Author: TheSiner
Title: Another Cinderella Story
Genre: Romance, Drama and some attempted humour :)
Pairing: Harry/Draco (main)
Summary: HP/DM, AU, no magic. Modern day Cinderella story (loosely based on). Staring: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. This is a story about fairy-tale-like love from the first sight, something which I believe happens only in fairy tales.
Rating: It's not too bad
Disclaimer: These characters are not my own and belong to J.K. Rowling and affiliates. Fandom does not belong to me. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: slash (duh!), OOC, A/U, non-canon, swearing, not betaedited.
A/N: I am a bit stuck with this story, meaning that I am making no promises about when I would finish it. However, I decided not to sit on the chapters that have already been written and maybe, maybe, publishing them will inspire me to write more. So here you have chapter eleven.
Chapter Eleven
Harry and Remus stood watching as Sirius was enthusiastically hugging another man. Well, 'hugging' probably was not the right word. Harry's Godfather was all over the other and more like squeezing life out of the poor guy and trying to blend with him at the same time. When he finally let go (not completely though, the other man kept his hand on Sirius' shoulder) they exchanged a couple of words in a language which couldn't be anything else, but Russian. Nor Harry, nor Sirius understood a word.
Then both men strolled towards the two waiting Brits.
"Welcome, my friends, welcome," the Russian man flashed them a perfect white-toothed smile and pulled Remus Lupin into a hug as if they were old friends. However he was very soon released and the man turned towards Harry, the smile widening even more if that was possible.
"So this is the godson I have been hearing so much about? Welcome," and the dark-hired boy found himself in the man's arms. It was kind of nice at the moment, since Harry was freezing. His jacket was no good against the stinging cold that suddenly enfolded them.
"You are really a beautiful boy," Harry still blushed when someone complimented him. "A bit shy, da? But that's so cute. No reason to be shy though, we are a family now. Sirius' godson is my godson." – (AN: da – yes from russian.)
"Misha, stop embarrassing the Hell out of my— I mean, our godson!" Sirius exclaimed laughing. "He's seventeen, you don't go around calling seventeen years old bo-- err… men, beautiful and cute."
"Sorry, daragoi couldn't help myself," the man just kept grinning not looking even remotely sorry. It appeared he was really glad to see them. Harry was surprised that except the few odd words he almost couldn't hear any accent when Misha was speaking English. (AN: daragoi - darling)
He also noticed that Misha was quite good-looking. He was maybe some fie, six years younger than Sirius and Remus or at lest appeared to be. Misha's hair was short and wavy and very light brown, like sand at the beach. Not that Harry had ever been by the sea, but he had seen plenty of paintings and photos.
The Russian gently guided the teenager towards the cars, his arm wrapped around Harry's shoulder: "Let's get you in the car first, then we can make proper introductions and talk more, alright? You must be freezing." Even to Harry it was obvious that it had not been a question. The man acted like someone who was used to being obeyed.
Misha had flung his arm around Harry's shoulder and led them to the cars. The black monsters were some kind of landrovers or jeeps (honestly, Harry didn't know a thing about cars) obviously made for way-less areas. Not that there were no roads. There were and they looked freshly made across the snowy fields. But a big, high, powerful vehicle was definitely safer to use there. Harry couldn't imagine one of the tiny cars that were quite popular in London faring well there.
Before they got into the back of one of the cars they were each given a fur coat. Misha laughed, saying that he knew that Englishmen were sensitive to hold. He himself took the drivers seat and Harry saw the other (big) men getting into two other cars.
As soon as Misha started the car he started talking: "I should introduce myself properly, excuse me, but I just wanted to get you out of cold. My name is Mihael, Berezinski and please call me Misha. So, do you have any questions? Is there anything you want to know?"
Harry was not sure where to start. The whiteness and quantity of snow all around them was overwhelming enough for a boy who had never really been outside Surrey. He thoughtfully petted the fur of his coat; Harry had never touched real fur before. It was incredibly soft and warm, but smelt funny and Harry really didn't want to think about where it had come from.
"Where are we going to stay?" Remus Lupin managed to come up with a fairly reasonable question.
"Ah, at my mansion," Misha answered. "A bit secluded it is, about fifteen kilometres to the next town, but we have some privacy though."
"May I compliment your English," Remus continued.
"Oh, thank you very much, you see I studied in London and as you already know I have a house there. That was where you and Sirius were staying. I guess London is in fashion these days," he chuckled.
