This fanfic picks up with Harry four years after the defeat of Voldemort. Harry is 21 and lives with Ron, Hermione and Ginny in a small apartment in London. He and Ron both work for the ministry, Hermione is perusing S.P.E.W. and Ginny is a member of the holly head harpies (keeping in line with what JKR has told us about their post Hogwarts experience). Here however we veer off the course that JKR has set and explore a scenario that doesn't include the kids, etc. Some of the things I write may seem a little bit out of character but I tried to remain to true what I felt was the deepest sense of the characters while also allowing room for them to mature. Enjoy!

I acknowledge that none of these wonderful characters belong to me but are the property and creation of the always brilliant J.K. Rowlling. I thank her for building a world that is truly complex and beautiful for all of us to enjoy.

NOTE! I am posting TWO chapters in a row, so if you have not read the THIRD chapter, which most likely you haven't, please do so before reading this!

The Cave ch. 4

The man at the foot of the steps lit his cigarette, facing against the wind. The fire crackled in and out from his lighter several times before he completed his task successfully. He achieved this by pulling up the collar of his tattered and beaten coat around his earlobes and puffing madly once the paper had caught. The coat hardly seemed appropriate for the weather; it had been drizzling incessantly for the past week and the distinct chill of early November hung in the air like a knife ready to cut the lingering warmth from pedestrians. Draco had never seen a lighter before and had jumped back in surprise as the bum produced fire seemingly from nothing. He stared shamelessly at the bum until he turned around to face him. His features were dark and the skin around his eyes and cheeks hung from his bones like that of an old bulldog, giggling slightly with every smoky pull he took.

"What?" he said suddenly, almost forcing Draco to jump out of his handmade crushed-velvet lined cloak. The bum picked up a bottle wrapped in a paper bag and pulled it close to his breast as if it were a shield and the cigarette, a sword.

"N-nothing," Draco had stammered back against the wind. "just a little lost, I'm er, not from around here." He was speaking to the Muggle as if he had the upper hand. Not only a Muggle but clearly an urchin of the street. The man's face brightened.

"Oh well then," his breath reeked of stale tobacco and gin, even in the crisp open air of the street, and Draco felt he might lose his supper if the interaction lasted much longer. "Where ya lookin' ter get to?" he asked with a toothless smile. Draco reached quickly into his pocket and took out the folded paper with the hastily scribbled address that he had copied out of the rental section. "Cheap Rooms For Rent," the ad had read plainly. "No Pets, No Children, No Couples, Smokers Allowed," and the address had followed. Draco wasn't certain at the time what a smoker was but knew he wanted to be far away from children and pets. The bum reached out his purple-nailed filthy fingers to take the paper and Draco took special care not to touch him. He scanned the paper carefully and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Well surely a young man o' your standing n' prestige ain't goin' thar'?" he said as sweetly as a balding bum could, though Draco could detect the slightest hint of sarcasm. Draco felt his heart sink. If a homeless man could criticize this place, it would definitely fall below his standards. He simply nodded in response. The man nodded back as if he could understand the position that Draco was in. Of course he could have no idea what Draco had been through in the past week and Draco was hardly inclined to have a heart to heart. He patiently sat through the twisting directions: right, left, straight for two blocks, then right and right again. He was certain the directions were redundant but the man seemed to know the streets of London like the back of his scaly hand. He didn't know the street names but referred to small landmarks instead. He scratched his bristly stubble before coming to the destination and conclusion.

"Before ya go," the man started to say as Draco thanked him quickly, "Would ya' happen ter have a bit o' change to spare?" Draco pulled his pockets inside out to show that he honestly had nothing to offer the man and apologized.

"S'alright," the man said smiling sadly. "With the worl' the way it is today, no one's got time fer their fellow man." He turned away and started to stumble back down the blustery alley. Draco watched him as he pulled at the fraying edges of his overcoat, forming new holes across his shoulders with every step that he took. He fingered his wand in the inner pocket of his cloak and felt it tap lightly against the change that had been left over from his dinner. Perhaps the Muggle world was not so different from the wizarding one, he thought as he pinched a hidden five pound note between his fingers. It didn't have to be this way though. Being kinder to those around him wouldn't directly benefit him, of course, but it would certainly give them more of a reason to be kind back. Without wasting another second, he ducked into the doorway that the bum had been huddled next to and aimed his wand carefully at the hunched form of the man (who he had just decided was the kindest person he had ever met) and whispered a simple warming charm as he took a swig from his paper-clad alcoholic salvation. The man became visibly relaxed and looked at the bottle in blatant surprise.

"Good gin," he said audibly and Draco smiled.

