AN: Edited. Thank you to Toasty. God knows I need more people to tell me when I'm wrong with the size of my ego what it is.
"So you're telling me some no-name street thugs just up and razed the Death Eaters to the ground without warning?"
Draco looked over at Blaise with a quirked eyebrow as he swirled cognac around the glass he cradled.
"Well, I'm sure they had some sort of warning," he said, apathetic. "It was only a surprise to the Families who don't particularly care what those vermin get up to down in their holes."
"Does that include yours?" Theo asked, a sneer curving his lips.
"Funny that, Theo," Pansy chipped in, "I could've sworn it was your father who was about to sink some investments in with the Death Eaters." The dark-haired boy turned a sharp scarlet and snapped his scowl back into place. Pansy preened in her victory, pressing onward. "Something about assisting their silly aspirations to earn the Families' favor…. Did you hear about that, Blaise?"
"I recall a whispered hope that perhaps if a new piece was added to the board, the Nott Family might find themselves in better standing than the short of the stick they're toting now. What was it, Theo? Harlots in the Drops?" He and Pansy laughed their respective chuckles and Theo burned in ripened anger.
"You should be careful when making moves in a pit of vipers," Draco advised him amicably.
"Of course." The bitterness was rough, pressed between the boy's tongue and the line of his teeth.
"So what's got Mister Malfoy up in arms, then?" Blaise asked, dropping the subject of Theo's humiliation now that he'd been silenced.
"Father isn't up in arms about anything," Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Though apparently, this pack—the Red Bolts?—have been poking around some of the high-security warehouses ever since they mowed over the Death Eaters. None of ours, of course, but as far as I know, these rats aren't too picky."
"I think I heard something about that," Blaise muttered, looking offside as if the fireplace could somehow recount the information to him. "Didn't the Greengrass's have an issue with a break-in a few days ago?"
"That's right!" Pansy gasped in realization. "Astoria told me herself that they had several of their weapons crates lifted. You think it was that gang?"
Draco shrugged. "May as well be," he said. "So with that being the issue, my father thinks it prudent to intervene on this matter himself. Reach out to the leader and persuade him to keep his filthy fingers off our merchandise."
"You don't think he'll secure that bargain by agreeing to look the other way when the gang goes after other Families, do you?" Theo gave Draco a cold look, the imprint of the blond's unapologetic sneer frozen in his eyes. "And you'll just let him."
"What my father decides to do with his business prospects is of no interest to me. But I will say, Theo, that if your Family can't protect your own shite then that's your problem, not mine." The smirk melted into a false flash of pleasantness and then Draco finished off his cognac, setting the glass on the table before the sofa. "With that, dear friends, I must be off. For though I have no interest in dallying with hooligans, I've been requested to sit in on this meeting."
Draco kissed Pansy's cheek and shook both Blaise and Theo's hands (the latter squeezing a bit harder than necessary) and then departed the opulent hotel salon with no further words. A quick nod to the men standing guard at the door. Draco departed and slung his jacket about his shoulders, heading for the silver Mercedes-Benz that had been brought to the loop out front.
The drive home wouldn't take long, but Draco used the time spent in the close space of his favorite car to mull over the impending meeting. He really didn't want to have to sit through it. But it wasn't as if he could refuse. If Lucius Malfoy wanted you to be somewhere, you better make damn sure you were there. Draco didn't have the time to deal with whatever retribution would come of his disobedience. And if that meant he spent an hour in the company of uncouth mongrels—he groaned; they probably would stink to high heaven—then so be it.
The leader of the Red Bolts along with a couple of his companions, probably those in high command within the gang, had agreed to meet with them in Malfoy territory. Draco snorted in disdain. Obviously their victory over the Death Eaters had to have been some sort of fluke. No self-respecting crime syndicate would agree to negotiations anywhere but neutral territory—unless this was a sign that they were going to be nice and subservient. Draco hoped so; it would get things over with quickly. He had more important matters to occupy his precious time.
Draco stopped home to change clothes. First impressions meant a good suit, no matter who they were meeting. It was a Malfoy rule—one which Draco never had a problem keeping. He chose a Dolce and Gabbana black trouser and blazer, coupledwith a shirt in dusky lavender-gray and a black and bronze tie. Draco ran a comb through his hair, last second, before topping it with his favorite fedora. His father absolutely hated that hat. Draco had the light-hearted tendency to make fun of his Family's lifestyle by buying into the popular conception of mobster fashion. It was his idea of a joke. He long got over the fact that his father thought it a disgrace. Father thought half of what Draco did a disgrace.