Harry couldn't miss that at one moment Misha's hand landed on Sirius', who was sitting on the front seat, thigh and stayed there as long as it was not needed for driving. Harry thought that it was kind of sweet, but then the boy remembered how it felt when someone touched you with that kind of familiarity and who had so often laid a hand on his thighalmost the same way…
Harry chased the thought away; it was pointless, it was past. He snuggled in the enormous coat and enjoyed the ride.
***
The first days in Russia were the strangest in Harry's life. He was thrown into another country with completely different lifestyle. For starters Misha Berezinski was obviously filthy rich. Harry had the largest room he had ever lived in and bathroom he shared only with Remus. The only other house so big he had seen from inside was the Malfoy Manor. But he was not going there.
This place was different. There was a lot of wood everywhere, some ornaments which could only be national. Misha explain that this was a country house and traditionally country houses were made of wood and Misha had wanted to have some kind of blend between modern and old. Harry liked it. It was cosy. The only thing he kind of minded was stuffed birds and animal heads in one of the rooms. Turned out that it was not because Misha himself hunted, but some of his friends did and stuffed animals was something one expected to see in a country house on the wall next to the huge fireplace with the bearskin in front of it.
Before showing them to their rooms, Misha announced that there was going to be a party to welcome the guests.
And there was a party. The kind of party Harry had never seen. Not that there had been many of course.
First Harry and Remus were led around and introduced to everyone. Some where Misha's friends, some were cousins, other worked for him, there were ten men altogether and twelve women who were girlfriends and sisters and cousins. Everyone was extremely friendly; some knew a bit of English, others spoke very well. As soon as Remus and Harry were seated at the long wooden table next to Misha and Sirius (who was feeling perfectly at home there) two shots of vodka were placed in front of them.
Remus looked doubtful.
"You do it like this," Sirius grinned and took a shot in his own hand. He lifted it to his lips, screwed his eyes shut, then quickly emptied the small glass tossing back his head and after opened his mouth to accept a pickle from Misha's hand. "Uh! That was strong!"
"See, you can teach him something!" Misha laughed.
Harry watched his glass with big eyes wondering if he was allowed to pass. The most he had ever had was a glass of Champagne. This was pure vodka!
"I don't think Harry should drink," Remus spoke up. "He is only seventeen." He shot Sirius an expectant look.
The man sitting next to Remus who had poured them the alcohol raised his eyebrows: "O! I thought ze boy waz fifteen!"
Someone said something in Russian and everyone laughed.
"Gena said that one shot won't hurt you," Misha translated looking amused. "Maybe it will put some hair on your chest. I will not say it is a good thing, but we do start drinking young around here. Don't understand those Americans. To wait until you are twenty one to have your first drink? We are already quitting here around that age!"
Everyone who had understood, laughed ad toasted at that.
Harry looked pleadingly at Sirius who was just grinning. He took the glass, then he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and… "Oh! Oh shi…" It burned! All the way down! And the taste was awful. He started coughing and then someone pressed a glass of juice into his hand.
Harry drank a couple of gulps and sighed with relief. That was some strong stuff.
"See! Was not so bad!" Misha clapped him on the back, laughing good-naturedly.
"You see," Sirius explained. "Russians have this thing about drinking, if you refuse to drink with them, they say you don't respect them and if you don't respect them, they might get angry and want to give you a good thrashing."
"Well, it's no fun to drink alone," Misha mused.
"We are no alcoholics to drink alone!" Someone exclaimed. "And a party without a good fight is no fun," another voice supplied.
Remus looked a bit horrified, Harry's eyes widened as well, Misha simply shrugged with a smile and Sirius… was already reaching for another shot.
One of the young women who were sitting on the other side of table got a plate, put it in front of Harry and started putting a bit of everything on it: "You must eat something. You are too skinny. And to drink on empty stomach… and don't listen to those idiots, you don't have to drink with them if you don't want to. Men!"
Harry smiled at her. She had reminded him of Molly Weasley. Only Molly Weasley who was not older than thirty, was very slender, had the longest nails he had ever seen (crimson), most tight fitting jeans and shiniest jewellery and long, thick, shiny black hair and her make-up while a bit showy was perfect.
In fact most of the women there were very beautiful, at least they seemed beautiful to Harry, not that he was a expert. There was something different about Russian women and obviously liked clothes that looked painted on, tons of jewellery and a lot of make up. Harry kind of liked the flashiness. They looked interesting, even if a bit scary and predator-ish.
