Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, associated plotlines, or characters.

A/N: Well, it's summertime now so I'm going to finish this story in the next two months if it kills me. You all (whoever is still out there reading this) have been with me for YEARS, and I love you all for it. Every one of your reviews inspired me to write a little more of this chapter. It's not my best, but I'm going to get this story back on track and wrap it all up. Enjoy!

Thirteenth to Fifth

Recruit

It wasn't a surprise to Harry when he woke with his face pressed into a leather seat and his hands tied roughly behind his back. He sighed and tried to move into a less vulnerable position, but a hand came down on his back and held him in place.

"No bother getting up, Harry," Tom said. Harry grit his teeth. "This is getting all-too familiar, really. When will you just give in? It would be so much easier for you." Harry didn't reply. "Well, in any case, we're headed to one of my favorite homes. I'm sure you'll come to like it." Harry jerked his head up, his heart pounding in his chest.

"What?" he choked out. "Are you fucking kidnapping me?" Tom laughed.

"Temporarily, perhaps. You'll get to go back to dearest Severus in a few days. First, I need to prepare you to be my date at a ball on Thursday night. You'll need to meet your future henchmen, to put it frankly, as well as one of our greatest investors," the man said. Harry clenched his eyes shut.

"You sure have a fucked up way of recruiting. You always beat everyone into submission? Ever just ask nicely?" he snapped. Tom laughed, but the sound made Harry feel even sicker than he did already.

"Nice doesn't work in this field, I'm sorry to say. And I have to say, the bruise coloring suits you. So, about your little holiday with me. You get to follow me around, see what the life is like, and of course, be my date on Thursday. If all goes well, and if you don't cause too much trouble, you can go back to school on Friday. And back to Severus'," Tom sneered. "That is, if you want to." That came with a smile.

"You're not keeping me out of school. That is the only thing I have left," Harry spat out, aware that he sounded far more desperate than he desired to. Tom's smile was even wider, and he leaned over Harry to whisper in the teen's ear.

"Well, now you have me," he hissed. Harry yelled, an almost primal sound of frustration and anger and fear, slamming his head into Tom's nose. The gang lord recoiled with a shout, holding his nose, which was starting to bleed. "You little fucker." Harry narrowed his eyes. He wasn't even afraid. He should be. He was horizontal in Tom's car, hands tied behind his back. And he had just tried to break the nose of the most powerful criminal in the city, if not the entire coast. But he wasn't afraid. He was angry. "Stop the car," Tom shouted to the driver. The car swerved and braked so suddenly Harry slid off the seat and crashed to the floor, face down, wedged between the front and back seats. The car stopped and the door near his head opened and hands grabbed his shirt, literally dragging him out of the car and along the sidewalk. The grit on the cement dug into his cheek, tearing at the soft flesh until he was roughly flipped over. Two Death Eaters flanked Tom, whose face was smeared with blood, Harry noted with satisfaction. The leader knelt down on the ground and grabbed Harry's chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

"I will make you millions. I will give you power, fame, and fortune, even if I have to beat it into you." Harry saw Tom's fist recoil, but was still able to only partially brace for the swift punch to his stomach. Wind rushed from his lungs as Tom recoiled again. Knuckles connected with his jawbone, then his cheek. Stomach. Chest. Nose. Eye. Jaw. Again. Again. Cheek. Again. Again. Again…again…

…

His breath rattled in his lungs. The gargling noise filled his ears and was all he could focus on. He thought he might be on a floor. It was cold. Blood was crusted on his face. Everything hurt.

…

Someone had set a glass of water near his head. He tried to get it, but his hands wouldn't move.

…

Someone was pouring water into his mouth. He choked on it before remembering to swallow. He couldn't breathe through his noise. Swallowing hurt. Everything hurt. It was dark.

…

Now he wasn't wearing any clothes. The floor was rough. Dirt. He could feel small rocks digging into him.

