Author: malachic
Title: Welcome to K-Ville (Part 1 of 4)
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: Seven years ago, Draco Malfoy disappeared from the Wizarding World. But the past casts a long shadow, and has a way of finding you in the strangest of places. Add Katrina and a dubiously-mortal friend into the mix, and you have a recipe for disaster.
Warnings (if any): Profanity, mentions of drug use, AU version of Real Life Events.
Total word count: 31,384
Welcome to K-Ville Part 1 of 4
Music, coming from a slightly open door. “Well I hope Neil Young will remember a Southern man don’t need him around, anyhow…”
A brush, gently moving against pale skin, tracing out a smooth design. Slick black lines left on the face’s canvas, perfect. A finger, moving up, smearing a line, molding.
“Going out somewhere special?” he asks his own reflection.
Smooth, shiny lips turn up in a half grin. “Of a sort.”
“Does your conscience bother you? Tell the truth…”
The lips move, forming the next words of the song. “Sweet home Alabama, where the skies are so blue. Sweet home Alabama, Lord I’m coming home to you.”
~~~
‘Somewhere special’ could be anywhere in this town. The Crescent City wasn’t exactly what you’d call a normal town. Hell, no one in the place would be what you’d call normal. On any given night, you were likely to meet a demon from the pit of hell, a harlequin, a mass murderer, and a drag queen. The thing was, they could all be together singing “Sweet Home Alabama” and no one would bat an eyelash. He smiled wistfully. That wouldn’t be so bad. He loved that song. He played it every morning before opening and every night before closing.
Well, you could never say New Orleans didn’t have character. He’d been here for seven years now, and he couldn’t even say that he’d gotten used to it yet. He’d gotten used to the life, at least–an insane amount of coffee, nights spent late in clubs and bars, going home with people he’d never met before and wouldn’t recognize if he saw them again, and the raves. He still remembered when Jay had dragged him along to his first one. God, it had been beautiful.
There were the drugs, of course. He had dabbled in a few, since his time here. Some ecstasy once in a while, LSD once or twice, crack once, but he didn’t really like how it made him feel. It was like ecstasy, but a little more out of control. A good enough high, he supposed, but when it was over… And anyway, he didn’t like not knowing what was going on around him. Call him paranoid, but wars did that to people. Besides, Jay made sure that he didn’t try any of the hard drugs. Jay used to be a heroin addict and he said that there was no way he was going to let that happen to Draco.
Draco chuckled, running a hand through his hair. Ah, you had to love New Orleans. Jay had basic rules when it came to drugs: Pot, ‘shrooms, and beer were okay; Heroine, cocaine, and PCP were not. Jay would have killed him if he’d known Draco had tried crack.
He’d come here by accident. He’d been running away from—from what, he wasn’t really sure. From the last supporters of Voldemort and the Aurors, he supposed. If he’d stayed in Europe, they would have found him eventually. The old families had connections all over the world and the Aurors, it was said, could track anyone down.
So he’d come to the States, and Jay had found him.
~~~
Draco sighed, letting the water cascade down his back, closing his eyes for a moment, before shifting.
It was slight and subtle at first. The slight tickle of fur sprouting, the slightest push of whiskers. At first, it had taken him an hour to transform completely. These days, he could do it in less than ten seconds, but some days he didn’t mind going slow. It felt good sometimes. But today wasn’t one of those days.
He shifted quickly and soon enough, an elegant, snow white cat was strolling out of the bathroom, pausing for a moment to look at itself in the mirror.
The music continued to play. “Sweet home Alabama, oh sweet home…”
~~~
“Hey, chief,” Jay whispered, bending down to pick up the cat. “How are you?”
Draco mewled, sniffing the air curiously.
Jay raised an eyebrow. “You know, bra, I don’t speak cat.”
Draco sighed, shaking his head and hopping out of his friend’s arms, he shifted quickly back into his human form.
“Goddamn it, man. You know that whole voodoo thing creeps me out. Quit it.”
“It’s not voodoo. And you said you could handle it,” Draco groused, crossing his arms over his chest and peering down at Jay. “Hey, you brought something with you?”
“Yeah, I went making groceries, ‘member? Did you think I’d just come home without food?” Jay asked, raising an eyebrow.
Draco raised his own in return. “A’right then, where’s the food? And why the hell do I hear panting?”
Jay scowled. “I brought home a stray, kay? I found the poor dawlin’ where I found you. He was just wandering the market looking lost, so I brought him home.”
Draco snickered. “Just like me?”
“Just like you,” Jay nodded. “Here, take him. He’s yours,” he said, moving aside to reveal a small black and white dog, with a fluffy tail, bright green eyes and black circles around the eyes.
Draco looked up at Jay for a moment, and then smiled. “All right,” he shrugged, taking the bag. “I’ll go bond with the dawlin’, will I?”
“Yeah,” Jay grinned. “Ya do that, I’m gonna go to bed. It’s nearly dawn and I’m dead tired.”
“Long night?” Draco called, grinning.
“Ah, aren’t they always?” Jay asked, making his way to his room.
~~~
He still remembered when he’d met Jay. It wasn’t something that you forgot.
It was hot. Really, really hot. Nothing like England. It was hot, and humid. And there were people everywhere. They would just shove into you and ignore you, or start cursing you out. Didn’t they know who he was? Didn’t they know what he could do? No, of course they didn’t. That was the whole damn point: to get as far away from the Wizarding World as possible, and if this wasn’t it, he didn’t know what was.