The boy was trying sort through the food he had been offered. One or another of women kept giving him names of what he was eating - kotleti, karbonad, pirogi, kvashenaja kapusta… and so on. Some of it he liked very much. Harry had never tried much of foreign cuisines, despite the fact that these days it was possible to get almost everything in London, since there were probably as much foreigners as Brits, since both Weasleys and Dursleys had preferred traditional, British food. But he kind of liked most of the strange stuff.
Besides they had shrimp. Harry had always wanted to try it, but it was not like Petunia would ever feed him anything that expensive. Harry usually got beans on toast. But caviar, the boy discovered, was truly not his thing, no matter how expensive it was.
While the younger man was being roped into trying everything they had on the table by the women who could obviously be both femme fatale and mother hen at the same time, but, Remus tried to find out something more about Misha, by asking tactful questions about man's studies, family situation and so on.
"And what do you do for living?" He inquired innocently.
Misha smirked: "Ever heard of Russian Mafia?" Remus raised an eyebrow. One of the men at the table snorted.
"Ok, ok! Vadim here insists on spoiling my fun. No, Mafia, really, I just like playing with foreigners a bit. I am a business man. Legally. Oil. Hotels. Shares. Banks. All kind of stuff – a bit of everything. Well, my father though… nothing to do with the real mafia, no drugs or prostitution, but I think someone like you might have seen my father as a bit of gangster, bandit. But it was the end of eighties and the beginning of nineties, collapse of the Soviet Union. Things were a bit wild, everyone played dirty and there was no choice if one wanted to do business. If you were not strong enough, you were dead. Sometimes literally," saying that man's grey eyes looked a bit sad. "Oh, but now we are entering a new era. Things are changing. There are always risks of course, that's why I still have those big guys around; you probably noticed. But let's drink for better life!" He lifted the glass in a toast and the others joined.
"Na zdorovie!"
Prozit!
"Sirius hasn't really told us much about how you met so far," prodded Remus.
Misha's hand once again had found dark-hired man's leg. Harry had noticed that it was probably under influence of alcohol, but touches between both men had become bolder and more frequent and when they looked one at other, there was so much tenderness in their eyes.
"It's not a light topic, probably more for Sirius than for me. He spent years in that Hellhole after all," Misha squeezed other man's hand. "I was kidnapped, held there to force my father make certain decisions. In places like those one needs friends to survive. Siri had been there long enough to make some. Me, oh, I am too pretty for my own good, if you know what I mean, well, you probably don't…" he let out a laugh that sounded somewhat bitter. "But anyway, Sirius became my friend and we helped each other a lot. When father found me, I took Sirius with me and that's about it. There is a long version of the story, of course. But… maybe let's lee it for another time."
It was very clear that the man didn't want to talk about it and Remus Lupin was anything, but tactful and new when to stop.
"Hey, someone! Pour me another one!" Misha exclaimed light-heartedly. Harry noticed that the smile didn't quite reach his eyes though. He hoped it was nothing too horrible, not that Misha's past was any of his business, but… Harry realised that he had started to care for the man.
***
Later that night Misha steered Sirius into his room with his hands on the other man's hips, face buried in the crook of his neck, lips gently nibbling.
"Mmm, you can't imagine how much I wanted to touch you all night long," he murmured.
"I hate to break it to you, but you were constantly touching me," Sirius said leaning back into his lovers touch. "Not that I am complaining, believe me I am not…"
Misha chuckled: "Oh, but there is touching and then there is TOUCHING."
One of his hands crept under Sirius' sweater to caress his abdomen, nails scraping over the flat stomach.
"Yeah, well, you might have a point there," the dark-hired man sighed contentedly.
"Your godson doesn't mind us, does he? I thought he didn't, but then he seemed kind of sad when he was looking at us. I don't understand,"
"Perceptive as always, but, no, he doesn't mind us together, since he's as bent as you and me, buddy," Sirius nuzzled his head back into his boyfriend's neck.
"Really?"
"Yes, he is. Well at least I can tell him that his father wouldn't have minded. Since James didn't hold it against me. You know that's the kind of thing boys usually want to know…"
"Of course I know," Misha nodded in understanding. "But why is he sad like that then? At first I thought he was jealous, but I understand that I was mistaken."