For reasons beyond his grasp the memory of this incident was nibbling gently at the corners of Draco's mind as he stood over Harry's unconscious body. His lips were parted slightly and he made a hushing sound with every deep exhalation that he took. He was so pitifully vulnerable in that moment, Draco thought with a sneer. He could take the bracelets and have his magic, and then he could take Harry's life and have his revenge and all of it would be so easy if only his hands would stop shaking. He didn't know how well he would be able to master the bracelets. As much as it pained him to acknowledge it, Harry was a uniquely powerful wizard and if it proved to be such a hard task for Harry to use them it may be damned near impossible for Draco. His mind roved over the various difficulties of the day.

Morning had started out innocently enough with the discovery that Harry's watch (given to him by the Weaselys for his seventeenth birthday) was still functioning and they could now, to some extent, measure time in a less arbitrary way. Really they had no idea how long they had been wherever they were but in their minds they were reaching the end of the fourth day. They had decided to go to sleep early in an effort to regulate the clocks ticking inside of their brains, because by Harry's watch they had woken up at nearly two in the afternoon. After this realization however, the day heated up fairly quickly. The first task at hand was to explore the newly revealed cabinets of the cave. They had not ventured into the majority of the cave since their first waking moments as it had not been particularly interesting to do so at the time. Now they proceeded, hands clasped around teacups full of vibrant light, into the ominous shadows and secrets of the cave.

"Look at this!" Harry had shouted in delight down to Draco.

"I'm right here, you don't have to shout," Draco had hollered back with just as much volume. He was just cross about being pulled from the interesting contents of one particular cabinet. There seemed to be all manner of potion ingredients from mandrake roots to gillyweed; Professor Snape would have been envious. Harry didn't have the patience to go through each jar of clearly labelled herbs and spices, which no doubt had been his downfall in potions. Sighing audibly he picked himself up and found Harry standing next to a stone door way.

"This wasn't here a few seconds ago!"

"There was a knob! I pulled it and the outline of a door appeared in black, all I had to do was touch it and it opened! Look inside!" Harry gestured wildly. At first glance there was nothing special about the passage which was stone walled and very narrow. Warily, Draco followed it a short distance and found it opened to reveal a marble bathroom of sorts. A stand-alone tub without a faucet, a washing basin and what looked like a crudely fashioned ceramic toilet stood side by side. A mirrored cabinet stuck out over the basin and Draco caught his reflection for the first time in the cave. He flinched slightly at the sight of his matted down dirty hair, his filth covered cheeks and dirt-stained shirt. Harry, being oblivious to this as most things, shoved past him to the cabinet and pried it open. It contained all manner of toiletries from tissue paper to various types of scented soaps, and extended back much further than first glance would've suggested.

"Well that's good at least. I call first bath," Draco said off handedly.

"Oh no you don't!" Harry chastised, waving his finger in Draco's face. "How are you going to get water in there without magic? I doubt your scrawny arms could carry so much as a gallon, let alone a whole tub full," he finished smugly. He was certainly right, thought Draco, nor would he have ever dreamed of carrying the water for his own bath. The rest of the day was taken up by Harry's attempts at levitation and lightening charms and Draco's efforts to clean up after each one failed. By the end of the day they had managed to fill the tub and Harry had gotten his bath after a less than delightful dinner.

Draco was just happy to have some time to himself. He needed to plan. Harry's gloating was ill-conceived, because after tonight he would be the sole holder of magic in their private get away. Really though there was not much to plan when it came down to it. Draco was not ashamed to admit that he was a natural thief. The money his mother had given him was hardly enough to pay his rent, let alone feed him and keep him dressed properly. Draco, who had never planned on having a proper job found that shop lifting wasn't too far off of the mark from what he had originally intended to do with his life, namely steal, lie and cheat to gain influence.

He had started out small, lifting paper backs from the drugstore down the street. The pages of these novellas were always littered with the cheapest of post-menopausal fantasies. Lust always took the form of love in these stories. This seemed like the most accurate description of love as far as he had been concerned at the time and while his views were somewhat cynical, he often found himself oddly comforted – as well as aroused – by the accounts of bronze-chested foreign men finding and feasting upon the unlikeliest of targets. Always these women had secrets, a teenage pregnancy given up for adoption perhaps, or an abusive husband, in some cases their secrets were chemical in nature. They never ceased to fulfill the archetypal plot line laid for them; woman attracts kind, gentle, handsome man, woman hides her secret from man and because of her own failure at honesty expects that he too is being dishonest, man finds issue and solves it, proving himself trustworthy. Draco appreciated the stupid simplicity of these books as a metaphor for the ideal life. Everyone wanted to be saved from themselves.

