Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the wonderful little boys; I'm just borrowing them for my plot.
Author's Notes: squeak Oh, you're all so nice! Such a wonderful reception. Big kisses to everyone!!!
To HoorayTheWeird: I still can't believe you reviewed the chapter!!! Thanks for all your help!!!
To Isis-mystic: Thanks so much for your review! Isn't "Fever" awesome?!? I love it. Enjoy the chapter!!
To June: Thanks for your encouragement and enjoy!!
To NiimuraYume: Sorry it's taken a bit. Busy times in the life of me. ;-D Enjoy!!
To lydd: I'd glad you liked the chapter! The gymnastics stuff is hard. And painful. Trust me. O.O Enjoy this chapter!!
To xXxIce.PrincessxXx: squeals Ohh!!! You're so sweet!!! But don't stay up that late just to read my fic!! Go sleep!!! I really hope you enjoy this chapter!!
To Jaded Winter: Hope this chapter satisfies your curiosity!!
To Pixie Goddess1: AHHH!!! Oh, I so love you (why does it creep people out when you say that?? I say it all the time . . . O.o); you're so nice!!! Hope you like the chapter!!!
To mwa!: I'm so glad you liked the first chapter! Hope this one satisfies (or adds to, if it'll keep you reading!) your curiosity!!!
The chapter would suck if it wasn't for my wonderful beta HoorayTheWeird (Winde). I love ya, m'dear!!!!
Chapter 2
The talented dancer desperately hoped his aim was still as accurate in the dark as it was with the lights. He skipped offstage before anyone saw he hadn't actually thrown off his shorts, but an extra pair held by a stagehand instead. He raked a hand through his hair and expelled a deep breath. He was always so nervous going up there and dancing for all the leering spectators, despite the fact he had been working at the Blue Moon for four years. He flashed a saucy grin at Derrick and Fabio, better known as The Diamond Duo, as they passed, heading to the stage for their dance. No one ever knew just how nervous and worried about going out on stage the hot young star always became.
The White Dragon wasn't his real name, of course. No one here was ever announced using their real names. Some even used an alias offstage and on. This particular dancer's given name was Draco Malfoy. He was twenty-two years old and had been alone since he was seventeen. His parents had been killed in the war against the Dark Lord Voldemort when he was in his final year at school. He found out, with a sudden shock, his parents weren't as wealthy as they allowed everyone to think. They were deeply in debt, and Draco did his best to pay off all the bills while still trying to keep some to live on. It wasn't enough and soon everything was spent, but the bills kept coming. Draco was about to give up when he met Frankie.
Frankie was cute. Not overly attractive, but he got a few stares and giggles as he walked along the street. He owned the Blue Moon. He and Draco went out a few times, coffee, lunch, casual get-togethers. Each time, he noticed Draco was more anxious and drawn. When Draco finally told him about his financial difficulties, Frankie gave him a job and enough money to pay off the bills (money that Draco had to exchange into wizarding money). Draco didn't exactly know what kind of work Frankie dealt in -- they never discussed it. So Draco was relatively . . . well, shocked when he walked into the club and saw a half-naked man grinding against a pole. It was too late by then, however. Draco had to work for him to pay off his debts. That was about a month before his eighteenth birthday. He'd been there ever since.
Draco stalked into his dressing room and threw on a black silk robe. He flopped into the director's chair he had stationed in front of his mirror and stared at his reflection. He saw silver-grey eyes smothered in eye makeup, smooth, pale skin, and short, but not too, platinum blonde locks. He smirked. He looked good. He knew it. But looks like his attracted a lot of unwanted attention. Creeps, calling for him at all hours, waiting for him when he left the club, heading home for a good night's sleep. He frowned and thought back to his performance that night. Unbidden, the features of his reflection began to shift. Stylish blonde hair became unruly black locks. Pale skin tanned. Silver eyes turned into glittering emerald orbs, encircled with black spectacles. It was the man that had made him hesitate when Draco spotted him. He was breathtakingly stunning, and altogether not the type of man one usually saw at strip clubs. He was . . . different. And familiar. Draco felt like her knew him from somewhere. But where??