"As far as I know, Harry recently split up with his boyfriend and it's obvious that he is having hard time getting over the bastard,"
Misha hmmed: "Boyfriend? Who was he? I'd like to know, so I can send someone to break his legs."
Sirius snorted: "Soon you will have to look for professional help to treat your split personality. Decide for once, if you like better to play big bad bandit or little, goody-goody business man, luv."
"Oh, shut up," Misha laughed and playfully bit on the juncture of Sirius' neck.
"But about Harry, well, I am kind of waiting for him to come to me. The thing is that when I last saw him, he was wearing a nappy and now he is a young man. I don't know him at all and I want to…" Sirius voice caught and Misha wrapped his arms around him tighter.
"You will, give it time. You will get to know him and he will love you, it is going to be alright."
"Thanks," Sirius whispered and rubbed his cheek against Mishas.
"You are very lovable and he is as well," said the Russian. "But if he has broken up with someone then we should go to the City. Take him sight-seeing, shopping, clubbing, well, you know the routine!"
"Yes, that might help,"
"And by the way those rugs the kid is wearing, I don't want to say anything, but… and why is he so small and skinny? It is kind of cute, but…"
"Well, you might need to send someone to break his relatives' legs," Sirius' voice was suddenly cold and hard.
"Explain," Misha demanded softly.
"I think those people didn't treat Harry well. I am not sure of extent of abuse, but… the fact that he ran away from then and was living with his friend's family speaks volumes."
"Then we should look into that,"
"Yes, but the harm ha bseen done. You can just see it by looking at him. He's like… when you are around him, you just want to take him in your arms and hold him tight, protect him from the world… I was not there for him, Misha! I left him!" Sirius suddenly burst out dislodging himself of his lover's embrace.
"Don't start Sirius. It was not your fault," Misha followed his lover and took his hand's in his.
"I know, but," the dark-hired man protested.
Misha shook his head; he knew his lover very well and the bouts of self-reproach and regret Sirius uses to experience and was not going to encourage that: "No, buts, you did what you could, you survived, you returned to him and now he will never be alone again. Even if something happens to you, he will not be alone, I will be there for him and if something happens to me, then you friend Remus will be there. It's going to be alright."
With a smile Sirius brought Misha's hands up to his lips to kiss the man's knuckles: "What would I do without you?"
"You would be simply miserable," Misha said, gently kissing the other man on the lips, one hand sliding up and down Sirius' side under the t-shirt. "You are still too thin," he noted, as a matter of fact.
"I am fine," Sirius' voice sounded a bit breathless as he tilted his head giving other's lips better access to his neck. "Shut up, and do your job."
"My job? So you intend to pay me? Because a job is something one gets paid for," Misha teased.
"Mmm, oh, I will repay you alright. That is a promise. Probably with interest."
"That interest sounds like it could really interest me…"
"Bed…"
"Yes, bed."
***
They spent about week at the country house. Harry was not bored at all. He had plenty of time getting to know his godfather, Remus and Misha. They cooked together – Misha was teaching Harry how to cook some very tasty Russian meals. They watched DVDs, rode snow-bikes, went to the woods to feed deer - it turned out that if the winter was especially severe and there was a lot of snow, people often brought the animals hay and roots. Of course, they were interested to keep them alive to hunt them later, but well… Harry had never seen wild animals so close before and found it all very exciting.
They also made a snow man and had at least one snow-fight every day and Harry played video games for the first time in his life.
However Russian lifestyle was much different.
Remus almost got an aneurism as someone proposed to go outside and shoot some tins.
"You mean shoot as shoot using guns?" The man asked disbelievingly.
"Sure!" Misha confirmed happily and a man whose name was Vadim came upstairs from the basement holding three pistols and boxes with bullets.
"Have you ever held a gun Harry?" Misha inquired. The boy just shook his head. He had never expected anything like this. "Well, we have a shooting-gallery in the basement in case you want to practice, but out in the open air, with tins... it's just more fun, you know?"
"Do you think it's wise," Remus tried. "Harry is only seventeen. He has never even held a gun in his hand. It is dangerous. And one needs a licence..."
"Oh, relax," Ivan, one of the bodyguards interrupted him. "We are professionals. Nothing will happen to him, we will watch. Every man has to learn to handle a gun. And Boss could get him a licence, right Boss?" The man looked at Misha who was just smiling innocently. It seemed that in Russia one could get a lot of things if they had enough money.
Remus looked at Sirius questioningly.
"Nothing to worry about Remi, they know what they are doing," Sirius was no support.