He, however, believed that he needed no saving. It became his ritual to wonder the streets, hood pulled up to protect his ears from the cold and his identity, inured to recognition. From novels to groceries to designer bags and wallets, he was relentless in his pursuit of fine things to sell. A simple disillusionment charm and the security cameras hardly posed a threat as he walked out of the doors as though the most normal thing a man could do was waltz into the local department store, sweep up an entire rack of women's pocket books and wink at the Confunded security guard as he left. Nothing was excluded from his five finger discount.

So why, now when it really mattered, could he not summon the strength to snag a couple of wooden beaded bracelets from none other than his worst enemy. Had Harry placed a spell on them or perhaps on himself to prevent such an act from occurring? No, came back the solid answer, something that complex was still out of Harry's reach for now. Then how, if not by magic, could Harry be keeping him from taking what would surely push him into dominance?

As Harry finished his bath, Draco returned to one of the endless cabinets to explore its contents. The minute letters on the herb bottles had started to give him a headache, so for the time being he had moved on to other things. He found a drawer filled with old puzzle games and another with wizarding board games that he was unfamiliar with. He pulled one of the puzzles and began to manipulate it out of boredom. It was shaped like a female figurine but with very little detail. He sat down on the floor and started to pull the pieces out, mixed them up and soon found that each wooden piece could fit with another at least two ways. Every time he plugged one in an alternate way its shape would shift in his hand. The pieces by themselves were too small to get a good picture of what it might be.

"Interesting," he said aloud to himself.

"What is?" it was Potter of course. He stood behind him, hair still dripping wet from the bath and a fluffy white towel in hand.

"How was your bath?" Draco asked innocently but Harry ignored the question.

"What's interesting?" an air of suspicion hung between the two of them.

"Oh nothing, just this puzzle."

"Ah, I see," he turned his back and began to walk away.

"Where did you get the towel?"

"It was in one of the cabinets in there. I tell you, who ever made this place really thought of everything," Harry quipped as though they were in a five star hotel.

"Yeah, everything except for food, fire, drinking water that doesn't drip from goodness knows where, blankets, pillows, a proper bed-"

"For all we know those things might be here, just hidden," Harry seemed almost defensive. Draco raised his eye brow in dismay. Harry, sensing the obvious tension, changed the subject. "Did you want to take a bath? Now that we've figured out how to levitate a few bowls of water at a time, changing it shouldn't be too difficult."

"Really?" he had assumed that Potter had intended to take first crack at the bath and then leave Draco to wallow in his dirty water. That's certainly what he would've done in the same situation. Harry put his hand out to Draco as if in a testament to his offer. This was a Gryffindor he was dealing with, he reminded himself and accepted the hand.

"Of course!" Harry said in dismay. "You think I want a roommate that stinks up the entire house!" he said though not unkindly.

"House, eh?" Draco raised his eyebrow once more in doubt.

"Well, you know what I mean, I just get tired of referring to it as 'The Cave' all the time, it's so dreadful sounding, don't you think? The sound of it just makes the walls press in on me."

Draco fell into step next to Harry, cauldrons in hand. They walked in silence for a while until they arrived at the water's edge. The walls winked back at him in a way that he could only call flirtatious and therefore appealing. The water reflected the vast cavern, serving to multiply its grandeur twofold.

"House is too plain," Draco said breaking the surface of the water with his first cauldron.

"What?"

"House is too plain, I mean if we are trying soften the feel of the place," his home had never been a house, it had been a Manor. His family owned several properties and all of them had their proper designation and title. "This could be our Italian Waterside Villa, or Crystal Palace."

Harry thought about this for a moment and then laughed. "Well 'Crystal Palace' sounds more like a strip club than a home, so how about Waterside Villa." Draco agreed to this title and filled the next cauldron. After all four had been topped off they slowly levitated them back toward the wash room, hoping desperately that they wouldn't crash to the floor. They continued their little chatter through the walk, mutually fantasizing about the improvements and projects to take on. When they reached bathroom Harry drained the tub of its water though it was not apparently connected to any plumbing. Once full, he murmured a few warming charms until the water had started to steam. The wisps of vapor curled upwards appealingly and Draco's skin crawled in a futile effort to close the gap between itself and the warmth promised by the water.

"The towels are up here, the soap and such is all in here, but you know that already so I guess," he paused awkwardly. The duties of a host did not come naturally to Potter as they did to Draco's family.