His shirt was still soaked with sweat from earlier in the day. Even at night, it was humid enough to make your clothes cling to your skin. Thank Merlin he had gotten rid of his jumper. He hadn’t known it would be like this. He’d just picked a name off of a list and now he was here in a place that was so hot it could give hell a run for its money. He felt a bead of sweat dripping slowly down his face.
He didn’t even know where he was, and he couldn’t understand a word that the people were saying. It was all jumbled. They didn’t talk right. They had such thick accents he couldn’t even tell what they were trying to say, but from the looks directed at him he could guess.
“Hey, bra,” a voice spoke from behind. “What you just standing der for?”
Draco spun around, almost reflexively moving for his wand. A man with deep red hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and bright blue eyes stood, smiling ever so slightly at Draco. He was completely shirtless, and you could see a beat of sweat traveling down his moon-pale skin – a rare thing, in a place like this. His face was sharp, angular, with sharp cheekbones, and his cheeks were slightly sunken. He thought that if you tried hard enough, you might be able to see through to his skull, but there was still a certain… vitality, maybe. His hands were stuffed into his jean pockets and there was a distinct bulge in the back pocket. It was a gun, no doubt about that.
“Well?” he asked, “you want an anti-weed packet?” He pulled a thick pamphlet out of his pocket.
“Weed?” Draco repeated, trying to make out all the words through the man’s thick accent. It wasn’t so hard if he focused.
“Yeah, weed. Mary Jane, pot, rasta weed. You know,” the man said, mimicking taking a cigarette and inhaling it, “marijuana.” He looked at Draco, and then sighed. “You’re a foreigner, ain’t you?”
Draco nodded.
“Well, what the hell are you doing here, then? Stick to the tourist zones in the French Quarter. You’re gonna get mugged wearing that, cap. Ya look filthy rich. I figured you were just another one of them rich men, bored with life. They usually want drugs, make life all pretty-like.”
“Pretty-like?” Draco asked, sneering. “Speak English.”
“I am, and here’s a word of advice: get the hell out of here. It’s almost Twelfth Night, and business gets real quick then.”
Draco bit his lip. “I don’t know where to go.”
The man cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, well, I figured that. If you knew, you wouldn’t be here, would ya?” He sighed. “Damn. Awrite, look, kid, you can come home with me. Just do what I say, a’right?”
Draco glanced up at him. “Are you going to kill me? Because I don’t suggest you try.”
The man threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, you’re a strange one, aren’t ya? No, I’m not gonna kill ya. Now come on. My name’s Jay.”
“Why should I?”
Jay grinned. “Well, you don’t have anywhere else to go, do you?”
Draco sighed and followed him, grasping his wand reassuringly.
~~~
Draco sighed, patting the dog’s multicoloured head. “Another one of Jay’s strays, are you?”
It looked up at him and tilted its head, whining.
“Well, you’re pretty,” Draco chuckled, ruffling the dog’s ears. “All black and white, or is this black just dirt?” Draco whispered, gently running his hands through the dog’s fur. “Well, you’re cut up, aren’t you? Wild one, are you?” His fingers brushed something rough, and he pushed the fur away. A scar ran completely down the dog’s back, long and rough. “Poor thing. And look, here on your face.” He traced another scar, just between the dog’s big green eyes.
“A lightening bolt,” he whispered. “What are you, wild thing? A warning? Or is it too late for that?”
The dog just barked, wagging its tail.
Draco looked down at it, hands shaking. “What are you?” he repeated. He knew his voice was shaking. His whole body was thrumming, his hands quivering so much that he couldn’t even move them.
The dog gave him a curious look and curled up on the floor by Draco’s feet.
~~~
“Hey, bra,” Jay called, getting his pack. “Have ya named the dog yet?”
“No,” Draco called back. “You going out yet?”
“Yeah. You better do it. We can’t be calling him ‘Dog’, now can we?”
Draco looked down at the little dog for a moment, and sighed. “I dunno,” he said, scratching the dog’s head. “You sure he doesn’t belong to anyone?”
Jay shook his head. “Nah, he don’t got a collar on. Besides, he seems to have taken a liking to you. So, what are you gonna call him?”
Draco looked down at the dog, which was glancing at him expectantly. “Leo. I’ll call him Leo.”
Jay snorted. “Still with the posh names? What’s wrong with Rover?” He shook his head, pocketing a gun. Jay hated guns. He said if you were in trouble you could get out just fine with your fists and maybe a switchblade. Using a gun meant you were gonna kill someone, whether you wanted to or not, or maybe you’d get killed. Jay didn’t use guns…
“Nah,” Draco responded, with growing confidence. “He’s definitely Leo.”
~~~
Seven years ago, Draco Malfoy had disappeared from the Wizarding World, just before his trial. Everyone knew the verdict: the Kiss. Some people said it was too much, some said it was too little. But that didn’t matter. The Wizarding World needed scapegoats and the Malfoy family was the scapegoat of choice. But they were also Slytherins and they were still alive, which was a testament to one simple fact: they knew how to stay alive.
And they weren’t going to wait for some Aurors to come and haul them off to Azkaban, or for some soulless Dementor to kiss them. They were just too damn smart and too careful with their lives. The two elder Malfoys managed to flee the country, going to an old friend of theirs in Switzerland. But Draco didn’t make it. No one knows why, or how, but he wasn’t able to make it there.
