Broken Toy
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
31,975
Reviews:
270
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
31,975
Reviews:
270
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter Four
Warnings: Language and a little bit of angst
Author's Notes: Now who’s that addressing Harry and Draco with this menacing voice? You’ve guessed right! Well, will the brute cause trouble???
Enjoy!!!
ETA: Beta'ed by ravenqueen55!
Chapter Four
“Let’s go? Where the hell you do think you’re going?” a deep voice asked menacingly.
Harry was forced to look up at the newcomer. An ox of a man. Harry squared his shoulders instinctively, not that he’d have a chance. He could never overcome a bear like this by physical power, but he could try to outwit him.
“Hello!” He smiled his most enchanting I’m-ever-so-pleased-to-meet-you-beam at the aggressive bull.
“We were just on our way to look for you.” Harry could be a stupid git sometimes when emotions were concerned, but he wasn’t a fool when it came to business affairs.
He grinned his jovial I-am-your-friend-by-all-means-smile at Malfoy’s pimp, and actually patted the shoulder of the burly man, ignoring the quick intake of breath behind him.
“Let’s just sit down to discuss matters, shall we?” Another radiant smile and Harry was sure he had lured the big man into his spontaneous trap. This guy was dangerous, very dangerous. Harry’s well trained Auror senses were picking up on that quite clearly.
Better proceed with an offensive strategy right away.
“I have taken a liking to this… slut. I found he can satisfy me.” Harry smiled toward the brute, again ignoring another gasp behind him. “How much?”
The brute just stared at him, but nonetheless sat heavily on the mattress opposite Malfoy’s.
There wasn’t much intelligence behind those small, deep-set eyes. Perhaps it was best to offer him some time to think things over, to better evaluate the price of this “object” he had in his possession. The thought of that made Harry’s stomach curl, and he just prayed that Malfoy’s face wouldn’t give too much away.
He nonchalantly settled down on Malfoy’s mattress, gracefully laying one of his legs across the other like an aristocrat. All he had to do now was to wait.
The time dragged on, and Harry got tired of constantly grinning at the idiot. He was also starting to get impatient, but he didn’t show it. There was no muscle twitch or jerk to give away what he was feeling inside – a show of the intense emotions swirling inside him would have been suicidal. He remained calm and pleasant on the outside, but in his mind’s eye he saw himself lunge out and beat the pimp’s face to a pulp. But he knew he couldn’t knock the brute out of the way, or test one of the new transfiguration charms on him, as pleasing as that would be. No, it wasn’t as simple as that. Harry knew that Draco must have signed a contract, giving his “services” or life and soul or something over to this poor excuse for a human being. Harry was sure of it. He could sense it.
Harry started to sweat again; he hoped intently that there weren’t any drops to be seen on his forehead.
But he had never been the cautious type, and he never would be. The best thing to do was get on with the deal.
“How much?” he repeated boldly, and then added pleasantly, “For the slut and the contract?”
Now he registered rapid action behind those deep-set eyes. The little pig was summing up everything about Harry - his ruffled black hair, his shabby cloak, the simple white shirt visible underneath it. The eyes wandered lower to take in his faded jeans, his worn trainers.
Harry never did pay much attention to what he was wearing, and he had never been one to spend much money on clothes, either. But the nights he had been searching for Malfoy he had given his appearance some thought before, and had deliberately chosen some of the oldest clothes he had been able to find in his closet.
The brute seemed to have come to an end with his calculation. Well done, you excuse of a human being.
Everything in Harry wanted to tear the ugly grin off the face opposite him. But he kept on smiling pleasantly, aiming his grin directly at the sweaty features.
In an obvious display of impatience, Harry started to let his fingers tap on his knee. It was time to hurry things up. This guy was no genius, so Harry decided to bring the conversation down to his level. No beating around the bush; he’d come straight to the point.
