Memoirs of a Male Escort

Ever the Gryffindor

Don’t ever reveal too much of yourself to a client. Not you’re real self at least. It puts you in a compromising position to do so. You’ll begin liking the person, and not the way you’re supposed to, but as a human being, not a client.

If you go into a job acting like yourself, as opposed to how they want you to act, then it makes it too personal.

You don’t want to get personal with your clients, because that leads to heartache, if not heartbreak. No matter how much you think your client might like you, the career you have chosen will always get in the way.

Always.

--

Harry’s brilliant green gaze bore into Draco’s and made him flinch. “Malfoy?” he questioned.

Draco took a deep breath and let it out slowly, replacing the careful mask he had constructed for all unusual situations he was faced with. “The one and only,” he beamed.

“How the hell did you find out where I live?” he asked.

“I was sent by the agency,” he replied. “But if you’d like me to go?” he added hopefully. He really didn’t want to get into things with Potter. This man could ruin him in a second’s time; no wonder Madame X had been so illusive.

He looked perplexed for a moment, then a light flickered through his eyes, which were, much to Draco’s chagrin, the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. “You’ve got to be kidding. You? They sent me you?”

“Look. Potter, it’s okay. I can go back and tell her you were unhappy. They’ll send someone else right away.” He turned and headed for the car, but Harry’s voice stopped him. He looked back over his shoulder to see a smirking raven-haired man who suddenly looked every bit his Gryffindor schoolboy counterpart.

Groaning inwardly he trudged back to the door. “I suppose this is great fun for you?” he asked.

Harry nodded once, still smirking. “It is, yes.”

With a sigh, Draco gestured to the door. “Are you at least going to invite me inside, or are you going to berate me on the stoop?”

Harry laughed and moved aside with a grand sweeping gesture, allowing Draco to pass.

The house was pristine. Everything looked fairly new; completely unlike he remembered it as a child. None of the Black’s portraits hung on the wall save two, a handsome portrait of his blood traitor uncle Sirius and a lovely painting of his own mother, which Draco thought to be immensely odd.

A lowly house elf appeared in the hallway and bowed to Harry. “Master Potter, your dinner is served, sir.” He spared a glance at Harry’s guest and his eyes nearly popped out. “Master Draco, is it you? Of course it is, I would know a Malfoy and a Black anywhere. Finally Master Potter is associating with proper wizards,” he grumbled kindly then disappeared with a soft pop.

Harry chuckled. “I think you may be the first person I have invited here that Kreatcher has approved of.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He remembered this house elf, and if he recalled properly it wouldn’t take much for the thing to turn on someone. “You know Potter, technically speaking, this house should have passed to me. How is it you managed to be the owner of it? Or do saviors just get given things like ancient pureblood manors on a regular basis?”

His mirth quickly died away. “I got this before the war. Sirius left it to me,” he said quietly.

Draco didn’t think he was incorrect in hearing the sadness in Potter’s tone. “Why would he do that?” Draco asked, still perplexed.

“He was my godfather,” Harry replied as he walked through the elaborate sitting room and into the dining hall.

The pieces of the puzzle slowly fell together. That would make total sense, Harry’s father was a pureblood after all, and it would be fitting that the two were close. “So, did you ever meet him? Or did you just get some scroll announcing you were a home owner?”

Harry sat down at the head of the table, a bowl of soup in front of him. “I knew him… though, not as well as I would have liked.”

Draco almost let his composure drop again. “But… he was in Azkaban…”

“Escaped remember? I helped with that… not the escape exactly, but the getting away bit. Then your Aunt murdered him in our fifth year,” he growled, not looking at Draco, who was giving a wide berth to the seething Gryffindor.

“She got hers then, didn’t she?” Draco added. He had never liked his Aunt Bella. She was wicked and crazy, and Draco was happy to be rid of her.

Harry looked up at Draco perplexed. Perhaps he had expected him to come to her defense. He looked like he might say something, but instead only nodded, gesturing to the second bowl of soup to his right.

“Can I ask about the portraits?” Draco requested as he made his way to the table.

Harry looked up slightly amused. “You can ask…” he replied, hinting that he might not answer.

“Well, I understand Sirius, but why my mother?” he asked, hoping he would answer.

Harry took a deep breath and waited for a moment before letting it out. Draco thought for a moment he was going to ignore him. “She saved my life during the war. She didn’t have to, and had nothing to really gain by doing so. I respect her, so I didn’t take down her portrait like I did the others.”

He carefully composed his features as the shock of that statement hit him. Why had his mother never told him? Could he press Potter for more information about it? He decided finally to let it go and just ask his mother about it later. Surely she couldn’t deny it if he asked her directly.