"Fuck that," Draco muttered to himself as he closed the door to his car and pulled away from the garage of the studio complex. "You drag me along to this ungodly encounter; can't expect me to just sit back and take it quietly." And if wearing a hat was the only way he could get by with communicating his displeasure with the situation without getting backhanded then, dammit, he was going to wear it. Petty, maybe, but it made him smile.
Draco arrived at the club fifteen minutes early. It was Sunday so no one was there but, since it was owned by his Family, Draco was allowed entrance without a second glance. His father was already there with Severus, discussing something over in the VIP section. His eyes flashed to Draco when he entered, darkening in displeasure when his father caught sight of him. Draco kept his smile off his face but inside he bubbled with his small joy. With that mission accomplished, he took the hat off, handing it and the keys to the doorman who had stepped up to take them.
Greeting his father and then his godfather, Draco smiled and knew he could sit through this whole ordeal with a pleasant manner, if only to see the lingering twitch in the corner of Lucius Malfoy's mouth. Entirely worth it.
Harry stood in front of the mansion-looking building with the sleeves of his duster rolled up around his elbows and his hands in his pockets. Behind dark aviator shades, his green eyes were scanning the doors, the windows, counting and making note of how high the tallest floor went. One of the most important things Sirius taught him: if you're going somewhere unfamiliar, make sure you know how to get out.
"Ready when you are, mate," Ron said, stepping up to his right, Hermione on Harry's left. Neville would've been there too, but Neville insisted he stay back at the Spot to make sure they weren't ambushed. Their last conquest rather widened the target they had on their heads. There had already been a couple of riots, and it hadn't even been a whole week yet.
Harry nodded and tightened the knot of his bandana before pulling off his shades and walking up the few brick stairs to the front door. The portal opened and Harry entered, Ron and Hermione right behind him. The place was rich with the scent of cigar smoke. There were several billiard tables about, felted in green and empty at the moment, but pool cues were lined along the nearby walls. Further in on a raised platform was a long, mahogany bar. Behind it glittered an array of liquor bottles and drinking vessels. There were a few doors on the back wall and several tables, all with chairs stacked atop them between the doors and the pool tables.
In the very back corner, behind a slight partition of wallspace, there was a light and in its glow, three men sat, all staring at Harry. Harry only took a moment to stand in stillness before walking straight through the shadowy hall towards them, the steps of his friends near. The three men stood, the one in the middle inclining his head to acknowledge them.
"Welcome, Mister Potter," he said. He extended his hand, but kept wary eyes on all of them behind his smile. One of those familiar gestures that came when you knew that you were shaking the hand of someone who was armed, Harry thought as he obliged the offer.
"Thank you," he said, his voice pushing out in a strong resonance. He withdrew his hand to gesture to either side of himself. "This is Ron Weasley, my right hand man. And Hermione Granger, my tactics coordinator." There were handshakes all around.
The man in the middle, an elderly gentleman with a long braid of white-blond hair and a well-tailored suit was none other than Lucius Malfoy himself, arguably the most powerful administrator of the national black market. On his left was a man simply identified as 'a close friend,' Severus Snape, who was of similar age to Mr. Malfoy, but with shorter, slicked, black hair and a vulture-like countenance that showed a mild displeasure with his situation.
"And this is my son, Draco," Lucius said, turning to the person on his right. Harry looked this man right in the eyes and a thrill shocked through him, whip-like. At first it was simply because this Draco character was unnaturally beautiful. He looked like he belonged on a runway rather in a smoky corner of some mobster club. Soft blond hair that fell gently about his brow and ears; a confidently structured face with smooth, milky skin and just a slight softness at the curve of his jaw; dressed in something that probably came right from the latest couture that hid a lean body—but not those long, grasping fingers that took hold of Harry's hand and shook it.
"Charmed," the man—Draco—said, gentle and low. His silver eyes gleamed in a grin that wasn't quite obvious on thin, pink lips. Harry nodded.
"Likewise," he answered, silently thankful that his voice hadn't cracked. Just the sheer force of Draco Malfoy's confidence had his blood prickling. That, and for some reason, he incited a sudden tweak of recognition in the back of Harry's mind. He was unable to put his finger on the cause, though. Once all the introductions were done and everyone seated again, Lucius Malfoy delved right into business.
