been the last time Draco saw him. When he reaches the bottom and sees Draco, he freezes, and Draco is reminded that compared to Blaise, he is rough and ugly. His fears start taunting him anew when Blaise resumes his walk toward him.

"Draco," Blaise says evenly.

"Blaise," Draco replies, suddenly feeling too old for his twenty-seven years. "Happy birthday," he says roughly, thrusting his present into Blaise's hands and looking away.

Blaise's hands touch his as he receives his gift, and Draco savors the feeling of skin-to-skin contact, knowing that Blaise will pull away at any second. When the warmth of Blaise's fingers remains, Draco turns to look at Blaise, puzzled.

Blaise gazes at him with clear blue eyes, and he quietly asks, "Are you sure?"

"Of course," answers Draco, and before he can stop himself, too many things he doesn't want Blaise to know are bared between them. "Merde, I was such a fool back then. It took me too long to realize simple things, but after more than nine years without you, I know what I want more than anything else, and this time, I'll be good for you."

Blaise intertwines his fingers with Draco's, and as Blaise brings one of their intertwined hands up to his cheek, Draco remembers how rough and calloused his fingers are compared to Blaise's. The only part of his body still beautiful and soft is his face.

Blaise murmurs, "After nine years of hard work, you finally realize what is important." And Draco knows, finally, that Blaise is worth losing anything and everything because Blaise isn't just a pretty trinket to be treasured. Blaise is everything.