Draco politely took his seat and eyed Harry curiously. It was odd seeing his old school rival after all this time. The years had been good to the Gryffindor. He was tan and fit, and since he was only wearing a tee shirt and tight jeans, Draco could tell he had a nice body. His hair was still as messy as it had ever been in school, but longer and curlier than he recalled. It was his eyes though, that captivated Draco. They were such a brilliant shade of green that he had been remiss not to notice in school, especially having studied the boy in detail on an almost daily basis.

Though, to his defense, back in school thick-rimmed glasses had covered his eyes. Now they shone freely in the candlelight and Draco was haunted by their emerald brilliance.

“You’re staring,” Harry said with an amused smirk.

Draco blushed slightly. Clients usually liked it when he did, though this time it was authentic. “I was just wondering if this was what you called the agency for, a cozy night in. I got the impression that you had never called them before. I thought there might be a special occasion you were celebrating.”

Harry sighed and pushed his soup bowl away. “There is. Tonight is the night I accept the mantle of Minister of Magic,” he grumbled.

“Shouldn’t someone hours away from becoming Minister be a little happier about it?” Draco asked, frowning.

Harry only shrugged. “I can only speak for myself, and I’m not happy. I never wanted this, it was more… thrust upon me.”

“No offence, Potter, but a Ministry gala is probably the last place I should be going,” Draco said, suddenly nervous.

Harry smiled then, and it was a mischievous grin that secretly Draco hoped to get to see again. “I thought of that. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” he assured nonchalantly, “but it’s only too perfect. I’ve been looking for ways to make this ceremony as awkward as possible for everyone involved, and here you are, on my doorstep like a pretty little gift. Enemy of the state and my date for the night,” he laughed.

“I’m not following you,” Draco said, trying to recall what he had said after Harry called him pretty.

“I hate all this, the pomp, the title. That’s all it is, a title given to the war hero to lift up the name of the Ministry, get everyone to trust them again.” Harry shook his head. “The only reason I’m even accepting is because Kingsley asked me personally. Begged me really, and because the other option is Umbridge, and I would do anything to keep her out of the Minister chair.”

Draco winced, recalling the toad-like professor from their fifth year. Even working for her inquisitorial squad, he still loathed her.

“So I decided a while back to make the ceremony as miserable an event for everyone else as it would be for me,” he laughed. “Hence the call to the agency. I thought showing up with another man on my arm would be cringe worthy enough for all those old pureblood bats, but this is even better.”

Draco shook his head in confusion. “So… you’re not even gay, you’re just trying to get even with the Wizengamot?” he asked, a little distressed all of a sudden. He hadn’t realized how much he had been counting on adding Harry to his bedpost notches since his old nemesis opened the door earlier. Unconsciously it had been a sure thing, that’s what he was paid for after all, but now… now he wasn’t so sure, and the doubt made him uneasy.

Other men had only wanted him for casual company, but it was a rare thing, especially once they met him. Suddenly it was all Draco wanted to do; get Potter into bed, own him - just for one night. It would have felt like such an accomplishment. Now it seemed that all he would get was a bland meal and idle chitchat, then have to sit through a boring Ministry ceremony looking over his shoulder for Aurors trying to seize him the whole night. Swell.

Harry laughed. “No, I’m gay… but I’ve been good at keeping it out of the press till now. Skeeter will have a field day with this one… she was so off the mark about Hermione it’s not even funny,” Harry laughed.

Draco sighed with relief. Hope was there, plain and true and nearly tangible. He could almost taste Potter already.

Harry leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “You don’t have to worry yourself over it though. I only wanted a date to the gala, I never had any intentions of sleeping with whoever they sent.”

Draco almost pouted, but refrained. “That’s what I’m here for, Potter. You get the whole package with me… literally.” That line had worked on several clients who were initially hesitant, but it didn’t seem to work on Potter.

He only shook his head. “I don’t pay for sex, Malfoy. Even if I had to, I wouldn’t… and I don’t have to.” Harry slid his chair back and made to leave the room.

“Then why did you call the agency, why not just let some other guy take you to the ceremony?” Draco asked.

“I didn’t want to put anyone I cared about through that kind of scrutiny,” Harry said at last, not looking back at Draco.

“Ouch, that hurt,” Draco replied, a pained expression on his face to match the one in his gut.

Harry met his eyes then, and Draco almost had to look away.

“Sorry, but you asked. I’m nothing if not honest.”

“Ever the Gryffindor,” Draco said sarcastically to which Harry merely nodded.

“I’ll be upstairs getting ready. Make yourself at home, since as you said, it technically is yours,” he called from the sitting room.

Authors Note: As always I will accept review in the form of written word, song, dance or food product (magical or otherwise)