Title: Guns and Roses
Summary: AU. Harry Potter; novelist who witnesses attempted murder by the mob. Draco Malfoy; son of a mobster. What happens when Draco shows up on the morning of Harry's witness protection departure claiming to be his assigned bodyguard? DMHP.
Warnings: Future SLASH- male/male romantic and/or sexual relationship.
Blanket disclaimer: Don't own any rights to Harry Potter characters. Never will.
Chapter 1: Guns
Harry stepped out of the small Italian restaurant DeBlasios into the calm of the quiet night. The moon was shining high overhead in the inky sky, illuminated and serene. "Are you sure that you don't want a ride home, Harry?" Hermione asked, pulling her light jacket closer to her smaller form, "It's chilly out," she finished.
Harry smiled at his two best friends as they stood by Ron's car—Ron clutching Hermione as she clung to her flimsy spring jacket. It had been quite a while since they had had an outing like tonight, but in all honesty, Harry felt like walking in the crisp April air.
"No thanks, Hermione. I want to walk." Harry assured with a slight smile. She hesitantly returned it and extracted herself from Ron's arms to give him a warm hug. Harry was slightly taken aback by the public display of emotion radiating off of his best friend in waves.
Ever since their high school graduation; seven years ago, Harry hadn't seen Ron and Hermione all that often. He went off to university to study his English major, Hermione went off to a different one to study law, and well…Ron went with her. They had already been dating for a little over a year by that time.
Now, they have been married for close to four years. Remembering their wedding always made Harry feel warm inside, for it was one of the few times he saw them over these busy times. It was particularly hard to ignore the large bulge of Hermione's stomach when she squeezed him so.
Twins, the doctor had said.
Nonetheless, a pleasant surprise her brief hug was, even if it only reassured him that there were people out there who still cared about him.
He often found himself wondering.
"Bye, Harry," Ron said with a squeeze on the shoulder, "Don't be a stranger." Harry merely smiled, and with a final wave of goodbye he set off down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace.
Harry pocketed his cold hands within the feeble warmth of his faded jeans as he looked around at the various buildings and signs of the city of London. There were hardly any cars out since it was roughly the time of day where everyone was either tucked away in their soft beds sleeping, or out at a show or club—ten o'clock.
After a couple of minutes or so, Harry heard a crash of metal on metal. Harry stopped in his tracks and strained his ears to listen for anymore sound. Harry heard nothing but the faint breeze and a distant beat of music.
Harry had always been curious and inquisitive along with having a touch of bravery. His godfather, Sirius, had always told him that the combination would get him into trouble one day.
And God bless his soul, Sirius just hadn't known how right he was.
Although, the man didn't have much room to roll in his grave, given the fact that Harry was a novelist, and, for the most part spent his days in local coffee houses or in the comfort of his own little flat. He was a fantasy-fiction novelist to be exact.
But as Harry's silent footsteps crept forward, he thought that he heard heavy breathing to his right. In the barely noticeable alley between two closed clothing stores stood a dark haired man in a black formal suit, holding a gun to a similarly attired man's temple. The sound that Harry had heard must have been the crashing of the garbage cans lying on their sides.
Harry's pulse sped up as he watched the stocky man tremble under the cool metal; heavy pants escaping his lips. "P-please, Avery. I th-thought we were friends?"
The dark haired man gave a short bark of laughter. "Me…and you…friends? We are nothing more than colleagues, and it appears that the boss isn't too happy with you, Pettigrew."
Harry was frozento that spot; he didn't know what to do.
"No one betrays the boss and gets away with their heartbeat, Pettigrew. It just doesn't work that way," Avery spat with scorn.
The balding man by the name of Pettigrew began to tremble more so.
Harry doubted it was from the night's chilly breeze.
"A-Avery, p-please. The boss—h-he needs me!" Pettigrew tried, feverish panic filling his face and expression.
"He doesn't need you. He doesn't want the responsibility of your mutiny any longer. Goodbye, Pettigrew."
Harry decided at this point in time that he needed to do something—anything, or this man called Pettigrew was going to be dead within seconds. He charged forward, "Stop! You can't get away with this!"
He barreled into Avery, knocking them both to the ground.
"What the hell?" Avery shouted, "Get off of me, you fuckwit!" With a forceful shove, Harry was pushed off of the older man. Pettigrew was watching in astonishment, his chalky white face gaping.
Avery pointed the pistol at the shaking man's head. Harry blindly crashed back into him, trying to wrestle the gun from his hand. Harry mildly noted that Avery was now trying to point the gun at Harry, himself, and that he could most likely die on this cold April evening. Not many would miss him, he was sure.
Ron and Hermione would, and maybe Remus—Sirius's husband—as well as Hedwig. Harry didn't doubt that someone would take care of his snowy white cat after he died. Harry heard an earsplitting gunshot.
He didn't feel any pain, so he assumed that he hadn't been hit. Shouts filled Harry's ears and he turned to see the source. A small black sports car was pulled in front of the alley; with its window rolled down, Harry could see a woman with long flowing black hair and skin as pale as the moon up above; almost glowing. Her eyes were covered in black sunglasses.
"Avery! Leave it, the cops are on their way!" she shouted towards them.
The man pinned under Harry scrambled out from underneath him and bolted for the car; the woman sped away even before the man had a chance to properly shut the door. Apparently, they had not a moment to spare, because Harry could make out the faint sound of sirens growing louder.
Harry looked back at the wall where Pettigrew had been, and saw that he was slumped to the ground; eyes closed and blood splattered over his face.
Harry passed out.
TBC…