Big Chicago

Big Chicago Part 24...by Samayel


“When we get to the dining hall, don’t stand on formality too much. All we do is go to the head table and stand at either side of his chair, which is in the center. The long tables are for the staff that choose to or have to live here, and he usually dines with them. I know it isn’t normal, but trust me, Sir Dumbledore is not normal.”

We’re striding toward the dining areas at a fairly relaxed pace, but I still get winded trying to keep up and talk at the same time. Harry keeps prepping me for what I’ll encounter when we get there, hoping to take the edge off of the culture shock.

“Sir Dumbledore?”

“In here, in his home, he isn’t Mr. White. His name is Sir Albus Brian Wulfric Dumbledore the Fourth, and he’s a decorated hero of the Second World War. He fought alongside the Dutch Resistance, penetrated Nazi intelligence, was personally responsible for preventing the assassination of two members of the royal family back then, as well as several Cabinet Ministers and ambassadors who were traveling abroad. He was knighted by the Queen back in the Forties, he trained most of the counter intelligence personnel that were active during the Cold War up until the late Sixties, and there isn’t a service medal or citation in this country or a few others that he hasn’t been honored with.

The man is largely considered a national treasure, even if he’s widely held to be a little ’eccentric’. Most people have no fucking idea how connected to the world he still is, and that’s the way we keep it. He’s just a very wealthy old soldier from the upper class, he’s ninety-five years old, and that’s all we treat him as until we’re alone with him, right?”

Eep. Well…that’s one hell of a fucking resume! Makes ex-junkie, hooker, drag queen and jailbird look pretty boring by comparison.

“Wow. What else? Is there a way I should address him?”

“Sir is just fine for starters, until he tells you otherwise. Oh…one thing. The staff and guests all stand until he enters for dinner and seats himself. He didn’t ask for it, but they started doing it over a generation ago, so it’s a household custom now. Don’t worry about heavy conversation yet. He won’t say anything critical in front of others. He’ll almost certainly invite us to his study and den after dinner, and then interview us separately. Probably me first, since he hasn’t seen me most of this year, and frankly, I missed him too. He’s like my grandfather, even though I don’t actually have one. Don’t take it personally, but the first person he’ll want to see is the person closest to him. Okay?”

“Got it. Holy crap…”

The dining hall is huge. Three long tables running lengthwise down the room, enough for almost sixty people to eat in comfort, or more if necessary and people squeezed a bit. Various members of the staff are already drifting in and taking position, standing behind chairs and chatting amiably in hushed polite tones. Harry gets several smiles and nods as we move toward the head table at the front of the room, and all I get are looks of curiosity.

A huge, bearded man smiles from ear to ear and grabs Harry into a hug as we approach the head table. He’s literally twice Harry’s size, and probably nearing seven feet tall. Harry pounds the man’s back and finally emerges from the huge beard his head was buried in momentarily, and all I can do is stand back and just accept this as normal.

“’Arry! Good to see ya! ’Ow’s Americer treatin’ ya then? Ya know we missed ya here, something awful. Ya look just grand like always. An’ who’s this then?”

“Good to see you too, Hagrid. Things are alright. Business as usual, and plenty of it. I missed you too, and I wish we were staying here for a real visit, but this was just a quick hop across the pond for a conference. Hagrid, meet Drake…Drake…Hagrid. Hagrid is the gamekeeper, stable master, and veterinarian here. There’s no one better with a sick animal than this man right here.”

His hand completely swallows mine, and I can’t help the shiver when I realize that he could break me like a twig if he really wanted to…or even by accident! He frowns when the shiver hits me, and I feel terrible about the way his face falls.

“Don’ worry bout it, lad. Been that way all me life. Doctors said it was a pituitary thingy in me run haywire. I was most of a foot taller than me Da, an sixty kilos heavier, afore I was out of middle school. Throws people off, right at first, it does. Always has. Think nothing’ of it, right?”

I can’t help but smile sheepishly. He is endearing in an enormous, oafish way that you can’t entirely resist.

“Thanks. It must be nice…taking care of different animals. My family never had any pets in the house. Just horses in the stables. I did have a goldfish once, but after a thunderstorm, I found it on the table beside the bowl. Looked like it got so scared it jumped right out in the night. I remember giving him a proper burial in the backyard though.”

