Paradigm Chapter Two
Jan. 30th, 2009 09:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesDamn LJ. Formatting issues a billionty today. Anyway, here's more rentboy! WOOT! I *heart* Narcissa.
Narcissa Malfoy lived in a lovely cottage tucked away in a remote corner of Bath. The lane that led to her house was overgrown with gigantic trees that shaded the street and the immaculate sidewalks. Each property bordering the lane was closed off from prying eyes by huge stone or brick fences crawling with ivy or wisteria. The residences might have been small, but the area itself would have been far from cheap. It was the sort of place that demanded full time gardeners and at least one maid for upkeep.
Either that or house-elves, Harry amended and realized he had no idea what had happened to the Malfoy house-elves when the property had been seized. Had they been freed?
Harry lurked outside the wrought-iron front gates and peered at the quaint white cottage set far back into the property amidst a riotous selection of flowers. He bit his lip for a moment and wondered what the hell he was doing. This had nothing to do with the case—this was curiosity bordering on stalking. Like dozens of times before in his life, he wanted to know what Draco Malfoy was up to. It might have something to do with the case, he rationalized almost desperately. After all, Bernard had been a client of Malfoy’s.
“Are you going to come in, Mr. Potter, or do you plan to pace before my gates all afternoon?” Harry jumped when the voice issued from what seemed to be a standard Muggle speaker box nestled into the brick gatepost.
“Um… yes, thank you,” Harry said and mentally kicked himself. How the fuck was he going to explain this visit? He had not expected to go inside. The gates swung open soundlessly and Harry walked up the white gravel path to the front door, which also opened to admit him. Narcissa Malfoy sat on a velvet divan, looking as regal as ever in immaculate robes of aqua coloured silk. Her long pale hair had been pulled into a jewelled comb atop her head. If any grey dared show there, Harry could not find it. She looked as beautiful as ever and her resemblance to Draco was obvious. His features could have been stamped from hers, but for the eyes. Draco had apparently inherited his expressive orbs from Lucius, for Narcissa’s were shadowed and gave away nothing.
“Do sit down, Mr. Potter. To what do I owe this unexpected visit? Have I done something wrong?” She gasped suddenly and her blue eyes widened as Harry stepped forward nervously. “Has something happened to Draco?”
The panic in her voice was obvious and Harry hastened to reassure her. “No! No, he’s fine! I’m… not really here in an official capacity.”
She relaxed immediately and sank back into the cushions as Harry sat down opposite her on a plush settee. “Would you like something to drink?”
Harry shook his head. “No, thank you. Actually I would like to ask what you know about Memory Charms. Of the Darker variety.” Inspiration had, thankfully, struck through his panic.
“Can you be more specific? I am quite certain they teach you how to Obliviate at the Ministry.”
“Of course, but this one has even the Obliviators baffled. They cannot break it without severely damaging the subject’s mind. It does not seem to be a case of simple memory erasure—the man has no time lapses or moments that he cannot account for. According to him, he’s not missing any memories at all, but the Obliviators insist the signs of a Memory Charm are there.”
She nodded. “The obvious drawback to utilizing a Memory Charm—the traces are identifiable to the highly trained. I believe it is the residue of the modifier’s magical signature, especially if memories are implanted.”
“Implanted? Is that possible?”
She rolled her eyes. “It quite astounds me the wealth of information that is kept from public knowledge simply because the Ministry is afraid it will be used for nefarious purposes. Pretending Dark Magic does not exist will not help you to counter it, you know.”
“Sometimes knowledge of a spell doesn’t help counter it, either. There is no counter curse for Avada Kedavra, after all.”
“There are always exceptions. But for most spells there are reversals or counter measures.”
“Is there a counter measure for a Memory Modification Spell?”
She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I am no expert on Memory Charms, Mr. Potter. Do you think because I was married to someone well-versed in the Dark Arts that I have this knowledge at my fingertips?”
Harry flushed and pulled at his forelock before he could stop the nervous gesture. He dropped his hand. “No, of course not. I… I’m really not sure why I came, actually. I think I was mostly curious to see how you and Draco fared. Is he here?”
Narcissa’s expression became positively glacial. “Not at the moment.” Harry realized that with a casual question the reason behind his visit had become suspect. He had nearly forgotten how dangerous it was to deal with Slytherins. When he left, she would be tracking over every moment of their conversation, probably in a Pensieve. Fuck. Harry got to his feet.