"I'll be fine," he cut in tersely. Harry blushed and frowned slightly before walking out without another word. Finally alone, he shed his clothing like an old snake skin and slid into the water gratefully. He found a clean wash cloth hanging from a hook on the side of the tub and soaked in thoroughly. He was surprised by the caliber of toiletries in the room. Why had their captor gone to such lengths to prepare this place? And what enemy could he and Potter possibly have in common? There was his father, he thought bitterly, but it was highly unlikely that such a broken old man could escape from Azkaban, especially now that they had amped up security and decommissioned the Dementors. Beyond that, if his father had been behind all of this, the transaction would've been far simpler. Torture and then death.

Many Death Eaters had come out as hypercritical of the Dark Lord after the war had drawn to an end. It was a strange balance that they seemed to strike between criticizing his approach rather than the substance of the issues. Every one of them wanted to claim more distance from the fallen leader so as to avoid the harsh punishments that they deserved. In true Slytherin fashion they tried to play to the values of both sides, firmly standing against any and all incidents of the war while holding steadfast to the ideals upon which they were committed. The biggest critique of his approach had been how to deal with the same man who would lay helplessly before Draco a mere hour after these thoughts had lolled through his head. Many of them had had numerous chances to off the boy throughout the years, his father being no exception to this. But every attempt on the boy's life had been so complex, so contrived. Capture, identify, torture, mock and then, if the mood was right and all hope seemed lost for the boy, and only then could he try and inevitably fail to kill him. Keep it simple, stupid, seemed to be the new mantra for the Death Eaters or at least what was left of them after the war.

They claimed that Voldemort had taken control of their otherwise peaceful movement, that his power was impossible to deny. What had supposedly started as a movement to liberate all of wizarding kind had taken a dark turn towards revenge, cruelty and self promotion. In the end the stories just didn't seem to line up and all those charged were punished to the fullest extent of the law. Once again, his father was no exception. Still, if anything had come out of the specious claims, it was that the vast majority of followers had truly been dissatisfied with the ruler and not the rule. The psychological thrill of torture and the catharsis of revenge held no value to those left to rot in the dank prison cells of Azkaban, especially not when compared to the white light of victory. If a second thing could be learned, it was that the next leader deemed important enough to warrant a gravel-voiced prophetic claim at defeat would be promptly ousted from their non-existent ranks. If a movement still did exist and Draco's father was at the center of it there would be two sole goals: efficiency and victory. Forming a cave-like prison packed with all of the amenities for your enemies was hardly efficient, Draco thought as he squeezed warm water out of his wash cloth over his head.

He watched as the drops formed at the ends of his spiked bangs, swelling from the size of pin points to lady bugs. Then at his slightest movement they would free themselves and fall from whence they came, sending light ripples through the murky water. He rolled back his shoulders in an effort to rid himself of the tumultuous thoughts and slid down into the frothy depths of the tub.

Draco sure was acting odd. Not necessarily odd in a bad way though, Harry thought as he practiced his levitation charm. He wasn't much less petulant, really, or even more agreeable as a person. The change was a matter of acceptance. He wasn't looking at Harry with daggers in his eyes any longer. He had accepted Harry's dominance. To say that he felt as though Draco was trustworthy would've been a stretch of monumental proportions, but still he felt Draco was far more harmless than before.

"Wingardium leviosa!" he incanted. He was making progress. What had started out shaky with one water filled cauldron was now relatively stable with three. Magic through the bracelets was far more tactile, almost more intuitive than through a wand. With each spell he cast he found a better understanding of how to control and manipulate this magic. The term "hands on" came to mind. Each spell was far more effective when he pictured his hands actually doing the task and the more vividly he could see it before him the easier it became. It forced him to be more inventive. He pictured two hands sprouting from his wrist, one extravagantly large and the other fairly normal, if one ignored the multiple joints and long stalk that connected it to him. He picked up each cauldron carefully and placed it on the palm of the enormous hand and then slowly did a lap around the cave. About half way through his ten minute journey, one of the four cauldrons began to lose balance and slopped some water over its brim before he could steady it.

"That was close," he said to no one in particular. He had been a quiet boy throughout his childhood under the steps. Now whenever at work he found himself making little comments to himself out loud. It helped him to organize his scattered thoughts.

"What was close?" the voice startled him so much that all four of his cauldrons came crashing down to the ground. Next to them stood a frightened looking Draco Black. "Oh, I'm sorry."

Harry sighed to calm himself before responding. He looked up at Draco to find the man stooping to pick up one of the fallen containers with a slight frown on his face.

"Nothing, now," he said feeling decidedly petulant at being interrupted.

"I said I was sorry," Draco said sincerely. "I guess we won't be Apparating out of here anytime soon then. We'd probably end up splinched in three different countries." Harry tried his best to smile at the weakly attempted joke but found his lips were far too comfortable in their frown.

"That's assuming that whoever put us here didn't put any anti-Apparation wards over the place. I would say that's unlikely. At best."