So he stood trial, and everyone knew what was going to happen. The Wizarding World’s hunger for blood hadn’t been slaked by the disappearance of the elder Malfoys, and they wanted Draco to pay.
Then some stupid guard screwed up, and Draco disappeared off of the face of the earth.
~~~
Draco turned to Leo, sighing. “Hey, dawlin’. You’re bedding with me, I think. Jay— well, no one knows what Jay does at night. He sleeps for most of the day, and then, I don’t know, goes to the Vieux Carre, I guess. Sells anti-marijuana packets,” he explained, petting the dog, which wagged his tail, glancing up at him.
Draco smiled slightly. “New Orleans’ humor, Leo. We sell weed in anti-weed packets. The cops still haven’t caught on.”
The dog looked almost amused. “Yeah, they’re stupid, our cops. Anyway, I used to work that too, except not in the French Quarter. Used to pass by the place, but I’d work in the different parts of the Crescent City, if you follow. Jay sticks to the soft drugs–Mary Jane, LSD, rave stuff. Me, I was dealing hard. Heroin, crack—got myself shot, then I figured I’d better quit before I was dead. See, you make more money off of the hard stuff, have a steady line of addicts, but Jay he was an addict. Says he won’t do that to anyone, not for all the dollars in the world.”
Draco suddenly started laughing. “How ‘bout this, yeah? If Mother and Father knew bet they’d be rolling in their graves right now—that is, if they aren’t still alive. An aristocrat from our family in N’awlins, talking slang.” He shook his head. “Gawd, can you even tell I’m British anymore, Leo? Well, a bit, I guess. Jay says I still have my accent, and hell, I still get people who think I’m a tourist because of it.”
The dog just looked at him and blinked as if to say, “Am I supposed to care?”
“Ah, be that way,” he said, sighing. “N’awlins, it gets down into your bones. You don’t pick anything about this place—it picks you,” he mumbled, petting Leo.
“This crazy, wonderful, insane city, this perfect little hell. Yeah, it picks you; it makes aristocrats into who the hell knows what. I’m sharing a flat with some commoner who I love to death, who sells Mary Jane for cash. I used to deal, and now I… well, it brings in cash for making groceries, yeah? Enough said. Better than being a gun-for-hire, anyway,” Draco responded. “Haven’t been a Malfoy for a while. Wonder if they’re still looking for me. Are they, Leo? Are they coming after me, boy? Should I be worried, should I run?”
The dog just blinked.
“Ah, you don’t think I’m telling you the truth, do you? Tell you what, this is f’true. And I mean, really for true ,” he said. “I’m a real witch doctor, a gris-gris man. I used to live in England and I went to the best school. I was rich, from an old family, the Malfoys. Everyone knew us, and most worshipped us. Hell, even if they hated us, most would be pretend, because after all, we had influence. I was a Slytherin; it was the best house. Cunning folk, they’d call us. Then the war happened and suddenly no one was really all that cunning. Suddenly there was this boy hero, Potter, and there was no more Dark Lord, and we were all left with nothing. Me with this bloody tattoo on my arm and people screaming for my blood, for my family’s, so I left. What else could I do? I ran. All the way here to N’awlins and it’s gotten down into the blood. Seven years here, and it’s been home since after the first seven months. My parents are in Switzerland. They tried to take me, but they couldn’t. I made them go, you know that? They didn’t want to. ‘Not without you,’ they said, but I told them to go, said I’d be fine.
“So I damn well am. I haven’t been to England in years, and I’m not going back. This is home. This windowless flat with Jay and his strays, N’awlins with its weird accents and the murders and the insanity,” he mused with a chuckle. “Perfect, crazy, wonderful N’awlins. Nah, I wouldn’t leave this place for the world, not even if I could. And let me tell you a secret, Leo.” He bent down and picked up the dog, pulling it into his lap. The dog barely fit, squirming the whole time.
“I’d kill anyone who tried to make me leave. Kill any goddamn Auror or what not. This is home, and I’m not leaving. They want to punish someone, they can find someone else. Won’t kill them to say that I’ve died. N’awlins has taken me, Jay’s taken me, and nothing and no one’s making me leave.”
~~~
“Hey, bra,” Jay grinned, handing him a cup of black coffee. “You going to work today?”
“I always do, don’t I?” Draco responded, rubbing his eyes to get the sleep from them. Leo trotted next to him, yawning wide. “You don’t bring in enough from the weed, chief.”
“Yeah, yeah, you whiner. Just as long as you’re not dealin’.”
“Of course I’m out of dealing. You told me to quit and I quit.”
“And you’re not what you used to be, either?” Jay asked, almost cautiously, spreading marmalade over his toast.
“Nah. Getting shot four times kinda ended the job. See, I think I’m building up a resistance. The first job, I quit after I got shot once. Second job, it took three shots. Hell, this one I’ll need five.”
Jay rolled his eyes. “Joy. Because everyone wants to build up a resistance to getting shot. Usually, bra, with sane people, getting shot means you quit. But,” Jay sighed, shrugging, “there is tha’ whole ‘sane people’ part, and how you don’t fit in there, bra.”
Draco smirked. “Naturally. If I did I wouldn’t be living with you, yeah? Not like I’m gonna get shot, anyway.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “You’ll get shot if they don’t like what you’re tellin’ ‘em.”
“Yeah, yeah. Except I’m a good liar. I don’t ever tell the truth,” Draco responded, shrugging.