A quiet knock at his dressing room drawer startled Draco back to reality. He looked up and saw a tall brunette leaning against the doorframe. It was another dancer, Eric, his stage name Tiger.
"Hey, Eric," Draco greeted with a small smile. He'd always felt a sort of kinship with the other dancer. They'd both arrived at the club around the same time and had become quick friends. Eric was three and a half years older than Draco, with curly shoulder-length brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was several inches taller than Draco and slightly more built.
"Hey, babe," Eric replied softly, coming into the room and sitting in one of the armchairs strewn about the room, the nearest to Draco. Eric had just arrived for his shift and hadn't yet changed, just applied his makeup. His blue eyes were accented with black eyeliner and dark eye shadow. There was bronze glitter brushed across his high cheekbones and his lips held a tint of pink, something the crowds found very pleasing.
"Watched your performance tonight. You did really well."
"Thanks," Draco answered, his smile melting away. He hated it when he was complimented on his dancing. He hated dancing. Period.
"Sorry, I know you don't like that," Eric whispered.
"Damn right."
Eric decided to abruptly change the subject.
"I saw you eyeing that gorgeous guy in the front table," he remarked, his eyes sparkling with barely suppressed mirth. Draco grinned, his eyes flicking back to the mirror where he'd seen the man's face instead of his own.
"He was . . . he was something, all right," Draco conceded, a smile playing around his mouth.
"Something? Honey, he couldn't take his eyes off you!" Eric laughed. Draco blushed. "And it seems you noticed him, too," Eric continued, his laughter dying.
"He was different, Eric. Not like those other guys that come and start pouring saliva the moment we hit the stage," Draco told him, his voice taking on a dreamy tone. "And his eyes! Bloody hell, you could lose yourself in them . . ."
Eric's smile faded. He stood up and quickly closed the door, flipping the lock. He turned back to Draco with a serious look gracing his painted features.
"Drac, you know you can't think like that," he reminded in a low voice. Draco sighed irritably. "Frankie'll have your head if he catches you."
"I know, I know!" the blonde man snapped, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. "I just . . . I can't help it! I've never seen someone like . . . like that before."
"Do you not remember what happened the last time you had thoughts along these lines?" Eric asked him worriedly. Draco stopped pacing and fell into a chair across the room.
"Of course I bloody remember. He sold me on the streets until I 'remembered my place'," Draco responded bitterly. "How can I bloody forget?"
"I don't mean to bring up hard memories, you've got to know that," Eric pleaded, coming over to sit next to Draco. "I'm just looking out for you, sweetie. I don't want you to get in trouble like that again."
Draco sighed, his voice laced with fatigue when he next spoke.
"I know," he whispered, his face drawn. "I just want to have a normal life instead of one as a . . . a . . . prostitute or – or hooker or whatever the hell I am," he ended in a sigh. Eric gathered him into his arms in an embrace and held him for a few moments.
"I'd better get going," he said when they parted. "Still have to get dressed and everything." Draco only nodded. "Don't worry. Everything will work itself out."
"I hope so . . . for both our sakes," Draco replied. Eric gave him a brief smile and unlocked the door. As he stepped through the door, he turned to Draco.
"Drac?"
"Yeah?"
"You're an exotic dancer, that's what the hell you are," Eric informed the blonde with a grin. His only response was a paperback book thrown at him. He closed the door quickly to avoid being hit and opened it again, a cheeky grin on his face.
"Later, babe!"
"See ya, Eric. And good luck tonight!" Draco called. Eric waved his hand as he disappeared down the hall.
