7.
On the west bank of the Mississippi, eastward in New Orleans, rests the neighbourhood of Algiers. It's never been one of the richest burrows of the city and it was understandably one of the hardest hit once the levies broke and the water flooded the land. But, very few neighbourhoods had the pride that the Algiers residents had for their property and belongings. It was no surprise, then, that it would have been one of the first residential areas bustling with families trying to recoup and rebuild. Some homes seem as though it forgot there was ever a hurricane to begin with.
It's a hot afternoon when Draco arrived in the area, Harry and Dragon in tow. Fortunately, there is a cool breeze that whips across this suburb. Unfortunately, however, it brings with it the smell of weeks-old garbage as it whisked through the piles of trash, lined along the street and, at times, stacked high as a house.
"King!"
The sound came from far ahead. And, for Draco, there was nothing else in the world – no sound, no smell, nothing but the sight of Dragon, darting off to a black boy with dreads who reminded him of Lee Jordan. The boy ran from his yard into the middle of the street, knelt down, and held out his arms, stretching them wide in front of him, waiting. Draco's breath hitched deep in his throat as he watched the boy and the dog embrace. There was a happiness in the dog's eyes that could be seen even from the distance Draco stood.
"At least he'll be happy, Draco," Harry said, trying to be reassuring.
Draco didn't want to look at Harry at the moment. He knew he'd have a satiated smile on his face, as if all was well in the world and a great wrong had been righted. "Sod that!" Draco thought. He didn't want Dragon to be happy. He wanted Dragon to be happy with him. After all, Draco had been happy, with Harry and the dog, both loyal and comforting.
But now, Draco didn't want comfort. He wanted to rage – rage against the unfairness of it all. Hadn't he been the one to save Dragon from an uncertainly fate? Hadn't he been the one to keep Dragon fed and warm and dry and ... safe? And what had this bloke done for Dragon but abandon him?
"... dragon ..." was all Draco could whisper.
It was devoid of strength and conviction and it betrayed the calm and cool expression on his face. Long after Dragon had passed away, leaving his boy a saddened adult, the young, black boy would remember this day as the day that – as if by magic – his companion had defied the odds, survived a storm, and came home; their home.
As if by cue, Dragon – sorry, King – turned to give Draco one last look – one last 'thank you'. His tail wagged, slowly with seeming calculation. Draco held up a hand, a faint wave goodbye. As if given permission, King turned away, bounding with his new – old – friend to go home with his new – old – pack.
They stood on the street in the neighbourhood of Algiers for what seemed to be an eternity, watching a dog and his boy frolic and play, tackling one another and rolling around haphazardly in the dirt. Laughs and barks bounced off the houses. After a moment, Draco leaned in closer to Harry, just a smidge, crossing his arms and hugging himself fiercely. He didn't even try to stop the tears from falling as the last of the barks had disappeared behind the door of a house.
He could hear the boy call out, "Mama – Mama! Look! King came back – King came home!"
Home.
Such a simple word, really.
Just four letters. But they suddenly seemed less... alien to him.
"Thanks for finding me, Harry."
"No problem, mate. Thanks for making it easy for me," he said with a smile, playfully bumping Draco's shoulders with his own.
"Harry?"
"Yes, Draco?"
"Can we go home, now?"
"… yes, Draco."
They turned to leave after a moment, one less in their pack.
"Harry…?"
"Yes…?"
"… you can have a puppy if you like."
•fin•