"I know a spell that would be able to tell us," Draco offered innocently. Harry wasn't sure why it bothered him so much but even he had to admit that his retort was far more vicious than the offer had warranted.

"Did you learn that from your Death Eater days?" the comment had slipped from his lips before he could stifle it. The look on Draco's face was priceless; his lips were slightly parted and his eyes were wide in a dumbfounded expression.

"Yes."

There was a palpable silence between the two of them until Harry spoke again. "As I am the only one here who can do magic, there will be no Dark spells cast in this cavern."

"It's not Dark magic," Draco replied quietly, not daring to glance at him. "I was offering my help."

Harry looked at him quizzically. "Why should I trust you? What reason have you given me to trust you?"

"What reason have I given you not to?"

"Oh dear, let me count the ways! How many times did you try to kill Dumbledore in our sixth year? How many times have you set me up or gotten me detention? Oh, and let's not forget your attempts on my life, no let's not be so hasty here that we forget those-"

"I was just a child!" but Harry continued on his tirade.

"And do you still have the filthy black rash on your arm, because that would be pertinent to our discussion-"

"I was a child then, this isn't fair!" Draco cried.

"Well so was I, Draco!"

"And you were just as influenced by those above you as I was! You were just lucky enough to be on the winning side."

"No, it's not about winning or losing, it's about right and wrong!" shouted Harry as he threw down the cauldron he was holding with a loud clang. "After all of these years you still can't understand that, it's pitiful."

"And after all of these years you can't forgive the misdeeds of a seventeen year old whose father left him an un-payable debt to the most powerful wizard in the world?" Harry was backing him against the wall of the cave. He wasn't sure when he had started moving but now he was mere inches away from the other man with his fists curled tightly into knots.

"Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in the world," Harry said after drawing a tremulous breath.

In a voice so soft that Harry could barely hear it above the ringing in his ears, Draco whispered his response. "And he manipulated you for far longer and in many varied ways."

"Shut up!" Harry cried. "You don't know anything about the place he was in!"

"Do you?" Draco challenged, leaning forward so that his nose almost touched Harry's.

"No one does, no one ever will! How could they?"Harry answered, but he was running out of steam. Even though they had obtained food their meek diet was still leaving them feeling vaguely fatigued.

"I don't know what you want from me, Potter. Is it evidence of some sort of religious penitence offered to the gods? Some sign that I have disavowed myself from the old ways? I would've hoped that my disownment would have sufficed. Clearly I was mistaken." Draco was staring at him, unblinking, and very suddenly Harry felt ashamed. For reasons he could not explain he felt a tugging at his chest as he pushed himself away from Draco. Perhaps it was some uncovered-till-now commonality that they shared in not having parents, or the catharsis of his own guilt, or even sorrow for pushing away from the only other body he could relate to. He pushed the thoughts out of his head, figuring that he could return to them at a later date – the one resource they seemed not to be pressed for was time. Instead he sat down on the far side of the cavern on the ground and stared straight at Draco, who was still back against the wall with a combative look playing across his brow from eye to eye.

"You're right. I'm sorry," he said plainly. Draco, not used to his frequent outbursts, only raised a skeptical eyebrow and waited for further explanation. Harry, not being very gifted with words, struggled for a bit to find appropriate ones.

"It's hard not to go crazy here," he decided on finally, though he was disappointed when he heard how it sounded and decided to elaborate. "I just mean to say, I miss my friends. They're all I have, really. The only family I have doesn't speak to me but for a Christmas card with scribbled signatures a month after holidays are over. They must be going crazy with me missing. And here the two of us are stuck together, goodness knows where, at each other's throats. It's just maddening! I want to go back home! I thought the war was over, I thought that everything had been squared away and put in a little box with a bow on top. Sure the politics are still a mess, but the fighting and running and hiding were all supposed to be over and done with. I beat Voldemort, the flashes went off like fireworks and the press had a field day and the world was saved and all that. It was supposed to be over." He knew he wasn't making much sense and that his speech served as a poor apology. He waited for a moment to hear the expected jibe from his peer; he had after all just opened himself far more than he should've. When it didn't come he forced himself to look up from the comfort of his knees at the other man.

"Go on," Draco surprised him. "That is to say, if you have more than you would like to tell me."