Draco chuckled to himself as he began to change. Two o'clock and he was gone. He pulled off the skintight black shorts and slipped into some much more comfortable boxers and jeans. He had just removed most of his makeup – everything but the eyeliner, he liked that – and had slipped a pale blue button-up over his shoulders when he heard a loud crash in the hall. Draco turned and rushed towards the hallway and wrenched the door open. His shirt was still open, revealing a pale, muscular chest, and he was barefoot, as he had been all night. Had one of those psychopath fans he seemed to attract try to sneak backstage to see him again? It certainly wouldn't have been the first time. Perhaps he shouldn't have left his dressing room. Oh, well, too late.
Draco screeched to a halt when he saw who was making all the commotion. It was Roscoe, one of the backstage security guards, and . . . Mr. Gorgeous from the show. Draco could only stare at him, his mouth hanging slightly open. He was even more breathtaking up close and in better light. Hold on . . . Draco knew him. And he remembered who he was. Merlin, it was Harry Bloody Potter! What was he doing in a strip club? And a gay one at that! Draco snapped himself out of his reverie and continued down the hall.
"Roscoe, what's going on?" Draco demanded, hurrying up to the pair. The tall, shaven-headed security guard looked at him. Harry turned to look as well and his eyes nearly fell out of his head.
"This guy here was trying to get to the dressing area to find you," the burly man explained. "I told him 'no way' without the proper credentials."
"It's okay, Roscoe, he's with me," Draco told him quickly as the guard turned back to Harry with a look in his eye, plainly saying, 'I'm going to eat you as soon as he turns away'.
"He's with you?" Roscoe asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, he's an old . . . friend of mine," Draco supplied, glancing back at his school-time archenemy. "Harry."
"I see." Roscoe clearly didn't buy it, but he seemed ready to leave well enough alone. "I'm going to leave you two alone then."
"Okay," Draco chirped cheerfully as the guard turned and walked down the hall and around the corner, away from Draco's dressing room. He willed the blush away threatening to creep up his cheeks when he felt Harry's eyes on him. "Follow me, Potter," he murmured. With a quick glance behind him to make sure he actually was following, Draco hurried back into his dressing room and closed the door. He took a deep breath before he turned around, jumping slightly when he saw the intense scrutiny he was under.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he burst out nervously. Why am I nervous?! I'm never nervous when I'm talking to guys! Especially when it's Harry Potter! he thought furiously to himself.
"Me? I could ask you the same thing!" Harry hissed, staring openmouthed at Draco. He saw Draco glance down at the costume in his hands. "Here, take this." Draco tossed the wrinkled costume into a nearby armchair. "A Malfoy at a gay strip club!" He laughed, and Draco conveniently ignored the little shiver that ran down his spine. "Wait until Ron and Hermione hear about this!"
Draco's hand shot out and grasped Harry's wrist tightly.
"No! You can't tell them!" he pleaded. "Please."
Harry locked his eyes with Draco's for a moment before he nodded.
"Fine . . . if you tell me what you're doing here."
Draco bit his lip.
"Fine," he repeated. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just as long as you don't tell Granger and Weasley about me here."
"What happened to you after the war?" Harry whispered, crossing his arms. "After Voldemort was defeated, no one could find any trace of you."
"My parents were killed. Everything I had believed in had fallen. I was totally and completely lost. I ran," Draco replied softly. "I came back home and discovered my parents were most definitely not as wealthy as they led everyone – including their own son – to think. They were so deeply in debt, I had no idea how I was going to pay all their bills off. After every last Galleon, Sickle, and Knut had been spent, the bills kept coming."
"What did you do?" Harry asked as Draco paused.
"I almost gave up. Then I met a Muggle, a guy named Frankie," Draco told him, slowly making his way to an armchair. "Despite the fact he wasn't a wizard, he was really nice and we ended up going out – that's a story for another day," he interjected sternly as Harry opened his mouth. "When he finally found out about all my financial difficulties, he gave me enough money to pay off the bills – I had to do some quick arithmetic to figure out how much Muggle money was needed – and he gave me a job at a club he owned. I thought I was going to be a bartender or a waiter or something. I had no idea I was going to be up there . . . gyrating like that. Ever since, he's had a death grip on me. On everyone here."