…

He was in a different room. On a bed. But he didn't hurt as much. Harry took a deep breath and released it before opening his eyes fully.

"Hello, Potter," a deep voice said from the other end of the room. The lights snapped on, revealing someone Harry didn't recognize.

"Who the fuck are you?" he snapped, pushing himself into a sitting position. The man's eyes raked over his naked torso unappreciatively.

"You are a scrawny kid. Don't know what Riddle even sees in you. But I'm Anthony." Harry raised his eyebrows. "I'm also your new body guard." Good god. Harry couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his mouth. Tom got him a body guard.

"That's ironic, considering the person who kidnapped me, beat the living fuck out of me, left me for god knows how long in a fucking dungeon, and then sticks me here was Tom Fucking Riddle. The only person I seem to need protecting from is that motherfucker!" he screamed. Anthony gave a wry smile and grabbed a stack of clothes off the dresser near the door.

"Unfortunately for you, Riddle is the only person I'm not protecting you from. But you'll be able to talk with him about it soon enough: he wants to see you in half an hour." The clothes were tossed into Harry's chest. "Put 'em on, tidy up. I'll be back to get you in twenty minutes."

"Fuck you," Harry spat, grabbing the clothes.

"We may get along after all. Just don't get in too much trouble in the next twenty minutes."

The man left, and Harry tossed the clothes on the bed. All black, high quality, simple v-neck t-shirt and slacks. Harry sighed. They probably fit him perfectly. Far better than his current state of undress. Wincing with pain, Harry tugged the black shirt over his bruised torso before sliding off the bed. His vision and balance waivered in the standing position, but eventually Harry was able to stand without support from the bed and he slid into the pants. They did fit him perfectly, and it bothered him that Tom had gone to such trouble. With fifteen minutes left until his bodyguard returned to fetch him, Harry practiced walking. His legs ached, but after a few strolls around the room it wasn't such a problem. His ribs hurt like a bitch, though, and it seemed like he had multiple pulled or torn muscles in his arms and neck. On his stroll around the room Harry came upon a mirror and several toiletries. He took the chance to tame his hair, wash his face, and brush his teeth, before really scrutinizing his own reflection. He was pale, still thin, with bruises on his cheekbones and forehead. His neck was unscathed, but the rather deep v-neck displayed the purple discoloration that covered his chest. The back of the shirt drifted just low enough to display the top part of the tattoo marking his back. Harry sneered at its image in the mirror.

Aside from the evidence of Tom's brutal beating, Harry could admit to himself that the clothes suited him, and he looked pretty handsome, in an edgy, dangerous sort of way. The style was reminiscent of Tom's own personal style.

Sighing, Harry turned and went back to the bed to wait. He wondered what Severus was doing now that Harry had been missing for some time. How long exactly? Harry wondered what day it was, and how long he had been unconscious. What was Draco doing? Images of Draco's tall and lean, but effortlessly toned body and immaculate complexion drifted into his head. The feeling of the blonde's passionate lips was all-to-easy to remember, and Harry found himself desperately missing Draco: his lips, his arms around him, the feeling of Draco's hardening cock against his own.

Becoming aroused, Harry tore his train of thought away from the blonde and back to his current situation, which was far more sobering. The door opening interrupted his thoughts, and Anthony ducked his head in.

"Follow me," he commanded, and Harry obediently got up from the bed and walked over to the door.

"Do I even get shoes?" he asked dryly. Anthony nodded and pointed near Harry's feet, where there were a pair of black socks and black leather shoes. Harry put them on, not bothering to hurry at all.

"Sore?" Anthony asked. Harry figured he was trying to be nice and make conversation, but he didn't much appreciate the attempt. He shrugged.

"What's it matter?" Anthony seemed to take the hint and led Harry through the halls in silence. They passed only a few other people, some of which Harry figured were Death Eaters, some of which just seemed like corrupted business men in Tom's pocket. Harry couldn't help but smirk at them, almost enjoying how their eyes immediately dropped to the floor and they hurried their pace. He remembered doing the same thing when he ran with Tom years ago.

