Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Harry Potter. Is that a collective gasp I hear?

Fallen Angel

Ch. 1 – The Package

Draco Malfoy rode into the city of the Fallen Angel at 6:37 p.m. on a Tuesday evening. Looking around the dark, dank place he was sure it was at least three hours later. He had also come to the climactic conclusion that there was nothing remotely angelic about the place; fallen or not.

As he traveled slowly down the narrow dirty street on his large black steed, Draco noticed several streaks of movement made by small, and eerily fast, blobs. Upon closer inspection of one that happened to be perched on top of a bundle of rags on the ground, Draco realized that these things were not over grown rats, as he had first suspected, but cats. The one he was currently looking at was small and had several patches of what seemed to be gray hair. Draco's eyes finished adjusting to the dark, and he focused in on the tiny feline. He saw that its skeleton was showing through its skin, and that the heap of dirty and torn cloth it was sitting on was, in actuality, a person.

Looking away from the under nourished creature, and its uncleanly companion as he passed, Draco turned his attention to the large building to his right that emitted a flickering light from behind its windows and swinging wooden doors that read 'Saloon.' He stopped in front of the three-story establishment and dismounted, leaving his horse to be the responsibility of one of the five men his father had sent with him. Draco wondered why his father had sent him to this disease-ridden place to collect the 'package.' Draco had been slightly shocked when he was informed, just before his departure, that he was being sent to retrieve a person. A person was the last thing he expected to get, seeing as how the 'item' had always been referred to as just that: an item.

As he stepped through the creaking hanging doors his senses were assaulted. Smoke filled the large room, and a piano could be heard playing amongst the loud chatter and howling laughter erupting from nearly every person present. Draco could see many little round tables scattered throughout the salon, which he now believed to be some sort of old fashioned bar, and on the left wall was a long wooden counter with a man smoking a cigar and wiping off a glass standing behind it. Draco made his way to one of the bar stools, careful to avoid the women in elaborate 1800s style dresses that were bustling around, serving drinks and being hit on.

As Draco sat down the bartender abandoned his glass cleaning pursuits and leaned on the bar in front of Draco.

"Whatcha 'rinkin?" the man asked through his cigar.

"Excuse me?" Draco looked at the man that had gotten close to him all too suddenly, and immediately jerked back. The cigar smoke was overpowering.

"What can I getcha?" The man asked after removing the tobacco filled stick from his mouth. Draco thought a moment, highly doubting this place carried any Long Island Ice Teas.

"Whiskey," he finally replied. The man behind the counter grunted his approval and moved to prepare Draco's drink. The only reason the young blond had known of that drink was through the fact that he had once read a Muggle book by the name of Shane. It was an American old western, the first and only Muggle book that Draco had ever read.

"Here y'go. That'll be five bucks," the man rasped, handing Draco a glass filled with an amber colored liquid. After collecting the money the bartender moved away once more.

Draco turned around on his stool and leaned back, putting his elbows on the bar. Holding his drink he surveyed the room. Three of his men were already engaged in what looked to be some sort of Muggle gambling game, while the other two where being waited on by a middle aged red-headed woman.

Draco sighed and lazily took a sip from the glass in his right hand. As soon as the bitter alcoholic drink made contact with his taste buds he jerked violently and spit it out of his mouth.

"You okay?" Wiping his lips on the back of his unoccupied hand, Draco looked up and met the mildly concerned gaze of an attractive brunette. Her hair was up and a few loose curls were left hanging down like many of the other women in the saloon. However, unlike the other women Draco had seen, this one wore some type of elaborate lingerie that covered very little, instead of the bulky dresses. Because of this Draco could see bruises on the pale skin of the girl, and could even make out some old scars.

"Yes. I'm fine, thank you," Draco replied, eyeing the girl next to him with something akin to suspicion.

"Good. I'm Tilly by the way. Tilly Martin," the girl said cheerfully, holding out her hand. Shaking the offered appendage lightly Draco responded,

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Well it's nice to meet you Draco," she said in the same cheerful tone as she retracted her hand. "Hope you enjoy the show." With that she turned to walk away.

"Wait a moment," Draco called as he reached out and took hold of her arm. Tilly flinched slightly but turned around and tilted her head to the side.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering…you see…I'm looking for someone." The woman's face brightened and Draco released her arm.

"Really? Who?"

"Someone with the last name of Evans." At Draco's last statement Tilly's face fell almost unnoticeably. "Do you know them?"

"Yes…yes of course!" Tilly said, regaining her cheerfulness. She pointed to the back wall near the right corner. "Go to the back. You'll see a curtain. Go through it and it's the second door to your left. I don't think anyone else has gone tonight. Pay the man with the beard and he'll show you were to go from there. Have fun!" Draco noticed the amount of false happiness she had put in her exclamation. He wanted to ask about what she meant about 'fun,' but she had already turned and bounded off towards a stage on the far right wall.