"But what will happen when people will hear the noise," Remus argued.
"Not a problem," Misha put an arm around his shoulder. "There are not many people around and most of them know how to mind their own business. It's just a bit of harmless fun."
And of course nothing bad happened in the end. Still, Harry sometimes felt very sorry for poor Remus who was forced to put up with Sirius, who sometimes acted like a big child, was quite adventurous and whose idea of fun was doing risky things. Then there was Misha who was much more responsible than his lover, ad the adult in the relationship, but seemed to have different way of thinking, didn't believe in the same restrictions and obviously lacked some limitations.
When Harry had told him that shooting tins had been kind of fun, the man had offered to get him a gun with all the necessary papers. That time Sirius had put his foot down. When one of the guys had learned that Harry had never smoked, everyone who did smoke in the room had offered him a cigarette, saying that one had to try everything. And no one had even mentioned that the fact that Harry was underage when they had went out for the first time. He was always treated like an adult who could decide if he wanted something or not. Except when someone cracked a joke about his size or one of the older men playfully threw him over the shoulder or easily manhandled in some other way.
Harry thought that Misha was the way he was partially, because he was rich. Draco had been the same, had known that he could afford more than others. But the other part of it was the culture. People were just a little different. A little wilder. Misha had tried to explain differences which he was more aware of, since he had spent some time abroad.
"We, Russians, like showing off," he said. "For example in Norway or Finland, if you have a lot of money, you work harder to look like your average citizen, have the same middle-class car, middle-class clothes, middle-class house. Here, when you are rich, or worse, suddenly become rich, you buy the biggest and most expensive car you can get and pay for your wife to have a boob-job." Harry giggled at that. Russian women were a particular kind. He had yet to see one who was not wearing make-up and high-heels.
"Ah," Misha remembered. "There was this old joke, that a Russian woman may not have an apartment where to live, but she definitely will have a fur coat. Oh, but we have very nice shops in Moscow, all the best and most expensive brands. Just wait until I take you shopping!"
And Misha kept his promise.
***
"These jeans will look perfect on you," Misha decided after holding said item of clothing next to Harry for a couple of moments to see if they would fit and then tossed it at the one of his ever present body guards who was already carrying an impressive pile of clothing.
"I think this is enough for now," Misha mused looking at the mountain of clothes, Leonid was holding. "Off to the fitting room you go," he playfully smacked Harry's butt, pushing him into the right direction.
"I'll have to try on all of that?" Harry's eyes had gotten very large.
"Of course, kid," Sirius came up to them and threw one more t-shirt at Leonid. "And model it for us. We can't really trust you to choose your own clothes, can we? You'll pick out something skimpy and trampish and I won't have any time for myself anymore, forced to chase away all the men who will constantly be after your little , cute ass."
Harry groaned. "You just didn't say that, Sirius, no, you didn't it was a sound hallucination," he looked pained.
"Be nice, Siri," Misha playfully smacked his boyfriend on the back of his head.
"Ouch," the dark hired man pouted. "Domestic abuse!"
Misha snorted: "You are lucky that Remus didn't come with us."
Harry smiled, they were so amusing. Sirius seemed like he didn't take anything seriously, which was not exactly true; it was more like he tried to make everyone's life brighter and actually managed. He made Harry laugh what seemed at least once in every ten minutes. Harry had never seen anyone with so much spirit, such strong will to live and enjoy life.
He pulled on the first pair of washed-out jeans and a green shirt and turned around to look in the mirror.
Oh.
He looked so tidy and nice. And was feeling a bit naked without at least two loose-fitting layers of clothing, without his hoody, a baseball-cap and thick glasses. He was so used to hiding. The person in the mirror was not the Harry he had known for most of his life. But then, so much had happened and Harry really wasn't that Harry anymore.
He was not so afraid of people anymore, not afraid to take on the whole world if he had to. He was not a freak like Dursleys had told him. If he was freak, then Sirius and Misha were supposed to be freaks as well and they were not, they were happy together and no one who saw the could call their relationship wrong. Harry no longer had to fear that he would turn out like his 'useless, good-for-nothing parents,' because his parents had been good, no, even wonderful people who had loved him. Harry didn't have to fear that no one will ever love him anymore. Sirius loved him, Remus loved him and Misha loved him. And Ron, Ron loved him too.