“Thank you for seeing me, at any rate. I apologize for disturbing you.”
“How did you find me, Mr. Potter? This address is not common knowledge; I value my privacy these days.”
Harry smiled enigmatically, pleased that he had recovered enough aplomb to prevent a guilty flush from staining his cheeks. “I am a passable Auror, Mrs. Malfoy.”
She laughed and the sound startled Harry. Narcissa had a genuinely beautiful laugh. It made him wonder what a real laugh from her son would sound like.
“Good day, Mr. Potter.”
“Goodbye.” With an awkward bow in her direction, Harry made his way out, leaving her alone in her expensively furnished cottage. He wondered if she ever left the place.”
~~O~~”
Draco towelled his hair and strolled into his tiny living room. He paused suddenly, catching a whiff of a strange scent in the air. What the hell? He sniffed and tried to identify it. It was a slightly musky, masculine odour, barely detectable and almost tantalizingly familiar. He frowned. It could not have been left by his last client… her scent lingered, as well, an overindulgent lavender perfume. This was… something else.
Draco walked to the door and snatched it open, quite uncaring that he wore nothing but a green towel around his shoulders. Most of the people in the building knew what he did for a living and none of them cared. The hallway was empty, regardless, but Draco noted that his door was unlocked. Had he locked it when the girl left? Damn. He couldn’t remember. He shut it and fetched his wand before casting a Locking Spell and looking around the room carefully. Had someone been here? Nothing looked out of place.
He made a quick circuit of the room, shrugged, and went to dress. Visits to his mother always required special care.
Draco Apparated directly to her garden. She spent most of her time there these days, weather permitting. True to form, she was pruning the peach-tinted roses with her wand. Draco had hired a gardener to maintain the lawn and the plants, but she insisted on caring for the roses herself.
“Hello, Mother,” he said and walked forward to kiss her on the cheek. She slid her arm around his waist and pulled him close for a brief hug before turning back to her flowers.
“Hello, darling. Are you staying for dinner this evening or just popping in for a brief visit?” The words were innocuous, but Draco picked up on the reprimand beneath them.
“I would stay longer if I could, Mother,” he said dryly. “You know I have to work now.”
Her lips set in a grim line and he bristled, expecting another tirade against the bloody Ministry and their greedy, underhanded snatching of the Malfoy fortune. Surprisingly, she said nothing of the sort.
“Your friend Harry Potter stopped by earlier today.”
Draco blinked at her, uncertain that he had heard her correctly. Friend? Potter?
“Harry Potter?” he repeated stupidly.
“He asked about you.”
Draco felt a cold mask slip over his features. What the fuck did the Super Auror want now? Had he not done enough damage to Draco’s life? Potter and the Merlin-fucked Ministry he worked for? “How did he find this address?”
“I assumed you told him.”
Draco glared. “I haven’t seen him in years! What did he want?”
“He asked me about Memory Charms, of all things.”
Draco’s blood froze and his brows shot upward. He barely stopped himself from blurting a panicked question and schooled his features into impartiality, aware that his mother watched him closely. He managed a normal tone of voice. “Why?”
She shrugged and snipped another rose to add to the basketful at her feet. “Something to do with a case, apparently. He asked specifically about Memory Modification Charms.”
“What did you tell him?”
She looked at him sharply. “I have no intention of helping Harry Potter and his Ministry with anything, Draco. You of all people should know that. I am curious, however, as to why he sought me out. You are certain you have not seen him in years?”
“Positive. I have not even bumped into him on accident. We no longer travel in the same circles.” Draco kept the bitterness out of his voice, although his heart clenched at the unfairness. Potter was now the one attending high class social functions while Draco lurked in the shadows and whored himself out for every precious coin.
“Do you have anything to do with this case of his?”
Fuck. Memory Modification Charms. It was more than likely. “Not that I am aware of,” he said truthfully.
His mother made a humming noise, but said nothing other than, “You did not answer my question earlier.”
“Yes, I’ll stay for dinner.” His regular client was not scheduled until later in the evening. Draco should have enough time to make it home and prepare, as long as his mother did not insist on dragging out dessert.
Years of habit allowed him to carry on a conversation with his mother as they ate, but his mind was occupied with thoughts of Harry Potter. He had not even thought of the Auror in years. Bloody hell, if Potter was sniffing around now, it might be time for Draco to pull up stakes and find a different location for his activities. Better that than have the Auror put a crimp in Draco’s business. He needed the money. Fucking Potter.