Startled as he was by the invitation, it only took Harry a matter of moments to recover. Whether it was the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes, Harry wasn't sure, but Draco seemed sincere enough and so he continued. "For the majority of my life I never had anyone to share anything with. Things were normally taken from me, very rarely given to me; no one had any interest whatsoever in what I had to say. When I came to Hogwarts it was a complete turnaround, to a startling degree. Everyone wanted to know me, get in my head, shake my hand, and I knew that that was just the other extreme, it wasn't what I wanted. I have, well had, what I wanted at home. A few people whom I care deeply about, who I would do anything for. I gave my life for them! The fact the Voldemort couldn't actually take it is just a footnote in my view. And now, once again, all of that has been taken away and I'm sitting in a cave with Draco M-Black, trying to figure out how to use magic again with shotty success and all I can think of is the Death Eater scum who might be behind it. It would be all I could think about if it weren't for the sheer madness of the situation itself." Feeling drained, he returned to looking at his knees. He hadn't heard Draco move, but when he looked back up he was startled to find that he was crouched on the ground in front of him.

"Listen, Harry," Draco started as he often did, "All I know about what you've been through or done has been through the books that were written after the fact and what I've seen. I trust my own eyes more than the press and this is what I've gathered so far. You're headstrong and lucky. You make it out of the worst situations not only alive but intact. You show immense loyalty to those you care about and tend not to be betrayed by them. You have surrounded yourself with people who would do anything for you and my guess is that they are doing all they can to find you right now, as we speak. In the end, I can't say I would rather be stuck in a cave with no hope for escape or survival with anyone else, if history is any indicator of our fates. But just as before, you must remember that you never did any of those great things alone. And you aren't alone now.

"If there is any hope for us, and I think there is, we must work together. You've had your defenses up and bolstered ever since we could see each other." Harry clinched his jaw, knowing that Draco meant since you discovered you could do magic, but didn't interrupt. "We've been sleeping side by side for three nights now and I haven't bashed your head in with a rock yet, have I?" Harry chuckled, though whether at the joke or over embarrassment at their intimacy he couldn't decide.

"No, I haven't, and thankfully you've returned that favor. Now I must ask you, no, urge you to be forward and honest with me and I will do the same. Is there anything, anything at all that you are not telling me right now?" the question hung in the air between them and slowly drifted above their heads as it was replaced by a pregnant tension.

"Draco," Harry said placing his hand on the other boy's knee gently, "there are countless things that I am not telling you. But they'll come in time."

Draco walked up the stairs to his dingy apartment, wondering for the umpteenth time why he had moved to a Muggle complex, let alone one of such low standing. The answers were obvious, there was no place for him in the magical world as an outcast from both sides, money was tight and no one here knew him. He waved away the logic with the clicking of his keys. As he jiggled the key in the faulty lock he felt a boney hand on his arm and whorled around to find his startled-looking, old hag of a landlady blinking up at him dumbly.

"Rent's due t'morrow, dear," she croaked through her toothy smile and nodded her head as she spoke. "Don't be late agin' or I'll hafta' kick your ass out," she said with the same smiling sing-song cadence and kept nodding. Draco had been at the building for two years now and was familiar with her monthly threat, but he had never been able to shake the startling nature of her approach. Her hand shook violently as she withdrew. Her whole body seemed off kilter and about to topple over every time he saw her. She looked far older than any living thing should, though Draco had been horrified to find out she was only 83. She shook on down the hallway and knocked on the next door to deliver her message.

Finally, after several frustrated seconds, he managed to pry open the door and hoisted his folding table, remaining hand bags and poster board onto the small table in its center. 575 pounds. That would be enough for rent and dinner tomorrow. It had been a fruitful day. The Americans were in town for summer holiday and he had to make the best of it before it turned too cold to peddle. While he couldn't use magic to make people buy his wares, he was at least thankful that he could make them lighter for the trek back home.

He heard a constant thumping at the wall. No doubt the man next door was doing what he did best (finishing early) with another hooker. At least it would be over soon, he thought with minor satisfaction. Even still, the man next door, Earl, was inconsiderate in all facets of his dull and pointless existence. His music would blare, his conversations with himself were loud and went on for hours into the night as he fruitlessly honed his acting skills to an invisible audience. Yes, this was a man who had mastered the art of thoroughly satisfying himself while simultaneously doing anything he could to dissatisfy those around him. No doubt his present partner would find that out soon enough. Still, Draco had to admit as he cast a muffling charm on the adjoining walls, she did put up a good show.

There was a knock at his door just as he was about to sound block it as well. He pocketed his wand and slowly peeped out the eyehole.

"It's me!" a female voice chirped. "Amy."

"And Crissy!" another voice interrupted. These two girls had rented the room down the hall from his just the month before. They were college students from America, studying abroad for a year and had been overly social, much to his chagrin. Like many of the Americans whom he had met, they were 'overly' most things. Flirtatious, cheerful, forward and certainly uncultured. Perhaps some time in London would set them straight, though he wasn't particularly hopeful. Bracing himself, he opened the door for what he was sure would be a barrage of forceful invitations and interruptions.