“You’d better not. People don’t—you shouldn’t tell ‘em stuff like that. Hell, you shouldn’t even know it. That’s black magic, bra.”
“No such thing,” Draco replied, taking a sip of his coffee. “Black magic, I mean. Good and bad, white and black—too obvious, man. It’s not the type of magic, but what you use it for.”
“Draco, you can’t tell the future. That’s wrong.”
“Yeah, yeah. So are gays and free blacks, you go back in history far enough. Wrong and right, that’s all perspective. Tellin’ the future is a’right, long as you don’t do something stupid like trying to change it.”
“But people always do.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why I don’t tell them the truth,” Draco shrugged. “People get nervous. You can’t tell them some crazy guy’s gonna kill ‘em tomorrow, or that at the next rave, they’re gonna OD. They’d kill themselves first.”
Jay sighed. “I dunno, but I just hope you know what you’re getting into, is all.”
“Jay, bra. I’ve been doing it for two years. Nah, I don’t know what I’m doing, but it seems to work. Now, come on. I need to get to work.”
“Take the dog,” Jay stated, standing up. “It’s no cat, but don’t all wizards need a familiar?”
Draco smirked. “He doesn’t exactly ooze magical ability.”
“Oh, shut it. He’s cute, that’s enough,” Jay responded, ruffling the dog’s hair, then Draco’s. “Now, go on. Your clients are waiting to be lied to.”
~~~
Six years ago, the Wizarding World erupted into chaos. It sounded so calm, so methodical when you said it, but he could still remember. He could remember the sound of glass shattering, he could hear himself jumping, crying out, willing and praying and hoping, reaching for his wand, because who would have ever thought of it? A gun. A freaking gun in the Wizarding World.
And then he wasn’t even thinking anymore about why or how or who because Shacklebolt was down, and there was nothing they could do, there was no one to take over and he wasn’t breathing. Why the hell wasn’t he breathing? And there was blood, blood blossoming on his shirt…
No, no, no. This couldn’t happen. This just couldn’t happen.
But it did.
~~~
“Slow day, yeah?” Draco murmured, turning to Leo. “Usually we get more people in here.”
Leo just rested his head on Draco’s leg and whined for attention.
Draco grinned. “Ah, well. Same thing as always. Some down-on-his-luck comes in, asks for a good luck charm so I give him something light, you know, or some girl comes in, wants to know if she should get married and I tell her the truth–as much as I know of it, that is. Then there are the people who want their palms read; the rich tourists who think it’s all hip and edgy come down here. I lie through my teeth then.”
Leo partially growled.
“Oh, God, you’re not gonna start getting all high and mighty on me, are you? You’re more like your namesake than I thought, crazy Gryffindor,” Draco murmured, petting the dog’s thick fur. “But you’re a pretty one, aren’t you?”
Leo arched into Draco’s touch and Draco smiled, leaning down to place a kiss on his head.
The door opened and a little bell chimed, causing Leo to lift his head up and perk up his ears.
A woman entered, looking haggard and worried. She couldn’t have been older than thirty-five, but the years hadn’t been good to her. She had limp, mousy brown hair and her deep brown eyes looked tired, as if she’d lived too long and seen too much. A lot of people got that look here, if they took life too seriously. The city was hard, but you lived it and you loved it and that was all that mattered.
“Where you at?” she asked, her voice tired and droll.
“Awrite, dawlin’.” Draco shrugged. “What is it?”
“Ya the gris-gris man?”
“Yeah, I am. Need some help? A gris-gris for good luck? Someone set the evil eye on you? I bet they would, pretty young thing like you,” Draco said, smirking slightly. That was how it ran. The sign above the door said, Draco, Wizard. Gris-gris, divination, potions.
The woman almost smiled. “I need help.”
“Yeah, I figured. The police won’t do anything?”
“Who the hell trusts the police?” she asked. “Nah, they won’t do nothing.”
“A’right,” Draco sighed, “what’s going on?”
The woman didn’t respond right away, looking around nervously, wringing her hands. “I’m,” she began, “I’m like you. You follow?”
“Nah, I don’t. You’re what? Male?” Draco asked. For New Orleans, it wasn’t that out of the blue. People came to him every once in a while, asking for a potion that could change their gender. He gave them just a quick glamour, something easy to undo because people never knew what they wanted to be, and you didn’t mess with magic like that.
“N-no,” she stuttered, “not that. I’m—I’m a—voodoo,” she finally managed.
Draco looked at her for a moment, before nodded. “You’re a witch? F’true?”
“Yeah. Are you—are you real?”
“Well, I sure as hell ain’t a wraith. Yeah, I’m real.”
“I mean… gen-u-wine. Like—not like all those others. Does your stuff - does it work?”
“Yeah, I’m real. What’s wrong, dawlin’?”
She sighed, collapsing into a chair. “I don’t know. I just feel like I’m being followed. Not like the evil eye. No, it’s like someone’s followin’ me. Not hurtin’ or hatin’. Followin’. But…”
“You’re scared,” Draco finished. He sighed, moving the books off of his desk. “I don’t know what I can do. I mean, there are some small Notice-Me-Not charms, but if he’s strong, he’ll get through them.”
She sighed, putting her head in her hands. “Then what do I do?”
Draco sighed. “Are you scared?”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “Very.”
