Draco's Escort Service
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
4,375
Reviews:
25
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
4,375
Reviews:
25
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.
Draco's Escort Service
Draco’s Escort Service
Chapter One
Harry was livid.
“No! Absolutely not!” he yelled. “There has to be someone else!”
“He’s the best,” Lupin insisted. “And he checks out.”
“Draco Malfoy checks out?” Harry thundered. “By whose standards? The bastard has done more to make my life a living hell than anyone other than Voldemort!”
“He was a child, Harry. He regrets his actions and has redeemed himself time and again. For God’s sake, Harry, he lost everything to Voldemort!”
“SO DID I!” Harry bellowed. “At least Malfoy got to grow up with parents! He had a fucking decent childhood!”
“Don’t you think that would make his loss even harder to bear?” Lupin yelled back.
“I DON’T CARE!”
Lupin threw up his hands. Harry glared.
“I’ll go alone,” Harry decided adamantly.
“You can’t.” Lupin’s words were like a slap in the face, though true.
“Watch me,” Harry gritted.
“I can’t talk to you when you get like this,” Lupin snapped. “Call me when you retrieve your maturity.”
Lupin stalked out. Harry made a rude gesture behind his back and then sank down in a chair. He propped his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands in frustration. After a moment, he got up and took the stairs to his room.
Number twelve, Grimmauld Place had changed markedly in the four years since Harry had inherited it. After a year of cleaning, polishing, and stripping the place nearly bare, it hardly resembled the former dark, gloomy residence of generations of Blacks. One day in a fit of overwhelming rage, Harry had taken a sledge hammer to the wall that held Mrs. Black’s portrait. He had pulverized wall, frame, and painting, hammering away long after the shrieks of Sirius’s mum were silenced forever. Lupin and the Weasley twins had found him sitting in the rubble, exhausted but satisfied.
He had left the wall open and later removed the one separating the kitchen and dining room. When time allowed, he removed as much of the dark wood in the house as possible, replacing it with pale oak or painting over it in white. He knew Sirius would have approved.
The master bedroom had been completely redone—floors, walls, curtains, furniture and bedding. The room gleamed with pale neutral colors and creamy bedding accented with Gryffindor burgundy and gold. Harry threw himself on the bed.
He glared at the ceiling as he thought of Draco Malfoy. The only person he had ever hated more was Severus Snape. Even Voldemort had come in a pale third to those two. Things had changed so much in the wizarding world since Dumbledore’s death three years prior.
The war had begun shortly thereafter. They already referred to it as The Great Wizarding War, although there had been nothing great about it except the scale of destruction.
Lord Voldemort’s motives had not been clear. He seemed content to wreak carnage and destroy everything he could find. Werewolves and trolls had multiplied like rabbits. There were so many werewolf attacks that the Muggles branded it some sort of disease epidemic. Death Eaters killed every Ministry member they could locate. Those that were left fought a losing battle trying to contain the werewolves and keep Muggles in the dark about the wizarding world.
Harry Potter concentrated on finding and destroying Voldemort’s Horcruxes, leaving a handful of demoralized Order members to try and stop the Death Eaters. None of them understood why the Chosen One had deserted them in their time of need—none but Lupin, whom Harry had finally confided in.
Excited by victory after victory, Voldemort became giddy with power. He recruited new Death Eaters to the cause and somehow they discovered a way to control the Floo Network. Travel by fireplace halted nearly overnight when one chance in four would send the traveler to a fireplace in Timbuktu, or Siberia, or a cave in Peru.
Voldemort set his sights on Apparition, next. It took a year, but he finally managed to contaminate the very forces of nature—not just those used to Apparate, but nearly every magical factor. Pockets of dark magic hovered over many areas, especially those with a large number of wizards. It became dangerous to cast spells in those regions—the effects could be nullified, magnified, or twisted. Wizards had been blown to pieces, sent hundreds of miles from their intended destination, or splinched into objects.
