Quarantined • DRARRY •

•Chapter Four• Hogsmade•

            Assured now of his invisibility, Harry crept further toward the noise.

            The alleyway adjoining the Hog's Head, the one the noise had come from, ended in a dead end and a dumpster. Harry frowned. Where had the sound come from?

             Harry flicked his wand. Specialis Revelio,

            For a moment, the outline of what looked like an entire crowd glowed behind the walls. As he watched, one of them detached from the others and started to walk toward him.

            Suddenly, a head popped out of the wall a few feet ahead of Harry and looked up and down the alleyway. Harry instinctively shrank back.

            The head belonged to an older man with dreads and an irritated expression. He sighed. "Invisible, are ye? Well, you wanna come or not?"

            "Yeah," Harry said on impulse, too quickly to backtrack. What if Malfoy wasn't even inside?

            "Then take off that ridiculous Charm and follow me." The man let out a sigh and disappeared back behind the wall.

            Harry took a deep breath, deactivated the Charm, and stepped inside.

            "Harry Potter, eh?" the man asked, looking him up and down. "Welcome to Quarantine."

            "You have got to be kidding me," Harry said, but the man had already disappeared into the tumultuous crowd around the bar.

            Harry wondered whether he should step back through the wall. News of his whereabouts would certainly spread, and he couldn't bear to see another article in the Daily Prophet from someone who claimed to watch him toss back shots while choking back tears.

            Luckily, everyone seemed to engrossed in their own activities to notice him, at least for now. Most of them had barely glanced in his direction when he came in, and the lighting was dark enough that he didn't look quite as distinctive as he  normally did.

            Glitter floated through the air, and the floor he walked upon had been enchanted to glow alternating colors, expanding and contracting like a disorienting kaleidoscope.  To one side of the entryway stood the bar, with brightly colored drinks that glowed and fizzled in their glasses. Most of the clubgoers were dressed in typical Muggle clothes, and they seemed to be having the time of their lives, chattering and laughing uproariously, their voices drowned out by the thumping music.

            To his right, the floor opened up, and people were dancing. There were couples all over the floor, spinning and twirling in each other's arms, or simply holding each other.

            "Don't they care about the quarantine?" Harry asked aloud.

            A woman with metallic purple eyeshadow paused from delivering a tray of drinks. "Wizards don't get Muggle diseases! Here—" she shoved a bright pink drink into his hand. "Have some fun!"

            Harry glared at the glass, disgusted. He couldn't be here. He couldn't be seen here. These were exactly the kind fo selfish, sycophantic people who had cozied up to him the minute Voldemort's body started to rot.  He couldn't pretend to be one of them, nor could he pretend that so many of them had willfully ignored the call to fight when the Battle of Hogwarts began.

            Still. This did seem like Malfoy's scene.  He leaned in close to the waitress, until he saw her eyes catch on the scar across his forehead. Her mouth fell open into a perfect 'O.' "I'm looking for someone. Blonde hair, snooty expression? Slytherin?"