Severus Spade and the Dame that was Harry Potter

Part 5: Playboy and Bombshell

The next morning I wake up with a hangover, a swollen nose, and one humdinger of an idea. I wash up a bit and come back to find the kid still completely knocked out. He's nice-looking this way; curled up on his side, his inky hair spilled out against the pillow, bright eyes shut and long, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. There's a funny little scar right in the middle of his forehead, and I wonder where he got it. I'd like to let him sleep, but there are things I need to know, so I go over to the dresser and get out a pair of his pants. "Hey, Potter!" I call. He blinks sleepily at me, and catches a faceful of trousers. "We got things to do, so get a wiggle on."

He grunts, then rolls over and raises his rear in the air and shakes it a little. "Good enough?"

I laugh. "Not that kind of wiggle." Not that it's a bad wiggle. He's got a pretty nice one, actually. "Come on, get up." He groans, but slowly gets himself dressed.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." The old bat downstairs is on the horn, and ignores us when we try to get a chance at using it, so I decide we oughta take a cab. That's probably a better idea, anyhow.

The cab smells like someone suffered greatly in it--the metallic tang of blood, the pungent odor of urine, the fetid stink of sweat; it's all there. If I could bottle it up into a cologne, I'd call it Musk Indescret, and make a hundred grand. You give it a fancy label, people will buy anything. Privately I'd call it Ode de Reeking Cab.

It isn't long before the smells start to make a kind of sense, though. We're barreling down the Boulevard at about a hundred and eighty--which you know, if you've ever driven the Boulevard, ain't even humanly possible--but apparently the cabbie don't know that, so no one tells him otherwise. Sure, they're shouting it as he goes flying past, taking off rearview mirrors and scaring the hell out of little old ladies, but they ain't actively interfering with his driving, so they don't really count.

We take the corner at Second Street so fast I could swear we go up on two tires, and I know I'm sweating, and Harry looks as if he's ready to add to the smell of piss, and I wonder how long it'll take before this clown hits something really large and stationary and we all complete the bouquet with a generous donation of blood.

By the time we pull up outside Malfoy Manor, I'm kinda burned because I can't gauge Harry's reaction reliably--his face had drained of blood before we managed to get near the place. I think it happened when we cut off that Studebaker, and made the guy swerve, and he nearly hit that poodle...yeah. And Harry let out kind of a squeak, and all. It was cute. Not worth what I had to pay the cabbie, but cute.

So now as we walk up the drive, he's giving me this dark glare, which I can't much read, because it could be because I dragged him along to his sugar daddy's, or it could be because I'd just forced him into taking a ride in Satan's Infernal Taxicab. In either case, his eyes clearly say, I'm going to get you for this. I smirk at him.

"I'm going to get you for this," he growls as we ring the bell.

A cheerful servant answers the door. "Harry Potter, sir! It is so good to see you!" The fellow's grin nearly cracks his face in two, and I have to think that he's pretty damn jolly, for being that ugly. "Is there some way I can help you, Harry Potter, sir?"

"Um, hello, Dobby," Harry says embarrassedly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We're here to have a chat with Mister Potter's old flame, Mister Malfoy," I interrupt. If there's anything worse than a servant, it's an obsequious servant. I don't mind 'em when they're sullen and rude--that's the way they're supposed to be. But fawning and chatty and gay--God help us.

"M--Master is in the drawing room," he tells us, suddenly not sounding quite so spunky.

We follow him into the room, and little Mister Sunshine announces us, like we were royalty or something. There's an albino runt languidly pouring himself a drink, but no sign of the fellow I'm looking for. "Mister Harry Potter to see Master Malfoy, sir," the grunt says, and the guy at the wet bar spins around, his face red with anger.

"I thought I told you never to do that! You can't just walk in anytime you please!" he snarls at Harry, who gives him a look.

I have to stare at the snot a few moments before it hits me; this is Malfoy. Of course it is--Malfoy junior. I guess I wasn't expecting that. I hear some jerk named Malfoy is forcing sweet little boys into making whoopee with him for money, and I naturally assumed that meant Lucius. My mistake. Kid must be a chip off the old block, though, but he's not got his father's presence.

"You must be Lucius's boy," I say. "I'm an old friend of your dad's." He looks a little doubtful at this, but keeps his mouth shut. I'm sure his father has a lot of friends stranger looking than myself. "You look like him, but a lot like your mom, too." He's blond, but his hair's not quite as white as his dad's--it's got a slight bit more of the yellow to it; that would be Narcissa's. Other than that, he's the spitting image of...both of them, I suppose. Aristocratic, kiss-my-ass demeanor...arrogant smirk...almost colorless eyes and skin. And that's why two anemics shouldn't have kids together. Harry gives him a smile. He's an ugly little bugger. Well, he's not. He's quite pretty, but anyone leering at my candy is ugly by definition. And about to get uglier, if I have my way. I smirk a little. "I haven't seen you at the meetings." I'm taking a risk here; betting that Lucius doesn't take the tyke with him yet. He's pretty young, and Lucius was always careful--with his own belongings. I offer him my hand.

He looks unsure before taking it, nodding and saying, "Draco Malfoy. Of course not...I haven't anything to offer, at the moment." His eyes flick to Harry and back to me. "Would you like a drink, Mister...?"

