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emmagrant01Title: A Weak Pleasure, Never So Sweet
Author: Emma Grant![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emmagrant01
Rating: NC-17
Length: 16,100 words
Pairings/characters: Harry/Draco plus a little Harry/Draco/OMC
Summary: Seven years after the end of the war, Draco Malfoy has been taken into custody in New York. Harry Potter is sent to bring him back. EWE.
Warnings: random bar sex, dub-con if you squint, threesome, set in New York City's wizarding community (in case that sort of thing annoys you)
Author's notes: This was originally written forsashaminx for the 2011 ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
harry_holidays fest, where it was read by at least 10 people! At least, that's how many comments it got. This version has been slightly rewritten from what was posted there, since I figured not many folks saw it there and I could fix it up a little more. The original version was beta'd by wordplay and lusiology. In case you're wondering, the title is a mashup of two adages about jealousy.
*****
"He's where?"
"New York City. They intercepted him at JFK this morning."
Harry Potter stared up at Waldo Biggins, head of the International Division of the Auror Department. "Former Death Eaters can't travel out of the country without prior Ministry permission. How'd he manage that?"
"We're not certain," Biggins replied, leaning against Harry's office door. "There's a hole in our security somewhere."
"We need to get someone on that."
"Funny you should mention it."
"Oh, no. No, no, no." Harry held his hands up in protest. "You're not suggesting I take care of this."
"We think you're the man for the job, Harry. You're booked on the international portkey to JFK at midnight tonight."
Harry choked back a laugh. "Are you insane? I can't go to New York tonight." He gestured at the large pile of papers on his desk. "I'm closing out that McGiven case, and if I don't get the reports done by Monday, Whistleton will have my head."
"Then I should leave you to it, since you've only got a few hours." Biggins smirked, apparently enjoying the moment.
"Why me? Why can't someone else go for him? It's not like he's dangerous, or a threat. Not anymore, anyway."
"Because you know him -- at least, better than does any other Auror in the department. And we're not convinced he's completely harmless, to be honest. Rumor has it he's been trying to get out of the country for several weeks now, for reasons unknown." Biggins tossed a thick file onto the top of the pile on Harry's desk. "A little light reading for your trip. Good luck." And with that he turned and walked away.
"Fuck, bugger, and shit," Harry grumbled, reaching for the file. This was not what he needed today, not by a long shot. He had plans for the weekend, plans that involved heading to a bar and drinking far too much and forgetting all about his bastard ex-boyfriend William. He stared down at the picture glaring up at him from the front of the file and sighed.
"What the hell are you doing in New York, Draco Malfoy?"
*****
"Welcome to JFK, please step off the portkey platform and head through those doors to passport control and security. Enjoy your stay." The witch's tone indicated she was anything but thrilled to welcome Harry to the United States.
He gave her a tight smile, and walked in the direction she indicated. He joined the long line at passport control, after which he and his briefcase were subjected to a series of incredibly invasive examination spells by the MTSA officials. By the time he finally passed through into the portkey terminal, he was thoroughly annoyed. He dodged through the crowds, snaking his way past families with children in hovering carriages, and newsstands selling everything from snacks to magazines to souvenir cauldrons with I ♥ New York printed on them.
At last he reached the exit and passed through the portal into the apparition zone. He rifled through his pocket for the address of the U. S. Aurors' holding facility. "63rd and Lexington," he muttered to himself, and then dug out the map of New York City he'd picked up while waiting in line at passport control. He concentrated on the map and turned on the spot.
He felt himself hit the redirection ward almost instantly, and was buffeted about for a few extra seconds until his feet connected with a floor, years of experience apparating into such facilities barely keeping him on his feet. He was in a bare room, harshly lit by a strip of fluorescent bulbs overhead. There was a glass window next to the room's single door, on the other side of which sat a plump, stern-looking wizard whose robes bore the insignia of the U.S Auror Division. The man touched the tip of his wand to his throat, and his voice filled the small room.
"State your name and business."
"Harry Potter, British Auror, International Magical Investigations Department. I'm here to pick up a prisoner you're holding." He smoothed his hair down and readjusted his glasses after the rough landing.
"Identification," the man replied, and Harry rummaged in his pocket, then held up his passport and Auror badge. They disappeared from his hands and reappeared on the other side of the window, where the man plucked them from the air and examined both of them.
After several long minutes, he looked up at Harry and gestured towards the door, which opened with an ominous click. Harry's identification documents popped into the air above his head, and he took them before moving on.
"Can you tell me where I should go?"
"Not my job," the Auror replied, gesturing towards the door again.
"Thanks," Harry muttered. He picked up his briefcase and walked through the door.
The corridor didn't appear to have been updated, or even painted, in half a century. Harry wandered down it quite a distance and then through an open doorway at the end. A young witch with frizzy brown hair sat behind a desk in yet another sparse, poorly lit room, flipping through a magazine and bobbing her head to the tune of an annoyingly perky song of some boy band playing on a small radio next to her elbow. A ball-point pen scribbled frantically in an open notebook in front of her on the desk, but she paid it no mind. She flipped the page of her magazine and giggled.
Harry cleared his throat. "I believe you're expecting me."
She glanced up from the magazine and then down at the notebook. "You're… Harry Potter?"
"Yes, and I'm here to collect a British wizard you're holding."
She smiled at him in a way that was all too familiar and set the magazine down. "I think I've heard of you. Killed some dark wizard a few years back, right? Aren't they making a movie about you or somethin'?"
"I sincerely hope not," he replied. "Can you tell me where I should go? I have a portkey back in two hours, and I need to be on my way."
"You're a lot cuter than I expected," she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "You married?"
"No."
"Girlfriend?"
"No."
"If you're gonna be in town for a few days--"
"I'm not," he replied, starting to lose his patience.
"Gay?"
"Absolutely. Now if you don't mind?"
"The cute ones always are," she said with a sigh, then pushed a button on her desk. "Mr. Potter is here. Should I send him back?"
"Yes," replied a disembodied voice, bouncing around the room in a manner apparently intended to intimidate. Americans.
The receptionist waved her wand and a door materialized behind her. "Go on through please." She smiled sappily at him as he passed.
The room he found himself in now was a sharp contrast to the ones he'd seen just before. The ceiling was high, like an old-fashioned bank lobby, and it was full of witches and wizards bustling about despite the late hour. There were no furnishings, though the floor was covered with a large marble mosaic that depicted the scales of justice surrounded by figures dressed in Greek robes. There were corridors leading off in various directions, each doorway signed with a direction -- Northeast, South-southwest, and so on -- which gave him no idea which way he should go. He stood there for a moment, completely bewildered, and then felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Mr. Potter?" He turned to see a young witch smiling at him. She held out her hand and he shook it. "I'm Andrea Blackwell, from the International Enforcement Division. I have your prisoner. If you'll follow me, please?"
She led him through the busy foyer and down a corridor marked Northeast, walking at so brisk a pace he had difficulty keeping up. Her Auror robes were stylish and well-tailored, and her blonde-streaked hair was pinned up in a messy twist at the back of her head in a way that provided an artful contrast to her otherwise impeccable appearance. She was attractive, the sort of witch he imagined he'd be interested in -- if he were interested in witches.
She led him through a series of doors and then past a security barrier, where she had to cast a few quick spells to allow him to pass. They had arrived in the detention area, a circular room with cells around the perimeter. The cells were apparently magically sealed; the doorways appeared open, and he could see many of them were occupied. After a moment he located the one containing Malfoy, and crossed to peer inside.
He hadn't seen Malfoy in years, and was surprised to see that he looked rather well. He was casually dressed and sat in a chair in the corner of his small cell, reading a newspaper. His stylishly-cut hair was not quite as white-blond as Harry remembered, and his face not as pointy. He turned the page of the newspaper and tilted his head, and a thoughtful expression appeared on his face, followed by something that looked more like a smile than Harry had ever seen on him.
He looked good, Harry realized with a jolt. If he weren't Malfoy, he'd even be the sort of wizard Harry would chat up in a bar. It was a frightening thought.
"He can't see you," Andrea said. Harry turned to see her sitting at a desk in the center of the room. She indicated a chair opposite, and he crossed to sit in it. "The barrier is only transparent on our side."
"So you watch them all the time?"
"Yes. They do know they're being observed. Otherwise we'd be witness to all kinds of interesting behavior." She winked at Harry and then pushed a file folder across the desk to him. "Here's the paperwork. We just need a bit more information from you, and he'll be released into your custody."
"Fantastic," Harry replied, checking his watch. "I've arranged a portkey back in a touch over an hour and a half, so--"
"Oh, he won't be able to leave the country until after the 72-hour waiting period. We have to go through a whole series of checks, and--"
"Wait, what?" Harry interjected. "No one told me that!"
"I just did. Now if you'll start filling out these papers--"
"My government thinks he might be dangerous! You can't just let him walk out of here and wander about town."
Andrea raised an eyebrow. "Well my government is under the impression that he's completely harmless. He's done nothing to break our laws; he was simply on a list of wizards your government doesn't want leaving your country, so by international magical treaty, we were required to take him into custody and hold him until your government could take him back."
"If he's harmless, why not let him leave the country tonight? You're a witch. Wave your wand and make it so."
"I don't make the rules," she snapped, "and I'm not about to risk my neck just because you're slightly inconvenienced. Besides, you, Mr. Potter, are the selected representative of your government. If they deem you qualified to take possession of Mr. Malfoy until such time as he is released for travel--"
"I don't believe this," Harry groaned. "What am I supposed to do with him for three days?" He looked over towards Malfoy's cell again, and a very helpful voice inside his brain noted that it could think of quite a few things.
"Your 72 hours doesn't start until these papers get filled out, so I suggest you get started."
He took her offered quill and opened the folder. There were no less than a dozen papers he had to sort through, many of which asked for the same information over and over: Malfoy's full name, date of birth, address, occupation (Harry was tempted to write "layabout", but instead filled in the blank with "independent investor"), and marital status ("single"). His hand was starting to cramp when he was finally done.
Andrea checked over the forms and then walked him to the door of Malfoy's cell. "You'll receive a message from me when he's cleared to leave the country." She flicked her wand and the air in the cell's doorway shimmered. Malfoy looked up casually, and then paled when he saw Harry standing there. The look of shock on his face was almost worth the trip.
"He's all yours," Andrea said, patting Harry on the shoulder.
"So he is," Harry said, giving Malfoy a stern look. "Let's go, shall we?"
"What the hell?" Malfoy looked at Andrea. "What is he doing here?"
"He's here to take you home, pretty boy," Andrea quipped. "Well, in three days, anyway. In the meantime, please enjoy your visit to New York. Buh-bye."
Malfoy turned back to Harry. "Three days? What is she talking about?"
"I'll explain in the cab," Harry said, not bothering to hide his impatience. "Let's go."
For a moment Malfoy looked as if he were going to protest further, but then an expression almost like resignation appeared on his face. He rose to his feet and walked past Harry through the doorway, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Harry sighed. It was going to be a long weekend. A long weekend with Draco Malfoy. Biggins was going to owe him for this.
Andrea led them out of the secure area and to a storage room where they could retrieve the suitcase Malfoy had arrived with, and then took them to the building's exit.
"You'll hear from me soon," she called after them as they walked out into an alley.
An icy wind whipped past them, and Harry dug into his briefcase. He pulled a thick winter cloak from his small briefcase, earning a look of surprise from Malfoy.
"Enlarging spell, eh? Interesting."
"An old trick of Hermione's," Harry replied, wrapping the cloak around him. Malfoy pulled a light cloak from his suitcase and cast a heating charm on it, then tossed it around his shoulders.
Good idea, Harry thought, but didn't say it aloud. They walked down to the street, and Harry raised his arm to hail a taxi.
"Where are we going?" Malfoy asked.
"No idea," Harry replied. "All I know is that I have to keep an eye on you for the next three days until we get clearance to leave. And no, I'm not any happier about it than you are."
"Three days? How ironic."
"Taxi! It's fucking freezing here. Ironic how?"
"That was exactly how long I planned to stay in New York in the first place, just for the weekend."
"And now you get your holiday after all, but on the taxpayers' galleon. Ironic, indeed."
A yellow cab pulled to the curb just then, and Harry went to the window, expecting it to open. The driver stared back at him and jerked his thumb toward the rear of the vehicle.
"You get in the taxi first in America," Malfoy said with an air of disdain, "and then tell the driver where you're going. It's the reverse here, like everything else." He opened the door and they climbed inside, shivering.