~~*~~
Harry staked out Malfoy’s location until the wee hours of the morning with no sign of the blond. He even ventured into the hallway and listened at the door, but apparently Malfoy had gone out for the evening. Harry gnawed his lip and worried that his visit to Narcissa had tipped off Malfoy to Harry’s presence. Still, he could not have guessed that Harry would be watching from the cover of his invisibility cloak, could he?
Frustrated, Harry finally went home and crawled into bed trying not to think of the blond naked, angry, and writhing beneath him. He hissed and tossed himself off, wondering if Malfoy had cast a spell on him. It seemed he could think of nothing else after seeing him in the shower.
He had better luck the next night. Malfoy was in his usual spot and Harry felt an almost crushing sense of relief. He had feared the blond would flee, forcing Harry to track him. Bloody hell, Malfoy was dressed like… well, like a high-priced rentboy. He wore low-cut trousers that nearly exposed his pubic hair and a pale shirt that revealed a substantial amount of flat abdomen and smooth chest. Harry’s cock rose at the sight and he cursed himself for letting Malfoy affect him so easily. He watched as the blond lit a cigarette and then let it burn itself slowly out. Clients seemed to be slim pickings. Several groups walked by but no one stopped, even though Malfoy drew several interested glances.
Malfoy flipped the cigarette to the pavement and trod on it as he levered himself away from his pose against the wall. Harry felt something constrict as he realized Malfoy might be calling it a night. Giving in to a sudden impulse, Harry shrugged off his invisibility cloak and stashed it behind a nearby rubbish heap.
Resolutely, he marched across the street and straight up to Malfoy, who watched him approach expressionlessly.
“Potter. What a delightful surprise.” The drawl was sarcastically familiar.
“You don’t seem all that surprised,” Harry replied.
A noncommittal grunt was Malfoy’s response. His shoulders rose and fell, drawing Harry’s attention to the pale skin of Malfoy’s chest. His shirt was held together at the throat with a small grouping of silver links. A swell of lust rocked Harry, causing him to grit his teeth.
“How much for the evening, Malfoy?” Harry asked conversationally.
A huge grin split Malfoy’s lips. “You can’t be serious.”
“What if I am?”
Malfoy laughed, but it was not the beautiful sound Harry had longed to hear. Instead it was the same cold, bitter laugh he had heard dozens of times. “Fuck you, Potter. I’ll be damned if I accept an offer from you only to be hauled off to your precious Ministry. Haven’t you taken enough from me? Why don’t you just bugger off?”
“I won’t arrest you.”
Malfoy pushed past him, but Harry grabbed his arm and whirled him around.
“I’m serious, Malfoy.” His voice was rough with need and Harry inwardly cringed to hear it.
“Fuck you, Potter! You expect me to believe the Holy Savior of the Wizarding World is interested in a gay rendezvous with a former Death Eater? How stupid do you think I am? Do you plan to Obliviate me afterward to keep me from running to the papers with that ugly little story?”
Harry’s jaw set. “I think you might be the expert on Obliviation, Malfoy.”
The grey eyes flashed although the colour was impossible to see in the darkness. Malfoy’s lips twisted into a snarl. “The truth comes out. Mother told me of your little visit, Potter. What the fuck do you really want?”
What Harry really wanted would be more than obvious if he leaned into Malfoy just a bit more. He stepped closer, wanting, but not quite willing to betray his desire. He raised a hand and splayed it over Malfoy’s breastbone. He was startled at how cold Malfoy’s skin felt—an obvious drawback of being scantily clad on cool nights. Malfoy’s face drew closer to Harry’s and he held his breath as the blond’s lips neared his neck. Disappointment flickered when he felt nothing except a ghosting of air over his skin before Malfoy drew back.
“How long have you been stalking me, Potter?”
“What?”
“You’ve been in my flat.” It was not a question.
“Once,” Harry admitted. Malfoy shoved him away hard and then his fist flew out and slammed into Harry’s jaw, knocking him on his arse.
“Stay the fuck away from me!” Malfoy’s voice was thick with hatred. He spun on a heel and fled.
“That went well,” Harry muttered as he got to his feet and massaged his aching jaw.
