A.N: Hello and welcome to my story, hopefully I keep you intrigued long enough to find out what happens next. Its a long story, filled with joy, grief and prophecies. So stay tuned.

Summary: For centuries, they've searched for him, but at last the search is finally over, for in the body of a prostitute lays the heart and soul of a Canid king. The messiah of an extinct people and it is up to Harry Potter, his sworn protector, to show their king the ways of the beast, before all is lost.

The Canid

"...And beneath the squalors, the heart of the beast shall beat again." The mystics of Hollow.

He was all big consuming green eyes behind the rectangular frames of his glasses. His hair, a nigrescent gloss of tousled waves fell around his head like a beaconing halo calling the wicked forth. Draco tentatively approached, but wisely kept a distance on the sidewalk and peered through the passenger window. Shadows created by the unforgiving glare of the street lamps, permitted him to vaguely make out the school boy blush exploding against the stranger's cheeks. The guy's hands gripped the steering wheel with such nervous strength that Draco believed he would peel off at any moment.

Upon closer look, he seemed to be garnering strength by the rise and fall of his shoulders and as if it was an all or nothing moment, he turned his head, looked up through a fan of sooty lashes and amazed Draco even more as his cheeks bloomed brightly red.

"Um—h—how much?" His voice, if not for the nervous scratch, would've sounded mildly pleasant, but at the moment it was rather grating and wholly unappealing, but his voice wasn't exactly top priority on Draco's list.

"Seventy for a blow job, any added kink is an extra twenty. You want me for the entire night; it'll cost you three hundred large. Up front." Moss green eyes widened to the size of saucers behind clear lenses and Draco couldn't help his smirk. Whoever the hell ever said a prostitute was cheap, had certainly never met him.

This guy was different; worlds away from all the other middle-aged, lecherous freaks who bought his tricks. This man, if he could even be called that, didn't look a day over sixteen. He looked as though he should be home, discovering the everlasting joy that his hand and dick could bring if introduced the right way, instead of the curbside of one toughest neighborhoods in Slytherin city trying to buy the favors of a whore.

Draco wasn't complaining, if the kid could pay for next month's rent, then he'd hop into the ridiculously sleek sex machine 'Mr. wide-eyed innocent' was driving and blow his mind into next week.

"Umm—yeah—okay." He was in the passenger seat before the last words could pass those 'made for blowjob lips'.

Like black satin gliding against flesh, the car glided away and effortlessly merged into traffic. Much was to be said for a boy who didn't look old enough to drive and yet could seamlessly handle a vehicle with enough power to make them both wet their pants and Draco realized that he was mildly impressed.

Mildly.

"So," Draco's voice penetrated the silence, filled only by the satin purr of the engine. "DBS V12?"

He didn't usually make a habit of speaking to his johns, not unless there was an absolute need for conversation, and only then it was when money was exchanged and services were doled out; otherwise it was all business with very little pleasantry in between, but the kid looked as though he was about to lose his dinner and Draco preferred not turn a trick on someone who could potentially reek of vomit.

"Uh—yes," he said that with gush of air. "A present from my parents; they bought it for me for graduation."

Ah, yes of course. "High school?" At that he turned his head and gave Draco the first direct look since pulling up to a few minutes ago. The gaze could've sufficiently passed for annoyance and Draco found himself amused for the first time that night.

"I'm in the second year of my residency."

"As in studying to be a Doctor?" As attractive as the interior of the car was, with the elegance of its Alcantara upholstery and impressive six speed transmission Draco was much more interested in the boy—man, seated adjacent to him.

He really was quite something to look at, just a button of youthful open eyed wonder, anxious to discover the wicked little tricks his newly purchased toy could do. Well, Draco would certainly not disappoint-- after all, there where worst things he could be doing this evening, entertaining this pretty little rich boy-doctor was definitely not one of them.

Again he turned his head, aimed those brilliant green eyes Draco's way and did not bother to hide his annoyance this time.

"Why do you sound so shocked?"

Draco shook his head. "Not shocked, just surprised."

