Pet

~*~*~*
SEVENTEEN
~*~*~*
Lucius Malfoy straightened the sleeve of his expensive Muggle suit as he stepped into a vacant elevator lift. He laughed to himself; it really was amazing how gullible Muggles were when enough money changed hands. He pushed the button indicating the lobby, but disapparated moments after the door slid shut.

Months had gone by with no sign of his concubine or his daughter. The faint pull of the bond told him that Harry was still alive. As a man firmly entrenched in the Wizarding world, Lucius had severe limitations in his ability to navigate successfully in the Muggle world and his pride would not permit him to ask for the help of the Death Eaters and remaining Aurors.

When the new year had come and gone and neither Lucius nor Narcissa spoke about a new baby and Lucius’ concubine no longer acted as the hostess at Death Eater functions, it was generally assumed that the slender sprite and the child had not survived childbirth. Male pregnancies were rare and exceedingly dangerous; the fatality rate was still quite high.

The Dark Lord was one of the few to even know that Harry had escaped. He, of all people, was the one to suggest Lucius hire Muggle private investigators to search for the missing pair.

~*~*~*~
Iambic pentameter, The War of the Roses, cosine, synaptic connections, and the proper use of a semi-colon. Harry was tired and it all tumbled together in his brain. He had signed up for a remedial overview class to prepare for taking his GCSE exams. The problem was, for most of the other students, it was truly a refresher course, but Harry had never taken the subjects in the first place so he had to work harder.

Mornings Harry spent trying to catch up on six years of Muggle education, afternoons and evenings he spent at Fiddlesticks. To top it off, Rose was teething. Harry loved his daughter dearly, but caring for her 24-7 was taking a toll.

Dancing did not get any easier for Harry, but Sid had backed off a little; he had new prey in a handsome illegal Russian emigrant hired on as a waiter.

~*~*~*
Occasionally, Mark would tuck a few issues of “The Daily Prophet” into Rose’s diaper bag. Harry wasn’t really sure where or how his friend acquired them, but he suspected Mark must be setting aside his fear of wizards long enough to visit “The Leaky Cauldron”. Mark knew where the pub was, warning Harry that it was only eleven blocks south of Fiddlesticks; while wizards rarely ventured into that part of London, he should be on his guard.

Harry always read each “Prophet” cover to cover, trying to glean information hidden between the lines. He had abandoned his thoughts of escaping into France. Beauxbaton had fallen late in the previous year and the newspaper alluded to a war not going well for the French Ministry. It appeared that Lord Voldemort and his allies had already secured Eastern Europe and much of the Middle East. Northern Europe was under siege, but still holding its own.

In the Society pages, Blaise and Ginerva Zabini stared proudly from a photograph taken during their newborn son’s Naming Ceremony. The Business section informed him that the Bulstrode Nurseries had accepted a commission to rescue rare and exotic fauna and flora from the destroyed campuses of both the Beauxbaton and the Hogwarts Schools.

Harry paused on a story buried deep in the second section. Walden McNair was dead, murdered in his sleep; Death Eater Security exterminated every servant, slave, and house elf found on the premises. Harry brushed away the tears swimming in his eyes; Seamus was dead.

~*~*~
The private investigator hit “Print” as the information finished loading on his computer screen. A National Insurance Number Card had recently been issued to one Harry James Potter. A few more clicks to his mouse and he had additional information on this person.

In the past month, he had traced one hundred sixty eight young men with variations of the names Harry, Harold, Herald, Harrison, Henry, Harris, Harrington, Evan, James, Jamison and Jim with the surname of Potter, Evans, Black, Lupin, Weasley, Malfoy, James, and Dursley.

Could he actually be lucky enough to have the missing young man drop into his lap? With this new information, he might have located Mr. Malfoy’s granddaughter and wayward son-in-law. The P.I. smiled, thinking of the large fee he would collect from the wealthy man, as he loaded film into a camera.

~*~*~
Early summer brought unseasonably warm weather. London baked in temperatures approaching 38°C (100°F) and the nights did not cool down much at all. Fiddlesticks was air-conditioned, a rarity in a city used to temperate weather.

Mark spoke with a man who was asking questions and taking pictures. His questions all focused on Harry’s infant daughter being on premises. The bouncer did not detect any magic on the man and the man had the bureaucratic air of an underling for Child Welfare. Someone must have seen the baby backstage and reported it to authorities.

Always quick on his feet, Mark assured the man that the baby was well taken care of and that she was there on an extremely short-term basis. The child’s babysitter, an elderly woman, had succumbed to heat stroke and Harry thought it would be healthier for the little girl to be in an air conditioned environment while he searched for a replacement day care provider.