~~*~~
Draco paced his flat in agitation. Fucking Potter! He rubbed his raw knuckles and grimaced at the memory of slamming them into the bastard’s jaw. He should have broken Potter’s nose instead—it could have become his signature. Draco’s eyes scanned his flat nervously. Potter had been here. Draco now recognized Potter’s cologne as the elusive scent. What had the Auror been searching for? Obviously he had discovered Mother’s address and gone to question her. Memory Charms. Fuck and double fuck.
He threw himself into a chair and pulled out his wand nervously. He triple checked the locks on the door and then buried his face in his hands, fearing he might completely and utterly fall apart. He had known the Ministry might get involved eventually. It was nearly a guarantee in his line of work and it was possible he had gotten careless. He had half-expected the Ministry, but not Potter. Never Potter.
How much for the evening, Malfoy? Draco drew a shaking hand across his brow. Bloody hell, the prat could not have been serious!
Draco ventured out an hour later, assuming the Auror to have fled with his tail between his legs. To Draco’s horror, the idiot was still there, leaning against the wall in Draco’s usual spot. He ground his teeth and wondered if a permanent Hex would rid him of the Auror, but he would most likely just deflect it and laugh at Draco for the attempt.
“What’s the quickest way to be rid of you, Potter? Besides Avada Kedavra and believe me that is tempting.”
“You know the answer to that, Malfoy,” Potter said in a teasing tone.
Draco glared and thought about giving the Auror a matching bruise on the other side of his jaw.
“I already gave you my answer. Will you please leave?” Draco tacked on the please to appeal to Potter’s Gryffindor sensibility. Apparently Potter had misplaced it.
“I know that Bernard Carversham is a client of yours. I also know that he pays you one hundred Galleons per session, which I found to be outrageous.”
Draco leaned against the wall next to Potter. His thoughts whirled. Bernard Carversham. One of Draco’s regulars. The man had become rather obsessed and met with him at least once a week, usually more. Draco realized he had not seen poor Bernard for some time.
“Bernard, eh? What happened to him? I thought he was one of your Ministry clowns.”
“Not mine. He’s in a spot of trouble,” Potter said noncommittally. Draco nodded, suddenly piecing together Potter’s sudden resurgence in his life. Bernard had talked. He reached into his pocket and shook out a Muggle cigarette before lighting it with the tip of his wand and taking a single puff. He detested the filthy habit, but it had opened conversations more than once. He hoped the smoke would drive Potter away.
“Pity. He always paid,” Draco said.
“I’ll double his price,” Potter offered.
Thankfully Draco was not puffing on his cigarette or he might have choked. “You are an imbecile.”
He pushed away from the wall and Disapparated. He spent the rest of the evening in a dimly lit London club where he finally succumbed to the advances of a persistent auburn-haired witch. She bore an unpleasant resemblance to Ginny Weasley, so Draco charged her double. He allowed her to make him breakfast the next morning, and then Apparated directly back to his flat, where he decided to spend the rest of the day looking for a new residence.
Potter was ridiculously persistent. “Five hundred Galleons.”
“What do you really want, Potter? If you want to know about Bernard Carversham, perhaps you should just ask.”
“Did you use a Memory Charm on Bernard?”
“Did he tell you I was the best fuck of his life?”
“Eventually, yes.”
“Then why would I need to Memory Charm him?”
“Perhaps he was getting too chummy. Maybe he wanted a relationship.”
Draco snorted. “Are you accusing him of stalking? Is that not rather pot/kettle?”
Potter looked away. “I’ll give you seven hundred Galleons.”
“For one hour?” Draco was amused.
“For one night.”
“Go away, Potter.” He had stopped looking for a new flat. Other than the Auror’s never-ending presence outside his flat scaring away potential customers, Potter had basically left him alone. Draco was curious to see how far Potter would go with his increasingly ridiculous offers.
~~*~~
Harry began to hate himself more than he had ever hated Draco Malfoy. His wayward desire had grown into a full-blown mania. The foolish impulse to buy Malfoy for one night had turned into more than want. It was now a craving, an obsession, a ludicrous, mindless fascination. He could think of little else. He needed to own the blond. Malfoy was for sale to everyone but him and it was driving him fucking wild.
He no longer cared about Bernard Carversham, or the case, or the bloody Memory Charms. He merely used them as an excuse to get close to Malfoy, who acted like his offers were the most ridiculous things he had ever heard.