“I have a flat. I live with someone else–his name’s Jay–but he won’t mind. Come back here just before closing –six– and I’ll see what I can do, yeah? I can’t promise anything. I’m a bit out of practice, but I’ll try. Until then—I’ve got a protection charm in here somewhere. Hold on.”
Draco pushed Leo’s head off of his lap, standing up awkwardly. Behind him there were rows and rows of shelves, all stuffed full of drawers, most of them wooden, a few iron. Some were burnt, some still had the remains of a gunshot, or of a knife. The iron ones were where he kept the real stuff, the sort of things you don’t use without trying everything else first. There was only one silver drawer.
That’s where he kept the most important thing of all, something that he had barely carried since he’d come to New Orleans, preferring his trusty Colt, something that he didn’t dare use, afraid it would get stolen or some such. His wand.
He sighed. He missed his wand, but he had kept it with him, almost religiously, every single day for the first year, but then it was almost stolen. Some stupid thief passing by, not paying attention, just trying to make a quick buck. That was when he figured out Jay was right. You didn’t keep something like that on your person, not unless you had to.
Things were getting messy, though. The murders were getting more and more frequent, even for New Orleans. People were being killed on the banquette almost daily. On the freaking sidewalk, and no one saw anything.
Well, in New Orleans, even if you did see something you didn’t say anything. Not if you wanted to stay alive. But it was getting real bad out there. Even Jay was getting more and more worried–he had taken the Desert Eagle out with him last night, when Jay did that, there was a problem. Jay didn’t like guns, true, but he kept them, said that you’d be insane not to.
The police didn’t know what was going on, but when did they ever? Draco sighed. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He was almost out of protection charms, and now this.
He opened a wooden drawer, pulling out a leather pouch smelling of althea. “Here,” he said, throwing it to her. “Wear it around your neck.”
She nodded, smiling gratefully. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” Draco said, shrugging. “I’ll see you?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, shuffling out.
He sighed, watching the woman go. It was a mess out there and even Jay was worried. Jay, the native; Jay, who could handle everything and smirk while he did it; Jay, who never had a care in the world, who could joke while being held at gunpoint.
It was time the silver drawer was opened.
He moved to the CD player and pressed the play button.
“Big wheels keep on turning, taking me home to see my kin…”
~~~
“Hey, Leo,” Draco whispered, petting him. “You scared?”
Leo just looked up at him quizzically.
“Nah, you wouldn’t be, would you? Well, I am. I’m really scared, like I haven’t been since the war. Not since that messy, crazy war, not since I thought that I would die, since I thought my parents would die. You know when the first time I thought I was gonna die was? The first real time? When I first saw the Dark Lord. I thought—I dunno what I thought, just that this was the end. There was nothing else, nothing. I was gonna die.
“I didn’t. Next time I was that scared, it was Potter. Idiot didn’t know what he was doing–you’d think that if he was supposed to be the great hero, he would have known the Dark Arts. But no, not mighty Potter. Let’s all rush in blindly—bastard. Gave me a scar right across my chest. There was so much blood, and I thought I was gonna die f’true—no, not thought–knew. But I didn’t.
“So many other times, during the war, so many times I knew I wouldn’t come out alive, or that my parents wouldn’t, that they’d be dead. I didn’t know. No one did, we were all, I don’t even know, trying, wishing, hoping, and it worked. Dunno know how, dunno why, luck or something else, but hell, I’m here in N’awlins, so it did.
“Never been that scared, never again, except—I don’t know. People joke about the murder rate, and yeah, usually, it’s nothing too bad. Not like it’s getting. There’s a different report every day ‘bout some crazy killer or another. No reasons, no motives… no one knows why. Each one’s different, but they think there might be some serial killer out there. Some guy’s killing people without leaving a trace.
“Magic is what I wanna say, but… it can’t be. Not here.” Draco paused, biting his lip. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care. This is my town, and I’m not losing it.
“Guess I need my wand, then, huh?” Draco sighed, petting Leo. “Poor puppy. Wonder why you even listen,” he whispered softly, chuckling a bit. “Guess ‘cause you can’t tell me off. Jay’d kill me if he knew I was just rambling, instead of doing something, but people act too fast. You make your decisions slow, get fully ready and in the end, it’s better. But hell, when does anyone think about that?”
Draco stood up, turning to the silver drawer, gently running one finger over it. Carved in was ‘ “Strong reasons make strong actions.” - William Shakespeare.’
He pulled at the gold chain around his neck, pulling out the gold key that had been specially made. He hadn’t touched in years. It always hung around his neck, but he never touched it. He never dared.
He sighed, gently inserting it into the lock and opening the drawer. His hand was shaking slightly as he reached in and pulled out his wand.
It was almost exactly the same as the original. Hawthorne wood, but with a veela hair in the center instead of unicorn hair. He smiled slightly, brushing his fingers against the smooth surface, then placed it in his pocket.
If he had learned anything in this city, it was to never be caught unawares.
~~~
Five years ago, someone got away with murder.
No, not someone. To this day, he knew exactly who. He still remembered. The son of an ex-Death Eater, Theodore Nott. No one knew quite what happened, but the Aurors said that Nott was a gun for hire, and someone had hired him to destroy Flourish and Blotts… and kill everyone in it.
He took it.
Three days later, Flourish and Blotts exploded. And he got away with it.
He bloody well got away with it.
~~~
She hadn’t come yet. He shouldn’t panic. Perhaps she’d got held up. Maybe she’d met someone at Café du Monde and she was talking to them, or maybe she figured out who was following her and it ended up being an old friend. Maybe there was heavy traffic, or a family emergency.