"Where to?" asked the driver.
Harry paused. He'd been so focused on getting into a warm taxi that he hadn't even considered their destination.
"Bleeker and Thompson," Malfoy said, and the driver sped away.
"Where are you taking us?" Harry asked, glancing sideways at him.
"To the hotel at which I have a reservation. Unless you have a better idea."
Harry didn't. The cab made its way slowly across town, cutting through the theatre district and then heading south on 9th Avenue. The city was bustling on this cold December night, with crowds of warmly-dressed Muggles strolling down the pavement despite the chill. There were Christmas lights and decorations everywhere, and Harry found himself charmed. He'd always wanted to see New York at Christmastime, and here he was. The circumstances could certainly have been better, but it was still lovely.
"You said you'd explain," Malfoy said. He was staring out the window, perhaps thinking along the same lines as Harry was.
"You first," Harry retorted. "You don't have authorization to travel. How did you get out of the country?"
Malfoy smirked and kept his eyes focused on the scenery outside. "I bribed an agent at the Gatwick Portkey Hub, of course. Surely you lot could have figured that out without coming all the way here."
"Why did you come?"
"I already told you. Holiday weekend, Christmas shopping, that sort of thing."
"Why didn't you ask for authorization, then?"
"I did. I've asked half a dozen times in the last few weeks, and every time I was denied. So I decided to go anyway. Fuck you very much, Ministry of Death Eater Registration and Containment."
That at least aligned with what he knew from Malfoy's file. "When were you planning to go back?"
Malfoy made a sound like an exasperated sigh as he pulled his wallet out of his coat. He took a slip of paper out of it and handed it to Harry. It was a travel itinerary, giving the time and date of his portkey to New York that morning and return to London Gatwick on Monday at noon.
Harry handed it back to him and looked out of his own window. There was obviously more to this story than he'd been told.
"If they think I'm a flight risk, they're idiots," Malfoy said. "I have a fantastic flat in a fashionable part of London, I have my business, and I have status, money, and power. The only thing I don't have is freedom to travel."
Harry had to agree. He'd flipped through Malfoy's file that afternoon, and there was nothing to indicate he might be a flight risk. In fact, it was quite the contrary. Except for the fact that he once had a Dark Mark, Malfoy was practically an outstanding member of Wizarding society.
"Your turn," Malfoy said. "Why did they send you here to babysit me for the weekend?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Harry replied. "I didn't exactly volunteer."
They rode in silence for a while. Despite being typically snide, Malfoy was being unexpectedly cooperative. Harry wasn't sure what to make of that.
At last the taxi stopped, and Malfoy opened the door to get out. The driver pushed some buttons on his meter and said, "Twelve-fifty."
"Wait," Harry hissed, grabbing Malfoy's arm to pull him back in. "I don't have any Muggle money."
Malfoy gave him a look of disbelief. "The Ministry sent you all the way here to collect me with no money?"
"I didn't know it would be a weekend holiday," Harry retorted. "I thought we'd head straight back tonight, so I didn't exchange any gold at the portkey hub."
"And you're the future of the Auror corps?" He pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed the driver some green bills. "Keep the change, mate. Let's go, Potter."
Harry climbed out of the taxi and bundled himself against the chill. Malfoy hefted his suitcase and started walking, and Harry had to hurry to follow. The tree-lined street looked to be a residential one, with antique shops on the ground level, several floors of flats above, and bags of rubbish dotting the pavement. The street was quiet except for a busy restaurant down the way. The smell of garlic and roasting meat wafted out as they passed, and Harry's stomach grumbled.
They passed two more doors and then Malfoy stopped, squinting up at the building. "This should be it," he said. "Do you see anything?"
"What are we looking for?" Harry asked, shivering. "God, it's cold."
"You realize you're disappointing every expectation I have ever had of you, don't you? We're looking for the hotel. Look for a sign that wouldn't be seen by Muggles."
Harry looked up, scanning the building. "What's it called?"
"The Burnished Broomstick," Malfoy said, and then a large brightly lit sign materialized before their eyes, hanging in midair just a few feet above their heads. It was in the shape of a large arrow pointing at the nearest doorway. Muggle Christmas lights were strung around the edges, and they blinked off and on.
"Found it," Harry quipped. Malfoy rolled his eyes.
They knocked on the door, and it opened to reveal a long corridor twisting out of sight. They stepped inside and wound their way down until they reached another door with a small window. Malfoy knocked again and a face appeared in the window. Brown eyes scrutinized them both for a moment, and then disappeared. Harry and Malfoy exchanged a glance.
After several long seconds, the door opened to reveal a squat middle-aged wizard wearing a brilliantly colored robe. "Welcome, welcome!" he said, gesturing them inside. "Please come right in and make yourselves at home. Coffee?" He gestured toward a large machine covered with dials and gauges, resting on a side table that appeared close to collapse under its weight. The machine made a grinding sound and then belched a huge puff of steam.
"No, thank you," Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose. "I have a room reserved, actually."
"Name please?" The wizard was now flipping through a gigantic leather-bound book that hovered in the air before him, apparently looking for the appropriate reservation.
"Malfoy."
"Ah yes, here it is." He squinted at the page. "Room for two, for three nights. I hate to disappoint, but we're all out of rooms with king beds. I've only got rooms with two doubles."
"That's fine," Harry and Malfoy said in unison.
The wizard broke into an insane-sounding laugh. "Not to fear, not to fear. I can have the maid transfigure the beds into a king in the morning if you like."
Before they could protest, he rang a tiny bell, and the noise it made was astonishingly loud. "Charlie!"
A door opened, and a witch walked in. She was tall and busty and wore a tight-fitting purple evening gown. Her long black hair fell to her waist, and she wore a tremendous amount of makeup.
"Yes?" she asked in a deep, throaty voice. Malfoy and Harry exchanged another glance.
"Please take these guests to room sixty-nine."
"Sixty-nine," Charlie repeated without an ounce of irony. She motioned for them to follow her and exited through the same door she'd entered.
"Breakfast is served on the top floor from seven to ten!" the proprietor called after them.
Charlie led them up the stairs several flights, climbing effortlessly in her spiked heels, delicately lifting her evening gown to her ankles. She led them down a corridor on the sixth floor and to a room with the number 69 tacked on the door. She produced a very long wand from her tremendous cleavage and waved it at the door, and it clicked open.
"Cast bellanove to open," she said, her deep voice resonating down the corridor. "If you need anything--" her eyes raked over them both "--and I do mean anything, let me know."
They stepped into the room, and she closed the door, leaving them alone. It was very modern room, and much larger than Harry would have expected. There was an en suite bath and two beds, and even a large flat-screen television on the wall.
"That was a man, wasn't it?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the doorway where Charlie had last stood.
"How thick are you, Potter? Which bed do you want?"
Harry cringed. "There's no reason for us to share a room. I'll just go down and ask for another one."
"I'll take this one," Malfoy said, sitting on the bed next to the room's single window. "And there aren't any other available rooms. I've had this one booked for months, and it took me months to book it. It's a fairly exclusive boutique hotel, you know." He considered Harry for a moment, with a look of near-pity on his face. "And of course, you don't know."
Harry reigned in his annoyance and sat on the other bed. "Well, if we're going to be stuck here for three days, at least it’s a large room."
"Speak for yourself. I'm going out tonight." Malfoy proceeded to open his suitcase and pull out articles of clothing.
"No, you're not," Harry retorted.
"Are you planning to shackle me to the bed?"
"I--" Harry had to force his brain to let that one alone. "No, of course not."
"Then I'm going."
"Come on, Malfoy, I can't let you wander about the city alone while you're supposed to be in my custody."
"You're welcome to join me," Malfoy said, holding up a black shirt and examining it. "Though I seriously doubt you'd be interested in going where I'm planning to go."
"A Death Eater reunion?"
"Amusing thought, but no. I'm going to a bar, Potter. I'm going to drink until I forget my name, and hopefully find someone who'll give me a quick blow job in the toilet."
Harry swallowed. That was remarkably similar to the plan he'd had for the weekend, before this particular detour had happened. He was going to go to his favorite gay club in Muggle London, the one where he first met William, drink himself silly and find some cute Muggle boy to shag, someone he could walk away from without having an ounce of guilt.
And here he was, in New York City of all places, in the middle of Greenwich Village, with the opportunity to do exactly the same thing. Granted, he was here with Malfoy, which made it far from ideal. And he was technically working, but fuck it all -- they'd sent him to do this job without full disclosure of what it entailed. No one had mentioned having to spend the entire weekend babysitting a wandering former Death Eater. As long as he brought Malfoy back, it hardly mattered what he did in the meantime, did it?
"All right, fine."
"What?" Malfoy clearly hadn't expected him to agree.
"Are you thick? Yes, I'll go. It beats sitting around here and reminiscing about the old days."
The fact that Malfoy was perturbed by his agreement to go only made him firmer in his decision. He turned to open his briefcase and rummaged inside. He had brought a single change of clothes, just in case, and with a few spells he could transfigure them into something club-worthy. He had no idea where Malfoy intended to take them, but from what he'd heard the bars in Greenwich Village appealed to a rather diverse crowd. It was unlikely he'd be the only gay man there.
"Fine," Malfoy said, though he didn't look pleased. He disappeared into the bathroom with a handful of clothing.
Harry smirked and changed into his casual set of clothes, jeans and a black t-shirt emblazoned with the name of a Muggle rock band. He stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror by the door and cast a few spells -- one to shrink the shirt a bit, another to artfully tear his jeans in a few spots, and another to shape his single pair of shoes into something more stylish. He tried a few spells on his hair before giving it up as hopeless, and then turned to his winter cloak. After he'd transfigured it into a proper wool coat, he put it on and knocked on the bathroom door.
"I'm going to head down and see if the proprietor can change some money for me," he said. "I'll meet you downstairs."
Ten minutes later, Malfoy finally joined him in the lobby, tucked into his own cloak. Harry had managed to exchange some galleons with Warren -- the wizard who'd greeted them earlier.
"Where are you boys headed tonight?" Warren asked, looking delighted to see them again.
"What do you recommend?" Malfoy asked.
"Oh, let's see… Diggler's for dancing, or the Screaming Eagle if you're looking for action." Warren clapped his hands excitedly.
"The Screaming Eagle it is," Malfoy said without even a glance at Harry. "Let's go."
*****
The wind had picked up considerably, but they made their way three streets down to where Warren said they'd find the entrance of the Screaming Eagle bar. He'd instructed them to stand in front of the address and say the name aloud three times, and then they'd be shown the way.
Sure enough, the bar seemed to materialize before them where there had been an empty boarded-up shop moments before. There was a large carved eagle, wings spread and beak open, hovering over the doorway, and flashing lights could be seen through a smoked window. Malfoy opened the door and light and sound seemed to spill out onto the street. Harry stepped out of the way of a passing Muggle couple, who seemed not to notice that there was anything -- or anyone -- there.
It was nearly midnight on Friday night and the place was packed. Music pounded around them, and they had to weave their way through groups of people to get to the bar. There were witches and wizards in all manners of dress standing in clumps, talking, dancing, and in many cases engaged in some serious public displays of affection. Their drinks were all glowing and sparkling, adding to the festive atmosphere of the room.
The temperature in the club was quite warm; Harry shed his coat and cast a quick shrinking charm on it and stashed it in his pocket. Malfoy had squeezed his way to the bar and was ordering drinks, so Harry hung back and surveyed the room further. The crowd was diverse, though it seemed at least half of the clientele were men, and most of those obviously looking for other men. He received admiring looks from several wizards who walked past, and felt a thrill of excitement. With a bit of alcohol, this was going to be exactly what he needed.
He turned back to the bar and saw that Malfoy was collecting two glowing drinks from the bartender. Harry was mildly surprised that he'd bought the first round -- of course, that probably meant Malfoy would use it as leverage to get Harry to buy the rest of their drinks that night. And since Harry planned to expense the entire weekend, he didn't actually mind. And the drunker they both were, the less awkward it would be when it became obvious that Harry was not interested in the scantily-clad witches writhing on the dance floor.
Malfoy made his way over to Harry and handed him a drink. He did a bit of a double-take at Harry's attire, but said nothing. Malfoy looked rather good himself, Harry had to admit. The casual clothes he'd been wearing earlier had masked his lean form, but the tight long-sleeved shirt and trousers he wore now (apparently having also disposed of his cloak) enhanced his every feature. Harry tried not to stare, but it was difficult.