The man looked around a little and spoke a few quiet words to Harry before seeming to buy the scenario. The news was filled with stories of the extended heat wave claiming the lives of many elderly and infirm residents. Thankfully the man came on a night when the strippers were female and Harry just worked as a dishwasher.

Mark and the other bouncers kept a lookout for the man, but he never returned. When nothing more came of it and when Harry received no letter or visit from Child Welfare, they began to relax again.

~*~*~*
Harry pushed Rose’s baby stroller as he walked home in the muggy darkness. The worst part of the heat wave was that it barely cooled down at all at night and his tiny apartment was a furnace. He purchased a small fan, but it only moved warm air around.

He had the odd feeling of being followed, but casual looks over his shoulder did not reveal anyone. He truly hoped it was his imagination. One of the female strippers had been having problems with a stalker and Harry hoped he had not managed to pick up one as well. He really wished he had a wand.

Sweat trickled from his body as he finished climbing the five flights of stairs to his apartment. He had hidden in a short hallway, but no one followed. Deciding it was heat induced paranoia; Harry locked the door and slid the security chain.

The room was sweltering. Harry cast a weak cooling charm over his bed and Rose’s crib. It was still uncomfortable, but it was twenty degrees cooler. Deciding to forgo studying for his exams, he dropped into a restless sleep.

~*~*~*~
Mark tossed his newspaper into the trashcan and checked on Rose. She was quietly rubbing her fingers on the smooth satin ribbon around the neck of a stuffed rabbit and watching him through the mesh side of the portable crib.

He could hear from the muffled sounds of the crowd that Harry had completed his dance and was working his way through the gauntlet, collecting tips and propositions. Mark knew that sometime soon Harry would run into someone who wouldn’t be dissuaded and the young man would be coerced into prostitution.

The bouncer glanced up from Rose’s crib as the dressing room door opened revealing a tall blond.

~*~*~*
Trying to calm his shaking knees, Harry slipped through the doorway leading to the dressing rooms, leaving the busy club behind him. It had been a larger crowd than usual tonight but the deadly heat wave had caused many to search for air-conditioned escapes.

He exhaled; glad to be away from the lecherous smiles, the roaming hands. Thank Merlin, it was just an ordinary audience tonight – no bachelorette parties. Bachelorette parties were the absolute worst; drunken groups of women had no sense of shame and they were much more likely to grope than the men were.

“Oi, Emerald!”

The green-eyed dancer looked up as a tall waiter popped through the door to hand him the indigo veil he had dropped in his haste to escape. The young man openly admired the enticing figure before him; Harry smiled shyly, draping the veil over his shoulder in a weak attempt to cover himself. He did not flirt back.

“Cheerio, darling,” the waiter said with a wink and an overdramatic flair. “As much as I’d love to tuck you into my bed tonight, I must be off. My public awaits me.”

It didn’t help that Harry knew it was all a game, that the staff at Fiddlesticks had a bet on to see who he’d finally let fuck him. Harry obviously wasn’t a blushing virgin, but he had no desire to spread his legs for a random partner either.

Truthfully, he could make much more money if he was willing to entertain certain customers privately but Harry had no desire to step into the nefarious world of prostitution. He knew his attitude perplexed his co-workers, many of whom would do just about anything for money, but they considered him a bit of an oddity, a little joke, anyway.

Harry walked toward the dressing room, stepping aside as Mark passed by on his way back to work. The usually boisterous man looked a little pale. He ran his large hand gently down Harry’s jaw line.

“I am so sorry, Love. I’m going miss you,” he said quietly as he ducked back into the club, a slight quaver in his voice.

A cold chill ran down Harry’s spine, Slowly, apprehensively, Harry stepped into the dressing room; the usually noisy space was unnaturally silent. He could see from the door that the crib was empty. Anxiously, Harry looked for his daughter and found her cradled protectively in the arms of a tall blond man.

Sudden tears stung his eyes as Harry unconsciously rubbed the basilisk tattoo on his hip. The veils fell to the floor. The frantic beating of his heart seemed to amplify the pounding noise in his ears. He swallowed, trying to get moisture to his throat. The time for self deception was over – had he really thought he stood a chance at escape?

The icy blond wizard looked down on his wayward concubine. He slapped away the money clutched in Harry’s hand and spoke in a voice devoid of all emotion.

“Put on some proper clothing, Pet. It is time to come home.”

*~*~*~