Then again, maybe she was dead.
Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t just keep on worrying, keep on not knowing.
He hated not knowing. He could handle knowing, even if it was horrible. Because at least he didn’t feel like he was holding onto some false hope, as if his inaction was making it worse and worse every passing second, but he couldn’t actually do anything because everything might just be all right and he might be paranoid. Draco sighed, because really there wasn’t a way of finding her, there wasn’t a way to—
A dog barked, snapping him out of his thoughts.
He looked down. Leo was sitting by his feet, tail wagging and a look in his eyes that said, “You’re an idiot, you know that?”
He could slap himself. He could really bloody well slap himself. What the hell was he, a Muggle? No. He was a Malfoy, even though he never used the name anymore. He was from a long line of pure-blood wizards, and he hadn’t thought of a simple tracking spell.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Okay. No time for that now. A tracking spell should be simple. All he needed was –dammit!—a name, a piece of her clothing, a strand of hair, something, anything. He had nothing.
Come on, man. Breathe. Think. Hair… he needed something. Anything.
There wasn’t anything. He didn’t have a name, didn’t have time to look for strands of hair, either.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. He was so caught up, he didn’t notice Leo nudging his leg until the dog yipped. “Not now, Leo,” Draco growled. “I’m busy.”
Leo barked again.
He stopped suddenly. Leo was just a dog… or, or maybe he was something else, but now he was grasping at straws anyway, so he might as well... “Leo,” Draco said, kneeling on the ground. The dog jumped up on him, green eyes locking with his and Draco could almost hear Potter’s voice, could almost see Potter’s face. “If you can help, if you’re some Auror or something, or even blasted Potter, please, please. I promise not to do anything, just help me.”
Leo yipped, wagging his tail.
Draco sighed, letting his head fall against the desk. “I’m insane, aren’t I? I mean… what the hell was I thinking? You’re not anything, are you? Just a blasted dog. Goddammit.”
He sighed. Okay. There had to be another way to find her. Maybe if he used an Accio spell. That might work. A shadow loomed over him and a low voice came from behind him. “Get the hell up, Malfoy, and don’t even think about attacking me.”
Draco didn’t turn around. “Potter.”
“Got it in one,” Potter’s deep voice mocked, and Draco hated how nice that voice sounded. Somehow, he had been wishing that Potter would have developed some sort of throat cancer or some such. Anything so that he didn’t have to hear his voice. He turned around slowly, afraid to actually see that face again, to have something from his past so solid and present in his shop.
He had almost hoped Potter wouldn’t be there. No, not almost. He hoped, and he prayed. But Potter stood there, the same wild black hair flying in all directions, the same bright green eyes, slightly sharper than he remembered, hidden behind thick, black-framed glasses. He looked fitter, though still lean for a full grown man his age. He also looked angrier; there was a sort of edge to him that hadn’t been there before, something a bit rawer, a bit harsher than the last time Draco had seen him. He wore nothing but a pair of ragged jeans, and that, coupled with his beauty and lean, ragged looks, would have made Draco mistake him for a rentboy, if they had met on the streets.
But they hadn’t. Potter was here… his past was here. It was here. It shouldn’t be here, it couldn’t be here. But there was Potter, standing in the middle of his shop, smiling smugly, as if he owned the world. Of course he did. After all, he was Harry bloody Potter.
And if Potter thought he was just going to waltz in here, looking like that, and tear Draco’s world apart… he had another thing coming.
“You’re going shirtless?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. Potter was bloody gorgeous, sure, but that didn’t mean he could go around like that. “Do you want to get shot?”
“What?” Potter asked.
“Shot. If she’s dead, they won’t be happy to see us around, now will they? I’ve got a Kevlar vest in the drawer over there. Too damn hot to wear it, though,” Draco responded, “now come on. Ya got your wand?”
“Yeah, in my mysterious dog pocket,” Potter scowled, “no, I don’t.”
“Then how the hell…” Draco took a deep breath. “Potter, you son of a bitch, if you can’t help me, I will kill you. Slowly and painfully.”
“Oh, shut up, Malfoy. I’m an Auror. I know how to track people without magic, with wandless magic, and, in case you hadn’t noticed, my Animagus is a dog. ”
Draco glanced up at him, then nodded. “You can’t go without a weapon,” he finally stated, passing him a Colt, “you know how to use a piece?”
“Yeah,” Potter said. “We all had to learn.”
Draco turned to him, about to ask a question, but there wasn’t time and it wasn’t his business. He tossed a Colt to Potter, who caught it easily. Draco grabbed his Glock, shoving it into his pocket. “A’right, then. Lead on, Potter.”
~~~
Draco sighed. Potter didn’t seem to be doing anything. He wasn’t using a spell, he wasn’t even in his Animagus form sniffing the woman out, but you couldn’t doubt that he knew where he was going.
Unless, of course, he was using some of that bloody Gryffindor idiocy and leading on blindly. If that was the case, Draco had a bullet with Potter’s name on it.
Potter stopped suddenly in the middle of one of the rough neighborhoods. Houses lined the streets, four kids playing out in the neutral ground, the banquette littered with beer bottles, some small stains on the cement, and a few gris-gris charms hanging from doors.
“Here,” was all the explanation he gave Draco.
“Where?” Draco asked. “’Cause there’s nothing here.”