“Well, you know…” Harry raised an eyebrow, “err, … I don’t know your name, sir.”
The burly form, being taken off guard, grunted something like “pickles”.
“Pleased to meet you, Mister Pig- less.” The sarcasm was lost on the brute, but he did look more attentive now that he had been called “mister”. Harry’s oversensitive ears could hear a light chuckle coming from behind him, but couldn’t afford to react to it.
“So, Mister Pickles, as you can undoubtedly imagine, I don’t have all the time in the world. And neither have you. There are several other, well, faded beauties who will satisfy my tastes to be found outside.” Harry once again let his fingers beat down upon his knee, every touch a calculated gesture.
When the pickle didn’t react right away, Harry knew he had to up the stakes. He pretended to get up. With a swift motion the young man put both of his legs in front of him, his face wearing a bored expression. Inside his chest, Harry’s heart was racing like a million horses.
The little pig-eyes reduced to slits at once, “Three hundred galleons.”
Fine. Exactly the cost of a good racing broom. An adequate price for a human being. Harry was fuming, but he would rage about that later.
Harry at once put in, “For the boy, I presume. But the contract…”
“…will cost you two thousand and five hundred galleons extra.”
Inwardly, Harry winced. He did have the money. He had been prepared for something like this to happen. But he didn’t have that much currency in his pocket right now. It would have eased things up, just to throw the money into the brute’s face. But guys like this would never be satisfied with a cheque…
He had to gamble.
Harry’s stomach ached. He was cringing under the pressure of responsibility. If he had to retreat unsuccessfully, Malfoy would surely pay for this. But it wouldn’t come to that. Harry was prepared for this, too. He was known as a brilliant wizard, exceptional for his age. And he could be cunning if it was needed.
He had to get Malfoy out of here, fast. But first he had to buy that blasted contract; grabbing it and Apparating them away wouldn’t work. He had to get it under legal conditions, because with the damn contract Malfoy’s soul (at least what remained of it) was bound to his damn pimp. Paying for the contract - actually buying Malfoy - the bond in the contract would lose its effect.
Adrenaline shot through Harry’s veins like liquid metal, and he shot a superior smirk at the pig.
“Two thousand and eight hundred galleons?” Harry pointed with a backward gesture of his head towards the lingering person behind him.
“You must be mental…” Harry again smiled superiorly. “I’ll pay you two thousand and – let’s see – two hundred gallons, including the contract.” His heart beating loudly, he waited for a response.
“This slut earns me at least one hundred sickles a day – I would be crazy indeed if I would let him go for less than two thousand and five…”
Harry was slowly losing his temper, but he would not let that happen. He was determined to succeed.
“If you are getting yourself this exited over an old harp like this – and you have to admit that he isn’t that fresh anymore…two thousand and one hundred gallons.”
Harry intently hoped that the sweat pouring down his forehead wasn’t detectable.
“But…”
Harry got up at once. He was playing his stakes very high now, but he had to risk it.
“You are just a stupid git. You could have earned yourself two thousand and one hundred galleons for this boy right away, but all this haggling is boring me. I will offer two thousands galleons for the boy and the contract and that’s it.”
He grabbed into the front pocket of his jeans and fished for the tiny leather bag. For dramatic impact, he lazily tossed the bag to the ground in front of the feet of the burly man. With two swift motions of his wand, he increased the money bag to its normal seize and ripped it open, so that the golden coins spilled all over the ground. Pickles at once licked his lips greedily.
Merlin, he wished he could curse this stinking excuse of a human being with all sorts of spells right now, but he needed that blasted contract.
For what seemed to be a very long time he stared into the eyes of the ugly, fat man. Forcing his will upon him. Forcing him to let Malfoy go. Forcing him to hand over the fucking contract.
All of a sudden, Pickles scratched his left eyebrow and then produced a slimy paper from his hip pocket.