He took the neon green drink Malfoy offered him and took a sip. It was sweet, though not sickly so, and tasted mildly of tequila. Hoping it was strong, Harry downed half of it in one go. He looked up to see Malfoy eyeing him again.
"What?" He tugged at his shirt self-consciously. Maybe he'd overdone the shrinking charm.
Malfoy shrugged and looked away. They stood there and watched the dance floor, but with Malfoy practically glowing next to him, Harry wasn't getting much attention. Witches and wizards alike admired him as they walked past, and Harry could even see people looking at him from across the room.
He downed the rest of his drink. "I'm getting another. Want one?"
Malfoy nodded in response, and Harry made his way to the bar. He suddenly felt rather small and plain, and it was depressing. William had been a lot like Malfoy, now that he thought about it. Tall and blond and striking, the sort who caught the eye of nearly everyone he met. Which had been the problem, actually -- Harry Potter wasn't enough for him.
After several minutes of trying to get the bartender's attention, Harry finally managed to purchase another round of neon green drinks. He headed back to where he'd left Malfoy, but he wasn't there. Harry looked around, sipping his drink, scanning the tables along the walls, the dance floor -- and nearly choked.
Malfoy was in the center of the dance floor, wrapped around one of the shirtless wizards who'd been checking him out earlier.
Until that moment, it hadn't occurred to Harry that Malfoy might be gay. He wasn't usually this oblivious, but when he looked at Malfoy all he saw was "pointy git" and "junior Death Eater" -- it didn't go beyond that to anything remotely sexual. Or homosexual, for that matter.
Fucking hell. Malfoy was gay? That solved a few logistical problems of the weekend, and created a few more.
He watched Malfoy dance while he finished his drink, and then downed the one he'd bought for Malfoy as well. Just when he thought he couldn't stand it any longer, a warm body pressed against him from behind, and a voice was whispering in is ear, and hell yeah, he'd like to dance. The room was spinning a bit, but that was fine. That was good, actually, and it didn't matter that he couldn't really even see who he was dancing with. Some bloke in a bright green shirt, with a really strong New York accent. All the better.
Then he was being kissed, and he abandoned himself to it. No one knew him here; no one would talk to the papers. He was anonymous. Incognito. And horny as fuck.
After several long minutes of messy snogging, Green Shirt pulled him off the dance floor, and they ended up standing against a wall in the darkness. When Green Shirt dropped to his knees, Harry opened his eyes to see they were in some sort of narrow back room, away from the rest of the club. They were alone except for one other couple across the room. There was a familiar figure standing, leaning back against the opposite wall, and it was a moment before Harry realized that it was Malfoy -- Malfoy, with his hand on the head of the shirtless wizard, who was kneeling in front of him and obviously sucking his cock.
Harry hadn't been completely hard before, but his prick sprang to attention at the sight.
"Just what I wanted to see," Green Shirt said, and Harry realized the man had just unzipped Harry's jeans. Harry let his head fall back against the wall, and then his cock was enclosed in wet heat.
"Oh, yeah," he groaned. This was exactly what he needed.
He looked back over at Malfoy again, and this time Malfoy was looking back. His expression was intense, and there was something about it that held Harry's gaze. They stared at each other, just a few yards apart, both getting their pricks sucked by anonymous men at this random club in New York City.
Green Shirt was sucking hard, pumping Harry's shaft with his hand and doing lovely things with his tongue, and Harry had no idea how he was going to stay on his feet when he came. He held onto Malfoy's gaze and it grounded him, kept him from slipping away into oblivion. Malfoy's mouth was open now, and he arched his back, and then he was coming, still looking right at Harry.
Harry'd had several boyfriends, and he'd had a lot of sex -- especially when he was nineteen or twenty and a new celebrity. But he'd never looked into the face of a lover and seen that kind of intensity before. He almost felt like he was the one fucking Malfoy -- a thought that wasn't altogether unpleasant.
Malfoy kept staring afterward, as if daring Harry to come. Shirtless climbed to his feet, and Malfoy turned him around to face Harry and whispered something in his ear. Shirtless grinned, and then groaned as Malfoy's hand unfastened his jeans and started pulling his prick. Shirtless's head fell back against Malfoy's shoulder, but Malfoy kept watching Harry.
Harry felt raw and exposed, and it was amazing. He watched Malfoy pulling off Shirtless hard and fast, and it was almost as if Malfoy was doing it just for him. His own private porno. Green Shirt's tongue was working his cock, and he felt his balls tighten, and then he came, hard, before he could even give a warning. His knees buckled, and Green Shirt pressed him back against the wall to keep him standing.
He never tore his eyes away from Malfoy's.
Green Shirt was pumping his own prick, and a moment later came with a grunt. He stood and grinned at Harry (who was happy to end it there anyway), and left for the main part of the club again. Harry sank to the floor, his spent prick still hanging out of his jeans, and kept his eyes on the men across the room. Malfoy finished off Shirtless and sent him on his way, and then redressed himself. He crossed the corridor to Harry and held out a hand. At Harry's look of disdain, he smirked and offered the other hand.
Harry took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. He refastened his jeans as quickly as he could, ignoring the fact that Malfoy was leering at him.
"Have fun?" Malfoy asked.
"Obviously," Harry retorted.
"Want another drink?"
Harry winced. It was morning at home, and the time difference was starting to take its toll. "Actually, I think I'm done for the night."
Malfoy shrugged. "All right. I got what I came for anyway."
They bundled up and walked back to the hotel in silence. If Malfoy hadn't known Harry was gay until the moment he saw him getting sucked off across the room, he'd certainly done a good job of hiding it. Harry kept expecting him to say something, but he didn't.
It was nearly 2:00 am when they got back to the room, and Harry was exhausted. Malfoy headed to the bathroom, but all Harry could think of was sleep. His bed had been turned down and a heating charm had been applied, and it was gloriously cozy when he crawled under the covers. He wriggled out of his clothes and tossed them to the floor, and drifted off to sleep.
*****
The sun was shining in his eyes. Harry squinted, and then rolled over, burrowing into the blankets.
The events of the night before slowly drifted into his consciousness, and he groaned. He was going to have one hell of a hangover, and any minute now it was going to hit him.
Any minute now.
He opened his eyes and squinted at the clock on the bedside table, which read 2:00 pm. The time change and staying up for 24 hours would only make his hangover worse, he knew. He felt fine at the moment, though it wouldn't last. As soon as he sat up, he'd regret it.
He sat up. Nothing happened.
He looked over at the room's other bed, which was rumpled, but currently empty. Panic flooded him, and he leapt to his feet. Malfoy had bought that first round of drinks, and had probably drugged him somehow, and when Harry had passed out, he'd made his escape.
What kind of Auror went out partying with a prisoner and put himself in that sort of vulnerable position? Malfoy had set him up, and he fell for it. He was a complete idiot. He scrubbed at his face with his hands and groaned, "What was I thinking?"
The sound of a toilet flushing drew his attention to the bathroom, and then Malfoy, clad only in a pair of boxers, stumbled out. "You weren't thinking," he said, and then paused to yawn. "That's what drunken casual sex is all about."
Harry sat on the bed again as simultaneous waves of relief and embarrassment washed over him. "I suppose so."
Where the hell was his hangover? Surely he wouldn't have done so many terribly stupid things unless he was utterly wasted.
Malfoy yawned. "I'm hungry. Want to get something to eat?"
Harry sighed. He could blame it all on the fact that he'd been awake for 24 hours. He'd never done well in the sleep stress training, after all. "All right."
They ended up at the little bistro a few doors down, a cozy Italian spot called Lupa. The food was amazing, and they found themselves smiling over plates of marinated white beans, olives, roasted vegetables, and the most amazing prosciutto Harry had ever tasted.
"I didn't know Muggles could cook so well," Malfoy said as he poured the last of the wine into his own glass.
"Have you spent any time at all in the Muggle world?"
Malfoy shot him a look. "Is that a joke?"
"Never mind." Harry signaled for the bill and stretched lazily. "You said something last night about Christmas shopping. I'm up for it."
"If you insist," Malfoy replied with a hint of a smile.
Malfoy had apparently read up on all the spots magical tourists should hit and how to find them. They were only a few streets away from Lennon Avenue, the center of the Manhattan Wizarding community. The entrance was through a mural on Houston Street, and they had to lean against it in a particular spot to pass through the magical barrier.
Lennon Avenue looked similar to every other street in the Village, except of course that the street was lined with shops containing all manner of magical items. There were quite a few eateries, as well as coffee shops (on on every corner, it seemed), book stores, and one alley full of Chinese shops and restaurants, with colorful signs hovering vertically in the air, competing with each other for space.
The street opened into a small square, in the center of which was a statue of a familiar-looking figure, a slight man with shoulder-length hair and round glasses, one hand raised and holding a single flower. Harry stopped to look closer. "Is that John Lennon?"
"Yeah," Malfoy replied.
"He was a wizard?"
"Of course," Malfoy said with a tone that indicated he thought Harry wasn't very bright. He kept walking, and after staring at the statue for another moment, Harry followed.
He caught up to Malfoy in front of a shop displaying magical sex toys in the window, most of which Harry couldn't begin to imagine how one might use.
"I didn't think that was legal," Malfoy said, turning his head almost sideways as he stared at one item.
"Since when do you take legality into account?" Harry retorted. He had no idea what the device's intended purpose was, but it didn't look very comfortable.
Malfoy smirked in response, and moved on.
At last they arrived at a stretch of clothing shops with fantastic window displays. A shop selling beachwear had a miniature ocean in its window, with tiny surfers riding the waves and wee sharks circling whenever they fell off their boards. A shop featuring winter wear had a snowy mountain in the window, down which figures were skiing. A sign in the window read Try before you buy on our full-size ski slope inside! A large crowd had gathered around the window of a shop that sold undergarments; apparently a mannequin in the window was performing a striptease.
Clothing styles were different from what one typically saw in Wizarding districts in England where the clothing tended to be more traditional. Harry was delighted with the handful of shirts and pair of jeans he found, and even Malfoy was lured into buying a few items.
After an hour of exploring, they found a cozy café and settled at a table by the window with cups of chai and gigantic pastries, and watched people walk by on the street.
"So this is what you came here to do?" Harry asked.
Malfoy stared out the window, almost as if he was looking for someone in the crowds passing by. "As a matter of fact, yes. There's a certain pleasure to be found in anonymity, don't you think?"
Harry nodded. In all the time they'd wandered around, no one had stared at him, or even spared him a glance. He'd never been able to walk into a Wizarding community in Britain without being the center of attention instantly, but here, he was just another wizard walking down the street. It was liberating.
Still, it seemed odd that Malfoy's plan was to come and spend a weekend in New York all alone. Harry's brow furrowed.
"You booked a room for two at the hotel."
Malfoy frowned. "So?"
"So you weren't planning to come here alone, were you?"
Malfoy shrugged. "I hoped I wouldn't be sleeping alone, certainly. A room for two guarantees a big bed. Of course, you ruined that part of my weekend plans."
"You seemed to do fine last night."
Malfoy smirked. "Perhaps getting sucked off in the back of a club is your idea of a romantic weekend, but I was hoping for something a bit more interesting."
Harry took a sip of his tea and contemplated Malfoy for a long moment. His face was a practiced mask of cool indifference, but every now and then a real emotion would shine through -- and it was almost always a sad anger. "You're running from something."
"Actually, I'm running to something."
It was maddening to try to have a conversation with him. Harry wondered why he was even trying.
*****
That night they decided to go to Diggler's, the other club Warren had recommended. It was over in Chelsea, on an industrial pier stretching over the river. There was particular link in the security fence they had to touch with their wands in order to pass through, and then follow a trail of magical lights to a large rusty door that served as the Muggle-proof entrance.
The pier itself was quiet, with only the sounds of the city in the background, but once they were on the other side of the door, it was clear that this club was quite popular. It wasn't yet midnight, but the club was already packed. The space was huge, and the dim lighting only focused everyone's attention on the bodies pressed together under the bright and colorful lights of the dance floor as they moved to the thump of a techno beat. Scantily-clad go-go dancers of both sexes gyrated on brooms above the crowd, and something that looked like glittering snow seemed to be falling from the ceiling. There was a long bar along one wall with colorfully-lit bottles of alcohol and various potions lining the shelves above it. A muscular man clad in only a gold thong was dancing on the bar, surrounded by male and female admirers.
