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Ch. 11: Day Five, Part 1: Stranger Danger

This must be what going mad feels like – Draco Malfoy taking the stage, to the wild applause of a youthful muggle crowd. People were screaming and hollering cheers, a good portion of them were chanting, "Dra-gon, Dra-gon!"

And Malfoy, Malfoy was –

Malfoy had transformed again. His blond locks were gone, replaced by a short, honey colored buzz cut, and he was certainly looking very. . . fit; wearing a tight sleeveless T, and gray cargo pants. He was holding a glass of some dark colored liquor on the rocks, and was smiling widely in exhilaration, flush with open excitement, and he was waving and shouting back at his. . . friends? Acquaintances? Admirers? Who were these other people, amongst whom Draco Malfoy could be more open than he had ever been seen to be in the wizarding world?

Ron's jaw had fallen open, and a tremble raced through him. "That's him, idd'n it? I'd recognize those features anywhere."

Harry managed to nod, but he didn't move his eyes from where they were fixed – Malfoy had taken the microphone offered him by the lead singer, and cleared his voice lustily.

"Is this what victory tastes like!" he demanded, raising his glass to the crowd before shooting back the liquid. There was a thunderous response from the dance floor, and Malfoy spat an ice cube out into the throngs.

"It tastes good, " he grinned after the roar had died down. "It tastes like speed, like flying. Like a party with good sex." He smirked and people laughed naturally. "None of us would be here if we didn't love the life. This party is every bit as much about you as it is about me. Tonight is our night. As for Mick Knightley. . . well, I doubt he'll be wanting to revisit these streets any time soon. I think we showed everyone that. . . HE AIN'T NOTHING BUT DUST-EATING ROADKILL!"

Harry thought the insult rather lbizarre in its choice of imagery, but the crowd ate it up, screaming in unison. Malfoy motioned for the noise to dampen, and it did. "I just want to express my recognition of some of my long-suffering friends, our band, people! Mr. Fantastic and the Fucking Idiots!"

More cheering, and the band members – whose music seemed pretty good from what Harry had been able to hear before this insane interruption – the band members bowed exaggeratedly. Malfoy flashed one final, luminescent grin, and waved shortly before exiting stage right. After a moment, music started up again, and then dancing; though Harry could still make out a slight commotion that marked Malfoy's journey from the stage to the bar, not too far from where Harry and Ron stood awkwardly.

After a moment Ron said, "Well. One of us should go talk to him, should we?"

Harry nodded silently, but the prospect did not look good – Malfoy was engaged at the bar with four hot chicks, and two men that were almost as good looking as the Slytherin prince himself. He already sported a new drink, and his attention was casually caught by his fluttering companions, who kept saying, Dragon, Dragon, Drag.

Harry was in motion almost before the idea had come to him, but it was an old Gryffindor trick to bravery – act first, think and feel later. He fearlessly stalked up to the group and stood behind Malfoy's fuzzy head. After a few seconds the voices died as the Dragon's friends glared suspiciously at the messy specimen that had taken up resident behind their star.

The fiercest looking of the hot chicks gestured to Malfoy, who promptly leaned around to look at Harry. His expression remained neutral, but there was glint of interest in his eyes. "Do I know you?" he asked provocatively.

Boldface honesty had always been Harry's forte. "If not my face, then you know my name. And I know your name, Draco."

Malfoy froze, for just a flinch of a second, but Harry caught it. Then his jaw clenched and that was the only warning before Malfoy had whipped around and grabbed Harry's forearms, pushing them away from his friends. The rush of adrenaline was both thrilling and exciting.

"I've gotta deal with this," Malfoy threw over his shoulder to his friends, as Harry allowed himself to be manhandled towards an exit – after all, he was getting what he wanted: a private audience with Dragon Maloy. He smiled slightly as he made eye contact with Ron, who looked aghast, before he was driven through a back entrance.

Malfoy must have known just where to go for privacy, as the back lot was surprisingly empty. He turned around, his skin as gray as his eyes under London's nightlight glow. He looked tense, and he was glaring mildly, but this Malfoy was harder for Harry to read than any of the ones he had dealt with so far. "Okay, smartass. Who are you and what do you want?" His voice was even, without betraying any attention.

"I am Harry Potter," he proclaimed (he had done this so many times now that it was almost down to an art). "And I need your help."

Malfoy's eyes shot to Harry's scar, visible now that he was looking for it. His lips parted in surprise and he looked genuinely impressed for a moment, before shaking his head and muttering. "Oh god, I think someone slipped me something."