"When did you start working here?" Harry asked, peering at Draco closely.
"A month before I turned eighteen," Draco confessed. Harry was astonished.
"You've been here for four years?!"
Draco thought a moment.
"Yeah, I guess it's been about that," he responded.
"Why didn't you get a job at the Ministry? Or at Hogwarts?" Harry inquired curiously. "We lost a lot of teachers in the war."
"Honestly, I wanted nothing to do with magic after everything went down," Draco answered, closing his eyes. "And when I did, Frankie refused to let me go."
"This Frankie sounds horrible," Harry commented. Draco chuckled
"Good to see you haven't smartened up since graduation, Potter!"
"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry muttered, his face reddening. Draco sighed.
"Sorry," he muttered. "You'd think after everything that's happened to me, I'd be the one to smarten up."
"It's not your fault, whatever it is you've had to go through," Harry told him, leaning closer.
"You'd be surprised," Draco murmured, more to himself than Harry. Harry frowned. What was that supposed to mean? He sighed and glanced at his watch. It read "2:07 – HURRY UP".
"Uhh . . . okay. Well, I'd better go. Ron's waiting for me outside," Harry remarked. Draco's head shot up and he stared at Harry with worry in his eyes.
"Weasley was here tonight?!" he demanded, a note of panic creeping into his voice.
"Yeah, but he fell asleep almost as soon as your routine started," Harry reassured him. Draco visibly relaxed.
"Not one for gay strippers, Weasley?" he asked, laughing. Harry joined him.
"If you remember Ron correctly, he's straight as a broomstick," Harry added, raking a hand through his hair. Draco grinned.
"He and Granger still together?" he questioned, eager for any information about his world.
"Yeah. Engaged, actually," Harry informed him, a little surprised that Draco was genuinely interested.
"Oh, that's great. Good for them," Draco replied. He squirmed uncomfortably, knowing his next question was not one he asked often. "Uhh . . . Potter . . .d'you – d'you think you could . . . help me . . . out of this situation I've gotten myself into?" The words came out in a rush. Harry grinned at the flustered sight of the usually smooth young man.
"Of course."
Draco looked up at him, startled and a bit shocked Harry had agreed so readily.
"Really?!"
"Yes, you prat, really!" Harry replied, laughing. Draco grinned again.
"Great! Uhh . . . " When?!
"I'll send you an owl tomorrow and we'll figure out when the best time for you to come is," Harry supplied.
"Come . . . where?"
"My apartment."
"Ah. Of course." For some reason, the thought of going to Harry's apartment made him rather nervous. He quelled the feelings as they both stood. "Well . . . thank you."
Harry shrugged.
"Don't worry about it," was the nonchalant reply. He turned and reached for the door. "I'll talk to you soon."
"Yeah."
Harry glanced back at Draco before he left and smiled.
"Malfoy?"
"What, Potter?"
"Thanks for the show." And with that, he left, Draco standing in the middle of the room, stunned. After a moment, he sighed, a smile playing on his face, and quickly buttoned up his shirt, then pulled on a pair of sneakers. He left his balled-up costume lying in a heap in the armchair. He hastily replaced his makeup into his leather bag and threw it over his shoulder.
"I've got to get the hell out of here," Draco muttered to himself. He twisted the doorknob and found himself face-to-face with Frankie.
"Where d'you think you're going, Dragon?" Frankie asked with a leer.
"Home. It's two. My shift's over," Draco reminded him.
"Not tonight. Marco was arrested earlier for hooking and you and Eric are taking his spot until I can find someone else to fill it," Frankie told him, turning him around and pushing him back into the dressing room. "Get changed; you're on in an hour."
With a squeeze of Draco's arse, he turned and slammed the door shut. Draco stared at the door for a moment before he hurled his bag into one of the chairs.