"Hi," he said coolly. Amy was a slender girl from New York with long mouse brown hair and large brown eyes to match. When she smiled she had a dimple that formed in only one cheek and he found it strangely endearing though he detested most things asymmetrical. She almost always wore a pair of blue or black tightly fit jeans and a t-shirt with words that seemed to make little sense together (today her shirt read Neutral Milk Hotel, and while he wasn't sure what it meant, he was certain he wanted nothing to do with it). Her roommate, Crissy, was short and curvy, straight out of Texas and had light blue eyes and reddish blonde hair (though he was certain it wasn't natural and clashed badly with her chocolate colored brows). She was likely to be spotted in boot cut jeans and a sweater. She would always pick these sweaters seemingly for the plainness of their color and the assurance of their modesty, but they were just low cut enough in the collar to show off a simple gold cross. Even still, she batted her eyelashes at him and smiled coyly from behind her friend.

"Can we come in?" Amy asked after an awkward moment.

"Sure." He thought that Crissy looked near fainting with excitement. He closed the door behind them regretfully.

"Do you have any pot?" Amy asked after Crissy prodded her nervously. While oddly phrased, he did have three pots of varying sizes.

"Sure, what size do you need?" he rose and walked to the kitchen.

"Oh a dime would be fine! I mean we have some and would definitely share if you wanted to come over." Thoroughly confused, he assumed a 'dime' meant a small one. Why he would want to share their pots simply because they needed his struck him as extraordinarily strange, but nevertheless, not wanting to appear odd, he spared no time in retrieving a small pot. The two girls looked from him to the pot and back again before bursting into unbridled laughter.

"What?" he said brimming with frustration and confusion.

"Pot, not a pot," Amy gasped through hiccupping fits of giggles. "You know, weed, dope, wacky tobaccy, Mary Jane…" the list went on as Crissy nervously hushed her roommate and all he could do was stare in baffled amazement as they seemed to speak another language. "Haze, marajuana? You really have never heard of it?"

"I went to-"

"You went to boarding school, we know! Was your school under a rock in a cave on the moon? You have to come over, you just have to. We're going to change your world and open your mind." While the prospect did seem worth interest, they were still Muggles and foreign ones at that.

"I really can't, though I do appreciate the invitation, I have to-"

"What, get up early to sell stolen hand bags?" Amy mocked. Draco felt his cheeks burning as Crissy drew in a sharp breath of shock.

"You don't really steal, do you?" she asked looking horror stricken. But before he could answer, her chatty friend took the lead.

"Oh why does it even matter, what we're about to do is just as illegal. Come on Drake," he cringed at the nick name, "just this once! You never come over and I'm absolutely sick and tired of your excuses. Put that pot down and come over." Illegal, eh. Now his interest was piqued. Grudgingly he agreed, though not before stressing that he really, truly, honestly couldn't stay long but just wanted to see what all of the fuss was about. Before he knew it, he had ensconced himself comfortably into one of three plush loveseats (each one a different style and pattern) and a thick haze surrounded him. His eyelids felt heavier than when he had stayed up two nights in a row to practice for his O.W.L.s and he had no idea how long they had been sitting together. Amy had positioned herself on the other end of the seat and sat languidly with her legs draped over Draco's lap. He didn't particularly like it, but he found quickly that they closer he got to Amy the quieter Crissy became and that was a welcome change. He hated her accent and what Amy called her southern charm just came off as ignorance with a smile.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" the question came out of nowhere and he stuttered for a moment before giving up answering altogether. Amy continued, "I've never seen you with anyone at all, no friends or family, and we've been here for nearly a month. Are you far from home too?"

The words swam lazily through the fog in his mind and he tried to make sense of them and form a cohesive answer. In the end all he could manage was, "Yes, I'm very terribly far from home."

"Well you can't be as far from home as we are, can you? I mean we both crossed an ocean and I crossed half a continent on top of that just to get here," Crissy said and he was struck right then by how bad at listening and comforting she was.

"Don't be stupid," he snapped. "how far you are from home has nothing to do with distance and everything to do with how long you must stay away from it. You could be down the block or across the street but if you can never go back you might as well be on opposite sides of the planet." What he had said was largely influenced by his wizarding concept of travel – distance genuinely was rarely an issue if at all, and the difference between believing you were somewhere and finding yourself there sat on either side of a very blurred line. The girls of course had no way of knowing or even comprehending his travel paradigm and took the statement as pure poetry.

"Wow," Crissy fawned. "That was beautiful, Drake! I can't believe that with looks and a mind like yours you don't have a girlfriend!" she leaned forward and rocked back unsteadily with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She wasn't dowdy by any means; he just found her to be incorrigibly boring.