“So there’s your contract. Take him and be happy with this conceited slut. Imagines himself to be something special, to have been an aristocrat …though I can’t see it myself!”
Pickles snorted heavily and spat out some green fluid directly in front of Harry’s sneakers.
Unimpressed, Harry grabbed the parchment off the floor and studied it carefully. Once he was satisfied, seeing that it bore Malfoy’s name and signature on it, he forced himself to grab the brute’s hand in a tight grip and confirmed, “Bargain done.”
The parchment in Harry’s other hand shook a little, rapidly changing colour into a burning red, then to dirty white again. It went still and fitted snugly in his fist.
He had made it. The contract was his.
At once he turned to the young man whose fate had been decided. Malfoy was standing thunderstruck with his shoulders leaning heavily on the dirty wall for support.
“Come on!” Harry spat out, fully aware of the adrenaline flooding through his body, never meeting the eyes of Malfoy. “Let’s get out of here.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They hastened outside the rainbow-coloured building along the corner towards the pub, Harry in the lead. Every now and then he turned his head to make sure Malfoy was following.
Damn, why was the prat moving so slow? The faster they got out of here, the better. Harry wanted to gain as much distance from the pimp as possible, and Malfoy was crawling like a slug!
Irritably, Harry grabbed for Malfoy’s arm and forced him forward by dragging him along. “Come on, stupid git. We’ve got to get out of here!”
“But…“
Furious, Harry curtly interrupted him. “Shut up! Better get moving!”
“But…”
“I said SHUT UP!”
Malfoy jumped, but Harry didn’t have time to bother and continued to drag him along at a quick pace. In no time they reached the door of the pub. At least where the door of the pub was supposed to be.
There was solid wall instead of the door Harry had previously walked through.
Shocked, Harry let go of Malfoy’s arm and stared incredulously at the red, cold bricks.
His hands getting damp, he turned around to face Malfoy.
Malfoy was eyeing him cautiously. After he had assured himself that Harry wouldn’t yell at him, he offered an explanation, spreading his hands out in an apologetic gesture. “We’re not meant to leave.”
Author's Notes: Now who’s that addressing Harry and Draco with this menacing voice? You’ve guessed right! Well, will the brute cause trouble???
Enjoy!!!
ETA: Beta'ed by ravenqueen55!
Chapter Four
“Let’s go? Where the hell you do think you’re going?” a deep voice asked menacingly.
Harry was forced to look up at the newcomer. An ox of a man. Harry squared his shoulders instinctively, not that he’d have a chance. He could never overcome a bear like this by physical power, but he could try to outwit him.
“Hello!” He smiled his most enchanting I’m-ever-so-pleased-to-meet-you-beam at the aggressive bull.
“We were just on our way to look for you.” Harry could be a stupid git sometimes when emotions were concerned, but he wasn’t a fool when it came to business affairs.
He grinned his jovial I-am-your-friend-by-all-means-smile at Malfoy’s pimp, and actually patted the shoulder of the burly man, ignoring the quick intake of breath behind him.
“Let’s just sit down to discuss matters, shall we?” Another radiant smile and Harry was sure he had lured the big man into his spontaneous trap. This guy was dangerous, very dangerous. Harry’s well trained Auror senses were picking up on that quite clearly.
Better proceed with an offensive strategy right away.
“I have taken a liking to this… slut. I found he can satisfy me.” Harry smiled toward the brute, again ignoring another gasp behind him. “How much?”
The brute just stared at him, but nonetheless sat heavily on the mattress opposite Malfoy’s.
There wasn’t much intelligence behind those small, deep-set eyes. Perhaps it was best to offer him some time to think things over, to better evaluate the price of this “object” he had in his possession. The thought of that made Harry’s stomach curl, and he just prayed that Malfoy’s face wouldn’t give too much away.
He nonchalantly settled down on Malfoy’s mattress, gracefully laying one of his legs across the other like an aristocrat. All he had to do now was to wait.