"Damn it!"
Author's Notes: squeak Oh, you're all so nice! Such a wonderful reception. Big kisses to everyone!!!
To HoorayTheWeird: I still can't believe you reviewed the chapter!!! Thanks for all your help!!!
To Isis-mystic: Thanks so much for your review! Isn't "Fever" awesome?!? I love it. Enjoy the chapter!!
To June: Thanks for your encouragement and enjoy!!
To NiimuraYume: Sorry it's taken a bit. Busy times in the life of me. ;-D Enjoy!!
To lydd: I'd glad you liked the chapter! The gymnastics stuff is hard. And painful. Trust me. O.O Enjoy this chapter!!
To xXxIce.PrincessxXx: squeals Ohh!!! You're so sweet!!! But don't stay up that late just to read my fic!! Go sleep!!! I really hope you enjoy this chapter!!
To Jaded Winter: Hope this chapter satisfies your curiosity!!
To Pixie Goddess1: AHHH!!! Oh, I so love you (why does it creep people out when you say that?? I say it all the time . . . O.o); you're so nice!!! Hope you like the chapter!!!
To mwa!: I'm so glad you liked the first chapter! Hope this one satisfies (or adds to, if it'll keep you reading!) your curiosity!!!
The chapter would suck if it wasn't for my wonderful beta HoorayTheWeird (Winde). I love ya, m'dear!!!!
Chapter 2
The talented dancer desperately hoped his aim was still as accurate in the dark as it was with the lights. He skipped offstage before anyone saw he hadn't actually thrown off his shorts, but an extra pair held by a stagehand instead. He raked a hand through his hair and expelled a deep breath. He was always so nervous going up there and dancing for all the leering spectators, despite the fact he had been working at the Blue Moon for four years. He flashed a saucy grin at Derrick and Fabio, better known as The Diamond Duo, as they passed, heading to the stage for their dance. No one ever knew just how nervous and worried about going out on stage the hot young star always became.
The White Dragon wasn't his real name, of course. No one here was ever announced using their real names. Some even used an alias offstage and on. This particular dancer's given name was Draco Malfoy. He was twenty-two years old and had been alone since he was seventeen. His parents had been killed in the war against the Dark Lord Voldemort when he was in his final year at school. He found out, with a sudden shock, his parents weren't as wealthy as they allowed everyone to think. They were deeply in debt, and Draco did his best to pay off all the bills while still trying to keep some to live on. It wasn't enough and soon everything was spent, but the bills kept coming. Draco was about to give up when he met Frankie.
Frankie was cute. Not overly attractive, but he got a few stares and giggles as he walked along the street. He owned the Blue Moon. He and Draco went out a few times, coffee, lunch, casual get-togethers. Each time, he noticed Draco was more anxious and drawn. When Draco finally told him about his financial difficulties, Frankie gave him a job and enough money to pay off the bills (money that Draco had to exchange into wizarding money). Draco didn't exactly know what kind of work Frankie dealt in -- they never discussed it. So Draco was relatively . . . well, shocked when he walked into the club and saw a half-naked man grinding against a pole. It was too late by then, however. Draco had to work for him to pay off his debts. That was about a month before his eighteenth birthday. He'd been there ever since.
Draco stalked into his dressing room and threw on a black silk robe. He flopped into the director's chair he had stationed in front of his mirror and stared at his reflection. He saw silver-grey eyes smothered in eye makeup, smooth, pale skin, and short, but not too, platinum blonde locks. He smirked. He looked good. He knew it. But looks like his attracted a lot of unwanted attention. Creeps, calling for him at all hours, waiting for him when he left the club, heading home for a good night's sleep. He frowned and thought back to his performance that night. Unbidden, the features of his reflection began to shift. Stylish blonde hair became unruly black locks. Pale skin tanned. Silver eyes turned into glittering emerald orbs, encircled with black spectacles. It was the man that had made him hesitate when Draco spotted him. He was breathtakingly stunning, and altogether not the type of man one usually saw at strip clubs. He was . . . different. And familiar. Draco felt like her knew him from somewhere. But where??