"I'll get us drinks," Harry shouted over the din, and Malfoy nodded. He returned a few minutes later with two martini glasses with unknown contents -- he'd intended to order gin and tonic, but the bartender had misunderstood him. "This is mad, isn't it?"
Malfoy didn't answer though; he was staring out at the dance floor with an intensity Harry hadn't seen on his face before.
"What is it?" he asked, elbowing Malfoy in the side.
"Let's dance," Malfoy said, his gaze still fixed on whatever -- or whoever -- had caught his attention. He downed his drink in one go and set the glass on a nearby table. He grabbed Harry by the arm. "Come on."
Harry managed to set his own glass on a table before Malfoy dragged him away. "What the hell?" he asked, and then Malfoy pulled him close. His gaze was still locked on someone over Harry's shoulder. "What are you doing?"
Malfoy glanced down at Harry's face, and then to Harry's astonishment, kissed him. Harry's first instinct was to push him away, but then Malfoy pulled him closer, and there was something about the way their bodies fit together that sent a shiver through Harry. He slid his arms around Malfoy's waist and kissed him back.
"Draco?"
Malfoy broke the kiss and turned his head toward the man who'd just approached them. "Jake. Fancy meeting you here."
Jake was a stunningly good-looking wizard, a few years older than them with dark hair and eyes so blue they looked to have been magically enhanced. He was about Harry's height, but his body was muscular in that way only men with personal trainers look. He was impeccably dressed, and when he smiled, and his teeth were perfect. He looked genuinely shocked to see Malfoy. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here for the weekend," Malfoy replied with a cool indifference so practiced that Harry had to admire it. "This is Harry, by the way."
Harry gave a little nod in greeting, and Jake's eyes narrowed.
"Harry," he repeated, still staring intently at Harry's face. "You look familiar. Are you Harry Potter?"
Harry looked up at Malfoy and saw that familiar mask of non-emotion -- which meant that his feelings for this person must be very strong indeed. It dawned on him that Malfoy was trying to make Jake jealous and he was using Harry to do it. He didn't know whether to be delighted or offended. Malfoy squeezed his arm as if asking him to play along, and Harry forced a smile. At the very least, this would indebt Malfoy to him for the rest of the weekend.
"None other." He leaned into Malfoy. "And you are?"
"Jake Marshall." He raised an eyebrow at Malfoy. "You didn't waste much time, did you?"
"Neither did you, from what I saw earlier."
"You're still pissed at me, aren't you?"
"Like you said, it was just business."
Jake's smile was calculating. "At least let me buy you a drink. Both of you." He gestured towards the bar.
They followed him to the bar, and Harry watched Malfoy watch Jake. There was definitely tension in his body, though he hid it well. Harry had no idea why Malfoy was so wound up over an American wizard, but with luck, he was about to find out.
Jake signaled something to the bartender, and then led them to an area filled with comfortable sofas and low tables. There was a rope of twisted light partitioning this section from the rest of the club, and a burly wizard stood just outside, apparently charged with admitting only a select few through. Jake gave the bouncer a nod as they approached, and the man stepped aside. The rope broke apart and allowed them to pass, then reformed behind them.
They crossed to a corner where a group of men were seated, talking and laughing together. Jake cleared his throat and they looked up, then stood and moved to another set of sofas without another word. Jake settled on one that faced the rest of the club, and gestured to the sofa opposite him.
"This is my favorite spot to watch the action," Jake said by way of explanation. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. The waiter will bring our drinks in a moment."
They sat, and Harry suppressed a smirk -- this man seemed a perfect match for Malfoy. In fact, he seemed like the American version of Malfoy. Whatever had happened between them was undoubtedly the reason why Malfoy was here this weekend, and Harry's job was to get to the bottom of it.
"You should have told me you were coming," Jake said, his eyes raking over Malfoy in a way that was almost possessive.
"I did," Malfoy replied. "Two months ago."
Jake chuckled. "Oh, right, our New York weekend. After the way we left things, I assumed you never wanted to see me again."
Malfoy smiled coolly. "I didn't. But I needed a weekend away, and I'd already paid for the room."
"And I've always wanted to come to New York," Harry added.
Malfoy slid an arm around Harry's shoulders. "So here we are. I certainly never expected to run into you."
"Of course not," Jake replied, his cool eyes narrow.
The drinks arrived -- sparkling blue liquid in tall crystal flutes -- and they all reached for them at once. Malfoy downed half of his in one go, but Harry was far more cautious. There was something about Jake that set Harry on edge, and this was not the time to let his guard down.
"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy," Jake mused, gently swirling his blue drink. "I have to admit, you two seem an unlikely couple."
"Do we?" Harry took a small sip from his glass. Champagne, probably of goblin origin. Expensive.
Jake turned his gaze to Harry. "I've spent a lot of time in Britain in the last few years. I know who you are, and what you did. And I also know that you two were not on the same side of that particular struggle. I can't imagine what you have to talk about."
"Talking is overrated," Harry replied with a smirk.
"You're right about that," Malfoy said, and downed the rest of his drink. Jake raised his wand, and another round appeared on the table before them.
"And to think it was just a couple of months ago that you were telling me how much you hated Harry Potter, and you called him a-- How did you put it?"
"I forget," Malfoy said coolly.
"Called me a what?" Harry asked, turning to grin at him.
"Probably a nosy git with an overblown hero complex," Malfoy said, giving him a sharp look.
"Though he did once say he wouldn't mind tapping that ass," Jake added.
"Oh, please," Malfoy retorted. "I have never said anything about tapping anyone's--"
"You love my ass," Harry said, drawing out the 'a' in his best approximation of an American accent. "You can make it up to me later. Unless you want to sleep on the floor." He leaned in and nuzzled along Malfoy's jawline for a moment, and was delighted to feel him tense. Harry was enjoying this far more than he'd expected to.
Jake chuckled. "No offense, Harry. I guess I thought I knew Draco better than I did."
"Obviously not." Malfoy extracted himself from Harry's embrace and exchanged his empty glass for a full one.
"Good sex can unite people under the strangest of circumstances. How many empires were built or brought down because of a good fuck?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at Jake. "I think I slept through that particular history lesson."
"You're a lucky man, Harry. I have to admit I'm a little jealous." He paused and a lazy smile spread over his face. "I miss that mouth of his. Draco gives great head, doesn't he?"
"Yes, he does," Harry replied, smiling at Jake over his glass. He slid a hand possessively up Malfoy's thigh. "But I'm better."
Jake's eyes nearly sparkled, and Harry couldn't suppress a smirk.
"He is, actually," Malfoy added, not missing a beat. "As much as it pains me to admit it."
Jake hadn't taken his eyes off of Harry. "Here just for the weekend?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Are you up for a little adventure?" Jake's eyes flicked down to Harry's hand on Malfoy's thigh, and back up again.
"Like what?"
"Come back to my place and we can continue this conversation. Get to know each other a little better."
"All three of us?" Harry asked, though he already knew the answer.
Malfoy snorted. "There's the Jake I remember. Always trying to play with the other children's toys."
"Can you blame me?" He took a sip of his drink, and his eyes blazed. "I'd pay good money to watch you two fuck."
Harry laughed, mostly to hide his shock at Jake's boldness, but Malfoy tensed beside him.
"I'm afraid this riveting conversation must come to a close." Malfoy said, an edge to his voice now. "It's late, and we're still adjusting to the time change."
"Thanks for the drinks," Harry said, standing. He held out a hand and Malfoy took it, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Harry slid an arm around his waist.
"Enjoy the rest of your weekend," Jake said, smiling up at them from his sofa. "And let me know if you change your mind."
The moment they were out of the club, Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him close. For a moment Harry thought Malfoy was going to kiss him again, but instead he turned on the spot, and a wrenching moment later they were standing in their room at the hotel.
Malfoy gave him a shove, and Harry landed on the bed.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
Harry gazed up at him, stunned. "What are you talking about?"
Malfoy leveled a look at him. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."
"You started it -- you kissed me. I was just playing along."
"There is a huge difference between a kiss and practically molesting me on the sofa while giving out the details of our imaginary sex life!"
"All right, I'm sorry if it went too far. I assumed he was your ex, and that you wanted to make him jealous. I thought I was doing you a favor."
Malfoy glared at him. "It's not that fucking simple, Potter. You have no idea what you're playing with."
"Then why don't you tell me?"
Malfoy sank onto his bed and groaned. "And humiliate myself further? No thanks."
Harry sighed. "I need something to go on here, Malfoy. We'll be cleared to go home in a couple of days, and I have to write a report about why you were here. Do you really want me to put in your official file that you were stalking your ex-lover?"
"What does it matter? I'll get house arrest for violating the Death Eater restrictions, no matter what. My reason for coming here is irrelevant. You lot don't bother to ask questions first, you just assume, and what you believe might as well be the truth."
"I'm trying to help you, Malfoy. If I didn't give a shit, I wouldn't have done any of it. Surely after fifteen years, you know me better than that."
"I know you're a self-absorbed twat with a hero complex."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Is that the best you can do, really?"
"Give me a minute, and I'll come up with a worse one."
"I know you have very few reasons to trust me, but I am the only person who can help you out of whatever mess you're in. No one else is going to look beyond that picture of the Dark Mark in your file."
Malfoy was silent, though, and after a few moments, Harry stripped off his clothes and got in bed. If Malfoy didn't want help, fine. Harry was under no obligation to do anything more than bring him back and write a report about it.
Of course, he'd be leaving out most of the details of the last two days. It had been surprisingly easy to slip into the role of Malfoy's boyfriend, and he wasn't sure what to make of that.
Go to Part 2
Author: Emma Grant
emmagrant01Rating: NC-17
Length: 16,100 words
Pairings/characters: Harry/Draco plus a little Harry/Draco/OMC
Summary: Seven years after the end of the war, Draco Malfoy has been taken into custody in New York. Harry Potter is sent to bring him back. EWE.
Warnings: random bar sex, dub-con if you squint, threesome, set in New York City's wizarding community (in case that sort of thing annoys you)
Author's notes: This was originally written for
sashaminx for the 2011 harry_holidays fest, where it was read by at least 10 people! At least, that's how many comments it got. This version has been slightly rewritten from what was posted there, since I figured not many folks saw it there and I could fix it up a little more. The original version was beta'd by wordplay and lusiology. In case you're wondering, the title is a mashup of two adages about jealousy. "He's where?"
"New York City. They intercepted him at JFK this morning."
Harry Potter stared up at Waldo Biggins, head of the International Division of the Auror Department. "Former Death Eaters can't travel out of the country without prior Ministry permission. How'd he manage that?"
"We're not certain," Biggins replied, leaning against Harry's office door. "There's a hole in our security somewhere."
"We need to get someone on that."
"Funny you should mention it."
"Oh, no. No, no, no." Harry held his hands up in protest. "You're not suggesting I take care of this."
"We think you're the man for the job, Harry. You're booked on the international portkey to JFK at midnight tonight."
Harry choked back a laugh. "Are you insane? I can't go to New York tonight." He gestured at the large pile of papers on his desk. "I'm closing out that McGiven case, and if I don't get the reports done by Monday, Whistleton will have my head."
"Then I should leave you to it, since you've only got a few hours." Biggins smirked, apparently enjoying the moment.
"Why me? Why can't someone else go for him? It's not like he's dangerous, or a threat. Not anymore, anyway."
"Because you know him -- at least, better than does any other Auror in the department. And we're not convinced he's completely harmless, to be honest. Rumor has it he's been trying to get out of the country for several weeks now, for reasons unknown." Biggins tossed a thick file onto the top of the pile on Harry's desk. "A little light reading for your trip. Good luck." And with that he turned and walked away.
"Fuck, bugger, and shit," Harry grumbled, reaching for the file. This was not what he needed today, not by a long shot. He had plans for the weekend, plans that involved heading to a bar and drinking far too much and forgetting all about his bastard ex-boyfriend William. He stared down at the picture glaring up at him from the front of the file and sighed.
"What the hell are you doing in New York, Draco Malfoy?"
"Welcome to JFK, please step off the portkey platform and head through those doors to passport control and security. Enjoy your stay." The witch's tone indicated she was anything but thrilled to welcome Harry to the United States.
He gave her a tight smile, and walked in the direction she indicated. He joined the long line at passport control, after which he and his briefcase were subjected to a series of incredibly invasive examination spells by the MTSA officials. By the time he finally passed through into the portkey terminal, he was thoroughly annoyed. He dodged through the crowds, snaking his way past families with children in hovering carriages, and newsstands selling everything from snacks to magazines to souvenir cauldrons with I ♥ New York printed on them.
