Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I give all the credit for the characters to J.K. Rowling. I don't own the plot to this story and I give all the credit to Tami Hoag.
Harry Potter stood outside the rundown pub, shading his eyes from the harsh sun. On his back was his pack and his hands were full with three more bags – survival kits. Being back in the desert brought back memories. Not ones that were particularly spectacular. He glanced at his watch, noting the lateness and the temperature. He shouldn't be outside for too long. He stared at the beaten door for a moment longer before dropping his bags in the shade of the porch and walking in.
Compared to the patrons of the bar, Harry was a sight to see. Fitted with the best jumpsuit money could buy, sunglasses and military grade boots, he looked every inch the doctor he was. Meanwhile, the men in the bar wore nothing but ragtag and worn down protective vests from twenty years ago and pants that couldn't possibly have passed the safety tests of the West coast. Harry wrinkled his nose at the smell of cheap liquor and urine. He looked past the stools towards the bartender. Stepping over bottles and unidentifiable clumps of what could either be mud or horse manure, Harry reached the filthy counter that the grisly man was wiping down with an even filthier rag.
"I am in need of a guide," he said, talking over the hum of the three fans that were buzzing around the room.
The man eyed Harry with an amused expression, running his eyes up and down the foreign attire. "I'm sorry, sweetheart? You want to go into the desert?" he asked, arching a brow.
Harry pulled off his aviator helmet, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck. "Yes. Me," he said coolly, clipping his sunglasses into the front of his green jumpsuit. "I was told I would find the best here. An odd sort of a name."
"I'm afraid he is not for sale," the bartender chortled.
Harry wasn't used to being talked to this way. The West coast was chic and sophisticated. It was where Harry belonged. Being in the desert for less than two hours was already starting to wear on his nerves and short his temper. The heat was not something Harry could bear. "I need to get out there tonight," he said with considerable amount of tension and authority in his voice. "And if I can't find a guide here, I am willing to take my money else-"
"Merde! I cannot do anything with that pile of scrap."
Harry gaped at the man who walked in with a gust of heat and sand. Pulling on a simple shirt with half sleeves and absolutely no UV grading, he was made pure muscle and dominance. Even with his body hidden under the dirty white tee, his devastatingly handsome body was not something seen anywhere. It just wasn't feasible in the atmosphere the world had plunged into over the past hundred years. The man was over six foot five from the looks of it, broad shoulders tapering off to a narrow waist that was hidden under black pants. His long platinum blond hair was tied to the back with black silk, a strange material Harry saw only in the hands of the wealthy. With sharp features and unusually pale skin, Harry could imagine more than a few women who would swoon at the sight of him.
Draco Malfoy kept his stone mask in place despite the lurching he felt in his stomach when their eyes locked on. But before he could let his emotions take over, he eyed the slight doctor carefully. He took in the shock of black hair, fringes that were plastered to skin by sweat. He memorized the bright green eyes and expression of slight superiority. His gaze raked over the pursed lips and sophisticated attire. He did not see a flicker of recognition in the emerald eyes. All he saw was casual indifference.
"Ah, here's your beloved guide," the bartender smirked, waving his hand with a flourish at Draco. "This young man requires your assistance, Malfoy."
Harry snapped out of his silent and embarrassing inspection, pulling himself up to his full height. He was still dwarfed by Draco in more ways than one. "Dr. Harry Potter," he introduced himself. "I need a guide to take me out to the desert."
Draco blinked once. Harry Potter.
Harry faltered when he saw the smile of poison and honey. "I am no guide," Draco murmured, his voice lilting of more than one accent. "And I take no one into the desert." He grabbed the glass of water the bar keeper held out to him, swallowing it in one gulp. He kept his eyes on Harry, appraising him
"I am willing to pay," Harry offered, noting how silken Draco's voice sounded. It matched his raw demeanor quite well.
"I have no need for your money," Draco answered, moving away without another word and walking to the door.
Harry clicked his tongue in frustration as he followed Draco out. "I need one trip. It is a one way trip."
"Death wish?"
"What does it matter?" Harry asked incredulously, walking out into the blinding sun. He slid on his sunglasses, absently wondering how this man wasn't dead from overexposure.
Draco walked down the steps of the pub, walking towards the stables that doubled as automobile garages. He slipped through the door, careful not to spook the horses on his way to his sandcraft. Harry waited outside, absently fingering the communication pod in his pocket as he wondered if he should just get out while he could. All he would need to do is give one call to the transportation services and he would be back in the hospital in a matter of hours. He could handle hospitals – clean, controlled, quiet, and cold.
He heard soft revs and the squeal of metal on metal. He assumed Draco was readying the machine for travel. "Why do you want to go?" Draco asked over the noise.
Harry sighed despondently, his headache blooming. "I am looking for someone," he called out.
"Who?" Draco asked, walking the hovering sandcraft out of the garage and towards the fences that stood a few meters away. The edge of the desert.
"My godfather," Harry said, walking quickly to keep up with Draco. "Sirius Black."
"That old coot?" Draco asked in shock, staring at Harry. "He is your godfather?"
"You know him!" Harry exclaimed. "I-is he… he's alright, then?"
"Guns me down every time I bring him supplies," Draco muttered, turning his attention back to steering his vehicle.
"But then you know where he lives!" Harry said. "I need to find him. He's the one I need to talk to."
"Desert is not safe for a boy like you," Draco said dismissively as he reached the large iron gate and parked his sandcraft. "Tête dure," he added under his breath as he leaned towards the dash and flicked on the button. A large tarp swung over the top of the boat-like structure. It was the only source of protection he would get once he was on his way into the thick and stormy desert.
"I don't need you to tell me where I can and can't go," Harry glowered.
Draco whipped around with unparalleled speed, causing Harry to back up against the gate. "Trying to intimidate me?" Draco asked huskily with narrowed lids. Harry saw hostility in the mercury grey eyes. He could smell grease and sweat from how close they stood. Draco was much too close… "You are not in your villa anymore, mon petit tchoc," he whispered, pressing the palms of his hands against the pitted metal as he trapped Harry in a makeshift cage.
Harry tried to keep his voice even as he said, "And I assure you that intimidation does not work on me either."
A spark was lit in the smoldering eyes. "Oh?" Draco asked, his gaze trailing down Harry's neck and lingering against the collarbone that was exposed. A hint of cologne played against skin. Grey eyes slid up to meet green.
Harry pushed Draco away quickly, feeling dizzy from the heat. "Are you going to take me to him or not?" he asked. Draco was mildly impressed at Harry's composure. Always so put together and condescending. "Because I don't need to lower myself to the likes of you for a favor."
Draco seemed ready to send back a biting reply but he reined himself in. He turned away and picked up the equipment in the back of the craft, packing them under the bench. "You will not reach there before nightfall. And we cannot drive after nightfall," he said. Harry was about to voice his exasperation but Draco interjected by saying, "But I will take you."
What do you think? So, if you can't tell, this takes place in sort of post-apocalyptic years. And it's going to be very... Harlequin. If you have read the original novel, you will know what I am talking about. Anyway, I have written a couple different chapters all based around the this small bit but set in different times. I think this one came out the best.
And I know some of you will wish that I had switched Harry and Draco's characters. I don't really have a reason for why I picked which one played who. I guess a beefed up Malfoy is a real turn on in my subconscious... My not-so-'sub'conscious. XD
In the Tami Hoag novel, the story is set in the Louisiana bayou and Serena Sheridan is trying to find her grandfather in the swamp. Lucky Doucet is her guide.