A quiet knock at his dressing room drawer startled Draco back to reality. He looked up and saw a tall brunette leaning against the doorframe. It was another dancer, Eric, his stage name Tiger.
"Hey, Eric," Draco greeted with a small smile. He'd always felt a sort of kinship with the other dancer. They'd both arrived at the club around the same time and had become quick friends. Eric was three and a half years older than Draco, with curly shoulder-length brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was several inches taller than Draco and slightly more built.
"Hey, babe," Eric replied softly, coming into the room and sitting in one of the armchairs strewn about the room, the nearest to Draco. Eric had just arrived for his shift and hadn't yet changed, just applied his makeup. His blue eyes were accented with black eyeliner and dark eye shadow. There was bronze glitter brushed across his high cheekbones and his lips held a tint of pink, something the crowds found very pleasing.
"Watched your performance tonight. You did really well."
"Thanks," Draco answered, his smile melting away. He hated it when he was complimented on his dancing. He hated dancing. Period.
"Sorry, I know you don't like that," Eric whispered.
"Damn right."
Eric decided to abruptly change the subject.
"I saw you eyeing that gorgeous guy in the front table," he remarked, his eyes sparkling with barely suppressed mirth. Draco grinned, his eyes flicking back to the mirror where he'd seen the man's face instead of his own.
"He was . . . he was something, all right," Draco conceded, a smile playing around his mouth.
"Something? Honey, he couldn't take his eyes off you!" Eric laughed. Draco blushed. "And it seems you noticed him, too," Eric continued, his laughter dying.
"He was different, Eric. Not like those other guys that come and start pouring saliva the moment we hit the stage," Draco told him, his voice taking on a dreamy tone. "And his eyes! Bloody hell, you could lose yourself in them . . ."
Eric's smile faded. He stood up and quickly closed the door, flipping the lock. He turned back to Draco with a serious look gracing his painted features.
"Drac, you know you can't think like that," he reminded in a low voice. Draco sighed irritably. "Frankie'll have your head if he catches you."
"I know, I know!" the blonde man snapped, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. "I just . . . I can't help it! I've never seen someone like . . . like that before."
"Do you not remember what happened the last time you had thoughts along these lines?" Eric asked him worriedly. Draco stopped pacing and fell into a chair across the room.
"Of course I bloody remember. He sold me on the streets until I 'remembered my place'," Draco responded bitterly. "How can I bloody forget?"
"I don't mean to bring up hard memories, you've got to know that," Eric pleaded, coming over to sit next to Draco. "I'm just looking out for you, sweetie. I don't want you to get in trouble like that again."
Draco sighed, his voice laced with fatigue when he next spoke.
"I know," he whispered, his face drawn. "I just want to have a normal life instead of one as a . . . a . . . prostitute or – or hooker or whatever the hell I am," he ended in a sigh. Eric gathered him into his arms in an embrace and held him for a few moments.
"I'd better get going," he said when they parted. "Still have to get dressed and everything." Draco only nodded. "Don't worry. Everything will work itself out."
"I hope so . . . for both our sakes," Draco replied. Eric gave him a brief smile and unlocked the door. As he stepped through the door, he turned to Draco.
"Drac?"
"Yeah?"
"You're an exotic dancer, that's what the hell you are," Eric informed the blonde with a grin. His only response was a paperback book thrown at him. He closed the door quickly to avoid being hit and opened it again, a cheeky grin on his face.
"Later, babe!"
"See ya, Eric. And good luck tonight!" Draco called. Eric waved his hand as he disappeared down the hall.