“Aww. Thas’ a nice thing to do for a pet. Poor thin’ probably spooked by the lightning. Oops…almos’ time for supper. You lads should be up by the Master’s seat. Great man, Mister Dumbledore is. Yessir…hardly a better soul to be found anywhere in the world! Go on, then lads…don’t let me keep ya!”

Everyone is standing behind seats and the chatter has died down to whispers. Harry leads me up to the head table, where we stand behind chairs on either side of a carved masterpiece. The main seat is almost certainly an antique, and the carving on the jet black wood looks like it was a lifetime’s work to complete. No way to say what this would fetch in an auction house. Tens of thousands of dollars at least.

And then he’s striding in, with the slight assistance of the prim woman at his side, holding his arm while he uses a handsome old walking stick. My first impression? Tall. Even slightly stooped with age, he isn’t all that much shorter than Hagrid. He was probably incredibly imposing in his day. Then he looks up at Harry…and at me, and his eyes twinkle merrily, like a modern day Santa Claus. So blue. His hair is as white as snow, and he has a neatly trimmed Van Dyke goatee. His nose is almost ridiculously long, and bent just a little to one side near the middle, crooked like it was broken in a common brawl, but it doesn’t take away from his aura of alert and dignified power. If he’s ninety-five years old, I only hope I have that kind of mobility seventy years from now.

As soon as he reaches the table, the woman by his side moves to the far edge and takes the seat to one side of Harry, while the rest of us take our seats now that Sir Dumbledore has taken his own. The hall is full of the sounds of clattering silverware as people make ready, and servers are emerging from the kitchens with platter after platter. His head is already turned to Harry while the food arrives, and I’m amazed by how clear his voice is, even if he sounds tired, the way the very old always do. He could have been an actor on stages with a voice like that, and been heard clearly in the back of any hall anywhere.

“Harry! It’s just good to see you again. I do hate thinking of you, far away, wrapped up in business. You can’t guess how much I wish it were otherwise, but needs must when the devil drives, I suppose. You look very good, my boy. Very good indeed.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s good to see you too. The visit might have been unexpected, but we had a few days off anyway. I’m just as glad that we could spend a couple of them here before getting back to work.”

Then his head turns to me, and I feel like a bird trapped in the gaze of a cobra. Those eyes look right through you, like they can see your soul and every flaw and deficit inside.

“And you must be Mr. Malfoy, of whom we have heard so very much, and every word of it so very interesting. Never a dull moment when your name is on the tip of everyone’s tongue.”

It’s said with the faintest hit of wry amusement, and I’d swear the corner of his lip is twitching, hiding a smile that would show whether he was teasing me or not. The bastard has to know how nervous I’ve been! I hope he’s just trying to put me at ease!

“Yes, sir. I…I hope I haven’t been the cause of too much concern. I’m very grateful for the chance to be here, with Harry, tonight. It’s an honor to meet a real, live hero in person…much less enjoy a banquet in your home.”

“Heh. Hero, you say? Ahhh. Harry’s been telling stories, hasn’t he? Well, those were difficult times, but long past. We’re all heroes in our way. Some a little less obvious than others, but all of us in our way. Oooo…here comes the first course! Enjoy, Mr. Malfoy, enjoy.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

The soup is fairly normal fare, but good. French onion with good cheeses used in the making of it. Loaves of fresh bread and dishes of butter are being brought as well. I can’t really stuff myself, unless I want to splurge on my diet while I’m here, but I’d feel guilty if I came home knowing that I’d done nothing on this trip but break every rule I’ve been setting for myself. That…and Doc Snape would probably disembowel me if I came back, got sick, and he found out about me goofing off and ignoring his orders again. I’ll go a long way to avoid suffering his wrath again!

Such a nervous situation, but I feel alright. Harry is just on the other side of Sir Dumbledore, and this is all so tranquil. Just happy people eating and chatting quietly while they dine. It’s when the main course comes that I finally notice something amiss. They bring the plates to us one by one, servings of beef that look good, but then…I’ve heard a lot of warnings about the quality of British beef…as well as their near total inability to do anything decent with it when they cook it. I was just glancing around, a little edgy about gambling on the beef, when I noticed his plate. All the meat has been cut for him.