As transportation became nearly impossible, the Ministry fought for control by trying to regulate creation of Portkeys—the only remaining method of instant transportation. Rufus Scrimgeour and the remaining Ministers cast a nullifying spell around all of London to prevent entry by Portkey. Then they did the same to every common destination in Britain under the guise of keeping Voldemort from tampering with Portkey transportation. It worked. Voldemort had no need to disrupt Portkeys as the Ministry had made them nigh unto useless.
Much diminished, the Order and all others opposed to Voldemort fought a pitched battle near Hogwarts, which Voldemort was determined to destroy. After throwing giants, trolls, and magic at it, he managed to breach the walls and invade the castle.
Harry and his friends had arrived at last and the battle ranged far through the empty halls. The school had closed to students after the derailment of the Hogwarts Express had killed five students prior to Harry’s seventh year—that had been the act which began the war.
Harry and Voldemort had confronted one another, but Harry was no longer a child. He had learned a lot during the search and destruction of Horcruxes. He threw every spell in his arsenal at the evil incarnation of Tom Riddle and he wasn’t alone. Ron and Hermione were beside him tossing everything they had. They were joined by others—Neville, Luna, Dean, Angelina, and most of the other members of Dumbledore’s Army. During the battle, Ginny Weasley threw herself in front of a killing bolt meant for Harry, who completely snapped.
By unknown means, Harry absorbed the magical energy from everyone and everything around him before blasting Voldemort into pieces so small he resembled powder. Harry’s last conscious recollection was of Voldemort’s laugh. They had always assumed Voldemort had created seven Horcruxes; seven that Harry knew were destroyed. They had been wrong.
The strange effect of Harry’s magic had left him drained. He could barely produce a simple Lumos spell. They had all believed the effect would be temporary. After six months, they stopped relying on it.
As Voldemort was back in vapor form and the Death Eaters were either dead or imprisoned after the battle at Hogwarts, everyone tried to go back to their lives. It wasn’t that simple, however. The dark magic lurked and grew. Apparition was beyond risky. The Floo Network was abandoned. Horrible creatures multiplied and spilled out from the forests.
The school reopened, but the Hogwarts Express ran only twice per year, closely guarded by an army of Aurors. The Ministry stayed locked away in London, safe and isolated.
Harry, now practically a Squib, continued his obsessive search for the missing Horcrux, praying that there was only one. His friends humored him for a long time, but eventually they deserted him to live their own lives. Ron and Hermione married and moved to Ottery St. Catchpole near the Burrow, now the home of Bill and Fleur and their brood, since the deaths of Arthur and Molly in the war.
Lupin and Tonks, also married, had moved in with Harry. To keep him from getting lonely, they said, but he knew it was to keep an eye on him. To keep him safe.
ooOoo
Now Harry finally had a lead on the last Horcrux, but he didn’t dare tell anyone—they would all forbid him to go. Instead, he had told Lupin he wanted to return Gryffindor’s sword to Hogwarts, which had sparked enough controversy. Lupin insisted he wait until school began so that Harry could take the train. Harry fought until Lupin agreed he could go by broom, but only with an escort. And now this.
Draco Malfoy had survived the war. His parents and his house hadn’t been so lucky. Malfoy Manor had been seized by the Ministry, who summarily burned it to the ground. Snape had killed Lucius for reasons unknown and accidentally murdered Narcissa when she went wild with grief. Neville Longbottom had killed Snape during the final battle.
Harry cursed. Draco had turned on the Death Eaters in the end. He had single-handedly brought in Mulciber, Avery, Nott, and Mcnair. He had killed Bellatrix Lestrange, who went even crazier than usual after Voldemort’s apparent destruction. After the war ended, Malfoy had started an escort service—guiding those who traveled by broom through dangerous areas; bypassing pockets of dark magic and eliminating threats. Several others had started similar lucrative ventures, but apparently none of them were satisfactory enough for Lupin.