At last he reached the exit and passed through the portal into the apparition zone. He rifled through his pocket for the address of the U. S. Aurors' holding facility. "63rd and Lexington," he muttered to himself, and then dug out the map of New York City he'd picked up while waiting in line at passport control. He concentrated on the map and turned on the spot.
He felt himself hit the redirection ward almost instantly, and was buffeted about for a few extra seconds until his feet connected with a floor, years of experience apparating into such facilities barely keeping him on his feet. He was in a bare room, harshly lit by a strip of fluorescent bulbs overhead. There was a glass window next to the room's single door, on the other side of which sat a plump, stern-looking wizard whose robes bore the insignia of the U.S Auror Division. The man touched the tip of his wand to his throat, and his voice filled the small room.
"State your name and business."
"Harry Potter, British Auror, International Magical Investigations Department. I'm here to pick up a prisoner you're holding." He smoothed his hair down and readjusted his glasses after the rough landing.
"Identification," the man replied, and Harry rummaged in his pocket, then held up his passport and Auror badge. They disappeared from his hands and reappeared on the other side of the window, where the man plucked them from the air and examined both of them.
After several long minutes, he looked up at Harry and gestured towards the door, which opened with an ominous click. Harry's identification documents popped into the air above his head, and he took them before moving on.
"Can you tell me where I should go?"
"Not my job," the Auror replied, gesturing towards the door again.
"Thanks," Harry muttered. He picked up his briefcase and walked through the door.
The corridor didn't appear to have been updated, or even painted, in half a century. Harry wandered down it quite a distance and then through an open doorway at the end. A young witch with frizzy brown hair sat behind a desk in yet another sparse, poorly lit room, flipping through a magazine and bobbing her head to the tune of an annoyingly perky song of some boy band playing on a small radio next to her elbow. A ball-point pen scribbled frantically in an open notebook in front of her on the desk, but she paid it no mind. She flipped the page of her magazine and giggled.
Harry cleared his throat. "I believe you're expecting me."
She glanced up from the magazine and then down at the notebook. "You're… Harry Potter?"
"Yes, and I'm here to collect a British wizard you're holding."
She smiled at him in a way that was all too familiar and set the magazine down. "I think I've heard of you. Killed some dark wizard a few years back, right? Aren't they making a movie about you or somethin'?"
"I sincerely hope not," he replied. "Can you tell me where I should go? I have a portkey back in two hours, and I need to be on my way."
"You're a lot cuter than I expected," she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "You married?"
"No."
"Girlfriend?"
"No."
"If you're gonna be in town for a few days--"
"I'm not," he replied, starting to lose his patience.
"Gay?"
"Absolutely. Now if you don't mind?"
"The cute ones always are," she said with a sigh, then pushed a button on her desk. "Mr. Potter is here. Should I send him back?"
"Yes," replied a disembodied voice, bouncing around the room in a manner apparently intended to intimidate. Americans.
The receptionist waved her wand and a door materialized behind her. "Go on through please." She smiled sappily at him as he passed.
The room he found himself in now was a sharp contrast to the ones he'd seen just before. The ceiling was high, like an old-fashioned bank lobby, and it was full of witches and wizards bustling about despite the late hour. There were no furnishings, though the floor was covered with a large marble mosaic that depicted the scales of justice surrounded by figures dressed in Greek robes. There were corridors leading off in various directions, each doorway signed with a direction -- Northeast, South-southwest, and so on -- which gave him no idea which way he should go. He stood there for a moment, completely bewildered, and then felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Mr. Potter?" He turned to see a young witch smiling at him. She held out her hand and he shook it. "I'm Andrea Blackwell, from the International Enforcement Division. I have your prisoner. If you'll follow me, please?"
She led him through the busy foyer and down a corridor marked Northeast, walking at so brisk a pace he had difficulty keeping up. Her Auror robes were stylish and well-tailored, and her blonde-streaked hair was pinned up in a messy twist at the back of her head in a way that provided an artful contrast to her otherwise impeccable appearance. She was attractive, the sort of witch he imagined he'd be interested in -- if he were interested in witches.
She led him through a series of doors and then past a security barrier, where she had to cast a few quick spells to allow him to pass. They had arrived in the detention area, a circular room with cells around the perimeter. The cells were apparently magically sealed; the doorways appeared open, and he could see many of them were occupied. After a moment he located the one containing Malfoy, and crossed to peer inside.
He hadn't seen Malfoy in years, and was surprised to see that he looked rather well. He was casually dressed and sat in a chair in the corner of his small cell, reading a newspaper. His stylishly-cut hair was not quite as white-blond as Harry remembered, and his face not as pointy. He turned the page of the newspaper and tilted his head, and a thoughtful expression appeared on his face, followed by something that looked more like a smile than Harry had ever seen on him.
He looked good, Harry realized with a jolt. If he weren't Malfoy, he'd even be the sort of wizard Harry would chat up in a bar. It was a frightening thought.
"He can't see you," Andrea said. Harry turned to see her sitting at a desk in the center of the room. She indicated a chair opposite, and he crossed to sit in it. "The barrier is only transparent on our side."
"So you watch them all the time?"
"Yes. They do know they're being observed. Otherwise we'd be witness to all kinds of interesting behavior." She winked at Harry and then pushed a file folder across the desk to him. "Here's the paperwork. We just need a bit more information from you, and he'll be released into your custody."
"Fantastic," Harry replied, checking his watch. "I've arranged a portkey back in a touch over an hour and a half, so--"
"Oh, he won't be able to leave the country until after the 72-hour waiting period. We have to go through a whole series of checks, and--"
"Wait, what?" Harry interjected. "No one told me that!"
"I just did. Now if you'll start filling out these papers--"
"My government thinks he might be dangerous! You can't just let him walk out of here and wander about town."
Andrea raised an eyebrow. "Well my government is under the impression that he's completely harmless. He's done nothing to break our laws; he was simply on a list of wizards your government doesn't want leaving your country, so by international magical treaty, we were required to take him into custody and hold him until your government could take him back."
"If he's harmless, why not let him leave the country tonight? You're a witch. Wave your wand and make it so."
"I don't make the rules," she snapped, "and I'm not about to risk my neck just because you're slightly inconvenienced. Besides, you, Mr. Potter, are the selected representative of your government. If they deem you qualified to take possession of Mr. Malfoy until such time as he is released for travel--"
"I don't believe this," Harry groaned. "What am I supposed to do with him for three days?" He looked over towards Malfoy's cell again, and a very helpful voice inside his brain noted that it could think of quite a few things.
"Your 72 hours doesn't start until these papers get filled out, so I suggest you get started."
He took her offered quill and opened the folder. There were no less than a dozen papers he had to sort through, many of which asked for the same information over and over: Malfoy's full name, date of birth, address, occupation (Harry was tempted to write "layabout", but instead filled in the blank with "independent investor"), and marital status ("single"). His hand was starting to cramp when he was finally done.
Andrea checked over the forms and then walked him to the door of Malfoy's cell. "You'll receive a message from me when he's cleared to leave the country." She flicked her wand and the air in the cell's doorway shimmered. Malfoy looked up casually, and then paled when he saw Harry standing there. The look of shock on his face was almost worth the trip.
"He's all yours," Andrea said, patting Harry on the shoulder.
"So he is," Harry said, giving Malfoy a stern look. "Let's go, shall we?"
"What the hell?" Malfoy looked at Andrea. "What is he doing here?"
"He's here to take you home, pretty boy," Andrea quipped. "Well, in three days, anyway. In the meantime, please enjoy your visit to New York. Buh-bye."
Malfoy turned back to Harry. "Three days? What is she talking about?"
"I'll explain in the cab," Harry said, not bothering to hide his impatience. "Let's go."
For a moment Malfoy looked as if he were going to protest further, but then an expression almost like resignation appeared on his face. He rose to his feet and walked past Harry through the doorway, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Harry sighed. It was going to be a long weekend. A long weekend with Draco Malfoy. Biggins was going to owe him for this.
Andrea led them out of the secure area and to a storage room where they could retrieve the suitcase Malfoy had arrived with, and then took them to the building's exit.
"You'll hear from me soon," she called after them as they walked out into an alley.
An icy wind whipped past them, and Harry dug into his briefcase. He pulled a thick winter cloak from his small briefcase, earning a look of surprise from Malfoy.
"Enlarging spell, eh? Interesting."
"An old trick of Hermione's," Harry replied, wrapping the cloak around him. Malfoy pulled a light cloak from his suitcase and cast a heating charm on it, then tossed it around his shoulders.
Good idea, Harry thought, but didn't say it aloud. They walked down to the street, and Harry raised his arm to hail a taxi.
"Where are we going?" Malfoy asked.
"No idea," Harry replied. "All I know is that I have to keep an eye on you for the next three days until we get clearance to leave. And no, I'm not any happier about it than you are."
"Three days? How ironic."
"Taxi! It's fucking freezing here. Ironic how?"
"That was exactly how long I planned to stay in New York in the first place, just for the weekend."
"And now you get your holiday after all, but on the taxpayers' galleon. Ironic, indeed."
A yellow cab pulled to the curb just then, and Harry went to the window, expecting it to open. The driver stared back at him and jerked his thumb toward the rear of the vehicle.
"You get in the taxi first in America," Malfoy said with an air of disdain, "and then tell the driver where you're going. It's the reverse here, like everything else." He opened the door and they climbed inside, shivering.
"Where to?" asked the driver.
Harry paused. He'd been so focused on getting into a warm taxi that he hadn't even considered their destination.
"Bleeker and Thompson," Malfoy said, and the driver sped away.
"Where are you taking us?" Harry asked, glancing sideways at him.
"To the hotel at which I have a reservation. Unless you have a better idea."
Harry didn't. The cab made its way slowly across town, cutting through the theatre district and then heading south on 9th Avenue. The city was bustling on this cold December night, with crowds of warmly-dressed Muggles strolling down the pavement despite the chill. There were Christmas lights and decorations everywhere, and Harry found himself charmed. He'd always wanted to see New York at Christmastime, and here he was. The circumstances could certainly have been better, but it was still lovely.
"You said you'd explain," Malfoy said. He was staring out the window, perhaps thinking along the same lines as Harry was.
"You first," Harry retorted. "You don't have authorization to travel. How did you get out of the country?"
Malfoy smirked and kept his eyes focused on the scenery outside. "I bribed an agent at the Gatwick Portkey Hub, of course. Surely you lot could have figured that out without coming all the way here."
"Why did you come?"
"I already told you. Holiday weekend, Christmas shopping, that sort of thing."
"Why didn't you ask for authorization, then?"
"I did. I've asked half a dozen times in the last few weeks, and every time I was denied. So I decided to go anyway. Fuck you very much, Ministry of Death Eater Registration and Containment."
That at least aligned with what he knew from Malfoy's file. "When were you planning to go back?"
Malfoy made a sound like an exasperated sigh as he pulled his wallet out of his coat. He took a slip of paper out of it and handed it to Harry. It was a travel itinerary, giving the time and date of his portkey to New York that morning and return to London Gatwick on Monday at noon.
Harry handed it back to him and looked out of his own window. There was obviously more to this story than he'd been told.
"If they think I'm a flight risk, they're idiots," Malfoy said. "I have a fantastic flat in a fashionable part of London, I have my business, and I have status, money, and power. The only thing I don't have is freedom to travel."
Harry had to agree. He'd flipped through Malfoy's file that afternoon, and there was nothing to indicate he might be a flight risk. In fact, it was quite the contrary. Except for the fact that he once had a Dark Mark, Malfoy was practically an outstanding member of Wizarding society.
"Your turn," Malfoy said. "Why did they send you here to babysit me for the weekend?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Harry replied. "I didn't exactly volunteer."
They rode in silence for a while. Despite being typically snide, Malfoy was being unexpectedly cooperative. Harry wasn't sure what to make of that.
At last the taxi stopped, and Malfoy opened the door to get out. The driver pushed some buttons on his meter and said, "Twelve-fifty."
"Wait," Harry hissed, grabbing Malfoy's arm to pull him back in. "I don't have any Muggle money."
Malfoy gave him a look of disbelief. "The Ministry sent you all the way here to collect me with no money?"
"I didn't know it would be a weekend holiday," Harry retorted. "I thought we'd head straight back tonight, so I didn't exchange any gold at the portkey hub."