The walk only last ten minutes, before Anthony stopped and jerked his head in the direction of two large, ornate wooden doors. "In," he commanded. Harry rolled his eyes, trying to appear confident when he placed his bruised and scraped hands on the doors and pushed hard. They swung open to reveal what he assumed was Tom's private rooms, which were currently empty, meaning Harry would have to wait. He rolled his eyes. Tom's little power plays didn't impress him.

The room contained a king-sized bed, draped in black, in the corner. The opposite corner contained an office of some sort, with a desk and two large armchairs facing it. In another corner of the massive room a couch sat facing a giant TV screen mounted on the wall. Harry noticed the screen could also be seen from the bed. Near the two armchairs near Tom's desk was a small table with a carafe of amber liquid. Assuming it was alcohol, Harry walked over to it and helped himself after righting a glass that lay near the carafe. His first sip confirmed his alcohol suspicion with relief. The light streaming through the windows made him believe it was morning, but he didn't care.

"I'm going to turn you into a regular alcoholic if this keeps up," a smooth tenor voice said. Harry turned around, glass in hand, to see Tom standing near a second door in the room, smiling. Tom was dressed in a similar getup as himself: black slacks and shoes, but with a black collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Good morning, Harry. Feeling better?" Harry shrugged.

"Sure, Tom."

"Excellent. Shirt off, let me have a look," Tom commanded, walking over to Harry. When Harry made no move to do as he said, Tom took the glass from Harry's hands and grabbed the bottom of his shirt himself.

"Hands off, Tom. Just because I'm in your bedroom doesn't mean you can demand to see me naked any time you like," Harry snapped, taking a step back. Tom grabbed his wrists firmly, and met Harry's defiant gaze with his own calm one.

"Actually, Harry, I can. So you can either take it off yourself, or I'll do it for you. If you're good, we can have breakfast after." Harry snarled at him, jerking his wrists out of the man's grip. His eyes snapped to the door and back to Tom, who stood with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Sighing in defeat, Harry yanked the shirt over his head quickly and tried not to violently cringe when his ribs screamed in pain. Once the shirt was completely off Tom moved forward, daring Harry to back away with his eyes. The teen rolled his eyes and stayed put, flinching when Tom placed his hands on his bruised ribs and felt around them. Tom's strong hands slid over his ribs and up to his pectorals, then to his collarbone. Harry turned around when Tom directed him to, feeling the hands slide over his shoulders and down to his ribs, pressing on the various bruises that felt worse. "Ribs must hurt pretty badly," Tom muttered, pressing on them. Harry exhaled sharply, confirming Tom's statement. "Probably cracked quite a few."

"So you want me half naked so you can feel me up, is that it?" Harry snapped. Tom laughed, pulling Harry's back against his chest suddenly, strong arms circling around to his front. One drifted up to his throat, the other went lower, Tom's fingers just barely tucked into the front of his slacks. Harry tensed at the intimacy.

"This is what it will feel like when I feel you up. I'm sure even you can notice the difference," Tom whispered right into Harry's ear, tongue flicking out to lick along the dancer's outer-ear. Harry shuddered.

"Get off me, Tom," he said, to which Tom laughed.

"As you wish. Let's have breakfast," the gang leader announced, removing his wandering hands and leaving Harry to put his shirt back on. Tom opened the large doors to his room and spoke to someone out of Harry's line of sight. Moments later Tom returned to Harry's side and waved towards one of the armchairs, taking a seat in the other. Harry obediently sat down, waiting for Tom to speak.

"So welcome to my house," he began suddenly. "We're on the third floor, which is restricted to members of my personal group of bodyguards, myself, and you. The floor is mostly comprised of bedrooms, an entertainment room, my personal office, and my personal meeting room. The floor below is primarily meeting rooms and conference rooms, the first floor is the kitchen, dining room, great room, and formal dining room, and the basement is a large meeting room for all my Death Eaters, as well as a row of cells which you're by now intimately acquainted with. There's a small gym down there as well. I made sure to put up some larger mirrors and clear floorspace for you."