Draco chuckled to himself as he began to change. Two o'clock and he was gone. He pulled off the skintight black shorts and slipped into some much more comfortable boxers and jeans. He had just removed most of his makeup – everything but the eyeliner, he liked that – and had slipped a pale blue button-up over his shoulders when he heard a loud crash in the hall. Draco turned and rushed towards the hallway and wrenched the door open. His shirt was still open, revealing a pale, muscular chest, and he was barefoot, as he had been all night. Had one of those psychopath fans he seemed to attract try to sneak backstage to see him again? It certainly wouldn't have been the first time. Perhaps he shouldn't have left his dressing room. Oh, well, too late.
Draco screeched to a halt when he saw who was making all the commotion. It was Roscoe, one of the backstage security guards, and . . . Mr. Gorgeous from the show. Draco could only stare at him, his mouth hanging slightly open. He was even more breathtaking up close and in better light. Hold on . . . Draco knew him. And he remembered who he was. Merlin, it was Harry Bloody Potter! What was he doing in a strip club? And a gay one at that! Draco snapped himself out of his reverie and continued down the hall.
"Roscoe, what's going on?" Draco demanded, hurrying up to the pair. The tall, shaven-headed security guard looked at him. Harry turned to look as well and his eyes nearly fell out of his head.
"This guy here was trying to get to the dressing area to find you," the burly man explained. "I told him 'no way' without the proper credentials."
"It's okay, Roscoe, he's with me," Draco told him quickly as the guard turned back to Harry with a look in his eye, plainly saying, 'I'm going to eat you as soon as he turns away'.
"He's with you?" Roscoe asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, he's an old . . . friend of mine," Draco supplied, glancing back at his school-time archenemy. "Harry."
"I see." Roscoe clearly didn't buy it, but he seemed ready to leave well enough alone. "I'm going to leave you two alone then."
"Okay," Draco chirped cheerfully as the guard turned and walked down the hall and around the corner, away from Draco's dressing room. He willed the blush away threatening to creep up his cheeks when he felt Harry's eyes on him. "Follow me, Potter," he murmured. With a quick glance behind him to make sure he actually was following, Draco hurried back into his dressing room and closed the door. He took a deep breath before he turned around, jumping slightly when he saw the intense scrutiny he was under.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he burst out nervously. Why am I nervous?! I'm never nervous when I'm talking to guys! Especially when it's Harry Potter! he thought furiously to himself.
"Me? I could ask you the same thing!" Harry hissed, staring openmouthed at Draco. He saw Draco glance down at the costume in his hands. "Here, take this." Draco tossed the wrinkled costume into a nearby armchair. "A Malfoy at a gay strip club!" He laughed, and Draco conveniently ignored the little shiver that ran down his spine. "Wait until Ron and Hermione hear about this!"
Draco's hand shot out and grasped Harry's wrist tightly.
"No! You can't tell them!" he pleaded. "Please."
Harry locked his eyes with Draco's for a moment before he nodded.
"Fine . . . if you tell me what you're doing here."
Draco bit his lip.
"Fine," he repeated. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just as long as you don't tell Granger and Weasley about me here."
"What happened to you after the war?" Harry whispered, crossing his arms. "After Voldemort was defeated, no one could find any trace of you."
"My parents were killed. Everything I had believed in had fallen. I was totally and completely lost. I ran," Draco replied softly. "I came back home and discovered my parents were most definitely not as wealthy as they led everyone – including their own son – to think. They were so deeply in debt, I had no idea how I was going to pay all their bills off. After every last Galleon, Sickle, and Knut had been spent, the bills kept coming."
"What did you do?" Harry asked as Draco paused.
"I almost gave up. Then I met a Muggle, a guy named Frankie," Draco told him, slowly making his way to an armchair. "Despite the fact he wasn't a wizard, he was really nice and we ended up going out – that's a story for another day," he interjected sternly as Harry opened his mouth. "When he finally found out about all my financial difficulties, he gave me enough money to pay off the bills – I had to do some quick arithmetic to figure out how much Muggle money was needed – and he gave me a job at a club he owned. I thought I was going to be a bartender or a waiter or something. I had no idea I was going to be up there . . . gyrating like that. Ever since, he's had a death grip on me. On everyone here."