Finally his resolve snapped.
“I’ll give you five thousand Galleons for one night.”
Chapter Three
Narcissa Malfoy lived in a lovely cottage tucked away in a remote corner of Bath. The lane that led to her house was overgrown with gigantic trees that shaded the street and the immaculate sidewalks. Each property bordering the lane was closed off from prying eyes by huge stone or brick fences crawling with ivy or wisteria. The residences might have been small, but the area itself would have been far from cheap. It was the sort of place that demanded full time gardeners and at least one maid for upkeep.
Either that or house-elves, Harry amended and realized he had no idea what had happened to the Malfoy house-elves when the property had been seized. Had they been freed?
Harry lurked outside the wrought-iron front gates and peered at the quaint white cottage set far back into the property amidst a riotous selection of flowers. He bit his lip for a moment and wondered what the hell he was doing. This had nothing to do with the case—this was curiosity bordering on stalking. Like dozens of times before in his life, he wanted to know what Draco Malfoy was up to. It might have something to do with the case, he rationalized almost desperately. After all, Bernard had been a client of Malfoy’s.
“Are you going to come in, Mr. Potter, or do you plan to pace before my gates all afternoon?” Harry jumped when the voice issued from what seemed to be a standard Muggle speaker box nestled into the brick gatepost.
“Um… yes, thank you,” Harry said and mentally kicked himself. How the fuck was he going to explain this visit? He had not expected to go inside. The gates swung open soundlessly and Harry walked up the white gravel path to the front door, which also opened to admit him. Narcissa Malfoy sat on a velvet divan, looking as regal as ever in immaculate robes of aqua coloured silk. Her long pale hair had been pulled into a jewelled comb atop her head. If any grey dared show there, Harry could not find it. She looked as beautiful as ever and her resemblance to Draco was obvious. His features could have been stamped from hers, but for the eyes. Draco had apparently inherited his expressive orbs from Lucius, for Narcissa’s were shadowed and gave away nothing.
“Do sit down, Mr. Potter. To what do I owe this unexpected visit? Have I done something wrong?” She gasped suddenly and her blue eyes widened as Harry stepped forward nervously. “Has something happened to Draco?”
The panic in her voice was obvious and Harry hastened to reassure her. “No! No, he’s fine! I’m… not really here in an official capacity.”
She relaxed immediately and sank back into the cushions as Harry sat down opposite her on a plush settee. “Would you like something to drink?”
Harry shook his head. “No, thank you. Actually I would like to ask what you know about Memory Charms. Of the Darker variety.” Inspiration had, thankfully, struck through his panic.
“Can you be more specific? I am quite certain they teach you how to Obliviate at the Ministry.”
“Of course, but this one has even the Obliviators baffled. They cannot break it without severely damaging the subject’s mind. It does not seem to be a case of simple memory erasure—the man has no time lapses or moments that he cannot account for. According to him, he’s not missing any memories at all, but the Obliviators insist the signs of a Memory Charm are there.”
She nodded. “The obvious drawback to utilizing a Memory Charm—the traces are identifiable to the highly trained. I believe it is the residue of the modifier’s magical signature, especially if memories are implanted.”
“Implanted? Is that possible?”
She rolled her eyes. “It quite astounds me the wealth of information that is kept from public knowledge simply because the Ministry is afraid it will be used for nefarious purposes. Pretending Dark Magic does not exist will not help you to counter it, you know.”
“Sometimes knowledge of a spell doesn’t help counter it, either. There is no counter curse for Avada Kedavra, after all.”
“There are always exceptions. But for most spells there are reversals or counter measures.”
“Is there a counter measure for a Memory Modification Spell?”
She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I am no expert on Memory Charms, Mr. Potter. Do you think because I was married to someone well-versed in the Dark Arts that I have this knowledge at my fingertips?”
Harry flushed and pulled at his forelock before he could stop the nervous gesture. He dropped his hand. “No, of course not. I… I’m really not sure why I came, actually. I think I was mostly curious to see how you and Draco fared. Is he here?”
Narcissa’s expression became positively glacial. “Not at the moment.” Harry realized that with a casual question the reason behind his visit had become suspect. He had nearly forgotten how dangerous it was to deal with Slytherins. When he left, she would be tracking over every moment of their conversation, probably in a Pensieve. Fuck. Harry got to his feet.
“Thank you for seeing me, at any rate. I apologize for disturbing you.”