“Yes, there is, you just can’t see it. Do you have your wand?” Potter asked.
“Yeah,” Draco nodded. “Anti-Concealment charm?”
“Yeah,” Potter nodded, pointing in the direction the kids were playing. “Over there, on the island.”
“The what?” Draco asked, then nodded, “oh. The neutral ground. Forgot, after so much time.”
“Did you forget how to use a wand, too?” Potter asked, sneering.
“No, you stupid prat, but do you except me to do it with people around?” Draco asked. “Hey, kids! Scat, will you? Voodoo stuff, can’t have people ‘round.”
“Why’s it gotta be here?” a kid shouted back. He was a smirking, tough one, with long, ragged black hair and glimmering grey eyes, maybe about seventeen. Maybe younger, maybe older. You could never tell – the city aged some people real fast, others real slow.
“Cause the devil says so. Cause that’s where the stuff is, kid. Why else? Come on, ten minutes, and you get to say you saw a real wizard.”
“Yer nuts, cap. Completely nuts.”
“Yeah, yeah, so was Shakespeare and Hannibal Lecter. Ya’ll gonna move or am I gonna make you? Ten minutes, then we’ll be outta here. Man, you think I want to stay here?”
The boy scowled. “You promise?”
“Yeah, yeah, cap, just come on.”
“Where? Over there?” the boy pointed to a spot right next to them.
“Yeah, sure. Hurry!”
Once all the kids were standing beside them, Draco lifted his wand. “Here goes nothing,” he whispered. “Arguo,” he hissed, barely daring to think it would work. It had been so long since he’d ever tried anything like this, but he could feel the power building up inside the wand. It was working, actually working… A ray of light shot from his wand, illuminating the grass on the neutral ground.
Draco grinned triumphantly for a moment, before he saw it. “No,” he breathed.
In the left corner of the neutral ground, in plain sight, with her clothes ripped and ragged, face contorted into a look of... He wasn’t sure. Not quite agony, not quite surprise. A sort of nervous, cautious look. As if she knew she was going to die, and that it would be painful. Her yellow sundress was stained with blood. This wasn’t any quick shot to the head. No, they wanted to make this painful. Make it count. He stepped forward, coming to stand just before the body.
Up close he could see all of the gashes. Shallow cuts, none deep enough to hit any major arteries, covered her body. She wouldn’t have died quickly from any of the injuries. And that was the problem. She didn’t seem to be in pain, just in shock. But these couldn’t have killed her quickly – she would have had to bleed to death. There was a long gash in her left side, another one in her right leg, another one across her breast. So many of them that he could barely stand to look at them… some deep, but small, some long and shallow.
Still, none of them would have killed her, not a single one.
So, either she had very slow changing facial expressions, or something else had happened, something magical. The thing was, it would be harder to tell if iron had touched the skin and from the feel of the body, the knife was made of iron.
Only a magic user would know that, or someone who got very, very lucky.
Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was only the slightest tingling of magic, but that could have been the charm he’d given her.
The charm. What the hell happened to the charm? It wasn’t gonna protect her, not big time, but it should have helped, at least a little—warned her, given her the chance to defend herself. But it didn’t look like she’d put up a struggle, and the charm was gone.
“Having problems?” Potter asked.
“Yeah, beginning with how the hell did she die? It doesn’t add up,” Draco ground out, scowling. “Bleeding to death is the obvious choice, but then she wouldn’t be so frozen. I mean, look at this,” he said, pointing to her hand. “She was reaching for something.” She had been carrying a small bag and her hand was still in it, even in death.
“Thing is, bleeding to death isn’t quick, even with all of these cuts. Even if they were done with Sectumsempra, it still would have given her time to shoot, but there’s no blood except for hers, and her hand wouldn’t still be reaching, right?”
Potter turned to him, a slight smile on his lips. “Malfoy, you’ve spent too much time as a Muggle.”
“What?” Draco snapped.
“Well, he could have just used Avada Kedavera,” Potter said, as though explaining to a small child.
“You retard, blood doesn’t flow after you’re dead. Why the hell don’t they teach biology in Hogwarts? Or to Aurors?”
“Look, shut up for a second,” Potter snapped. “I was going to say something else. He could have petrified her and then done all of this. That would be why she never got her gun or anything.”
Draco nodded. “Okay, but if he had, then she’d still be stiff. And he definitely didn’t hang around here for too long, else someone would have noticed.”
Potter grinned at Draco. “How do you know someone didn’t?”
“I don’t,” Draco replied, voice soft. Holy hell, Potter was smart. He looked up. “Hey! Kids! Did you see anyone hangin’ ‘round here?”
The black-haired boy stared at him for a moment, almost as if he was trying to compose himself. “Nah!” he called back. “No one. Been playin’ there since four.”
“She left at around three. That gives him a good hour.” Draco scowled. “Dammit. Yeah, he could have—but why? Why not just kill her?”
“A grudge?” Potter offered.
“Against who? This isn’t the first, Potter. One of the most gruesome, but not the first.”
“Magic?” Potter offered. “Look, she might have gotten like this because of the charm. Maybe—”
“Maybe it triggered him,” Draco finished, sighing. “We can ‘what if’ for ages. Let’s just bury her.”
Potter turned to him. “Got any shovels?”
“Nope,” Draco said, “but I’ve got weed and teenagers. You do the math.”
~~~
Ten minutes later, the boys were digging. Draco smirked.