"What? Don't be ridiculous, I'm not a hallucination. I've come because there is a serious problem in the wizarding world that I need your help with, Malfoy." The sexy teeny began laughing towards the end, and Harry's aggravation at Malfoy was a welcome reminder of what a git Draco Malfoy always is, in whatever realm. Still, the frustration was only serving to make Harry feel more hot and bothered – argh! It felt like he was channeling the exhilaration of the entire club!

"That must be quite an opening line with the ladies," Malfoy sneered gently. "I'm Harry Potter, and I need your help. I bet witches everywhere fall over themselves."

Harry glared back, "Sometimes."

For a moment Malfoy's reaction was up in the air, then he smiled in amusement. "Well, Harry Potter, this is quite an honor. Rumors of your recent exploits have been heard even here, through metaphorical muggle grapevines."

Malfoy reached out and grabbed Harry's forearm in a ceremonial wizard's greeting, surely feeling the wand the other boy had strapped to his left arm. Harry reeled with general surprise at the entire exchange: his mind couldn't seem to get past registering intoxicating skin conflict. "Thank you," he responded – his reflex to all such displays from strangers.

Music thumped from behind the heavy metal door.

Malfoy withdrew his arm, and again Harry felt disappointment at the loss of contact. "Welcome, I am Draco Malfoy, as you are apparently already aware, though muggles know me as Dragon Maloy."

Harry nodded, cautious because unpredictable people made him uncomfortable and because Malfoy always made him suspicious. "Is there somewhere we can go to talk properly? I have some very serious business with you."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "So you've said. Of course I'll help if I can, your Harry bloody Potter after all. . . it's like the Queen coming up to me and asking me to save the Kingdom – but. . . we can deal with all that later. Right now, we're at a great club, celebrating my victory, if you haven't heard, and I want to buy you a couple rounds!"

Harry, already drunk on the atmosphere, on Dragon, on Malfoy's projecting emotions – simply hadn't the willpower to resist.

! BREAK !

"Uh, do you mind if I ask what you won?" Harry asked as he followed Malfoy back through the club, but his question got lost in the music. Malfoy gestured at his friends before pushing his way to a piece of the bar a couple meters from them. People parted for Malfoy, occasionally saying hi or clapping his hand. Saddled at the bar, a luscious, fiery-haired bartender immediately came up to them.

Malfoy took a long, obvious eyeful of the young thing, who smiled back flirtatiously. "Three vodka redbulls, and a piece of that cherry pie." Malfoy nodded towards her.

The redhead grinned at him. "Coming right up."

Malfoy turned towards Harry, who had taken a seat next to him and was still studying him in astonishment. Who on earth was this person? Had aliens taken over Malfoy's mind!

"So, Potter, I don't reckon you've had many muggle drinks, do you?" he asked with interest.

Well, Harry didn't really drink many wizard drinks either – not alcoholic drinks; but he was under the definite impression that Malfoy probably drunk a lot. Indeed, he wouldn't be at all surprised if Malfoy had been taking something else that night.

"No, not many," he responded, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Then you'll have fun tonight," Malfoy responded salaciously.

"I guess," Harry said, blushing, and clutching at a way to change the direction of the conversation. Was Malfoy flirting with him! This seemed much more out of character than rough sex in abandoned classrooms; he'd have been more surprised, except that everything about the last few days (and how about the last five years?) had been so unbelievable. It was hard not to be jaded, despite superficial startle.

Harry was temporarily saved by the return of the pretty waitress, who smiled brightly at Malfoy. Inspiration struck in time to then save him from witnessing any prolonged flirtation. "Who's the third drink for?"

Malfoy turned to him, holding his drink and handing another one to Harry. He used his own drink to gesture at the crowd. "For your friend. He's been gaping at us the whole while, and now he appears to want a drink."

Harry glanced over and, sure enough, Ron was mulling obviously over by a pillar. There was a slightly pathetic look about him that did seem to indicate a desire to drink. Harry waved him over, and Ron clumsily made his way through the people with an excited look on his face. This was going to be an interesting introduction.

Harry turned to Ron as he drew up next to him. "Ron Weasley, this is, uh, Dragon Mal-oy. . . Maloy, this is Ron."

Malfoy clasped Ron's arm the way he had done to Harry, with a slight chuckle. "Maloy? Nobody but the cops call me that. Are you sure you guys aren't law enforcement?"

Harry just rolled his eyes, but Ron grinned. "Naw, mate. Good walks on both side of the law, Dra-gon."

Malfoy smiled back in obvious amusement and Harry was amazed that they appeared to actually be getting along. Ron barreled on, "I've been dying to ask, what did you win?"

Malfoy frowned slightly. "You don't know?" he asked disappointedly, looking at Harry, who just shook his head. "I guess that means that you don't need me for as a driver?'