“How did you find me, Mr. Potter? This address is not common knowledge; I value my privacy these days.”
Harry smiled enigmatically, pleased that he had recovered enough aplomb to prevent a guilty flush from staining his cheeks. “I am a passable Auror, Mrs. Malfoy.”
She laughed and the sound startled Harry. Narcissa had a genuinely beautiful laugh. It made him wonder what a real laugh from her son would sound like.
“Good day, Mr. Potter.”
“Goodbye.” With an awkward bow in her direction, Harry made his way out, leaving her alone in her expensively furnished cottage. He wondered if she ever left the place.”
~~O~~”
Draco towelled his hair and strolled into his tiny living room. He paused suddenly, catching a whiff of a strange scent in the air. What the hell? He sniffed and tried to identify it. It was a slightly musky, masculine odour, barely detectable and almost tantalizingly familiar. He frowned. It could not have been left by his last client… her scent lingered, as well, an overindulgent lavender perfume. This was… something else.
Draco walked to the door and snatched it open, quite uncaring that he wore nothing but a green towel around his shoulders. Most of the people in the building knew what he did for a living and none of them cared. The hallway was empty, regardless, but Draco noted that his door was unlocked. Had he locked it when the girl left? Damn. He couldn’t remember. He shut it and fetched his wand before casting a Locking Spell and looking around the room carefully. Had someone been here? Nothing looked out of place.
He made a quick circuit of the room, shrugged, and went to dress. Visits to his mother always required special care.
Draco Apparated directly to her garden. She spent most of her time there these days, weather permitting. True to form, she was pruning the peach-tinted roses with her wand. Draco had hired a gardener to maintain the lawn and the plants, but she insisted on caring for the roses herself.
“Hello, Mother,” he said and walked forward to kiss her on the cheek. She slid her arm around his waist and pulled him close for a brief hug before turning back to her flowers.
“Hello, darling. Are you staying for dinner this evening or just popping in for a brief visit?” The words were innocuous, but Draco picked up on the reprimand beneath them.
“I would stay longer if I could, Mother,” he said dryly. “You know I have to work now.”
Her lips set in a grim line and he bristled, expecting another tirade against the bloody Ministry and their greedy, underhanded snatching of the Malfoy fortune. Surprisingly, she said nothing of the sort.
“Your friend Harry Potter stopped by earlier today.”
Draco blinked at her, uncertain that he had heard her correctly. Friend? Potter?
“Harry Potter?” he repeated stupidly.
“He asked about you.”
Draco felt a cold mask slip over his features. What the fuck did the Super Auror want now? Had he not done enough damage to Draco’s life? Potter and the Merlin-fucked Ministry he worked for? “How did he find this address?”
“I assumed you told him.”
Draco glared. “I haven’t seen him in years! What did he want?”
“He asked me about Memory Charms, of all things.”
Draco’s blood froze and his brows shot upward. He barely stopped himself from blurting a panicked question and schooled his features into impartiality, aware that his mother watched him closely. He managed a normal tone of voice. “Why?”
She shrugged and snipped another rose to add to the basketful at her feet. “Something to do with a case, apparently. He asked specifically about Memory Modification Charms.”
“What did you tell him?”
She looked at him sharply. “I have no intention of helping Harry Potter and his Ministry with anything, Draco. You of all people should know that. I am curious, however, as to why he sought me out. You are certain you have not seen him in years?”
“Positive. I have not even bumped into him on accident. We no longer travel in the same circles.” Draco kept the bitterness out of his voice, although his heart clenched at the unfairness. Potter was now the one attending high class social functions while Draco lurked in the shadows and whored himself out for every precious coin.
“Do you have anything to do with this case of his?”
Fuck. Memory Modification Charms. It was more than likely. “Not that I am aware of,” he said truthfully.
His mother made a humming noise, but said nothing other than, “You did not answer my question earlier.”
“Yes, I’ll stay for dinner.” His regular client was not scheduled until later in the evening. Draco should have enough time to make it home and prepare, as long as his mother did not insist on dragging out dessert.
Years of habit allowed him to carry on a conversation with his mother as they ate, but his mind was occupied with thoughts of Harry Potter. He had not even thought of the Auror in years. Bloody hell, if Potter was sniffing around now, it might be time for Draco to pull up stakes and find a different location for his activities. Better that than have the Auror put a crimp in Draco’s business. He needed the money. Fucking Potter.