His left hand. It hasn’t touched anything or left his side since dinner started. It’s still resting on the table, while he dines, one handed. The fingers are curled just tight enough to close around his walking stick like before, but that’s about all. He noticed me staring! Shit! I’m so rude! First Hagrid and now this! And with the old man himself! Damn it!

He smiles ruefully, tilting his head in a gesture that feels like a muted shrug.

“The cruel eld doth palsy. The price of long years I suppose. A man cannot expect to cheat Death of his due forever, and I’ve already made quite a good run of it. Needn’t worry. It hasn’t really diminished my enjoyment of life in any meaningful way…although…I do rather miss clapping. It seems wrong to never applaud something when the occasion seems right for it.”

He delivers that statement with the same twinkling eyes as before, and I can’t help but smile a little. It’s almost frightening, the way he disarms people so easily.

“I see. I’m sorry, sir. I can see where applause would be something to miss, and I didn’t mean to stare.”

He leans in conspiratorially, and I wait for him to speak again, made curious by the smirk that forms from the corner of his mouth and rapidly spreads.

“And Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t deny yourself the pleasure of a good meal because of concerns about the quality of the meat. Neither the beef, nor the man who directed its preparation for us, are British, so I suspect you’ll actually enjoy it.”

I just turned red from the tips of my toes right up to the roots of my hair. I cannot believe the old man actually read my fucking mind. Un-fucking-canny. I’d be creeped out by it if I wasn’t so impressed! I take up my knife and fork and brave a sliver just to follow his lead. He was right. It really is delicious, and I haven’t had a good cut of beef in awhile.

There’s a fine line to tread when selecting a cut of beef for a proper steak. Some people get on the kick of eliminating as much fat as possible, but this isn’t any favor to the flavor. The flavor is in the fat, which keeps the meat tender and juicy as it melts, and fat caramelizes easier, transforming into pure flavor when it’s done right. Good for you? Fuck, no! Delicious when spiced just right? Oh, hell yes!

It isn’t entirely fair to the British to ridicule their beef. The truth is that, on an island with limited resources, cattle are usually for milking, and for the production of cheese, especially cheddars, at which the English excel. Renewable resources, because there just isn’t enough room for cattle to graze easily, and not enough room to grow the crops needed to feed large herds of beef cattle. The consequence of this is that, since beef is comparatively rare, they just don’t have a lot of practice serving it in innovative…not to mention tasty…ways. Since this is delicious, I forbear.

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It feels like Harry’s been in there forever. Outside of Sir Dumbledore’s private offices, there’s a small waiting room, where all I can do is sit in a comfortable old lounge chair, the kind that old fashioned gentleman’s clubs once sported, and just wait for my turn. The only other person in the room is the secretary and assistant, the same one who helped him into the dining area, and when she greeted Harry formally, I knew she was the woman on the other end of the phone last night.

I know she disapproves of me. I can feel it hanging over her like a cloud, just waiting to rain all over me. I feel like I should say something, but what to say to a person who already knows I’m an impulsive idiot? I already proved it beyond doubt last night. I’d love to make it all better with a nice conversation, but I know nothing about her. Just that she has a desk and a nameplate and a computer she’s tapping away at incessantly. Minerva McGonagall. She looks like an old fashioned school teacher from another century, right down to the cameo brooch closing her collar. Almost-white hair up in a bun so tight that it practically has the same effect as facelift surgery. Severe. That’s the word I’m looking for. She looks severe.

Fuck it. When there is no politic way to open conversation, just go like a spear for the heart.

“Ma’am?”

One eyebrow lifted. She fixes me with the kind of gaze you usually get when you’ve just belched loudly during church services.

“Yes…Mr. Malfoy?”

“I just…I thought I should apologize for the confusion. It was you I spoke out of turn to…last night…wasn’t it?”

“That would be correct…Mr. Malfoy.”

“So…for the record…you have my apologies. It was my mistake, and I just thought I should personally assure you that it won’t happen again.”

“I should certainly hope not, Mr. Malfoy.”

Total brick wall. Nothing. The woman is like polar ice. Damn. At least I tried.

“Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yeah?”