Harry felt a pang of guilt for every time he had felt doubt, been scared that he will wake up one day and they would be gone or wouldn't want him anymore. He had told Sirius about the Dursleys, he had never spoke to anyone about them, never really cried about it, not since he was still a child. And it had felt good to talk about it, to get it out. And Sirius had cried as well and promised to never leave him. And Harry believed his godfather.
For the first time in his life Harry felt like he could trust someone and rely on someone.
Yes, he decided. Looking like another person was alright, because he was slowly becoming another person. He was getting rid of scared, little ragamuffin who was smacked around by Vernon Dursley. Harry was not the boy who had felt so inadequate in presence of the perfect Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, thinking of whom, his heart still skipped a beat. But it had not been the perfection he had loved so much.
Oh, Harry was a man and human. He had loved that handsome face, that gorgeous body and enjoyed how skilled as a lover Draco had been. But what he had really held on had been all the little imperfections which had been hidden too well to public eye. Impeccable self-confidence, aloofness, arrogance – all of that was a façade. Harry had his suspicions about what was going on in the back-yard. There was pain, some kind of deep hurt which caused all the anger which was directed at everyone. At his age Draco was still a teenager who was angry at the world for some injustice that it had done to him and believed that no one understood him. And then there had been loneliness. Loneliness Harry had shared. Loneliness Harry had wanted to chase away…
But Draco hadn't let him. He had pushed Harry away. Strangely, but the more he was thinking about it… Harry felt almost sorry for Draco. Strangely, because he had been the one who had been shamelessly cheated on and thrown away like an old shoe. He had felt used.
However Harry had a suspicion that the pain Draco had caused him was nothing compared to how much the man was hurting himself. Draco probably didn't even realise that. But one thing was clear – it was impossible to help someone, to save anyone who didn't accept help.
Then the teenager pushed all the thoughts of Draco Malfoy and man's problems out of his head. Draco had chosen to be alone. It was none of Harry's business anymore, he was going to be selfish and enjoy the new and better life he had been given.
Harry was not going to make that mistake. He had accepted Sirius, he had taken the offered hand. Harry suspected that he had to be pretty messed up after his terrible childhood. He was not sure in which ways or what to do about it. But the boy had a feeling that, whatever his father's two best friends and Misha were doing, was helping.
"Wow!" Sirius whistled as his godson came out of the fitting room, making Harry's cheeks redden. "If you were not my godson…"
"Don't you think it's too…" Harry's voice trailed of.
"It's perfect," Misha looked at the young man approvingly. "Every gay man has to own at least one pair of leather trousers. Well, at least every fit gay man," he shuddered as if remembering something. "And you definitely have a body for them."
"Oh, yeah," Sirius chirped. "He has body for pretty much everything. There is nothing that would make his ass fat!"
Harry smirked.
"Ah, old men and their insecurities," he said turning around and returning into the fitting room.
Sirius jaw hit the floor, he gave Harry an outraged look. He had not been expecting that.
Misha almost doubled over as he burst out laughing.
"Hey!" Sirius looked at his lover, offended.
"Oh, that was so…" Misha giggled. "You have only yourself to blame, daragoi. You have been teasing the poor boy mercilessly. He's not a stupid kid; he was bound to learn how to use your weapons and turn them against you."
"But that's unfair," Sirius whined.
"Life is not fair, daragoi," Misha smiled and decided to placate his lover with a kiss.
***
"Do we still have those glasses and one of his oversized hoodies somewhere," Sirius asked Misha watching his godson sitting at the computer and typing an email to Ron which he had wanted to send before they left.
"No, we threw them out."
"I want them back," Sirius announced.
"Oh, really," Misha raised an amused eyebrow.
"Yes, really," Sirius grumbled. "They will eat him alive. Just look at him…"
Harry wasn't wearing anything special. Tight fitting, light blue designer jeans which were torn just in a couple of places and looked like they had been worn for years, not just bought. Simple black boots, black belt and a white form-fitting t-shirt. He had eagerly traded the glasses for contacts and gotten a hair-cut. His hair was much shorter than before now, but not too short. Harry didn't even had to do anything with it – his hair looked like it had been just mussed, or windblown, which was an effect a lot of guys worked hard to achieve. But the boy didn't need any products to make it look good.
Well, that was actually Sirius' problem. His godson looked good enough to eat. He was lithe and looked a bit feminine, cute and adorably innocent and fresh. Besides even if boy looked petite, his muscles were nicely toned from all the housework and gardening, supposedly, there was just no bulk. For many guys he was a wet dream come true. He was perfect. Naturally Sirius had doubts about letting the boy out of house, looking like that. Not speaking about a nightclub.