After several minutes, and many more tries at swallowing the foul tasting concoction known as 'whiskey,' Draco got up and headed toward the curtain in the corner of the room by the stage. He skirted around tables full of drunken men and giggling women and ignored the lackeys who had accompanied him here. He had promised them the night off, so they were bound to get stone ass drunk and sleep with anything that moved and had breasts.

He finally reached the tattered red curtain and saw Tilly and several other scantily clad women dancing on the stage before he pushed through the faded fabric and entered a dimly light hallway. There were doors on both sides of the hall and Draco moved quickly to the second paint chipped door on the left. The paint was green and flaking and a small nametag in the center read 'Evans.' Draco raised his hand to its surface and knocked firmly.

"Come in," a deep voice called from behind the door. Draco turned the knob and swung the door open before stepping into the small room. A man with a graying beard sat behind a desk, counting a stack of money. Once Draco closed the door behind him, the man looked up and spoke again with his deep, booming voice, "You buyin'?"

"Buying what?" Draco asked, trying to keep the confusion he felt masked. The man snorted.

"'Buying what?' Time with Evans kid. Sixty an hour. 400 for the night." Draco just stared at the man. Of all the things he expected, he was not expecting that. This was prostitution! This wasn't right! It was immoral! It was illegal! Or at least…it was supposed to be… "…Well?"

"Oh, right," Draco replied after being jolted out of his shocked thinking process. "400 it is then," he stated coolly, none of his surprise remaining. He reached into the pocket of his old fashioned jacket, one he wore to avoid unnecessary attention, and pulled out a wad of bills. Picking out four 100 notes, Draco laid the money on the desk. The man counted the money and put half of it into a wooden box.

"Alright then, follow me." As the man stood up he slipped the other 200 into his back pocket. He then led Draco out the door and down the hall, away from the curtain. They arrived at a set of well-used stairs and climbed up to the third floor where they began to walk down the landing on the right wall, two floors above the stage. On Draco's right there was a rail that overlooked the saloon below. On the left were doors, some of which emitted muffled noises.

The pair stopped at the last door in the corridor and the older man produced a key from one of his pockets. He then unlocked the door, which had a nameplate like the one down stairs that also said 'Evans,' and turned to Draco, handing him the key.

"Return this to me in the morning. Only you may exit this room tonight by yourself. If you take the merchandise out YOU are responsible for bringing it back. Got it?" Draco nodded, being reminded of how this Evans girl was always spoken of as something other than human. Being called an 'item,' or a 'package,' or 'merchandise.' It really wasn't right. The man turned and went back down the hall after Draco's nod, so Draco looked at the door once more. He grabbed the handle, turned it, and pushed open the heavy oak door.

He was met by pitch-blackness.

Draco stepped in and closed the door, being cloaked in darkness. The lock clicked automatically behind him once the door shut. As Draco's eyes adjusted to the lack of light he began to make out the contents of the small room.

It was almost as small as the office down stairs. On the back wall was a door that Draco presumed lead to the bathroom. Next to the door was a narrow wardrobe that nearly reached the ceiling. On the left was a small desk with a lamp. Draco moved over to the home appliance and switched it on, illuminating the room. It was then that Draco noticed the small bathroom area to his right, in the corner, partially covered by a folding screen. A window was also on the right wall, with the dark red curtains drawn.

There was no bed. And no Evans.

Draco turned his gaze to the door he had thought concealed the bathroom. It was slightly ajar, he noted, as he walked towards it. Pulling it open he was met again by no light. However, the lamp in the other room made the things in this one visible. In front of Draco was a large, four poster bed that took up nearly the whole room. The head of the bed rested against the left wall, the far side was flush with the back wall, and the foot was inches from the right wall, were there was another window that had its curtains drawn.

From his position in the doorway, Draco was merely two feet from the edge of the bed closest to himself. A small nightstand was near the headboard and various small objects were scattered on its surface, including a miniscule lamp. However, none of this interested Draco at the moment. He was concentrating on the small figure sitting in the middle of the giant bed with crossed legs, facing the back wall – away from Draco. The slightly shaggy, dark hair was hanging loose, as was the too big shirt.

Draco just stood there for a moment, staring at the unruly raven locks, feeling more than a smidge uncomfortable. He scratched the back of his head in a nervous gesture and glanced around the room again, looking at anything except the tiny person in front of him. After all, this was a prostitute and technically, for tonight, this was his prostitute. Talk about awkward situations.

Finally, after a long silence, Draco spoke his profound first words to the person his father and sent him to bring home,

"Um…hello."

A/N: Chapter one. That's all there is to say really. Comprehend. Review. Be merry. We love you all.