"Congratulations on your overtake of the Death Eaters, Mister Potter," he said.
"Just Harry is fine, Sir," Harry said. "And thank you."
"I hope your numbers didn't suffer at the endeavor."
"No, Sir," Harry said, and could feel the quick glance that Hermione cast at him for the statement. Harry didn't need this guy to know every detail of their gang's workings. That wasn't an intelligent move, and it wasn't what he was here for.
"Forgive me," Lucius said, leaning back in his chair as he picked up the cigar that was smouldering in the ashtray on the table, "but I didn't expect you to be so polite. Most gangs from the Drops don't have much courtesy, let alone the intelligence to string a coherent sentence together." Harry huffed a short laugh, unable to help the grin that spread on his face.
"I suppose that's to be expected, seeing as how the schools in the Drops are poorly attended and underfunded." Stick to the point, he pressed with his tone. Keep going down that road and I'll continue to spotlight how your extortion ruins lives in other ways. Harry flicked his gaze over to where Draco sat, those sharp eyes just gleaming with something dangerous. A dark eyebrow slid upward without thought and then returned as soon as Lucius began again.
"Well, enough pleasantries," he said. "Harry, in all honesty, I've asked for you to meet me here to discuss a deal between the two of us."
Harry settled comfortably into the chair, resting one booted ankle on his knee as he folded his arms over his chest.
"What's on your mind, then, Mister Malfoy?" he asked lightly, still managing to maintain his countenance in a sober sincerity. Last thing he needed to demonstrate was disrespect. These Families were pretty touchy about being treated like they were better. Not that Harry agreed with that. But he needed to go home without any blood spilled and if that involved doing a bit of scraping, then fine. No skin off his back.
"Rumor has it that you've set your sights on clearing out La Croix of the greater part of its rivaling street gangs," the man named Snape drawled in place of Lucius, who seemed to be busy puffing away at his cigar. "What is your goal in that, exactly?"
"We're just trying to create a safe place for our families," Ron said, obviously feeling confident now that the leaders weren't the only ones speaking. "Living in a city with no police force, 'least we can do is try and keep the Drops safe from people like the Death Eaters."
"La Croix is a breeding ground for crime syndicates and gang violence," Hermione chipped in. "We want to see an end to it all." It was a dangerous announcement. Hermione knew that. But Harry had already told them both before they got here that he wasn't going to lie to these people just so they could cover their arses. They had already declared their war on the organized crime world of La Croix with the takedown of the Death Eaters. No sense in trying to hide that now.
"I see," Lucius said darkly. Yep. Their welcome had run out.
"I trust you have all the answers to your questions," Harry said shortly, getting back to his feet.
"Indeed," came a similarly curt reply.
"Then we'll get out of your space. You have a good day, Mister Malfoy, Mister Snape…." Harry trailed off as he glanced over at the young Malfoy, whose mouth was tilted in a small smirk. Harry simply dipped his head in a sort of bow, though never taking his eyes from that razor-colored stare. He dared his own twitch of a sneer back before quickly departing the club with his friends right behind him.
"Did you know that bloke, Harry?" Ron asked as he mounted his bike, Hermione climbing onto the seat behind him.
"I could've sworn I've seen him somewhere before," Harry said, pulling on his shades.
"Funny," Hermione muttered, "I feel like I have, too." But it was a mystery as to why anyone from the Drops would've ever seen the face of anyone from the Families. Not the grunts and yuppies who worked from them, but someone from the actual Family.
Harry grunted in a mild discontent but then he revved his Ducati and tore out of that place like there was hellfire after him.
Back in the club, Severus turned to his friend and asked, "Do you think it wise to let them go unscathed?"
"It's fine," Lucius said lightly. "You heard what they said. Their ideals are for children. If they aren't stamped out within the month, we can crush them in a blink. Their moral standards keep them from true might."
Draco said nothing, though neither of the other men noticed. Instead, he stared out the window, watching a motorcycle pummel down the street, duster coat flying out like black wings in the ripping winds. His mind tumbled with intrigue, accompanied by a lingering glow of green that seemed to shock to his very soul.
Draco wondered how good this Potter fellow was in a knife fight.
-To Be Continued-