"Don't worry," Misha reassuringly squeezed his lover's hand. "Leonid will not let him out of sight."
The body guard, who was standing nearby, dressed in jeans and shirt as well, to blend in, murmured something in Russian.
"Er, he says that if someone will try to grope him, he will break his arm," Misha translated for Remus' benefit.
"Oh, but we could always say that Remus here is Harry's very jealous boyfriend," Sirius winked at his friend.
"Not a chance," Remus smiled mischievously. "I find the thought disconcerting and I have always had this fantasy with two bored lesbians who were looking for someone to spice up their relationship."
"Hey, Remi, you old devil!" Sirius patted his friend on the back approvingly. "I personally have never understood why would someone want to sleep with one woman. But two… that's just…"
"Every straight guy's fantasy," Remus replied nonchalantly.
"And there goes my hope that at least one of the father figures in my life was a moral person," said Harry who had finished his letter and now was standing next to them.
"It's not polite to listen to grown-ups' conversations," Remus looked at the boy, with amusement. "And there is nothing wrong with threesomes as long as everyone is a consenting adult."
"Ah," Harry smirked. "So you wouldn't mind if I picked of good-looking Russian guys tonight?"
"Tsk, Harry," Sirius wriggled a finger at him. "Didn't you know that in this family you reach adulthood when you turn thirty?"
Harry just laughed.
"So, Misha, Sirius, Remus - show me the life then!" He exclaimed giving them a brilliant smile.
***
Harry shouldn't have doubted that he would get into the club. No questions asked. He was kind of used to good life, good things. That if he wanted something he just had to mention it and he would get it. The thing was, that Harry was not used to having more than bare minimum and wouldn't have known what to ask for. He had been so damn happy when Ginny had given him a pair of her old jeans which didn't fit her well and had been ecstatic when he got a box of oil-paint from Draco. That had been more presents than he had ever received already.
He would have never thought that he needed new clothes on his own. But Sirius, Misha and Remus hadn't listened to Harry's objections even when he had gotten worried about the money. Misha had threatened to become very angry if the boy didn't drop the topic. Harry hadn't had much choice.
He also wouldn't have thought of going out. Especially, since technically he was not allowed yet. And were one's guardians supposed to take one out and introduce him to nightlife? Apparently Sirius and Misha thought it was a great idea. Harry had a feeling that his godfather was overcompensating or something.
As Harry and his companions stepped through the door, the boy's eyes widened. He didn't know where to look. Standing on the red carpet they were greeted by deafening wave of music, blinding lights and crowds of people. All of it was simply overwhelming.
He absentmindedly allowed Leonid to take his jacket, while his eyes were darting in all the directions in quest to take everything in. God, but they even had a fountain there! Well, not a fountain, but a wall of water, which as far as Harry was concerned was even grander.
He had never considered himself the partying type, but then, a lot of things had changed He was a seventeen years old boy after all.
"So, Harry," Sirius leaned over his shoulder. "Here are some ground rules. Don't get drunk. Don't go anywhere without Leonid or better, just don't go anywhere and err…" he appeared to be thinking what else to forbid.
"Don't dance with guys who look about Sirius' age, they are too old for you," Remus supplied.
"Yes, don't dance with old… wait a minute!" The dark-hired man suddenly realised what he had said as everyone started laughing.
"Oh, shut up! Well, you understood," Sirius snapped angrily. He was trying to give fatherly advice there. "Well, don't do anything I wouldn't do…" he tried. That one was kind of classics, right?
"Which means you can do pretty much everything," the so called best friend was obviously in a good mood today.
Sirius glared at Remus: "Oh, look who is feeling very funny tonight! Let's see what you have to say!"
"Harry," Remus smiled at the boy. "Enjoy yourself, but be careful. If there is a problem instantly go to Leonid or one of us. And don't accept drinks from anyone, but the barmen, alright?"
Harry nodded. Sirius huffed. His advice had not been so bad after all. But he instantly mellowed as he felt Misha's arms around his waist. This was one of their favourite positions, Sirius leaning back against his lover's chest.
"Let's go sit down,' Misha suggested. "I made a reservation."
They all took a booth and ordered drinks. Harry hadn't really intended to get drunk, so he simply ordered some sparkling water. He liked that.
