A/N. Well, here we are. This story is a very obvious AU, however I have a feeling I'll enjoy writing it far more than any of my other works, which are ongoing but sadly defeated in some cases. The characters are fairly true to themselves I feel; although there is no real evil in any of the Malfoy family members or indeed in Severus Snape.
Disclaimer: Realistically, would I be posting stories up here for free if I owned any of them?
Warnings! Slash. Abuse. Mentions of abuse. Naughty words occasionally. Using Jesus' name in vain. Possible suicide mentions. Mentions of rape possibly. Dishloads of angst in summary!
Chapter One: 'Upper-Middle Class' (Or 'Draco's Delusional')
Draco Malfoy had never considered himself to be spoilt, mainly because in his vast social network of friends he had yet to really encounter anyone below his own remarkable social status. There were obviously the benefits, and regular dealings in his own life where he interacted with what his senile and ageing grandmother liked to call 'the lower echelons'. Of course he knew that there were, in fact, two classes below his own, but having never had the chance to mingle for any length of time with such people, it had gradually become easier to dismiss them as something very much unrelated to himself, and therefore, unimportant. Draco was not snob in the sense of actively putting those less well off than himself down, however, he had been granted every whim in his young life that was deemed possible, which, he supposed, was tantamount to everything.
He had been brought up well enough, and was far from lazy, and with this he deemed himself the slightly ironic 'upper middle class'. Which, in reality, he knew nothing about, and if he could help it, never would know anything about. This description fails, unfortunately, to highlight his fine attributes, of which he had many. For example, his aristocratic beauty, for which his family was famed, or his intelligence and quick, sarcastic wit, which, as we will see, irrevocably fails him for one reason or another. But this is a story in which Draco Malfoy grows, and grows up, and even grows a small, yet distinguished, sense of morality.
Draco Malfoy was a known foul-tempered urchin in the morning, so it came as no shock to hear the sounds of arguing drifting through the immaculate hallways of Malfoy Manor. The servants, who had already been awake for at least three hours went about their duties with the practice and familiarity of drill sergeants, ignoring the frustrated grumbling broken by occasional bouts of sullen raised voices.
The Argument, for it had long since become capitalized, was of equal importance to both the Malfoy patriarch and the Malfoy heir, although the manner in which they delivered said disagreement was noticeable. Still only nineteen, and to many people an adolescent by technicality, Draco had no real opportunity to verse his (so he thought, 'grounded') opinions. However, this was a subject he felt strongly about, and with vicious pleasure he set about the house to find his father and make his thoughts known. Had he thought clearly (which, by all rights he should have) about how spectacularly he would fail in his endeavours, I am sure that such an act would have been far more reserved.
"This is ridiculous!"
"Draco if you continue to behave like a child you shall be treated like a child, do I make myself clear."
It was not a question, and Lucius Malfoy regarded his son with clear, level-headed grey eyes, meeting the same shade of silver across the room with no sign of any anger or defeat. Draco tried to school his expression into a replica of his fathers, and came up without success, knowing exactly how childish he must appear and feeling even more fury at the thought of it. He attempted to cool himself, reciting a few prime numbers in his head and instantly calming in a dramatic turn about to his previous behaviour.
"Father, I respect your opinion greatly, however, I must speak my mind on this matter. I have worked at Equaton for a good year now, and finishing my formal education at eighteen has not hindered me in the slightest. I took the courses I would have taken at university, and there has never been any suggestion that not attending university has taken a toll on my work."
Lucius Malfoy held up a hand. Draco silenced. Severus Snape, until recently standing in the corner with an amused smirk decorating his pale face stepped forward and laid a hand on Lucius's shoulder. Lucius nodded to him and Severus turned to Draco, who resisted the urge to roll his eyes and cross his arms.
"Draco, your Father is intensely proud of the work you've been doing for Equaton," Draco attempted to catch the sarcasm but it seemed that the smooth voice was honestly straightforward for once, "and you will make a fine addition to the company, however, university will give you a chance to meet new people, experience new things and come back a more rounded person, although you are of course, becoming exceptionally more oval every day," there was the sarcasm coupled with a look at Draco's perfectly flat abdomen.
"And," Lucius put in, "you shall better yourself with the courses you struggled with last year, English, and French, I believe."
"I-"
"There is no more discussion I am willing to have with you on this matter, Draco. I have rented a flat and hired help, so there can be no excuse for not finishing both schoolwork and the occasional Equaton briefing which we shall expect prompt emails to. I put my trust in your ability to multitask. Humes!" the tall, dark-haired and aloof butler appeared smoothly, "see that someone oversees the packing of Draco's possessions, and make sure they don't turn up at some godforsaken bazaar in Morroco. That's all for now, thank you."
Humes swept out with a nod and a murmered 'sirs', followed shortly afterwards by Draco, who knew that sitting at the desk signified his exit, although he did not leave with the obligatory 'Father', feeling, in some way, hard done by and very much misunderstood.