“Honesty and frankness will serve you very well here. Do…how do they say it…’run with it’. I’m sure you won’t be waiting much longer.”

Huh. What do you know? Maybe I haven’t lost all my charm after all. Then the door opens and Harry comes out…smiling. It’s going to be fine. There’s no way he’d be smiling that way, looking perfectly relaxed, if he thought things were bad. All I have to do now is manage this one little meeting with the boss, and everything is smoothed over. I can manage this. I want to hug him…but McGonagall is in the room with us. Probably better to play it cool. I settle for touching Harry’s hand and looking into his eyes before I go in.

“He’s ready for you. Relax. Have a good chat, alright. He’s in a pretty cheerful mood too, so I think you’ll have a good time. At least an interesting one, if I’m any kind of guesser. Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. See you when I get out. And Harry?”

“Yeah, love?”

“Thanks. I was worried before…too much. I think I can handle this just fine. But thanks.”

He knows what I mean. I get a nod of approval as I turn to go. He knows that the reason I feel safe is because of him. Because he’s near and full of confidence, I can believe that everything is alright. There’s no telling how panicked I’d be if I didn’t have him here, constantly reminding me that things will turn out for the better.

Nice. Plush. Tasteful. Daddy probably wishes he had an office this classy. Old world class, not modern. Everything in here is antique, except for the computer, fax/modem, scanner, printer and other techno goodies. I can hear Bach playing somewhere. He must have a good sound system wired in here where it can’t be seen. I take a seat across the desk from the old man, and he just smiles while he reaches for a glass dish of candies, smiling like a kid when he holds the dish out to me, blue eyes still twinkling like before.

“Lemon drop? They’re quite good. I suppose I could offer a glass of brandy as well, but between you and me, I prefer the lemon drops.”

So weird. So casual. This isn’t at all what I expected, but I can’t say I feel any more apprehensive than I did at dinner. I’d rather like a candy…but I’m a little more full than I’ve been in almost a week. Also…I’m just a little leery of taking candy from old men. Call it a survival instinct if you will, and try to understand that it comes with having lived as a whore. It just isn’t good policy to put things in your mouth unless people have already paid to put them there.

“Normally? I’d love them…but I already fudged on my diet a bit today. I’d rather not push my luck.”

The dish returns to its place while he plucks a candy with his good hand and unwraps it with an impressive one-handed display of dexterity, then he pops it into his mouth and smiles.

“Ahhh yes. The diet. You’ve been experiencing a bit of anxiety, haven’t you? Momentary lapses and such. It occurs to me that, despite the best of intentions, you might have bitten off a little more than you can readily chew, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I prefer Drake if it’s all the same to you, sir. And yes, it’s been…a little surreal. Sometimes. I’m sorry if that caused some concern. Please…I didn’t want to make trouble for Harry. That’s the last thing I want.”

“Mmm. And yet…” He sounds distracted and perfectly calm, but there’s the faintest edge to his voice. Serious, but I can tell he’s trying to make me comfortable while he touches on the subject I should worry about the most. Believe me…I appreciate the effort on his part. I try to remember that Harry was smiling when he left this room. It can’t go to badly…right?

“I know. I wouldn’t have said anything…inappropriate, sir. You have my word on it. I know I acted hastily, but…”

“It’s alright…Drake. Perfectly normal response in a most abnormal situation. You may not realize it, but that really has very little to do with why you’re here. Be frank with me, if you can, because I mean to be frank with you.”

The gloves are off. The bell just rang. Something tells me that this is more serious than he let Harry know. I’m not apprehensive anymore…now I’m genuinely fucking nervous. My palms…when did they start to sweat this much? My tie is too tight, and my neck prickles under the collar. I don’t want to look or act nervous. Just got to keep it cool a little longer.

“Okay. Thank you, sir. Then can I ask why I am here?”

Again that mellow smile. His eyes are like blue ice. Every time my gaze meets his, I get lost the way I do with Harry. The feeling is different, because with Harry I just melt into a puddle and I tend get desperately horny. With this man, I feel like I’m being weighed and judged, but all I can do is answer as honestly as I can and wait for his next move, panicked and as helpless as a moth drawn to batter itself against a window that bars its way to the light.