The time dragged on, and Harry got tired of constantly grinning at the idiot. He was also starting to get impatient, but he didn’t show it. There was no muscle twitch or jerk to give away what he was feeling inside – a show of the intense emotions swirling inside him would have been suicidal. He remained calm and pleasant on the outside, but in his mind’s eye he saw himself lunge out and beat the pimp’s face to a pulp. But he knew he couldn’t knock the brute out of the way, or test one of the new transfiguration charms on him, as pleasing as that would be. No, it wasn’t as simple as that. Harry knew that Draco must have signed a contract, giving his “services” or life and soul or something over to this poor excuse for a human being. Harry was sure of it. He could sense it.
Harry started to sweat again; he hoped intently that there weren’t any drops to be seen on his forehead.
But he had never been the cautious type, and he never would be. The best thing to do was get on with the deal.
“How much?” he repeated boldly, and then added pleasantly, “For the slut and the contract?”
Now he registered rapid action behind those deep-set eyes. The little pig was summing up everything about Harry - his ruffled black hair, his shabby cloak, the simple white shirt visible underneath it. The eyes wandered lower to take in his faded jeans, his worn trainers.
Harry never did pay much attention to what he was wearing, and he had never been one to spend much money on clothes, either. But the nights he had been searching for Malfoy he had given his appearance some thought before, and had deliberately chosen some of the oldest clothes he had been able to find in his closet.
The brute seemed to have come to an end with his calculation. Well done, you excuse of a human being.
Everything in Harry wanted to tear the ugly grin off the face opposite him. But he kept on smiling pleasantly, aiming his grin directly at the sweaty features.
In an obvious display of impatience, Harry started to let his fingers tap on his knee. It was time to hurry things up. This guy was no genius, so Harry decided to bring the conversation down to his level. No beating around the bush; he’d come straight to the point.
“Well, you know…” Harry raised an eyebrow, “err, … I don’t know your name, sir.”
The burly form, being taken off guard, grunted something like “pickles”.
“Pleased to meet you, Mister Pig- less.” The sarcasm was lost on the brute, but he did look more attentive now that he had been called “mister”. Harry’s oversensitive ears could hear a light chuckle coming from behind him, but couldn’t afford to react to it.
“So, Mister Pickles, as you can undoubtedly imagine, I don’t have all the time in the world. And neither have you. There are several other, well, faded beauties who will satisfy my tastes to be found outside.” Harry once again let his fingers beat down upon his knee, every touch a calculated gesture.
When the pickle didn’t react right away, Harry knew he had to up the stakes. He pretended to get up. With a swift motion the young man put both of his legs in front of him, his face wearing a bored expression. Inside his chest, Harry’s heart was racing like a million horses.
The little pig-eyes reduced to slits at once, “Three hundred galleons.”
Fine. Exactly the cost of a good racing broom. An adequate price for a human being. Harry was fuming, but he would rage about that later.
Harry at once put in, “For the boy, I presume. But the contract…”
“…will cost you two thousand and five hundred galleons extra.”
Inwardly, Harry winced. He did have the money. He had been prepared for something like this to happen. But he didn’t have that much currency in his pocket right now. It would have eased things up, just to throw the money into the brute’s face. But guys like this would never be satisfied with a cheque…
He had to gamble.
Harry’s stomach ached. He was cringing under the pressure of responsibility. If he had to retreat unsuccessfully, Malfoy would surely pay for this. But it wouldn’t come to that. Harry was prepared for this, too. He was known as a brilliant wizard, exceptional for his age. And he could be cunning if it was needed.
He had to get Malfoy out of here, fast. But first he had to buy that blasted contract; grabbing it and Apparating them away wouldn’t work. He had to get it under legal conditions, because with the damn contract Malfoy’s soul (at least what remained of it) was bound to his damn pimp. Paying for the contract - actually buying Malfoy - the bond in the contract would lose its effect.