"And you're the future of the Auror corps?" He pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed the driver some green bills. "Keep the change, mate. Let's go, Potter."
Harry climbed out of the taxi and bundled himself against the chill. Malfoy hefted his suitcase and started walking, and Harry had to hurry to follow. The tree-lined street looked to be a residential one, with antique shops on the ground level, several floors of flats above, and bags of rubbish dotting the pavement. The street was quiet except for a busy restaurant down the way. The smell of garlic and roasting meat wafted out as they passed, and Harry's stomach grumbled.
They passed two more doors and then Malfoy stopped, squinting up at the building. "This should be it," he said. "Do you see anything?"
"What are we looking for?" Harry asked, shivering. "God, it's cold."
"You realize you're disappointing every expectation I have ever had of you, don't you? We're looking for the hotel. Look for a sign that wouldn't be seen by Muggles."
Harry looked up, scanning the building. "What's it called?"
"The Burnished Broomstick," Malfoy said, and then a large brightly lit sign materialized before their eyes, hanging in midair just a few feet above their heads. It was in the shape of a large arrow pointing at the nearest doorway. Muggle Christmas lights were strung around the edges, and they blinked off and on.
"Found it," Harry quipped. Malfoy rolled his eyes.
They knocked on the door, and it opened to reveal a long corridor twisting out of sight. They stepped inside and wound their way down until they reached another door with a small window. Malfoy knocked again and a face appeared in the window. Brown eyes scrutinized them both for a moment, and then disappeared. Harry and Malfoy exchanged a glance.
After several long seconds, the door opened to reveal a squat middle-aged wizard wearing a brilliantly colored robe. "Welcome, welcome!" he said, gesturing them inside. "Please come right in and make yourselves at home. Coffee?" He gestured toward a large machine covered with dials and gauges, resting on a side table that appeared close to collapse under its weight. The machine made a grinding sound and then belched a huge puff of steam.
"No, thank you," Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose. "I have a room reserved, actually."
"Name please?" The wizard was now flipping through a gigantic leather-bound book that hovered in the air before him, apparently looking for the appropriate reservation.
"Malfoy."
"Ah yes, here it is." He squinted at the page. "Room for two, for three nights. I hate to disappoint, but we're all out of rooms with king beds. I've only got rooms with two doubles."
"That's fine," Harry and Malfoy said in unison.
The wizard broke into an insane-sounding laugh. "Not to fear, not to fear. I can have the maid transfigure the beds into a king in the morning if you like."
Before they could protest, he rang a tiny bell, and the noise it made was astonishingly loud. "Charlie!"
A door opened, and a witch walked in. She was tall and busty and wore a tight-fitting purple evening gown. Her long black hair fell to her waist, and she wore a tremendous amount of makeup.
"Yes?" she asked in a deep, throaty voice. Malfoy and Harry exchanged another glance.
"Please take these guests to room sixty-nine."
"Sixty-nine," Charlie repeated without an ounce of irony. She motioned for them to follow her and exited through the same door she'd entered.
"Breakfast is served on the top floor from seven to ten!" the proprietor called after them.
Charlie led them up the stairs several flights, climbing effortlessly in her spiked heels, delicately lifting her evening gown to her ankles. She led them down a corridor on the sixth floor and to a room with the number 69 tacked on the door. She produced a very long wand from her tremendous cleavage and waved it at the door, and it clicked open.
"Cast bellanove to open," she said, her deep voice resonating down the corridor. "If you need anything--" her eyes raked over them both "--and I do mean anything, let me know."
They stepped into the room, and she closed the door, leaving them alone. It was very modern room, and much larger than Harry would have expected. There was an en suite bath and two beds, and even a large flat-screen television on the wall.
"That was a man, wasn't it?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the doorway where Charlie had last stood.
"How thick are you, Potter? Which bed do you want?"
Harry cringed. "There's no reason for us to share a room. I'll just go down and ask for another one."
"I'll take this one," Malfoy said, sitting on the bed next to the room's single window. "And there aren't any other available rooms. I've had this one booked for months, and it took me months to book it. It's a fairly exclusive boutique hotel, you know." He considered Harry for a moment, with a look of near-pity on his face. "And of course, you don't know."
Harry reigned in his annoyance and sat on the other bed. "Well, if we're going to be stuck here for three days, at least it’s a large room."
"Speak for yourself. I'm going out tonight." Malfoy proceeded to open his suitcase and pull out articles of clothing.
"No, you're not," Harry retorted.
"Are you planning to shackle me to the bed?"
"I--" Harry had to force his brain to let that one alone. "No, of course not."
"Then I'm going."
"Come on, Malfoy, I can't let you wander about the city alone while you're supposed to be in my custody."
"You're welcome to join me," Malfoy said, holding up a black shirt and examining it. "Though I seriously doubt you'd be interested in going where I'm planning to go."
"A Death Eater reunion?"
"Amusing thought, but no. I'm going to a bar, Potter. I'm going to drink until I forget my name, and hopefully find someone who'll give me a quick blow job in the toilet."
Harry swallowed. That was remarkably similar to the plan he'd had for the weekend, before this particular detour had happened. He was going to go to his favorite gay club in Muggle London, the one where he first met William, drink himself silly and find some cute Muggle boy to shag, someone he could walk away from without having an ounce of guilt.
And here he was, in New York City of all places, in the middle of Greenwich Village, with the opportunity to do exactly the same thing. Granted, he was here with Malfoy, which made it far from ideal. And he was technically working, but fuck it all -- they'd sent him to do this job without full disclosure of what it entailed. No one had mentioned having to spend the entire weekend babysitting a wandering former Death Eater. As long as he brought Malfoy back, it hardly mattered what he did in the meantime, did it?
"All right, fine."
"What?" Malfoy clearly hadn't expected him to agree.
"Are you thick? Yes, I'll go. It beats sitting around here and reminiscing about the old days."
The fact that Malfoy was perturbed by his agreement to go only made him firmer in his decision. He turned to open his briefcase and rummaged inside. He had brought a single change of clothes, just in case, and with a few spells he could transfigure them into something club-worthy. He had no idea where Malfoy intended to take them, but from what he'd heard the bars in Greenwich Village appealed to a rather diverse crowd. It was unlikely he'd be the only gay man there.
"Fine," Malfoy said, though he didn't look pleased. He disappeared into the bathroom with a handful of clothing.
Harry smirked and changed into his casual set of clothes, jeans and a black t-shirt emblazoned with the name of a Muggle rock band. He stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror by the door and cast a few spells -- one to shrink the shirt a bit, another to artfully tear his jeans in a few spots, and another to shape his single pair of shoes into something more stylish. He tried a few spells on his hair before giving it up as hopeless, and then turned to his winter cloak. After he'd transfigured it into a proper wool coat, he put it on and knocked on the bathroom door.
"I'm going to head down and see if the proprietor can change some money for me," he said. "I'll meet you downstairs."
Ten minutes later, Malfoy finally joined him in the lobby, tucked into his own cloak. Harry had managed to exchange some galleons with Warren -- the wizard who'd greeted them earlier.
"Where are you boys headed tonight?" Warren asked, looking delighted to see them again.
"What do you recommend?" Malfoy asked.
"Oh, let's see… Diggler's for dancing, or the Screaming Eagle if you're looking for action." Warren clapped his hands excitedly.
"The Screaming Eagle it is," Malfoy said without even a glance at Harry. "Let's go."
The wind had picked up considerably, but they made their way three streets down to where Warren said they'd find the entrance of the Screaming Eagle bar. He'd instructed them to stand in front of the address and say the name aloud three times, and then they'd be shown the way.
Sure enough, the bar seemed to materialize before them where there had been an empty boarded-up shop moments before. There was a large carved eagle, wings spread and beak open, hovering over the doorway, and flashing lights could be seen through a smoked window. Malfoy opened the door and light and sound seemed to spill out onto the street. Harry stepped out of the way of a passing Muggle couple, who seemed not to notice that there was anything -- or anyone -- there.
It was nearly midnight on Friday night and the place was packed. Music pounded around them, and they had to weave their way through groups of people to get to the bar. There were witches and wizards in all manners of dress standing in clumps, talking, dancing, and in many cases engaged in some serious public displays of affection. Their drinks were all glowing and sparkling, adding to the festive atmosphere of the room.
The temperature in the club was quite warm; Harry shed his coat and cast a quick shrinking charm on it and stashed it in his pocket. Malfoy had squeezed his way to the bar and was ordering drinks, so Harry hung back and surveyed the room further. The crowd was diverse, though it seemed at least half of the clientele were men, and most of those obviously looking for other men. He received admiring looks from several wizards who walked past, and felt a thrill of excitement. With a bit of alcohol, this was going to be exactly what he needed.
He turned back to the bar and saw that Malfoy was collecting two glowing drinks from the bartender. Harry was mildly surprised that he'd bought the first round -- of course, that probably meant Malfoy would use it as leverage to get Harry to buy the rest of their drinks that night. And since Harry planned to expense the entire weekend, he didn't actually mind. And the drunker they both were, the less awkward it would be when it became obvious that Harry was not interested in the scantily-clad witches writhing on the dance floor.
Malfoy made his way over to Harry and handed him a drink. He did a bit of a double-take at Harry's attire, but said nothing. Malfoy looked rather good himself, Harry had to admit. The casual clothes he'd been wearing earlier had masked his lean form, but the tight long-sleeved shirt and trousers he wore now (apparently having also disposed of his cloak) enhanced his every feature. Harry tried not to stare, but it was difficult.
He took the neon green drink Malfoy offered him and took a sip. It was sweet, though not sickly so, and tasted mildly of tequila. Hoping it was strong, Harry downed half of it in one go. He looked up to see Malfoy eyeing him again.
"What?" He tugged at his shirt self-consciously. Maybe he'd overdone the shrinking charm.
Malfoy shrugged and looked away. They stood there and watched the dance floor, but with Malfoy practically glowing next to him, Harry wasn't getting much attention. Witches and wizards alike admired him as they walked past, and Harry could even see people looking at him from across the room.
He downed the rest of his drink. "I'm getting another. Want one?"
Malfoy nodded in response, and Harry made his way to the bar. He suddenly felt rather small and plain, and it was depressing. William had been a lot like Malfoy, now that he thought about it. Tall and blond and striking, the sort who caught the eye of nearly everyone he met. Which had been the problem, actually -- Harry Potter wasn't enough for him.
After several minutes of trying to get the bartender's attention, Harry finally managed to purchase another round of neon green drinks. He headed back to where he'd left Malfoy, but he wasn't there. Harry looked around, sipping his drink, scanning the tables along the walls, the dance floor -- and nearly choked.
Malfoy was in the center of the dance floor, wrapped around one of the shirtless wizards who'd been checking him out earlier.
Until that moment, it hadn't occurred to Harry that Malfoy might be gay. He wasn't usually this oblivious, but when he looked at Malfoy all he saw was "pointy git" and "junior Death Eater" -- it didn't go beyond that to anything remotely sexual. Or homosexual, for that matter.
Fucking hell. Malfoy was gay? That solved a few logistical problems of the weekend, and created a few more.
He watched Malfoy dance while he finished his drink, and then downed the one he'd bought for Malfoy as well. Just when he thought he couldn't stand it any longer, a warm body pressed against him from behind, and a voice was whispering in is ear, and hell yeah, he'd like to dance. The room was spinning a bit, but that was fine. That was good, actually, and it didn't matter that he couldn't really even see who he was dancing with. Some bloke in a bright green shirt, with a really strong New York accent. All the better.
Then he was being kissed, and he abandoned himself to it. No one knew him here; no one would talk to the papers. He was anonymous. Incognito. And horny as fuck.
After several long minutes of messy snogging, Green Shirt pulled him off the dance floor, and they ended up standing against a wall in the darkness. When Green Shirt dropped to his knees, Harry opened his eyes to see they were in some sort of narrow back room, away from the rest of the club. They were alone except for one other couple across the room. There was a familiar figure standing, leaning back against the opposite wall, and it was a moment before Harry realized that it was Malfoy -- Malfoy, with his hand on the head of the shirtless wizard, who was kneeling in front of him and obviously sucking his cock.
Harry hadn't been completely hard before, but his prick sprang to attention at the sight.
"Just what I wanted to see," Green Shirt said, and Harry realized the man had just unzipped Harry's jeans. Harry let his head fall back against the wall, and then his cock was enclosed in wet heat.