Just to watch all those people interacting and dancing was fascinating. Strange enough most of them were male couples or at least Harry was paying them most of his attention. The way they danced… well it was good that the room was semi-dark, because the teenager was sure that once again he was blushing. And aunt Petunia had complained about M-tv preying upon her poor Dudley's virtue… But the people on Mtv had had more clothes on and their moves had been less obscene than what he could see here.
It made him feel really strange. Harry felt a bit badly about watching, like a voyeur or something, but on the other hand, he could not tear his eyes off the dancers and the suggestive moves they were making. The boy was grateful that no one could see his flushed cheeks in the dark.
Then some men approached their table. Misha stood up smiling broadly and shook hands with them and they talked about something in their language. Harry noticed that the strangers were shamelessly checking out all the other men sitting at the table. Really shamelessly, since even Harry noticed. He also noticed how Misha instantly put his hand on Sirius' shoulder. Oh, the Russian was definitely possessive enough. And protective. While the man seemed to be very easy going, Harry had noticed the fierceness hard glint in his eyes sometimes when Misha was talking with some of his people in Russian. Harry suspected that he could be not very nice when it was necessary.
Then Misha turned towards Harry. "Harry," he smiled. "This is Sergey, he would like to dance with you, if you don't mind of course."
The emphasis was obviously on 'if you don't mind'. Harry looked at the man he was being introduced to; he was quite tall, with darkish skin, black hair, handsome and smiling pleasantly at the boy. Why not? Harry thought and nodded blushing. He was not used to people paying him attention like that.
He stood up, his heart beat picking up. This was like the first time he was so casually asked to dance after all and he was a bit nervous. The man offered Harry his hand and the boy took it. He glanced back at Sirius, Remus and Misha and didn't see any signs of disapproval. Yes, Sirius was a bit apprehensive, but not trying to glare the bloke out of existence. Not that he thought, Misha would ever let him go with someone unsafe.
Harry took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves and followed along the stranger towards the dance floor, shooting shy glances at his partner.
Before joining the dancers, they stepped and the guy turned towards Harry: "I think it would be polite to introduce myself personally. Hello, I am Sergey." The dark-hired man shook the hand he had been already holding.
"Erm, hi, I am Harry,"
"Hi, Harry," Sergey had a very nice smile. Then Harry was pulled amidst people who were dancing with skill and enthusiasm the teenager thought he didn't possess.
Sergey leaned closer to talk on Harry's ear; to communicate otherwise would be impossible since it was too loud all around them: "Don't worry; I won't do anything you don't want me to. Relax. I can feel that you are tense. No need to be scared of me."
"No, it's not that," Harry had to stand on tiptoe, to reach taller man's ear. "I'm just not sure… I mean, I don't know how to dance."
The man laughed: "Oh, no need to worry, that's the good thing abut this kind of dancing, you don't have to learn any steps, just feel the music."
He took Harry's hands in his and put the boy's palms on his shoulders and his own hands on the slim hips and made his partner to swing them a bit. Then again and again until bit by bit Harry started to relax and soon enough found himself dancing. It all just kind of pulled him in, the crowd, the rhythm, the music. The other man's body. letting himself go, touching, being touched by Sergey, Harry decided that he truly was gay and he decided that dancing was really fun.
Sergey's hands on his body were getting bolder and bolder, it was getting hotter and Harry's pulse was speeding up. But he somehow didn't really care if the other man could feel his excitement, because the attraction was mutual.
"You are doing very well, for someone who is new to all of this," the dark-hired man again whispered on the boy's ear, his breathing slightly uneven. "Let's take a break, have something to drink or I might do something that would get my arms or other parts of my anatomy broken by your uncle Misha."
Harry nodded; they have given anyone who bothered to watch enough show already. But after they were off the dance floor and approaching the bar, he grabbed other man by the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, so Sergey could hear what he was saying: "But, just so you know, I might make it worth a damaged limb or two…"
Harry saw the man bite his lip and the sight of his eyes darkening made excitement wash over him.
He knew he had gotten the massage across. Harry was not such a little, naïve boy anymore and he was ready to prove that.
TBC
A/N: I wanted Harry to go somewhere. In canon most of the foreigners come from France or Romania. I have never cared for France, their language and I don't understand them and don't know much about their lifestyle. Romania – I know even less. But I am familiar with Russia, so I went for it. Do I have any Russian readers?
I was not sure in how much details to go when writing about Harry's time in Russia, but… it is as it is.