Now Harry was a little confused (a driver? Why would they need one of those?). "No. . . it's a bit more complicated than that."

Malfoy sighed, then took a long drink. "Well, of course I'll help if I can. But I gotta tell you, my father will kill me if he finds me, probably in the most painful manner imaginable. Whatever you and the Ministry want from me, I need anonymity. I need to remain forgotten from . . . that world, and those people."

Harry didn't know what to say (my, a pattern); Malfoy turned away to pick up the third glass and pass it to Ron, who promptly took a bountiful swig, then was struck by an expression of amazed wonder. "But to answer your question, I won a racing tournament, and banked a pretty sum in the process."

"Brooms?" Ron asked absently, more occupied with eyeballing his drink. Harry elbowed him sharply, but Malfoy laughed. "What?"

"No. What I am talking about is infinitely superior to brooms. This is something much fiercer! It's like being on the Bufana's Superfast Superbroom, except that your broom is a monster. . . Our rides, mate. We ride our cars. . . It's better than drugs, and it's better than sex." Malfoy was caught halfway between condescension and a genuine desire to convince them of greatness.

Harry smiled, amused to see a little bit of the irrepressible Malfoy obnoxiousness. "So you're a racecar driver?"

Malfoy looked at him as if he was a little daft. "Not quite. I am still a minor you know? I race the underground scene, get it? Besides, it's dirtier, and more dangerous. And there's more money, if you can play your cards right."

Harry had to admit, he was a little impressed with this Dragon Maloy – Draco Malfoy hadn't done too bad on his own in the muggle world. He was the kind of bloke was just naturally popular wherever he was.

Harry brought the drink to his lips and swallowed lustfully. It was going to be a long morning.

! BREAK !

Harry woke up sometime later to a fuck-all blinding light!

It took a torturous moment for him to figure out it was the sun, and that he felt like absolute crap. His mouth was dry and his head ached profoundly, his mouth tasted foul and his skin felt slimy. He sat up carefully and, next to him on a big floor mattress, there was Ron, snoring and sleeping uncomfortably – fully dressed, like Harry, except for his shoes. Harry felt in his pants and was relieved to feel that his Invisibility cloak was where he had hung it – on the waist of his boxers. His wand was still snuggly strapped to his forearm He looked over to the other side of the furnished room, where a couch had been opened out, and two of Malfoy's friends were sleeping there together.

The adjoined room was a kitchen, but another room, with a mostly closed door, was probably a bedroom. On top of a DVD player, a cable box flashed 2:13.

Oh shit! The day was half over and he still hadn't made any process with Malfoy! He hadn't even tried! All he had done was. . . drink in extreme excess – with Malfoy and his friends! They laughed and argued loudly, talking as much about such universals as sex, women, and Shakespeare as about such muggle things as football, music, and politics. Ron had been extremely entertaining all night, his occasional displays of ignorance being mistaken as amusing evidence of drunkenness. . .

Slowly more memories came back, of uncomfortable familiarity. During occasional minutes Harry had been alone with Malfoy, they had scant shared personal information! Merlin, that must have been a result of the liquor! There had been dancing too! Fuck, Harry didn't even know how to dance, but apparently he hadn't cared at the time! And. . . flirting with Malfoy, he had done that too, hadn't he! It felt like he had done all these things, though it was difficult to remember. That he had had a blast, however, was doubtless, and Harry found himself grinning despite the nagging impression that he should be appalled by the night.

He glanced back at the almost closed door: he should go wake up Malfoy, they needed to talk. He rolled carefully off the bed, then stood for a long second while his stomach adjusted to the new position and altitude. He picked his way across a floor littered with clothes, dirty glasses, beer bottles, and ash trays; then he knocked lightly.

There was a pause then someone moaned, "Whaaat?"

Curiosity had been mounting by the second, so Harry wasted in no time in pushing open the door to reveal. . .

Naked arses. One shapely female arse, and one firm male arse, to be precise. Upon further (if slightly stunned) observation, a fuzzy blond scalp peeked out conspicuously from the sheets, sandwiched between the two enviable specimens of sleeping nudity.

A couple seconds passed before any movement took place – the white sheet was pulled down lethargically by a few creeping fingers, exposing the squinting, scrunched-up (but, damn him, still attractive) face of Draco Malfoy.

"Whatta you want?" he asked in irritated puzzlement.

The pit of envy and embarrassment did not sit well with his delicate stomach, and Harry had to fight off nausea for a moment as his skin flushed uncomfortably. It was all he could do to stick to the mission. "It's past two, and I really need your help today."