Still, even being stuck with that pompous, arrogant jerk was better than being stuck in London one more day. Harry pounded his fists on the bed a few times and then went to find Lupin.
Chapter One
Harry was livid.
“No! Absolutely not!” he yelled. “There has to be someone else!”
“He’s the best,” Lupin insisted. “And he checks out.”
“Draco Malfoy checks out?” Harry thundered. “By whose standards? The bastard has done more to make my life a living hell than anyone other than Voldemort!”
“He was a child, Harry. He regrets his actions and has redeemed himself time and again. For God’s sake, Harry, he lost everything to Voldemort!”
“SO DID I!” Harry bellowed. “At least Malfoy got to grow up with parents! He had a fucking decent childhood!”
“Don’t you think that would make his loss even harder to bear?” Lupin yelled back.
“I DON’T CARE!”
Lupin threw up his hands. Harry glared.
“I’ll go alone,” Harry decided adamantly.
“You can’t.” Lupin’s words were like a slap in the face, though true.
“Watch me,” Harry gritted.
“I can’t talk to you when you get like this,” Lupin snapped. “Call me when you retrieve your maturity.”
Lupin stalked out. Harry made a rude gesture behind his back and then sank down in a chair. He propped his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands in frustration. After a moment, he got up and took the stairs to his room.
Number twelve, Grimmauld Place had changed markedly in the four years since Harry had inherited it. After a year of cleaning, polishing, and stripping the place nearly bare, it hardly resembled the former dark, gloomy residence of generations of Blacks. One day in a fit of overwhelming rage, Harry had taken a sledge hammer to the wall that held Mrs. Black’s portrait. He had pulverized wall, frame, and painting, hammering away long after the shrieks of Sirius’s mum were silenced forever. Lupin and the Weasley twins had found him sitting in the rubble, exhausted but satisfied.
He had left the wall open and later removed the one separating the kitchen and dining room. When time allowed, he removed as much of the dark wood in the house as possible, replacing it with pale oak or painting over it in white. He knew Sirius would have approved.
The master bedroom had been completely redone—floors, walls, curtains, furniture and bedding. The room gleamed with pale neutral colors and creamy bedding accented with Gryffindor burgundy and gold. Harry threw himself on the bed.
He glared at the ceiling as he thought of Draco Malfoy. The only person he had ever hated more was Severus Snape. Even Voldemort had come in a pale third to those two. Things had changed so much in the wizarding world since Dumbledore’s death three years prior.
The war had begun shortly thereafter. They already referred to it as The Great Wizarding War, although there had been nothing great about it except the scale of destruction.
Lord Voldemort’s motives had not been clear. He seemed content to wreak carnage and destroy everything he could find. Werewolves and trolls had multiplied like rabbits. There were so many werewolf attacks that the Muggles branded it some sort of disease epidemic. Death Eaters killed every Ministry member they could locate. Those that were left fought a losing battle trying to contain the werewolves and keep Muggles in the dark about the wizarding world.
Harry Potter concentrated on finding and destroying Voldemort’s Horcruxes, leaving a handful of demoralized Order members to try and stop the Death Eaters. None of them understood why the Chosen One had deserted them in their time of need—none but Lupin, whom Harry had finally confided in.
Excited by victory after victory, Voldemort became giddy with power. He recruited new Death Eaters to the cause and somehow they discovered a way to control the Floo Network. Travel by fireplace halted nearly overnight when one chance in four would send the traveler to a fireplace in Timbuktu, or Siberia, or a cave in Peru.
Voldemort set his sights on Apparition, next. It took a year, but he finally managed to contaminate the very forces of nature—not just those used to Apparate, but nearly every magical factor. Pockets of dark magic hovered over many areas, especially those with a large number of wizards. It became dangerous to cast spells in those regions—the effects could be nullified, magnified, or twisted. Wizards had been blown to pieces, sent hundreds of miles from their intended destination, or splinched into objects.