His eyes remained on the road, but somehow Draco knew that he momentarily rolled them heavenward. "Like there's a difference." Indignation cleared the nervous scratch from his throat and Draco was cheered to find that his voice did sound pleasant when not infested with nerves. There was a transitory lapse of silence in which Draco believed his attempt in eradicating boy-doctor's anxiety had backfired.

"I know I don't exactly look the part," There was a drawn out exasperation in that answer, before he turned his head and gave Draco a sideway glance. "Your not exactly the first person who's reacted that way and I should be used to it by now, but," he shrugged. "It still frustrates the hell out of me."

"Well if my opinion matters at all, I think it's pretty damn impressive."

"To look like I'm still in high school?" For all that he was book smart, boy-doctor sure as hell sounded naively clueless.

This time, Draco was the one to roll his eyes skyward. "To make it through med-school with your sanity still intact."

His laughter caused Draco's lips to rise at the corner in semblance of a smile. "Who's to say I haven't lost my sanity already?" For mere seconds his eyes shifted from the road and focused on Draco. "I don't think sane people venture out in the middle of the night to buy the favors of a—well you know."

His bashfulness was oddly appealing; it wasn't often that he met men who could be so easily embarrassed in his line of work and to finally meet one was refreshing to say the lest. "I think I'm pretty safe with you for the time being. So, do you have a name or do I just call you Dr. McBlush?"

"Harry. You?"

"Draco."

Normally he went by Dragon or Drake or whatever the hell the John wanted to call him, but never, did he give out his real name. To do so was just plain stupidity, Draco, was feeling particularly stupid this evening so of course he would spit out his name to proverbial stranger.

"Draco," Those lips wrapped around his name. "Draco...it suits you." And released it with a resounding 'pop'; Keeping his imagination from racing, Draco shifted in his seat and uneasily cleared his throat.

"Thanks."

The silence from before returned with its awkwardness and Draco found himself suddenly lost for words, so he turned his head and tried to lose himself in the passing scenery. They'd left the seamy underbelly of Slytherin city minutes earlier and were now entering the swank metropolis that was Gryffindor. Where Slytherin was perceived as the womb for all things depraved, moralless and corrupt, Gryffindor was the quintessential foil to its sister city. As appose to the shabby, unattended apartment buildings the people of Slytherin were given, Gryffindor's populace inhabited magnificent glassy high rise condominiums and with the clear blue nimbus skies in the backdrop, they were given the fantasy of sleeping within the heavens…fitting really, for people who believed themselves Gods amongst mortals.

In Slytherin, nightfall incited the rise of whores, junkies, dealers, vagrants and thieves, all the little things mommy and daddy warned you against, came alive within the miasma of Slytherin's street corners and alleys. But in Gryffindor, beneath the gleaming surfeit of streetlamps, the golden children of Hogwarts University emerged, high on their invincibility of money and power; they believed that they could do no wrong. They traipsed the cobbled streets in groups of dozens, chattering, laughing and hollering like primates on narcotics; nothing fazed them, nothing concerned them. They cared for no one but themselves, greedy, selfish, self-indulgent idiots—Draco despised them all.

Now he remembered why he'd refused to ever step foot in this city; the stench of hypocrisy was everywhere; every gilded facet of this mega-metropolis was imbued with hubristic narcissism, which had the people of Gryffindor believe that they were above the rest. Being here now Draco felt dirtier in that moment, then he'd ever felt in all the twelve years of prostituting himself for money.

Letting breathe escape through his flaring nostrils he hissed in pain as his wrist began to ache.

"A-are you alright?" Concern danced a fluid ballet in viridian eyes and Draco was momentarily ensnared by them. There was something very peculiar in the way those eyes shown so green. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" The flush returned beneath the frames of his glasses.

Shaking his head as if to clear cobwebs, Draco blinked twice before returning his gaze to his aching wrist, and too be sure, the odd little birthmark he'd been born with throbbed beneath the pale sheet of his flesh. Putting fingers to warm skin, he gently tried to alleviate the pain by messaging it away. "It's nothing." Maybe he'd been angrier then he realized.

The birthmark only ached when he was feeling particularly passionate about something; his abhorrence for the people of Gryffindor had no doubt triggered it. "Where in the hell are you taking me anyways?" Most of his johns preferred a quick trick behind alleys, in less than sanitary motel rooms or in the backseat of their car—this one, just had to bring him all the way to Gryffindor.