“You can’t give them drugs,” Potter repeated for the umpteenth time.
“Stop me, then,” Draco said, sighing. “It’s just weed. It’s not addictive—it can be, but not off of just one try. Soft drug, Potter, so stop overreacting.”
“How the hell do you know what’s going to happen?”
“Cause I’ve tried it before?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow “Look, this isn’t even the good kind. Lasts about an hour, maybe even a little less. Now shut up, I’m trying to think.”
“Malfoy, you can’t just do something like this!” Potter nearly yelled. “You could get them addicted! They could try other drugs! You can’t just do that!”
Draco took a deep breath, fumbling for his cigarettes. He’d promised Jay he would cut down, and he had—he only smoked one pack a month now. But this was Potter and he couldn’t last another hour in the man’s company without one. He took a drag on his now lit cigarette before speaking.
“Potter, let’s get something straight: you’re on my turf. You don’t have your friends around to protect you and I’ve got a wand and a gun, and so do you, but here’s a newflash. I’m a helluva better shot than you and I can kill ya. So, I suggest you shut your mouth and stop tellin’ me what I can and can’t do.”
Potter growled. “Try it, Malfoy.”
Draco took another long drag. “This is not the time or the place, Potter. This isn’t Hogwarts, people don’t just give you detention and a slap on the wrist for fights out here. Least not the type with guns in them.”
“Malfoy, you can’t do this,” Potter tried again, as if Draco hadn’t told him to shut up enough times already. Bloody stubborn Gryffindors. Didn’t he understand? Of course, he didn’t. He didn’t live here. The kids were gonna get the drugs anyway and worse. That kid, the one with the gray eyes, knew Jay. You only knew Jay if you were a stray, or if he dealt to you, or both.
Draco sighed. “He’s gonna—you know what? Hold on. Hey, kid! Come here!” he called. The gray eyed boy looked up. “Yeah, you!”
“What?” he asked, walking over.
“Hey,” Draco smiled. “What’s your name?”
The boy looked at him for a moment, slightly suspiciously, before saying, “Brendon.” He didn’t extend a hand.
“All right, I’m Draco. You live around here?”
“Nah. Used to, until my mom…”
Draco glanced up at him. “Your dad?”
“Bastard,” Brendon spat. “Hope he burns in hell.”
“So, where do you stay?” Draco asked, frowning slightly.
“Uh, nowhere, really. With them, some nights. Some nights I sleep on the streets, but, uh, redhead, Jay—do you know him?”
“I live with him. How long have you been on the streets?”
“Six months.” Brendon shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
Draco grinned, placing an arm around Brendon’s shoulders and beginning to walk. “See the guy who’s with me?” he asked, as soon as they were a good ten feet away.
“Yeah.”
“Well, he’s insane. I mean, certifiably. An old school enemy, so maybe I’m biased, but you see, he has this idea I shouldn’t be givin’ ya’ll weed. But I keep my word. Unless I don’t damn well feel like it, then I don’t. But—here’s the thing: my parents, I get you, man. They were nice and all, but stuff happened. You ever need help or anything, just find me. Here, I’ve got my address written down here somewhere. You need a place to crash, just come over. Jay never sleeps the night, he works and sleeps in the day. So this is sorta for me and you. I need something to make the idiot shut up and you need help. You come over to my place and I’ll give you the weed. You need anything else, just come over, a’right?”
“Yer insane.”
“Yeah, but I keep my word.”
Brendon turned to him, grinning. “All right. I’ll check you out, then.”
“Alright. Tell your mates I can’t give ‘em the drugs directly, you can get them from my flat.”
Brendon nodded. “Uh, man, that voodoo stuff, is it—it’s real, isn’t it?”
Draco smirked. “Yeah, it is.”
~~~
“Where are we going?” Potter asked.
“Back to the apartment. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go back to tell all of your Auror friends about where you found Draco Malfoy.”
“Why the hell–” Potter began, but then Draco looked down pointedly at his waist, at the Glock in his holster. “Try me, Potter.”
Potter, very calmly and matter-of-factly, stated, “I have a gun, too.”
“And I know how to use mine. I could shoot you before you even figured out how to release the safety. Don’t be stupid. If I was going to kill you, I would have done it by now—there were plenty of opportunities. Now hurry up. We’ve got an extra room. I suppose you’ll stay there, unless you want to try the dog trick again.”
“Whatever my gracious host would prefer,” Potter replied, but his tone was flinty.
“I’d prefer you be a dog. I like Leo a hell of a lot more than you, and we don’t have to pay quite so much for the dog food. Plus, he’s cuter.”
Potter raised an eyebrow. “Worried about money, are we?”
“Hardly,” Draco sneered. “But Jay’ll always work, no matter what. Make the cash count, at least.”
“What is Jay, exactly?” Potter asked, an odd tone in his voice, as though he knew something Draco didn’t.
“None of your goddamn business, Potter. I’m not playing twenty questions with you,” Draco snapped, upping the pace.
“You know twenty questions?”
“Yeah, Jay likes it. Says it keeps him busy on the real slow nights. He always used to come back bitter. Now he’s okay.”
Potter chuckled. “What happened to your perfect grammar, Malfoy?”
“New Orleans ruined it. Seven years here does that. People didn’t understand me when I spoke normally, so I don’t anymore, well, not really.”
Potter smiled. “No one would believe it. You’ve been here for years and no one’s even thought to look.”
“Except for you.”
~~~