Harry Potter was not a superstitious man by nature, but even he had to admit that it must be some sort of karmic intervention that had made him late, this morning, of all mornings. The day had started early enough, that was for sure, and he'd prepared himself with such vigour and organisation that he'd surprised himself, least of all his friends. Hermione, ever the witty one, had remarked that the apocalypse must be nigh, because Harry Potter was rushing to do someone else's housework. Thankfully, for he rather enjoyed sanity, the harsh truth about his home life was, if not accepted, not pitied daily and shared with no love lost in jokes and cynicism.
But that was not for today. He was late enough without an involuntary bout of self-pity. He was late, and on the first day of a new job, no less.
Draco sighed as he looked around his new lodgings, happy to revel in his own misery.
The flat was tastefully decorated, and closely resembled his own rooms back at the manor, but the aura of 'different' was screaming out at him and he was not well pleased. Cambridge was certainly an attractive town, but it was so conservatively British, with shops selling purely English merchandise in cobbled streets that looked like the set of a bad American attempt at showing what England was like. The university buildings were largely what he expected them to be; archaic and self-satisfied, which suited him perfectly one might say.
He missed the routine of work, and the effort required. From what he had seen, and heard of the Cambridge undergraduates there was very little effort required aside from the effort of getting catastrophically pilled, spliffed, or pissed up. Then they presumably rushed into their third year without having done any work and panicked, cramming as much as possible. And Draco detested cramming.
Harry pressed the intercom for Flat 3 and waited, shoving his hands into the deep recesses of his worn jacket and stamping his trainers fitfully, his breath already brushing the air with mist in the autumn noon light. He was not impressed with how cold the October air was, his mouth turning down at the corners slightly at the thought if an even colder winter ahead. It was unlikely his uncle would pay for a heater; if he hadn't for the last sixteen years Harry had lived with him then he would see little reason to do so now.
A voice, sullen bordering on sulky, crackled through the thin air.
"Yes?"
Harry leaned forwards, pressing his finger to the button allowing him to speak, "Uh, hi? I'm here to do the work on the flat?"
A sigh, "You're late."
Good observation, thought Harry, wondering if he was going to have to conduct these types of conversations outside every time he was late.
"Yeah, sorry about that, I'll stay later to make up for it. Um, any chance I could come up, it's quite cold down here."
Another sigh, "Well I suppose you'd better come up then."
The buzzer for the door was pressed and the lock clicked open. Harry, somewhat unsure after the less than savoury reaction, hesitated, before firming his resolve and walking up the staircase, taking them two at a time. The flat door was a light, cream colour, with a brass number three at level with Harry's eyes. He shifted his weight slightly and knocked, shoving his hands firmly back into his pockets, blowing his messy fringe out of his eyes and waiting. The door swung open, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.
And for all of a second, all he could do was think, "Jesus."
Because surely only that most holy man/God could have compared with the vision before him.
Draco had been truly forced into submission by beautiful people twice in his life, and this was the second. The first time had been when he had bumped quite unexpectedly into Orlando Bloom in person at Slone Square when he was fifteen, but that had been a fleeting, childish obsession than had been replaced by the time he had found and fell in love with an Armani leather jacket.
This man was near perfect in his appearance, although by Draco's usual standards he shouldn't be. Slim bordering on skinny, he slouched most endearingly and held his head defiantly rather than with pride. Faded blue jeans, dirty white trainers, and a dark green jumper with two small holes he had obviously poked his thumbs through at some point covered what little he could make of Harry's body. His ebony hair was a mess, but almost stylishly so, falling in choppy layers around his tanned face and neck, curling around the nape. His face was decidedly delicate for someone who was not born with noble blood, with a well-defined jaw and cheekbones set high in his face, and a small nose that looked as though it had been broken at least once, somehow adding to the enchantment rather than lessening it. And, set beneath black eyebrows, the two brightest green eyes he had ever seen, almond shaped and almost catlike.
Draco licked his lips, for the room had suddenly become very dry. He cleared his throat and snapped the younger man out of his own stupor, slightly invigorated that his appearance could still put people who didn't know him into silences. H stepped away from the door and gestured for the boy to come in, which he did so hesitantly. Shutting it behind him, he strode into the centre of the living room and fetched the sheet of paper his father had faxed him, leaving the dark-haired teenager to take in his surroundings.
He reviewed the sheet quickly and approached the man he now knew to be one Harry James Potter, extending a hand which he took and shook firmly.
"Draco Malfoy."
"I know. Harry Potter."
"I know."
From this distance, Draco could see he was a few inches taller than Potter, with broader shoulders.
Harry rubbed a hand through his hair and cast his gaze around, probably aware that Draco knew he was staring at the blonde in fascination.
"I should get started, again, 'm sorry I was late, it won't happen again."
With this more professional tone Draco immediately reverted back to the way he was brought up, and turned to go back to his dismal curriculum.
"See that it doesn't, Potter. A cup of coffee would be much appreciated, thank you. Black. The cleaning equipment is underneath the sink and in the cupboard next to the kitchen door."
Harry stared at the retreating back, cocking his head to the side in bemusement. He was no stranger to being dismissed, but it had never happened from someone his own age, aside from his cousin, naturally. Raising an eyebrow he decided not to mention anything and set about cleaning as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb the aristocratic and obviously pompous blonde. He had no desire to talk to anyone that up themselves, no matter how physically attractive they were.
Please, make my day...
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