"We're here." His smile was a very dangerous weapon, one he wielded with ruthless dexterity, and through narrowed eyes Draco silently wondered if the pretense of innocence was a just mantle that hid something much more sinister. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd had Johns masquerading as something else just so they could take advantage of the situation, Draco of course always did manage to retaliate and get the money owed to him, but this guy was playing on a different field. Draco couldn't sense anything from him, weird sex craving or otherwise; he looked genuine, but then again, appearances as they said could be deceiving.

"Where is here exactly?" He watched as Harry pulled the car up to a uniformed man waiting on the curb, hands adroitly placed behind his back. Behind the uniformed man, who Draco presumed to be the valet, stood a building just as opulent and beautiful as all the other edifices' in Gryffindor. The Phoenix hotel, aptly named for its unique fiery red and blood orange brick stones, was the grandest hotel in all of Gryffindor. Only the crème de la crème of the worlds finest resided here and this was where Draco Malfoy would spend the night, because Harry had arranged it that way.

The passenger door opened seconds before Draco reached out his hand to do so, the expressionless valet from the curbside, held the door wide open for him, his gaze remained forward even as Draco frowned at him and exited the car.

"Thank you, William." Draco turned his head to where his sable haired John stood, facing another zombie-like valet attendant.

"Please make sure that this gets parked safely." Passing over the keys, Harry walked around the car and came to meet Draco.

To greatly understate things, the only words Draco could find to best describe the man standing in front of him ran along the lines of breathtaking. What he lacked in stature, he made up in the way he carried himself, with enough self worth that he seemed taller than Draco's own six feet three inches. Of course, seeing the tint of rose smeared across his cheeks, quickly dispelled the idea that his charisma was anything if not genuine. Simply dressed in black faded jeans, a pair of Doc Martins and stripped long sleeved jersey polo, he looked as casual as someone of his ilk ought to look.

He smiled and again Draco was irked to realize just how detrimental that carefree, "I'm as cute as a puppy" smile could be to his health.

What the hell is wrong with me? He silently wondered as he stared into those dancing green eyes. He'd never been put off guard by anyone before; he'd always remained the aggressor, the one in charge and no matter what was asked of him, he always made sure that he kept his mind on the goal…money and survival. But tonight, his mind seemed to be---

"Are you okay, Draco?" Years of practice, honed his reflexes to detect the tiniest movements and quicker than they could both blink, Draco had Harry's wrist within the clasp of his clenched hand.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" Like gathering storm clouds, Draco eyes shown grey and menacing.

More than a little baffled, Harry shook his head and tried to avoid Draco's scrutinizing gaze. "I-I'm not doing a-anything?" Fear prompted his voice to shake and his speech impediment to return. His face contorted in pain when Draco added pressure. "L-let g-go, y-you're h-hurting Me."

Standing inches behind Draco, William and his companion advanced on him, Draco felt their looming presence even before he saw their reflection in Harry's lenses. "Come any closer and I'll break his wrist." His own wrist violently throbbed, the insignia threatening to rip through his flesh.

As if sensing his pain, Harry's eyes hesitantly traveled and targeted his wrist. "You're bleeding!" The alarm in his voice finally caused Draco's hold to loosen and his own eyes to journey from those panicked green eyes to his wrist. Sure enough, petals of blood blossomed from where his insignia rested and slithered down his fingers.

"Fuck." Draco brought his right hand to his left wrist in a futile attempt to staunch the blood.

With all the caution of someone approaching a wounded and very dangerous animal, Harry furtively advanced. "D-Draco?" Draco evenly met his gaze. "Come up to my suite with me and we'll get that cleaned up, o-okay?"

Blood oozing like a cracked dam beneath his palm, Draco knew it was only a matter of time before he expired from blood loss; it wouldn't be wise to refuse help, even if it was from someone he was beginning to suspect was a wolf in sheep's clothes. He was in a strange city, with no way of getting home and was growing weaker every second that ticked by, he needed a bed fast---

Draco tumbled forward and just before freefalling into unconsciousness, he indistinctly heard Harry call him "my king," but maybe it was due to the blood loss.

A.N: That's if for now.