"I'll have whatever you're having," I reply, skipping the introduction. Chances are he's heard of me, and that he wouldn't be impressed. At the same time, I'm not gonna drag Harry into this by lying right in front of him when the lily would only find out later. He hands me a bourbon, and I take a swig. No point in being polite, not when I've come here specifically to rouse him up. And I want to have drunk all that beautiful liquor before upsetting things and maybe getting it spilled.

"So...what brings you here? Father's not at home, you see...he's away on business..." Draco raises his eyebrows, and it strikes me that his eyes are much rounder than Lucius's. Gives him this slightly more innocent air, which I ain't buying for a moment. I down the rest of my glass.

"I hear you came to my pal Harry here, when you wanted nookie?" I put forth, and watch the kid go several shades of crimson.

"You vile wretch," he sneers, managing to look disgusted, disdainful, and highly offended. "I've done no such thing! If you ever suggest such a thing again, I'll have you sued for slander!" His glare keeps shifting between me and the kid, and since he looks about ready to commit murder, if not a shocking display of poor manners, I step between them, laughing.

"Don't bother with all that; the jig is up, Draco Tomato," I sneer as I flop down in a Chermayeff settee. "Did you ever go back to his godfather's place to boff? And, if so, did you ever happen to nick a rare Tibetan manuscript while you were there?"

The boy is rendered nearly incoherent with fury. "You dare--plebeian--veritable surfeit of lies--outrageous--have your liver removed and made into a paté," he splutters, one slicked lock falling dangerously into his eyes. He turns to Harry and advances across the room. "And you! You brought him--this--here--you're disgusting--I wouldn't doubt he's bending over for you now, he's such an easy little quiff!"

I get to my feet, attempting to get between them again, but Harry just gives me a warning look. He takes out his cigarettes and lights one up. "It's funny," he muses, eyeing Draco, "but for all my faults, I'm sure I'm not nearly as repulsive as you are."

Draco's hand strikes him hard across the face, knocking the smoke from his lips, and Dobby is suddenly beside them, making squeaking noises and cleaning up his master's show of temper. The blond's eyes blister as they stare into Harry's own. It's not the first time I've seen the colour grey on fire. "I should have gutted you when I had the chance," he whispers fiercely.

To his credit, Harry does not even look a little bit ruffled. "Yeah, well. Live and learn, I always say," he replies coolly.

I'm right angry, and I jump to my feet, and grab hold of the nasty little triumph of the Aryan race. I smack him a couple of times, leaving his perfect hair dishevelled and his lips pulled back in a snarl. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were playing some kind of kinky game," I tell him. "You gave me the impression that you got a kick out of people getting knocked around. Now. If you have heard of the prophecy, you'd better tell me now--or so help me, I won't be responsible for my actions!" I snap at him.

I must look even more threatening than usual, because he quails. "I--I've never seen it," he insists. "I've heard of it, but I've never seen it." He glances at Harry, almost suspiciously.

"And what, exactly, have you 'heard' about it?" I sneer, leaning down into his face, and he grimaces and backs away toward the bar, and pours himself another drink.

"Not very much," he admits. "I've heard the--the Dark Lord wants it. That I've heard from my father--beyond that I know nothing."

"I think you're lying."

"Then why don't you prove it?"

I take a menacing step forward and he spins around, a heater in his hand. Must've been under the bar. "That ain't no way for a good host to treat his guests," I comment.

He merely smirks. "How fortunate for me that I don't consider you guests, but more of a minor infestation in need of a good extermination." He pauses thoughtfully. "You...wouldn't happen to have any idea of where the artefact went, do you?"

"Not a clue. But then again, it's not even noon. A lot of things can happen before nightfall. A man could rob a bank, make love, get sauced, or get himself shot before the end of the day. Hell, I might even be able to locate a Tibetan prophecy. I'm a pretty good detective, I think it's within the scope."

"I'll pay you ten thousand dollars if you should locate it and bring it to me," he offers composedly and, for once, he looks like his father.

"You want to pay me to find it for you? What is this--are you going to make a bargain or are you going to shoot me?" I'm not unduly alarmed. I've gone up against far tougher numbers than this kid before.

He shrugs. "That can be your decision."

"Then I want half up front."

He looks surprised for a moment before realizing I'm being snide. He comes closer and points the pistol right at my nose. "You'd better stop being funny, you two-bit moron."

"I'll try, but I've a naturally amusing personality. It just brims over sometimes." He looks really angry and his gun hand jerks, and I take advantage of his wobbling paw to pop him in the face.

He's sitting on the floor, staring up at me, while I hold his gun. "Little boys shouldn't play with things like this. It's dangerous," I remark.

Suddenly, a voice is calling from the hall. "Draco? Draco, mon chere?" A woman slips through the door, and her hair is long and silky, and her gams are just what they ought to be. She smiles at us, her teeth white and even. I suppose most men would have fallen at her feet, but Draco was already there, and anyway I guess it was just her luck that none of us present were inclined to ogle her curves. "What is going on?" she asked, her smile faltering more at our lack of reaction than her bloody husband sitting on the floor.

"Nothing, Fleur," he tells her sullenly. "Just guests."

"And we were just leaving," I tip my hat to her. "A pleasure making your acquaintance, however brief," I add. "Oh, Draco," I call over my shoulder as Harry and I see ourselves out, "do tell your father that Severus sends his regards." A glimpse back tells me the remark did everything it should have; the kid is looking silently incensed--both with me and himself. I chuckle and hold the door open for Harry. "That was a roaring good time," I tell him. "Now lets go celebrate with a drink."