"Oh, yeah," he groaned. This was exactly what he needed.
He looked back over at Malfoy again, and this time Malfoy was looking back. His expression was intense, and there was something about it that held Harry's gaze. They stared at each other, just a few yards apart, both getting their pricks sucked by anonymous men at this random club in New York City.
Green Shirt was sucking hard, pumping Harry's shaft with his hand and doing lovely things with his tongue, and Harry had no idea how he was going to stay on his feet when he came. He held onto Malfoy's gaze and it grounded him, kept him from slipping away into oblivion. Malfoy's mouth was open now, and he arched his back, and then he was coming, still looking right at Harry.
Harry'd had several boyfriends, and he'd had a lot of sex -- especially when he was nineteen or twenty and a new celebrity. But he'd never looked into the face of a lover and seen that kind of intensity before. He almost felt like he was the one fucking Malfoy -- a thought that wasn't altogether unpleasant.
Malfoy kept staring afterward, as if daring Harry to come. Shirtless climbed to his feet, and Malfoy turned him around to face Harry and whispered something in his ear. Shirtless grinned, and then groaned as Malfoy's hand unfastened his jeans and started pulling his prick. Shirtless's head fell back against Malfoy's shoulder, but Malfoy kept watching Harry.
Harry felt raw and exposed, and it was amazing. He watched Malfoy pulling off Shirtless hard and fast, and it was almost as if Malfoy was doing it just for him. His own private porno. Green Shirt's tongue was working his cock, and he felt his balls tighten, and then he came, hard, before he could even give a warning. His knees buckled, and Green Shirt pressed him back against the wall to keep him standing.
He never tore his eyes away from Malfoy's.
Green Shirt was pumping his own prick, and a moment later came with a grunt. He stood and grinned at Harry (who was happy to end it there anyway), and left for the main part of the club again. Harry sank to the floor, his spent prick still hanging out of his jeans, and kept his eyes on the men across the room. Malfoy finished off Shirtless and sent him on his way, and then redressed himself. He crossed the corridor to Harry and held out a hand. At Harry's look of disdain, he smirked and offered the other hand.
Harry took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. He refastened his jeans as quickly as he could, ignoring the fact that Malfoy was leering at him.
"Have fun?" Malfoy asked.
"Obviously," Harry retorted.
"Want another drink?"
Harry winced. It was morning at home, and the time difference was starting to take its toll. "Actually, I think I'm done for the night."
Malfoy shrugged. "All right. I got what I came for anyway."
They bundled up and walked back to the hotel in silence. If Malfoy hadn't known Harry was gay until the moment he saw him getting sucked off across the room, he'd certainly done a good job of hiding it. Harry kept expecting him to say something, but he didn't.
It was nearly 2:00 am when they got back to the room, and Harry was exhausted. Malfoy headed to the bathroom, but all Harry could think of was sleep. His bed had been turned down and a heating charm had been applied, and it was gloriously cozy when he crawled under the covers. He wriggled out of his clothes and tossed them to the floor, and drifted off to sleep.
The sun was shining in his eyes. Harry squinted, and then rolled over, burrowing into the blankets.
The events of the night before slowly drifted into his consciousness, and he groaned. He was going to have one hell of a hangover, and any minute now it was going to hit him.
Any minute now.
He opened his eyes and squinted at the clock on the bedside table, which read 2:00 pm. The time change and staying up for 24 hours would only make his hangover worse, he knew. He felt fine at the moment, though it wouldn't last. As soon as he sat up, he'd regret it.
He sat up. Nothing happened.
He looked over at the room's other bed, which was rumpled, but currently empty. Panic flooded him, and he leapt to his feet. Malfoy had bought that first round of drinks, and had probably drugged him somehow, and when Harry had passed out, he'd made his escape.
What kind of Auror went out partying with a prisoner and put himself in that sort of vulnerable position? Malfoy had set him up, and he fell for it. He was a complete idiot. He scrubbed at his face with his hands and groaned, "What was I thinking?"
The sound of a toilet flushing drew his attention to the bathroom, and then Malfoy, clad only in a pair of boxers, stumbled out. "You weren't thinking," he said, and then paused to yawn. "That's what drunken casual sex is all about."
Harry sat on the bed again as simultaneous waves of relief and embarrassment washed over him. "I suppose so."
Where the hell was his hangover? Surely he wouldn't have done so many terribly stupid things unless he was utterly wasted.
Malfoy yawned. "I'm hungry. Want to get something to eat?"
Harry sighed. He could blame it all on the fact that he'd been awake for 24 hours. He'd never done well in the sleep stress training, after all. "All right."
They ended up at the little bistro a few doors down, a cozy Italian spot called Lupa. The food was amazing, and they found themselves smiling over plates of marinated white beans, olives, roasted vegetables, and the most amazing prosciutto Harry had ever tasted.
"I didn't know Muggles could cook so well," Malfoy said as he poured the last of the wine into his own glass.
"Have you spent any time at all in the Muggle world?"
Malfoy shot him a look. "Is that a joke?"
"Never mind." Harry signaled for the bill and stretched lazily. "You said something last night about Christmas shopping. I'm up for it."
"If you insist," Malfoy replied with a hint of a smile.
Malfoy had apparently read up on all the spots magical tourists should hit and how to find them. They were only a few streets away from Lennon Avenue, the center of the Manhattan Wizarding community. The entrance was through a mural on Houston Street, and they had to lean against it in a particular spot to pass through the magical barrier.
Lennon Avenue looked similar to every other street in the Village, except of course that the street was lined with shops containing all manner of magical items. There were quite a few eateries, as well as coffee shops (on on every corner, it seemed), book stores, and one alley full of Chinese shops and restaurants, with colorful signs hovering vertically in the air, competing with each other for space.
The street opened into a small square, in the center of which was a statue of a familiar-looking figure, a slight man with shoulder-length hair and round glasses, one hand raised and holding a single flower. Harry stopped to look closer. "Is that John Lennon?"
"Yeah," Malfoy replied.
"He was a wizard?"
"Of course," Malfoy said with a tone that indicated he thought Harry wasn't very bright. He kept walking, and after staring at the statue for another moment, Harry followed.
He caught up to Malfoy in front of a shop displaying magical sex toys in the window, most of which Harry couldn't begin to imagine how one might use.
"I didn't think that was legal," Malfoy said, turning his head almost sideways as he stared at one item.
"Since when do you take legality into account?" Harry retorted. He had no idea what the device's intended purpose was, but it didn't look very comfortable.
Malfoy smirked in response, and moved on.
At last they arrived at a stretch of clothing shops with fantastic window displays. A shop selling beachwear had a miniature ocean in its window, with tiny surfers riding the waves and wee sharks circling whenever they fell off their boards. A shop featuring winter wear had a snowy mountain in the window, down which figures were skiing. A sign in the window read Try before you buy on our full-size ski slope inside! A large crowd had gathered around the window of a shop that sold undergarments; apparently a mannequin in the window was performing a striptease.
Clothing styles were different from what one typically saw in Wizarding districts in England where the clothing tended to be more traditional. Harry was delighted with the handful of shirts and pair of jeans he found, and even Malfoy was lured into buying a few items.
After an hour of exploring, they found a cozy café and settled at a table by the window with cups of chai and gigantic pastries, and watched people walk by on the street.
"So this is what you came here to do?" Harry asked.
Malfoy stared out the window, almost as if he was looking for someone in the crowds passing by. "As a matter of fact, yes. There's a certain pleasure to be found in anonymity, don't you think?"
Harry nodded. In all the time they'd wandered around, no one had stared at him, or even spared him a glance. He'd never been able to walk into a Wizarding community in Britain without being the center of attention instantly, but here, he was just another wizard walking down the street. It was liberating.
Still, it seemed odd that Malfoy's plan was to come and spend a weekend in New York all alone. Harry's brow furrowed.
"You booked a room for two at the hotel."
Malfoy frowned. "So?"
"So you weren't planning to come here alone, were you?"
Malfoy shrugged. "I hoped I wouldn't be sleeping alone, certainly. A room for two guarantees a big bed. Of course, you ruined that part of my weekend plans."
"You seemed to do fine last night."
Malfoy smirked. "Perhaps getting sucked off in the back of a club is your idea of a romantic weekend, but I was hoping for something a bit more interesting."
Harry took a sip of his tea and contemplated Malfoy for a long moment. His face was a practiced mask of cool indifference, but every now and then a real emotion would shine through -- and it was almost always a sad anger. "You're running from something."
"Actually, I'm running to something."
It was maddening to try to have a conversation with him. Harry wondered why he was even trying.
That night they decided to go to Diggler's, the other club Warren had recommended. It was over in Chelsea, on an industrial pier stretching over the river. There was particular link in the security fence they had to touch with their wands in order to pass through, and then follow a trail of magical lights to a large rusty door that served as the Muggle-proof entrance.
The pier itself was quiet, with only the sounds of the city in the background, but once they were on the other side of the door, it was clear that this club was quite popular. It wasn't yet midnight, but the club was already packed. The space was huge, and the dim lighting only focused everyone's attention on the bodies pressed together under the bright and colorful lights of the dance floor as they moved to the thump of a techno beat. Scantily-clad go-go dancers of both sexes gyrated on brooms above the crowd, and something that looked like glittering snow seemed to be falling from the ceiling. There was a long bar along one wall with colorfully-lit bottles of alcohol and various potions lining the shelves above it. A muscular man clad in only a gold thong was dancing on the bar, surrounded by male and female admirers.
"I'll get us drinks," Harry shouted over the din, and Malfoy nodded. He returned a few minutes later with two martini glasses with unknown contents -- he'd intended to order gin and tonic, but the bartender had misunderstood him. "This is mad, isn't it?"
Malfoy didn't answer though; he was staring out at the dance floor with an intensity Harry hadn't seen on his face before.
"What is it?" he asked, elbowing Malfoy in the side.
"Let's dance," Malfoy said, his gaze still fixed on whatever -- or whoever -- had caught his attention. He downed his drink in one go and set the glass on a nearby table. He grabbed Harry by the arm. "Come on."
Harry managed to set his own glass on a table before Malfoy dragged him away. "What the hell?" he asked, and then Malfoy pulled him close. His gaze was still locked on someone over Harry's shoulder. "What are you doing?"
Malfoy glanced down at Harry's face, and then to Harry's astonishment, kissed him. Harry's first instinct was to push him away, but then Malfoy pulled him closer, and there was something about the way their bodies fit together that sent a shiver through Harry. He slid his arms around Malfoy's waist and kissed him back.
"Draco?"
Malfoy broke the kiss and turned his head toward the man who'd just approached them. "Jake. Fancy meeting you here."
Jake was a stunningly good-looking wizard, a few years older than them with dark hair and eyes so blue they looked to have been magically enhanced. He was about Harry's height, but his body was muscular in that way only men with personal trainers look. He was impeccably dressed, and when he smiled, and his teeth were perfect. He looked genuinely shocked to see Malfoy. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here for the weekend," Malfoy replied with a cool indifference so practiced that Harry had to admire it. "This is Harry, by the way."
Harry gave a little nod in greeting, and Jake's eyes narrowed.
"Harry," he repeated, still staring intently at Harry's face. "You look familiar. Are you Harry Potter?"
Harry looked up at Malfoy and saw that familiar mask of non-emotion -- which meant that his feelings for this person must be very strong indeed. It dawned on him that Malfoy was trying to make Jake jealous and he was using Harry to do it. He didn't know whether to be delighted or offended. Malfoy squeezed his arm as if asking him to play along, and Harry forced a smile. At the very least, this would indebt Malfoy to him for the rest of the weekend.
"None other." He leaned into Malfoy. "And you are?"
"Jake Marshall." He raised an eyebrow at Malfoy. "You didn't waste much time, did you?"
"Neither did you, from what I saw earlier."
"You're still pissed at me, aren't you?"
"Like you said, it was just business."
Jake's smile was calculating. "At least let me buy you a drink. Both of you." He gestured towards the bar.
They followed him to the bar, and Harry watched Malfoy watch Jake. There was definitely tension in his body, though he hid it well. Harry had no idea why Malfoy was so wound up over an American wizard, but with luck, he was about to find out.
Jake signaled something to the bartender, and then led them to an area filled with comfortable sofas and low tables. There was a rope of twisted light partitioning this section from the rest of the club, and a burly wizard stood just outside, apparently charged with admitting only a select few through. Jake gave the bouncer a nod as they approached, and the man stepped aside. The rope broke apart and allowed them to pass, then reformed behind them.