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You…what?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Like I just said…"

"Floor space for me to dance?"

"Don't interrupt. But yes, for you to practice. There's already a nice sound system in there. I just ask that you be careful when venturing down to the basement. It is, after all, available openly to all my followers, many of which do not know of you and have no reason to respect you. The gym door locks, however, with a password that I'll give to you. I assume you will want to dance in private." Harry shrugged. A light knock sounded through the room, and the large door open to reveal a small woman holding a tray laden with dishes.

"Breakfast, Mr. Riddle." The man waved her into the room and she set the tray down on the desk, moving to unload it and set places for Harry and Tom to eat. Tom shook his head.

"We'll set places ourselves. You're dismissed." The woman nodded and left the room swiftly, and Tom handed Harry a plate of food. Harry accepted it along with a fork and began picking at the pancakes and eggs. "Please, Harry. I know you're starving, no use pretending to eat with the manners of a bird for now. There will be a time for that later, such as tomorrow at the party."

"It's already Wednesday?"

"Yes. You spent most of Monday being beaten to a pulp by me, and then most of Tuesday in various states of unconsciousness. We'll spend the rest of today getting you ready for tomorrow night, as I have business to attend to tomorrow."

"Getting me ready? What?" Harry said around a mouthful of food.

"You're in desperate need of a trim, and I'm having my tailor come in a couple hours to fit you for a proper suit. And then we'll go over your dancing skills. I'll not have my date looking like a street punk."

"I don't want a trim: I want to grow my hair out," Harry blurted out, surprising himself. He had never wanted to grow his hair out, but the contrarian in him jumped at the chance to protest anything Tom suggested or demanded. Tom gave him a hard stare.

"You could pull that off well. Nevertheless, a trim will help it grow out better, so you'll still get a trim. Any other complaints?" he asked with amusement. Harry thought.

"I don't need dance lessons. I know how to dance," he mentioned. Tom laughed.

"Ballroom dance? Waltzing…"

"Swing, foxtrot, even the fucking tango. I'm a god damn dancer, Tom, in case you forgot."

"I didn't. Keep eating," Tom waved at Harry's half eaten plate and the dancer returned to his breakfast, stabbing his bacon viciously. "I'm also having your tattoo touched up. Monday's lesson didn't do anything for the healing process, and I'm afraid quite a lot of ink is going to lift." Harry glared. "I would have liked to do it before Thursday evening, but there's not enough time. So next week, certainly."

"But I'll get to go back to school? And not live here?" Tom looked at him hard.

"School yes. And you can go back to Severus' soon."

"How soon?" Tom laughed, then.

"So eager to leave, Harry. Really, is that snarky professor really better than this?" he waved his hand around the lavish room. Harry rolled his eyes.

"At least I'm not a prisoner there," he snapped, setting his finished plate down. Tom cocked his head to the side for a moment, a small smile on his face.

"You need to get your weight up, too," he commented. "You're emaciated." Harry shrugged.

"It's getting better. You know, regular meals and everything."

"Your uncle was a piece of shit."

"So are you," Harry said dryly, leaning back in his chair. Tom's eyes flashed for a moment, but Harry knew he wasn't in any danger. Overall, the gang lord seemed to be in a relatively good mood, and Harry felt himself relaxing slightly. A quiet beep alerted Tom to a new message on his phone, which he glanced at.

"My hair stylist is here for you. I'll have him trim your hair in your room." Harry ran a hand through his scraggly black hair, and Tom stood, motioning for Harry to stay seated. The man walked around Harry's chair and slid his hands through the black locks. Harry immediately tensed, but didn't try and pull away. Tom moved his hair back and forth.