~~*~~
Harry staked out Malfoy’s location until the wee hours of the morning with no sign of the blond. He even ventured into the hallway and listened at the door, but apparently Malfoy had gone out for the evening. Harry gnawed his lip and worried that his visit to Narcissa had tipped off Malfoy to Harry’s presence. Still, he could not have guessed that Harry would be watching from the cover of his invisibility cloak, could he?
Frustrated, Harry finally went home and crawled into bed trying not to think of the blond naked, angry, and writhing beneath him. He hissed and tossed himself off, wondering if Malfoy had cast a spell on him. It seemed he could think of nothing else after seeing him in the shower.
He had better luck the next night. Malfoy was in his usual spot and Harry felt an almost crushing sense of relief. He had feared the blond would flee, forcing Harry to track him. Bloody hell, Malfoy was dressed like… well, like a high-priced rentboy. He wore low-cut trousers that nearly exposed his pubic hair and a pale shirt that revealed a substantial amount of flat abdomen and smooth chest. Harry’s cock rose at the sight and he cursed himself for letting Malfoy affect him so easily. He watched as the blond lit a cigarette and then let it burn itself slowly out. Clients seemed to be slim pickings. Several groups walked by but no one stopped, even though Malfoy drew several interested glances.
Malfoy flipped the cigarette to the pavement and trod on it as he levered himself away from his pose against the wall. Harry felt something constrict as he realized Malfoy might be calling it a night. Giving in to a sudden impulse, Harry shrugged off his invisibility cloak and stashed it behind a nearby rubbish heap.
Resolutely, he marched across the street and straight up to Malfoy, who watched him approach expressionlessly.
“Potter. What a delightful surprise.” The drawl was sarcastically familiar.
“You don’t seem all that surprised,” Harry replied.
A noncommittal grunt was Malfoy’s response. His shoulders rose and fell, drawing Harry’s attention to the pale skin of Malfoy’s chest. His shirt was held together at the throat with a small grouping of silver links. A swell of lust rocked Harry, causing him to grit his teeth.
“How much for the evening, Malfoy?” Harry asked conversationally.
A huge grin split Malfoy’s lips. “You can’t be serious.”
“What if I am?”
Malfoy laughed, but it was not the beautiful sound Harry had longed to hear. Instead it was the same cold, bitter laugh he had heard dozens of times. “Fuck you, Potter. I’ll be damned if I accept an offer from you only to be hauled off to your precious Ministry. Haven’t you taken enough from me? Why don’t you just bugger off?”
“I won’t arrest you.”
Malfoy pushed past him, but Harry grabbed his arm and whirled him around.
“I’m serious, Malfoy.” His voice was rough with need and Harry inwardly cringed to hear it.
“Fuck you, Potter! You expect me to believe the Holy Savior of the Wizarding World is interested in a gay rendezvous with a former Death Eater? How stupid do you think I am? Do you plan to Obliviate me afterward to keep me from running to the papers with that ugly little story?”
Harry’s jaw set. “I think you might be the expert on Obliviation, Malfoy.”
The grey eyes flashed although the colour was impossible to see in the darkness. Malfoy’s lips twisted into a snarl. “The truth comes out. Mother told me of your little visit, Potter. What the fuck do you really want?”
What Harry really wanted would be more than obvious if he leaned into Malfoy just a bit more. He stepped closer, wanting, but not quite willing to betray his desire. He raised a hand and splayed it over Malfoy’s breastbone. He was startled at how cold Malfoy’s skin felt—an obvious drawback of being scantily clad on cool nights. Malfoy’s face drew closer to Harry’s and he held his breath as the blond’s lips neared his neck. Disappointment flickered when he felt nothing except a ghosting of air over his skin before Malfoy drew back.
“How long have you been stalking me, Potter?”
“What?”
“You’ve been in my flat.” It was not a question.
“Once,” Harry admitted. Malfoy shoved him away hard and then his fist flew out and slammed into Harry’s jaw, knocking him on his arse.
“Stay the fuck away from me!” Malfoy’s voice was thick with hatred. He spun on a heel and fled.
“That went well,” Harry muttered as he got to his feet and massaged his aching jaw.