Adrenaline shot through Harry’s veins like liquid metal, and he shot a superior smirk at the pig.
“Two thousand and eight hundred galleons?” Harry pointed with a backward gesture of his head towards the lingering person behind him.
“You must be mental…” Harry again smiled superiorly. “I’ll pay you two thousand and – let’s see – two hundred gallons, including the contract.” His heart beating loudly, he waited for a response.
“This slut earns me at least one hundred sickles a day – I would be crazy indeed if I would let him go for less than two thousand and five…”
Harry was slowly losing his temper, but he would not let that happen. He was determined to succeed.
“If you are getting yourself this exited over an old harp like this – and you have to admit that he isn’t that fresh anymore…two thousand and one hundred gallons.”
Harry intently hoped that the sweat pouring down his forehead wasn’t detectable.
“But…”
Harry got up at once. He was playing his stakes very high now, but he had to risk it.
“You are just a stupid git. You could have earned yourself two thousand and one hundred galleons for this boy right away, but all this haggling is boring me. I will offer two thousands galleons for the boy and the contract and that’s it.”
He grabbed into the front pocket of his jeans and fished for the tiny leather bag. For dramatic impact, he lazily tossed the bag to the ground in front of the feet of the burly man. With two swift motions of his wand, he increased the money bag to its normal seize and ripped it open, so that the golden coins spilled all over the ground. Pickles at once licked his lips greedily.
Merlin, he wished he could curse this stinking excuse of a human being with all sorts of spells right now, but he needed that blasted contract.
For what seemed to be a very long time he stared into the eyes of the ugly, fat man. Forcing his will upon him. Forcing him to let Malfoy go. Forcing him to hand over the fucking contract.
All of a sudden, Pickles scratched his left eyebrow and then produced a slimy paper from his hip pocket.
“So there’s your contract. Take him and be happy with this conceited slut. Imagines himself to be something special, to have been an aristocrat …though I can’t see it myself!”
Pickles snorted heavily and spat out some green fluid directly in front of Harry’s sneakers.
Unimpressed, Harry grabbed the parchment off the floor and studied it carefully. Once he was satisfied, seeing that it bore Malfoy’s name and signature on it, he forced himself to grab the brute’s hand in a tight grip and confirmed, “Bargain done.”
The parchment in Harry’s other hand shook a little, rapidly changing colour into a burning red, then to dirty white again. It went still and fitted snugly in his fist.
He had made it. The contract was his.
At once he turned to the young man whose fate had been decided. Malfoy was standing thunderstruck with his shoulders leaning heavily on the dirty wall for support.
“Come on!” Harry spat out, fully aware of the adrenaline flooding through his body, never meeting the eyes of Malfoy. “Let’s get out of here.”
They hastened outside the rainbow-coloured building along the corner towards the pub, Harry in the lead. Every now and then he turned his head to make sure Malfoy was following.
Damn, why was the prat moving so slow? The faster they got out of here, the better. Harry wanted to gain as much distance from the pimp as possible, and Malfoy was crawling like a slug!
Irritably, Harry grabbed for Malfoy’s arm and forced him forward by dragging him along. “Come on, stupid git. We’ve got to get out of here!”
“But…“
Furious, Harry curtly interrupted him. “Shut up! Better get moving!”
“But…”
“I said SHUT UP!”
Malfoy jumped, but Harry didn’t have time to bother and continued to drag him along at a quick pace. In no time they reached the door of the pub. At least where the door of the pub was supposed to be.
There was solid wall instead of the door Harry had previously walked through.
Shocked, Harry let go of Malfoy’s arm and stared incredulously at the red, cold bricks.
His hands getting damp, he turned around to face Malfoy.
Malfoy was eyeing him cautiously. After he had assured himself that Harry wouldn’t yell at him, he offered an explanation, spreading his hands out in an apologetic gesture. “We’re not meant to leave.”