They crossed to a corner where a group of men were seated, talking and laughing together. Jake cleared his throat and they looked up, then stood and moved to another set of sofas without another word. Jake settled on one that faced the rest of the club, and gestured to the sofa opposite him.
"This is my favorite spot to watch the action," Jake said by way of explanation. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. The waiter will bring our drinks in a moment."
They sat, and Harry suppressed a smirk -- this man seemed a perfect match for Malfoy. In fact, he seemed like the American version of Malfoy. Whatever had happened between them was undoubtedly the reason why Malfoy was here this weekend, and Harry's job was to get to the bottom of it.
"You should have told me you were coming," Jake said, his eyes raking over Malfoy in a way that was almost possessive.
"I did," Malfoy replied. "Two months ago."
Jake chuckled. "Oh, right, our New York weekend. After the way we left things, I assumed you never wanted to see me again."
Malfoy smiled coolly. "I didn't. But I needed a weekend away, and I'd already paid for the room."
"And I've always wanted to come to New York," Harry added.
Malfoy slid an arm around Harry's shoulders. "So here we are. I certainly never expected to run into you."
"Of course not," Jake replied, his cool eyes narrow.
The drinks arrived -- sparkling blue liquid in tall crystal flutes -- and they all reached for them at once. Malfoy downed half of his in one go, but Harry was far more cautious. There was something about Jake that set Harry on edge, and this was not the time to let his guard down.
"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy," Jake mused, gently swirling his blue drink. "I have to admit, you two seem an unlikely couple."
"Do we?" Harry took a small sip from his glass. Champagne, probably of goblin origin. Expensive.
Jake turned his gaze to Harry. "I've spent a lot of time in Britain in the last few years. I know who you are, and what you did. And I also know that you two were not on the same side of that particular struggle. I can't imagine what you have to talk about."
"Talking is overrated," Harry replied with a smirk.
"You're right about that," Malfoy said, and downed the rest of his drink. Jake raised his wand, and another round appeared on the table before them.
"And to think it was just a couple of months ago that you were telling me how much you hated Harry Potter, and you called him a-- How did you put it?"
"I forget," Malfoy said coolly.
"Called me a what?" Harry asked, turning to grin at him.
"Probably a nosy git with an overblown hero complex," Malfoy said, giving him a sharp look.
"Though he did once say he wouldn't mind tapping that ass," Jake added.
"Oh, please," Malfoy retorted. "I have never said anything about tapping anyone's--"
"You love my ass," Harry said, drawing out the 'a' in his best approximation of an American accent. "You can make it up to me later. Unless you want to sleep on the floor." He leaned in and nuzzled along Malfoy's jawline for a moment, and was delighted to feel him tense. Harry was enjoying this far more than he'd expected to.
Jake chuckled. "No offense, Harry. I guess I thought I knew Draco better than I did."
"Obviously not." Malfoy extracted himself from Harry's embrace and exchanged his empty glass for a full one.
"Good sex can unite people under the strangest of circumstances. How many empires were built or brought down because of a good fuck?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at Jake. "I think I slept through that particular history lesson."
"You're a lucky man, Harry. I have to admit I'm a little jealous." He paused and a lazy smile spread over his face. "I miss that mouth of his. Draco gives great head, doesn't he?"
"Yes, he does," Harry replied, smiling at Jake over his glass. He slid a hand possessively up Malfoy's thigh. "But I'm better."
Jake's eyes nearly sparkled, and Harry couldn't suppress a smirk.
"He is, actually," Malfoy added, not missing a beat. "As much as it pains me to admit it."
Jake hadn't taken his eyes off of Harry. "Here just for the weekend?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Are you up for a little adventure?" Jake's eyes flicked down to Harry's hand on Malfoy's thigh, and back up again.
"Like what?"
"Come back to my place and we can continue this conversation. Get to know each other a little better."
"All three of us?" Harry asked, though he already knew the answer.
Malfoy snorted. "There's the Jake I remember. Always trying to play with the other children's toys."
"Can you blame me?" He took a sip of his drink, and his eyes blazed. "I'd pay good money to watch you two fuck."
Harry laughed, mostly to hide his shock at Jake's boldness, but Malfoy tensed beside him.
"I'm afraid this riveting conversation must come to a close." Malfoy said, an edge to his voice now. "It's late, and we're still adjusting to the time change."
"Thanks for the drinks," Harry said, standing. He held out a hand and Malfoy took it, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Harry slid an arm around his waist.
"Enjoy the rest of your weekend," Jake said, smiling up at them from his sofa. "And let me know if you change your mind."
The moment they were out of the club, Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him close. For a moment Harry thought Malfoy was going to kiss him again, but instead he turned on the spot, and a wrenching moment later they were standing in their room at the hotel.
Malfoy gave him a shove, and Harry landed on the bed.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
Harry gazed up at him, stunned. "What are you talking about?"
Malfoy leveled a look at him. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."
"You started it -- you kissed me. I was just playing along."
"There is a huge difference between a kiss and practically molesting me on the sofa while giving out the details of our imaginary sex life!"
"All right, I'm sorry if it went too far. I assumed he was your ex, and that you wanted to make him jealous. I thought I was doing you a favor."
Malfoy glared at him. "It's not that fucking simple, Potter. You have no idea what you're playing with."
"Then why don't you tell me?"
Malfoy sank onto his bed and groaned. "And humiliate myself further? No thanks."
Harry sighed. "I need something to go on here, Malfoy. We'll be cleared to go home in a couple of days, and I have to write a report about why you were here. Do you really want me to put in your official file that you were stalking your ex-lover?"
"What does it matter? I'll get house arrest for violating the Death Eater restrictions, no matter what. My reason for coming here is irrelevant. You lot don't bother to ask questions first, you just assume, and what you believe might as well be the truth."
"I'm trying to help you, Malfoy. If I didn't give a shit, I wouldn't have done any of it. Surely after fifteen years, you know me better than that."
"I know you're a self-absorbed twat with a hero complex."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Is that the best you can do, really?"
"Give me a minute, and I'll come up with a worse one."
"I know you have very few reasons to trust me, but I am the only person who can help you out of whatever mess you're in. No one else is going to look beyond that picture of the Dark Mark in your file."
Malfoy was silent, though, and after a few moments, Harry stripped off his clothes and got in bed. If Malfoy didn't want help, fine. Harry was under no obligation to do anything more than bring him back and write a report about it.
Of course, he'd be leaving out most of the details of the last two days. It had been surprisingly easy to slip into the role of Malfoy's boyfriend, and he wasn't sure what to make of that.
Go to Part 2
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Sqeeeing with delight!!!
Date: 2011-01-18 11:47 pm (UTC)I'm so excited to have a new Emma Grant HD story to read! I'm going to load it onto my Nook so I can read it at work tomorrow if I don't get to finish it tonight.
Can't wait to read and leave feedback.
Re: Sqeeeing with delight!!!
Date: 2011-01-19 03:43 am (UTC)Comments on Part 1
Date: 2011-01-19 01:48 am (UTC)These are just a few of my favourite bits:
"You're… Harry Potter?"
"Yes, and I'm here to collect a British wizard you're holding."
She smiled at him in a way that was all too familiar and set the magazine down. "I think I've heard of you. Killed some dark wizard a few years back, right? Aren't they making a movie about you or somethin'?"
"I sincerely hope not," he replied.
LOL! That’s our Harry … the Wizarding equivalent to James Bond. I loved that you made fun of the fact that Hollywood is so quick to make a movie out of the latest “true story” or current pop culture fad.
"You're a lot cuter than I expected," she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "You married?"
"No."
"Girlfriend?"
"No."
"If you're gonna be in town for a few days--"
"I'm not," he replied, starting to lose his patience.
"Gay?"
"Absolutely. Now if you don't mind?"
"The cute ones always are," she said with a sigh, then pushed a button on her desk.
I know this is an unnamed, faceless character but she really cracked me up. This bit was really witty and oh so true. I got a kick out of Harry’s snarky response.
"My government thinks he might be dangerous! You can't just let him walk out of here and wander about town."
Andrea raised an eyebrow. "Well my government is under the impression that he's completely harmless. He's done nothing to break our laws; he was simply on a list of wizards your government doesn't want leaving your country, so by international magical treaty, we were required to take him into custody and hold him until your government could take him back."
"If he's harmless, why not let him leave the country tonight? You're a witch. Wave your wand and make it so."
Ah, American bureaucracy at its finest! I almost snorted soda out my nose at the “You’re a witch” bit. Love, love your snarky Harry!
"You realize you're disappointing every expectation I have ever had of you, don't you?’
I almost expected them to get into “the Cash Cab.” Your snarky Draco has always been one of my favorites.
”…I'm going out tonight." Malfoy proceeded to open his suitcase and pull out articles of clothing.
"No, you're not," Harry retorted.
"Are you planning to shackle me to the bed?"
"I--" Harry had to force his brain to let that one alone. "No, of course not."
"Then I'm going."
"Come on, Malfoy, I can't let you wander about the city alone while you're supposed to be in my custody."
"You're welcome to join me," Malfoy said, holding up a black shirt and examining it. "Though I seriously doubt you'd be interested in going where I'm planning to go."
"A Death Eater reunion?"
"Amusing thought, but no. I'm going to a bar, Potter. I'm going to drink until I forget my name, and hopefully find someone who'll give me a quick blow job in the toilet."
Harry swallowed. That was remarkably similar to the plan he'd had for the weekend, before this particular detour had happened.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record (substitute CD here if you were born after 1982), I love the witty banter that are staples in your writing. The baiting and sniping at each other is so in character and hilarious.
A shop selling beachwear had a miniature ocean in its window, with tiny surfers riding the waves and wee sharks circling whenever they fell off their boards.
LOL!!!!!
"Good sex can unite people under the strangest of circumstances. How many empires were built or brought down because of a good fuck?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at Jake. "I think I slept through that particular history lesson."
OMG! That is so very in character for Harry! LOL!
"I'm trying to help you, Malfoy. If I didn't give a shit, I wouldn't have done any of it. Surely after fifteen years, you know me better than that."
"I know you're a self-absorbed twat with a hero complex."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Is that the best you can do, really?"
"Give me a minute, and I'll come up with a worse one."
I have really missed your Harry and Draco. The way they pick at each other just trying to get each other’s dander up. I’m thoroughly enjoying this story and can’t wait to read exactly what the deal is with Jake and how the rest of the weekend will pan out. Another great story so far. Off to read Part 2 now.
Re: Comments on Part 1
Date: 2011-01-19 03:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-19 03:38 pm (UTC)Thought Harry was a bit slow on the uptake when Malfoy said he was going to a bar and was hoping to find someone to give him a blow job:)
no subject
Date: 2011-01-24 03:08 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-25 04:31 am (UTC)"Yeah," Malfoy replied.
"He was a wizard?"
"Of course," Malfoy said with a tone that indicated he thought Harry wasn't very bright. He kept walking, and after staring at the statue for another moment, Harry followed.
Obviously merely a foregone conclusion - of course Lennon was a wizard! *g*
Harry took a small sip from his glass. Champagne, probably of goblin origin. Expensive.
A mention of Champagne always catches my eye. Nice touch. And even better that Harry can identify it.
And Diggler's? As in "Dirk"? *smirks* Touche.
A Weak Pleasure, Never So Sweet
Date: 2011-02-12 10:44 am (UTC)The clever NYC touches,
souvenir cauldrons with I ♥ New York printed on them.
---
The street opened into a small square, in the center of which was a statue of a familiar-looking figure, a slight man with shoulder-length hair and round glasses, one hand raised and holding a single flower. Harry stopped to look closer. "Is that John Lennon?"
"Yeah," Malfoy replied.
"He was a wizard?"
"Of course," Malfoy said with a tone that indicated he thought Harry wasn't very bright.
The Wizardish details,
At last they arrived at a stretch of clothing shops with fantastic window displays. A shop selling beachwear had a miniature ocean in its window, with tiny surfers riding the waves and wee sharks circling whenever they fell off their boards.
And, of course, The Boys -- as only you can write them,
Harry took a sip of his tea and contemplated Malfoy for a long moment. His face was a practiced mask of cool indifference, but every now and then a real emotion would shine through -- and it was almost always a sad anger. "You're running from something."
"Actually, I'm running to something."
It was maddening to try to have a conversation with him. Harry wondered why he was even trying.
Off to part deux!