As transportation became nearly impossible, the Ministry fought for control by trying to regulate creation of Portkeys—the only remaining method of instant transportation. Rufus Scrimgeour and the remaining Ministers cast a nullifying spell around all of London to prevent entry by Portkey. Then they did the same to every common destination in Britain under the guise of keeping Voldemort from tampering with Portkey transportation. It worked. Voldemort had no need to disrupt Portkeys as the Ministry had made them nigh unto useless.
Much diminished, the Order and all others opposed to Voldemort fought a pitched battle near Hogwarts, which Voldemort was determined to destroy. After throwing giants, trolls, and magic at it, he managed to breach the walls and invade the castle.
Harry and his friends had arrived at last and the battle ranged far through the empty halls. The school had closed to students after the derailment of the Hogwarts Express had killed five students prior to Harry’s seventh year—that had been the act which began the war.
Harry and Voldemort had confronted one another, but Harry was no longer a child. He had learned a lot during the search and destruction of Horcruxes. He threw every spell in his arsenal at the evil incarnation of Tom Riddle and he wasn’t alone. Ron and Hermione were beside him tossing everything they had. They were joined by others—Neville, Luna, Dean, Angelina, and most of the other members of Dumbledore’s Army. During the battle, Ginny Weasley threw herself in front of a killing bolt meant for Harry, who completely snapped.
By unknown means, Harry absorbed the magical energy from everyone and everything around him before blasting Voldemort into pieces so small he resembled powder. Harry’s last conscious recollection was of Voldemort’s laugh. They had always assumed Voldemort had created seven Horcruxes; seven that Harry knew were destroyed. They had been wrong.
The strange effect of Harry’s magic had left him drained. He could barely produce a simple Lumos spell. They had all believed the effect would be temporary. After six months, they stopped relying on it.
As Voldemort was back in vapor form and the Death Eaters were either dead or imprisoned after the battle at Hogwarts, everyone tried to go back to their lives. It wasn’t that simple, however. The dark magic lurked and grew. Apparition was beyond risky. The Floo Network was abandoned. Horrible creatures multiplied and spilled out from the forests.
The school reopened, but the Hogwarts Express ran only twice per year, closely guarded by an army of Aurors. The Ministry stayed locked away in London, safe and isolated.
Harry, now practically a Squib, continued his obsessive search for the missing Horcrux, praying that there was only one. His friends humored him for a long time, but eventually they deserted him to live their own lives. Ron and Hermione married and moved to Ottery St. Catchpole near the Burrow, now the home of Bill and Fleur and their brood, since the deaths of Arthur and Molly in the war.
Lupin and Tonks, also married, had moved in with Harry. To keep him from getting lonely, they said, but he knew it was to keep an eye on him. To keep him safe.
Now Harry finally had a lead on the last Horcrux, but he didn’t dare tell anyone—they would all forbid him to go. Instead, he had told Lupin he wanted to return Gryffindor’s sword to Hogwarts, which had sparked enough controversy. Lupin insisted he wait until school began so that Harry could take the train. Harry fought until Lupin agreed he could go by broom, but only with an escort. And now this.
Draco Malfoy had survived the war. His parents and his house hadn’t been so lucky. Malfoy Manor had been seized by the Ministry, who summarily burned it to the ground. Snape had killed Lucius for reasons unknown and accidentally murdered Narcissa when she went wild with grief. Neville Longbottom had killed Snape during the final battle.
Harry cursed. Draco had turned on the Death Eaters in the end. He had single-handedly brought in Mulciber, Avery, Nott, and Mcnair. He had killed Bellatrix Lestrange, who went even crazier than usual after Voldemort’s apparent destruction. After the war ended, Malfoy had started an escort service—guiding those who traveled by broom through dangerous areas; bypassing pockets of dark magic and eliminating threats. Several others had started similar lucrative ventures, but apparently none of them were satisfactory enough for Lupin.
Still, even being stuck with that pompous, arrogant jerk was better than being stuck in London one more day. Harry pounded his fists on the bed a few times and then went to find Lupin.