"Ever thought about highlights? No. You have such a rich black…best to keep it that way. You are gorgeous, you know, Harry," Tom mused, under his breath. Harry didn't say anything. "Stunning. That dark hair, pale skin, such a slight frame. It's no wonder Draco Malfoy can't take his eyes off you."

"What do you know about Draco?!" Harry snapped, jerked his head away. Tom just laughed.

"You have a lot to learn in the next few months, but I may as well break the biggest news first. Draco's father and I are quiet close, actually. Lucius is kind enough to finance quite a few of my ventures." Harry couldn't help the whoosh of air that rushed from his lungs. "But who am I to get in the way of your pathetic high school relationship," Tom drawled. "He's not my informant, so you can relax. He does, however, know that his father has some very shady dealings with the local underworld. But what's a kid to do?" Tom hissed into Harry's ear. "Just remember, tomorrow night, you are my date, not Draco's. You go anywhere near him without my permission and Draco will only be dragged into all this. You wouldn't want that, would you?" Harry pursed his lips, refusing to give Tom the satisfaction of an affirmation. He was still shocked to learn that Draco knew that his father was dealing with gangs. But then, Draco didn't seem close with Lucius at all, so Harry took marginal comfort in that. Draco hadn't sold him out. He wouldn't do that, Harry told himself.

Tom smacked the back of his head lightly. "Get up. Let's get your hair fixed." Harry stood numbly and followed Tom from the room. As soon as they had left Tom's quarters Harry saw Anthony following them down the hall.

…..

"It's been three days, Sev!"

"I know, Draco."

"How are you so fucking calm about all this? Do you even care!?" Draco shouted, waving his arms. Severus glared at him and slammed the door to his office shut. No use in the rest of the school hearing his godson's outburst.

"Calm yourself, Draco. And I don't appreciate you accusing me of not caring about the boy. I practically offered to adopt him."

"And yet you refuse to allow anyone to call the police. That's what people do when people go missing," Draco hissed, his eyes sparkling with fury Severus knew was not truly aimed at him. The chemistry professor walked over to Draco, placing hands on his shoulders and forcing him into the chair across from his desk. Then he took his own seat, leaning forward with his elbows propped on the desk.

"Draco," he began, "If I tell you what I know, I cannot tell you here. And you cannot act on what I tell you." Draco scowled.

"What the fuck?"

"Language," Severus scolded. "Come to my house after school. I'll tell you what I can. And don't tell your father." Draco's eyes widened.

"What's Lucius got to do with any of this?" Severus sighed.

"I don't know yet." He turned to his computer, giving Draco a dismissive last glance. The boy pursed his lips in frustration but finally stood, grabbing his violin case and leaving the office. Snape watched him go. He didn't want to risk getting Draco in the middle of any of this, any more than he already was as Harry's boyfriend, or whatever they were now. That Lucius was financially entangled with the very man that was likely keeping Harry complicated the issue for Draco.

Hours later Draco impatiently waited in his own car in Severus's driveway, waiting for his godfather to come home. He noticed his knee was bouncing…a nervous habit that his father hadn't quite been able to rid him of.

He had known something was very wrong when Severus called him around midnight on Monday, asking where Harry was. The man had assumed the dancer had been with Draco all night, Draco had assumed Harry had been at home with Severus. Shortly after clearing up the misunderstanding Severus hung up rather abruptly, but not before Draco heard him utter a choked curse. Draco didn't sleep at all that night, his mind racing.

Where was Harry? Had he gone back to his uncle's place? Had he just run away from it all? Severus seemed worried on the phone, which didn't bode well at all. Something more serious was at play. Draco's suspicions were doubly validated when Severus refused to talk about Harry's disappearance in his school office. The rest of the students, including Harry and Draco's friends, were all told Harry was at Severus's house, extremely ill. Severus would make himself scarce around lunch in order to make students believe he had run home to check on his patient. The teachers knew the truth, though: Harry was missing. And with his background in Thirteenth District, "missing" often meant dead.

