Proditio

Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own the rights to Harry Potter. That undoubtable honor goes to the mother of that wonderful creation, JK Rowling. She is a goddess of the literary arts and should be acknowledged. So, please, for the love of all that is holy, please do not sue me! After all, plagiarism is one of the most sincere forms of flattery. *bows and runs off stage*

Warnings: This is a very OOC fic, especially with Harry and Dumbledore, and is pro-Dark Lord. This fic contains slash! If you don\'t like male/male relationships, here\'s a hint: DON\'T READ IT! The flames will keep me nice and toasty warm, because, after all, I live in Alaska. We need all the heat we can get.

Thanks be to my beta, Emmy!


Proditio
Chapter Three


Harry had no idea why he had found Knockturn Alley so frightening when he was a child. Hell, it might have been slightly darker than he was used to, but it honestly wasn\'t that bad.

\"And stay out, ye bloody bastard!\" Came from across the street where a tomboyish woman stood framed by her shop door, lips pressed together thinner than Harry had ever seen McGonagall\'s lips go, and her arms were crossed before her, giving her a sense of solidarity, as if she was an inpenerable wall.

Before her, thrown out into the street was a person that Harry had not expected to see, especially laying hindquarters down, in therther noxious puddle of mud and filth. To say Harry was pleasantly shocked would have been an understatement.

\"Ah, Ma,\" ,\" Harry said, his voice cold and even, mocking his fellow sixth year with a sense of serenity and grace he had never had before, \"found that you can\'t live without your father saving your ass every five minutes?\"

Sniffing slightly with distain, Harry gracefully picked his way across the dirty street before Draco had a chance to answer and offered a long slender hand encased in black leather gloves toward Draco. Draco had yet to look up at the young Gryffindor, but as the offered hand was withing the rich Malfoy heir\'s line of sight, Harry was shocked slightly when the Slytherin took his hand and allowed Harry to help him up. The woman in the doorway scowled, but as Harry shot her a poisonous look, she sniffed and stomped back into her shop.

As he was picked up out of the gutter, Malfoy kept his eyes on the cracked paving stones, not lifting his eyes to his assistant. Standing there, docile, cracking the ice around Harry\'s soul for an instant as Harry could feel the crawling feeling of unrest, Malfoy made no move to speak, or even acknowledge his presence. Harry, unnerved by this complete change of personality, took a second to observe the once arrogant scion.

His clothing, once so emmaculately clean and oozing the aura of old money now was covered in mud and the slightly threadbare state of his clothing showed how far Malfoy had fallen. It appeared as if Draco had finally lost all that made him the arrogant little Slytherin daddy\'s boy that he was: him money, his power, and his confidence.

\"Malfoy,\" Harry said, his tone softer than his earlier comment, \"look up.\"

The silvery blond head remained bent as the body below the head twitched slightly, as if in pain. People around them on the street glared at this scene on the side of the road, but as all residents of Knockturn Alley learned eventually, it usually wasn\'t conductive to a long life if you looked too hard. Therefore they were rather ignored in the shadows of the dank street with it\'s cracked walls and peeling paint.

A low murmur came from the scion\'s lips, so jumbled that Harry could not understand a word he said, and he said as much. Getting no response for the second try, Harry annoyed and feeling the darkness that was growing underneath the skin of ice he had on his heart, took one of his gloved hands and with no respect to the dignity of Draco Malfoy, roughly grasped the pale, pointed chin and hauled the Slytherin\'s head up to face the slightly taller Gryffindor. What Harry saw was not pretty.

In hollowed, darkened sockets, were eyes deadened to the world without the normal malicious spark contained within, the silvery color resembling not a sickle as usual, but a stagnant storm darkening on the horizon. Full, normally ruby red lips were pale and drawn, split in a couple of places and chapped, as if Draco was dehydrated on top of being the lesser in a brawl. Feverish spots of color showed on top of painfully gaunt cheeks. And on top of all that, it looked as if Draco had not had a decent meal since he had left Hogwarts.

Harry\'s lips thinned, and not taking into concideration that this was Draco Malfoy, son of the man that tried to kill him about six weeks back, he grasped Draco\'s bone thin forearm and drug him along Knockturn Alley, searching for a pub.

Damn Hermione for being right. I do have rtyrrtyr complex. But this time, no. He will pay me back. No more lost causes without reward. That is fucking Dumbledore\'s ideals for his bloody fucking boy-who-wouldn\'t-die. Manipulative freak.

Draco, being pulled behind, didn\'t seem to notice the relocation, his dead eyes wandering, but not quite seeing. Harry swore silently, and with a hard tug, pulled the catatonic teen into a rather iffy place that had proclaimed itself to be the Hag\'s Hole, to judge by the peeling sign that hung out front, squeaking rather discontentedly in a stiff breeze.

Inside, Harry rather coolly assessed the premises, frowning at the rather disgusting little tavern. The floor was sticky with ages of spilled drink and the room with it\'s dim lighting smelled of smoke, rotting grains, and sweat.

Well, what did you fucking expect of a tavern in the darker part of town? A decadent parlor with velvet cushions and golden tables?

Snorting at the sarcasm of his inner voice, Harry threw Draco into a chair, headed up to the bar and a moment of low whipering and a galleon later, sat in the chair across from the disconsolate Draco with two sniffers filled half way with a fine brandy the barkeep had saved for \"special\" customers, and the crystal bottle containing the rest of the alcohol. Not that Harry knew a fine brandy from a mediocre one, but he knew Draco would, and he rather didn\'t trust the state of the ale in this place, nor did he think this was a time for something as weak as butterbeer.

\"Drink, Malfoy, I\'m not going to poison you. At least not yet.\"

Draco\'s eyes sparked slightly at that, but all the same, the Slytherin lifted a hand and took the brandy and with an automatic swirl of the sniffer, obviously an ingrained habit, the glass was lifted to bloodless lips and sipped, and then lowered, a bit of life back in the silver eyes.

And then speaking in a dry harsh tone, lacking the drawl Harry had grown to associate with the name Malfoy, Draco finally spoke.

\"But, Potter, didn\'t you know? I mean every one else does.\"

Harry\'s eyes narrowed at the condescending tone, and careful picked his next words.

\"Dumbledore does not see fit to allow me any information. Keeping the bloody Gryffindor Golden Boy Golden, I suppose.\" Harry said in usual cool voicee bie bite in his tone garnering a look of surprise followed by a narrowing of silver eyes from across the table.

\"Well then as the bearer of good news, I regretfully inform you that I am no longer a Malfoy. I\'ve been unnamed.\"

A/N: I think I\'ll leave it here on this cliffie. Sounds about rightd thd thanks to those of you who reviewed. You mke me feel loved!

Leviathan Yes, I quite agree. I love making the story visual, especially allowing other people to see the scene how it is meant to be seen.

jenn Hey, I\'m not one to refuse the support of a muse when offered. *chuckles*

Selenamoon Oh, I know. I have the igloo question come at me all the time. I\'m on a tech forum and I had been on there for months when it came out that I lived in Alaska. I then was fielding questions on how to feed a polar band and such. I was even asked once if I had electricity.