“I do loathe sounding clichéd, but I’m afraid it can’t be helped. Drake…Harry is very important to me, as is the cause toward which we all labor. Anything that threatens that purpose presents a very serious problem. I’m aware of your past, and of your problems, and quite honestly…you present a rather thorny issue for me.

Harry needs his mind on his work, both for his safety, and for the safety of our goals. I would never do anything so gauche as to issue crude threats, so let us resolve this in the most civilized way. I can ensure that you are very, very well taken care of, in every way that suits you, enough so that you might live out your days in absolute comfort, anywhere in the world. All I ask is that you leave Harry, and make no attempt to contact him in the near future, and do not disclose those things you’ve learned regarding the Phoenix Corporation and its activities.”

Oh God! I’d…I really thought he wouldn’t ask that of me! Harry was happy! The words just echo in my head like a slammed door in a long empty hallway while my heart thuds in my ears. What do I say? I screwed it all up. This isn’t the kind of person you just say no to! He really wants me gone…like Harry said could happen.

I can feel the panic coming on. The bass drum pounding of my pulse, the perspiration working its way out of every pore of my body and making my skin feel hot and tight. The irregularity of my breath while I try to look calm and keep my vision steady. I wish I’d taken that damn pill! Help!

Fuck! Can’t…can’t let this happen here! Not now! Not here! If I’m weak, they won’t ever let me stay with Harry! I have to…hold on. Say something. These people aren’t impressed by histrionics and fainting spells, and puking all over his antique desk probably won’t win me any awards either! Talk god damn it! Move your fucking lips, Drake! NOW!

“Sir…I…”

“Think of it, my dear boy! Wealth beyond anyone’s capacity to exhaust it. Every creature comfort one could imagine. All yours and yours alone, never able to be taken from you. Anything can be arranged. A life as an artist, since I’m told you’re quite the painter? Or perhaps a quiet life of leisure on an island? Anything at all. That would neatly solve both my problem and yours, without any conflict of any kind. Wouldn’t that be more amenable…than the alternative?”

Judgment Day. Zero Hour. I want to scream. Or cry…or pass out. Anything but speak. This is for Harry. And for me. I don’t want any of those things…if I can’t have Harry to enjoy them with. Death is better than that. I’ve come too far, too fast, to lose the only thing matters to me now. When hope dies, when everything is gone, there is a place where nothing else can be taken from you. A place where you have a strength you might go your whole life and still never know you had…until you find yourself there. And then the words come.

“No. There is only one…thing…I…want. Harry. I understand that I made a mistake, and if there’s another way to pay for it, I’ll pay however you like. But I won’t leave Harry. Not now…not ever. If you…if you have to do something…with me…do it. There is nothing…I repeat…NOTHING…that means more to me than him! Not money, not comfort…not even my fucking life. It’s all worthless without him. Keep your islands, and your cash, and do whatever you have to do…but Harry is mine, and I’m his…and that’s final.”

I can’t believe I just said that to one of the most powerful men in the world! He looks completely unperturbed, and vaguely curious…or amused, while I can barely keep my vision from slipping out of focus. My nails are digging into the fabric of the chair I’m in because I’m so fucking tense I want to explode, and I think I just wrote my ticket to hell by crossing the wrong person at last.

“I see. Well…you’ve made yourself entirely clear to me, Mr. Malfoy. I’m afraid you’ve left me with precious few choices. I suppose an ‘alterative’ is called for now.”

So clinical and calm. His hand is opening the drawer on the desk. He can’t…! Not here! In his office? He’d kill me here?! I’m going to die! He must have a gun in there! Harry couldn’t possibly get here fast enough to stop him! I want Harry! I want a kiss! The scent of him on the pillow. I want one more fucking minute of life with him! My breath is sucking its way into my lungs for a scream while my heart palpitates…

And he pulls out a large manila envelope.

And slides it across the desk to me.

“I had to be absolutely certain…of your intentions, Mr. Malfoy. There is no room here for the uncertain. If you will not be parted from Harry, then I’m left with no choice but to place a different offer on the table.

Welcome to the Phoenix Corporation, Drake Malfoy. Let us see where we might be able to employ some of your less arcane talents, eh?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. As soon as I’m done having my heart attack…you perfect bastard!”

Wait…did I just say that out loud?

Fuck.

TBC!!!