Draco took a shaky breath and pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to make them stop tearing up. Calm down. Hysterics won't help Harry. A sharp rap on his window got his attention. Severus was home. He followed his godfather into the house and settled down at the kitchen table, watching silently as the man went about making a pot of coffee.

"I need to ask you some questions, and I don't care if Harry has sworn you to silence, you will answer them if you know the answer," Severus said. His voice was sharp and serious.

"Yes, sir," Draco replied quietly. When the coffee pot was rumbling and dripping liquid into its glass container, Severus sat down opposite Draco at the table.

"Tell me about all the times you've noticed Harry acting strangely. I need dates and times. Acting especially jumpy, or happy, or depressed. Talking about his home life, uncomfortable…anything." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Sev, Harry's always jumpy, and normally depressed, and…I don't know. I've never noticed…wait." Draco thought back to the night he had gone to visit Harry at the school, only to find that Harry had snuck out, in the pouring rain, and stayed out for hours. Severus's black eyes seemed like they were looking into his soul. The blond shook his head. "The night that Harry slept at the school, when you came over for dinner. I went back to the school late that night to visit Harry, and snuck in. Harry wasn't there, and I waited for at least an hour before I fell asleep. Harry came back early in the morning, soaking wet. He was freezing. I made him go take a shower, but when he came back down he was pale and shaking. He tried to act normally, but I knew something was wrong. He never said what, though." Severus 'hmmm'ed.

He would bet anything Harry had seen Tom that night. But did he go looking for him?

"Why did he say he left the school?" Severus asked.

"Just said he needed some air. To clear his head." The tall man nodded to himself.

"Has Harry ever mentioned someone named Tom Riddle?" Severus asked plainly. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"I know that name…" he whispered under his breath. "Doesn't he…does my father work with him? Why would Harry know Mr. Riddle?"

"You do not want to know the answer to either of those questions, trust me. I would advise you stay far away from that man whenever possible. Is there anything else about Harry you should mention?" Severus said sharply. Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he didn't comment, just shook his head.

"No, Sev. I don't know. I just…I'm worried." The chemistry professor sighed.

"I know. And I won't lie to you: you should be worried." Draco looked down with a furrowed brow, and Severus rose to pour two cups of coffee from the coffee maker.

"You know where is his, don't you?" Draco asked, accepting his cup with a nod of thanks. The older man remained standing, leaning against the countertop.

"I have an idea, yes. But there is nothing I, or anyone, can do to help him if I am right," he said solemnly. Draco scowled even more.

"Severus? Where is he?" the teen asked cautiously. The professor shook his head.

"I cannot tell you, and although I recognize you are concerned, I must ask that you do not go looking for answers outside this house. Harry plays a dangerous game, and the best way you can help him is to not get involved," Severus emphasized. Draco sighed.

"But, Sev…"

"No, Draco. I am quite serious."

"So we're just going to leave him? Forget about him? Let him rot with whoever took him or is keeping him or whatever?!" Draco exclaimed, pushing his coffee away in frustration.

"No! But there is little we can do to help him, and even less than you can do. Please have patience. And do not tell anyone about this conversation." Draco nodded.

"Father wanted me to remind you about tomorrow's party," Draco said glumly. Severus rolled his eyes.

"I have already politely refused the offer, as Lucius well knows. It is a busy time of year at school, I have work to attend to outside of frivolous parties." Draco rose, understanding that their conversation was coming to an end. He shrugged.

"I will relay the response, then," he said with a quirk of his lips. Severus nodded with his own half smile.

"Please remember what I asked of you, Draco. It is not only for Harry that you not get involved, but also for your own safety." Draco stared at his godfather for a long time before nodding sharply and walking out of the kitchen, exiting the house moments later. A cold feeling had spread throughout his body. What was Harry doing? What was this 'dangerous game' he was playing at?

I always love reading your reviews, even if I don't respond to them personally. Also, feel free to toss out ideas, scenes you want to see in this story…whatever!

The Wykkyd