"When did you start working here?" Harry asked, peering at Draco closely.
"A month before I turned eighteen," Draco confessed. Harry was astonished.
"You've been here for four years?!"
Draco thought a moment.
"Yeah, I guess it's been about that," he responded.
"Why didn't you get a job at the Ministry? Or at Hogwarts?" Harry inquired curiously. "We lost a lot of teachers in the war."
"Honestly, I wanted nothing to do with magic after everything went down," Draco answered, closing his eyes. "And when I did, Frankie refused to let me go."
"This Frankie sounds horrible," Harry commented. Draco chuckled
"Good to see you haven't smartened up since graduation, Potter!"
"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry muttered, his face reddening. Draco sighed.
"Sorry," he muttered. "You'd think after everything that's happened to me, I'd be the one to smarten up."
"It's not your fault, whatever it is you've had to go through," Harry told him, leaning closer.
"You'd be surprised," Draco murmured, more to himself than Harry. Harry frowned. What was that supposed to mean? He sighed and glanced at his watch. It read "2:07 – HURRY UP".
"Uhh . . . okay. Well, I'd better go. Ron's waiting for me outside," Harry remarked. Draco's head shot up and he stared at Harry with worry in his eyes.
"Weasley was here tonight?!" he demanded, a note of panic creeping into his voice.
"Yeah, but he fell asleep almost as soon as your routine started," Harry reassured him. Draco visibly relaxed.
"Not one for gay strippers, Weasley?" he asked, laughing. Harry joined him.
"If you remember Ron correctly, he's straight as a broomstick," Harry added, raking a hand through his hair. Draco grinned.
"He and Granger still together?" he questioned, eager for any information about his world.
"Yeah. Engaged, actually," Harry informed him, a little surprised that Draco was genuinely interested.
"Oh, that's great. Good for them," Draco replied. He squirmed uncomfortably, knowing his next question was not one he asked often. "Uhh . . . Potter . . .d'you – d'you think you could . . . help me . . . out of this situation I've gotten myself into?" The words came out in a rush. Harry grinned at the flustered sight of the usually smooth young man.
"Of course."
Draco looked up at him, startled and a bit shocked Harry had agreed so readily.
"Really?!"
"Yes, you prat, really!" Harry replied, laughing. Draco grinned again.
"Great! Uhh . . . " When?!
"I'll send you an owl tomorrow and we'll figure out when the best time for you to come is," Harry supplied.
"Come . . . where?"
"My apartment."
"Ah. Of course." For some reason, the thought of going to Harry's apartment made him rather nervous. He quelled the feelings as they both stood. "Well . . . thank you."
Harry shrugged.
"Don't worry about it," was the nonchalant reply. He turned and reached for the door. "I'll talk to you soon."
"Yeah."
Harry glanced back at Draco before he left and smiled.
"Malfoy?"
"What, Potter?"
"Thanks for the show." And with that, he left, Draco standing in the middle of the room, stunned. After a moment, he sighed, a smile playing on his face, and quickly buttoned up his shirt, then pulled on a pair of sneakers. He left his balled-up costume lying in a heap in the armchair. He hastily replaced his makeup into his leather bag and threw it over his shoulder.
"I've got to get the hell out of here," Draco muttered to himself. He twisted the doorknob and found himself face-to-face with Frankie.
"Where d'you think you're going, Dragon?" Frankie asked with a leer.
"Home. It's two. My shift's over," Draco reminded him.
"Not tonight. Marco was arrested earlier for hooking and you and Eric are taking his spot until I can find someone else to fill it," Frankie told him, turning him around and pushing him back into the dressing room. "Get changed; you're on in an hour."
With a squeeze of Draco's arse, he turned and slammed the door shut. Draco stared at the door for a moment before he hurled his bag into one of the chairs.
"Damn it!"