Malfoy's eyes widened suddenly, looking at the electronic clock beside the bed. His eyebrows shooting up, in an 'oh-shit' expression that looked positively ridiculous on his usually elegant features. Then Malfoy flew out of bed, with no regard for his sleeping companions. Harry was granted yet another eyeful of Malfoy's naked body as he yelled, "Bloody cunt mother-fucking shit!" and dashed towards an open closet.

The two nudes stretched and groaned erotically as they woke, but Harry couldn't budge his gaze from where it was fixed (again) – on Malfoy, now crouching and digging through a pile of clothes. Then he was standing, pulling on boxers and a ratty pair of baggy tan cords. His ass disappeared from view, then his back as he pulled on a white T. He turned around so quickly that Harry could've been easily caught ogling, except that Malfoy was in such a hurry that he hadn't even time for peripheral observation.

"Harry, go wake up Kel, we've got less than a half-hour!" he exclaimed, before power-walking to the bathroom.

Caution was quickly yielding to curiosity as Harry hurried back to the sitting room, where he gave Ron a quick shave (knowing it would take a couple tries to wake him anyway) before going to Kel.

Kel was a wild black woman of Caribbean decent, who also happened to be highly attractive (all of Dragon's friends were): her body was strong and curvaceous, while her face strong and intelligent, and her personality strong and active. She lay on the fold-out couch, mostly naked, with Rob, who (it seemed to Harry) was also a good friend of Dragon's.

Harry shook her awake, gently but insistently (he had had lots of practice with Ron over the years). "Kel. . . Kel. Wake up. It's after two. You've got less than a half hour."

Kel's eyelids blinked painfully at him once, without recognition, before closing for a long second – then Kel sprang out of bed almost as fast Malfoy had. Last night's clothes lay pooled on the floor. "Bollocks! Bloody voodoo bollocks!"

Despite the constant weight of 'his mission', Harry was tinkling with urgency and excitement, titillated by this new world where anything could happen next! He returned to Ron and shook him again, as Malfoy walked out of his room, rapidly brushing his teeth, his face damp. He spat in the sink, and opened the refrigerator – it was still so fascinating to see Malfoy operating in such a muggle setting!

"Ron!' Harry said for the fifth time, tearing his eyes away from Malfoy and embarrassed by just how much time he had spent recently staring at Draco Malfoy.

Ron seemed to finally get the picture, and he sat up. "Ugh. My head hurts," he rasped.

"Come on you guys!" Malfoy called. "Put on your shoes and get something to eat for the road!"

The two wizards looked over at Malfoy, who was guzzling some orange juice, a power bar in his hand. Kel rushed to him, and took her turn at the OJ keg. Ron and Harry only had enough time to put on their shoes before Malfoy and Kel were marching towards the door – Malfoy throwing a power bar to each of them as they passed.

Then all four of them stomped down two flights of stairs, Malfoy saying something about his car, ". . . my ride only sits one passenger, and Kel has a motorcycle. . ."

Once out on the street, Malfoy turned to Kel, "Take Ron there and get me registered, 'kay? I'll be there in time."

Only then did Harry understand the significance of Malfoy's explanation.

Kel grabbed Ron's hand and tried to take off. Harry almost opposed the separation (it wasn't safe, was it?), but the meaningful glance from Ron stifled his objection – the redhead appeared uneasy, but pleased. It was hard to say whether he really wanted to spend time with a dark, devastating woman, or really wanted to take on a ride on a muggle motorcycle. Harry gave his friend an affectionate look, and let him go.

His thoughts were cut off by Malfoy tugging at his arm. His hangover was displeased to discover that Malfoy had them immediately jogging down the street; then, after a glance at his watch, Malfoy had them running – no, sprinting. And the fit bastard was fast. They tore down five blocks, by which time Harry was exhausted (and a good half block behind), before Malfoy stopped and unlocked the metal inner-door of a large garage gate. Harry followed Malfoy through to find him driving up in what appeared to be a modified Lamborghini.

Suddenly, Harry had a much greater understanding of just what sort of event they were late for.

"Get in!" Malfoy yelled, as the garage outer-door began to lift up.

Harry didn't hesitate, though his stomach was in knots: he was in full-on action mode.

The inside of the car was black leather. Malfoy had donned sunglasses and looked as stunning as the ride. He turned to look at Harry. "Remember last night, when you said you loved being a seeker because of the speed and the focus?"

"Yeah," Harry responded, not without some nervousness.

Malfoy grinned, biting into his powerbar. "Well, focus on this speed."

Then he floored it.

! End of Chapter !

Well, I hope you enjoyed. I know this is quite AU (which I find hard to by into myself), but I guarantee that this is the pinnacle realm – after the next chapter, we will be moving into the second phase of this story. I am excited to be reaching this milestone. PLEASE REVIEW!