~~*~~
Draco paced his flat in agitation. Fucking Potter! He rubbed his raw knuckles and grimaced at the memory of slamming them into the bastard’s jaw. He should have broken Potter’s nose instead—it could have become his signature. Draco’s eyes scanned his flat nervously. Potter had been here. Draco now recognized Potter’s cologne as the elusive scent. What had the Auror been searching for? Obviously he had discovered Mother’s address and gone to question her. Memory Charms. Fuck and double fuck.
He threw himself into a chair and pulled out his wand nervously. He triple checked the locks on the door and then buried his face in his hands, fearing he might completely and utterly fall apart. He had known the Ministry might get involved eventually. It was nearly a guarantee in his line of work and it was possible he had gotten careless. He had half-expected the Ministry, but not Potter. Never Potter.
How much for the evening, Malfoy? Draco drew a shaking hand across his brow. Bloody hell, the prat could not have been serious!
Draco ventured out an hour later, assuming the Auror to have fled with his tail between his legs. To Draco’s horror, the idiot was still there, leaning against the wall in Draco’s usual spot. He ground his teeth and wondered if a permanent Hex would rid him of the Auror, but he would most likely just deflect it and laugh at Draco for the attempt.
“What’s the quickest way to be rid of you, Potter? Besides Avada Kedavra and believe me that is tempting.”
“You know the answer to that, Malfoy,” Potter said in a teasing tone.
Draco glared and thought about giving the Auror a matching bruise on the other side of his jaw.
“I already gave you my answer. Will you please leave?” Draco tacked on the please to appeal to Potter’s Gryffindor sensibility. Apparently Potter had misplaced it.
“I know that Bernard Carversham is a client of yours. I also know that he pays you one hundred Galleons per session, which I found to be outrageous.”
Draco leaned against the wall next to Potter. His thoughts whirled. Bernard Carversham. One of Draco’s regulars. The man had become rather obsessed and met with him at least once a week, usually more. Draco realized he had not seen poor Bernard for some time.
“Bernard, eh? What happened to him? I thought he was one of your Ministry clowns.”
“Not mine. He’s in a spot of trouble,” Potter said noncommittally. Draco nodded, suddenly piecing together Potter’s sudden resurgence in his life. Bernard had talked. He reached into his pocket and shook out a Muggle cigarette before lighting it with the tip of his wand and taking a single puff. He detested the filthy habit, but it had opened conversations more than once. He hoped the smoke would drive Potter away.
“Pity. He always paid,” Draco said.
“I’ll double his price,” Potter offered.
Thankfully Draco was not puffing on his cigarette or he might have choked. “You are an imbecile.”
He pushed away from the wall and Disapparated. He spent the rest of the evening in a dimly lit London club where he finally succumbed to the advances of a persistent auburn-haired witch. She bore an unpleasant resemblance to Ginny Weasley, so Draco charged her double. He allowed her to make him breakfast the next morning, and then Apparated directly back to his flat, where he decided to spend the rest of the day looking for a new residence.
Potter was ridiculously persistent. “Five hundred Galleons.”
“What do you really want, Potter? If you want to know about Bernard Carversham, perhaps you should just ask.”
“Did you use a Memory Charm on Bernard?”
“Did he tell you I was the best fuck of his life?”
“Eventually, yes.”
“Then why would I need to Memory Charm him?”
“Perhaps he was getting too chummy. Maybe he wanted a relationship.”
Draco snorted. “Are you accusing him of stalking? Is that not rather pot/kettle?”
Potter looked away. “I’ll give you seven hundred Galleons.”
“For one hour?” Draco was amused.
“For one night.”
“Go away, Potter.” He had stopped looking for a new flat. Other than the Auror’s never-ending presence outside his flat scaring away potential customers, Potter had basically left him alone. Draco was curious to see how far Potter would go with his increasingly ridiculous offers.
~~*~~
Harry began to hate himself more than he had ever hated Draco Malfoy. His wayward desire had grown into a full-blown mania. The foolish impulse to buy Malfoy for one night had turned into more than want. It was now a craving, an obsession, a ludicrous, mindless fascination. He could think of little else. He needed to own the blond. Malfoy was for sale to everyone but him and it was driving him fucking wild.
He no longer cared about Bernard Carversham, or the case, or the bloody Memory Charms. He merely used them as an excuse to get close to Malfoy, who acted like his offers were the most ridiculous things he had ever heard.
Finally his resolve snapped.
“I’ll give you five thousand Galleons for one night.”
Chapter Three