"Well isn't it obvious?" Amy perked up. "Are you gay, Draco?"

"What?" he wasn't sure if he was more shocked by the question or the invocation of his real name but nevertheless was rendered speechless.

"Don't tell me you don't know what 'Gay' means too," she laughed. He looked from girl to girl. Crissy had stopped her nauseating rocking and was rigidly glaring at her roommate.

"Yes, I know what Gay means," he trailed off without meeting either sets of foreign eyes. Instead he carefully studied the inseam of Amy's jeans. To be gay, he felt he must be attracted to men. He marked a mental check on that box. But sure as he was that the male figure was the only one that appeased him he had never in his life touched anyone aside from a woman. It had been clumsy though not disagreeable. Not really anyway. So in his silence he decided that he couldn't be absolutely sure that he was Gay until that day of trial (and possibly error) occurred. He could safely answer "no," to his audience. Just as he was about to answer however, Crissy felt the need to interject.

"Drake isn't like that, Amy, that was a terrible thing of you to ask," her voice shook with scorn as she chastised her peer. Her look was stern and her dark brows were furrowed furiously over her sky colored eyes. "First off that's a terrible way to treat a guest. I don't know what they try to pass as manners in New York but where I'm from that doesn't fly. Second, the Gay lifestyle is sinful in the eyes of our Lord Jesus Christ. Now I don't want to be forceful with my religion but that is something of a capital offense where I'm from. Lastly, I'm sure a good God-fearing guy like Drake would never chose a lifestyle of sin like that. I see you wake up early every morning and drag that heavy lookin' table out to do your job. That kind of work ethic takes the power of the Holy Spirit, that much has been proven!" she finished seemingly pleased with her argument. Draco wasn't sure which part of it was to blame for his response but after he started speaking he was certain he had picked the right path.

"Crissy, dear, do settle down." His formality drew both pairs of eyes back to him. This was appropriate, he thought, as he was the subject that had sparked the contention in the first place. He gladly took center stage having regained his element in verbal combat. "First off, you may not have noticed but you are hundreds of miles away from where you're from, and while it may surprise you, the laws and edicts of your God don't apply universally. Second, do you see a cross around my neck?" she shook her head slow and the weight of the implication began to pull at her lips. "I do not believe there is a God at all, let alone a Christian one. There is only power and," he paused thoughtfully, "and those strong enough or resourceful enough to take it. Occasionally we get lucky and it falls into good hands for some length of time. Lastly, one would never choose to be Gay! What reason for that is there? To experience torment from one's peers and disownment from one's family. Who would wish to live as a social pariah for a good fuck?" His adversaries' ears burnt in a scarlet so bright that he could see them through the haze of the smoke filled room.

"They chose the Devil, with his tempting ways-"

"Well in that case I think you have a bad case of blaming the victim."

"God has given us all free will!" she sang triumphantly.

"Oh that's all fine and good, free will we are afforded but knowledge to make our choices we are forbidden?"

"The very knowledge of sin corrupts us! We need not partake to have sin upon our heads."

"The last time I checked, a leader who only allowed information that glorified him and his regime was also trying to hide something dark about himself. Besides, aren't they always going on about government transparency where you're from? I assure you once you open those doors you will find more sins in a day than in hell for an eternity. But I'm dreadfully tired of this subject and I wish it to reach a conclusion. So, to answer your question, Amy, yes, I am Gay." There was a tense pause in which Draco realized he had regained some of his sensibilities (though how long he had been there he could not fathom) and the consequences of his admission to his identity had started to sink in by the time the silence had been broken.

"I think you should leave," Crissy whispered. "I don't need your influence here." Without another word he rose to his feet, slightly aware and off balance, reached for his sweater and turned towards the door. I'm gay, he thought trying to get himself used to the strange association.

"Wait!" it was Amy's voice that called to him down the hallway as he tried to jimmy the door open. She ran up the hall and put her hand on his shoulder. "Is that why you can't go back home? I mean, why you're so far away as you put it?"

"Yes," he lied easily.

"I'm really sorry to've subjected you to that. It must've been really painful to go through that kind of thing again and I'm really sorry-"

"Don't worry," he placated, not wanting her to go into hysterics right there in the hall. He already felt exhausted from their earlier activities and wanted nothing more than to sleep. How these girls were managing to resist the urge to even settle down was beyond him, but then again most things female and deeply emotional were beyond him at that time. She must've been able to tell he was tired or at least short tempered because she hugged him lightly and told him he would see her the next day before running off to comfort her sobbing companion.

Looking down at Harry these memories came flooding down the rivulets of his conscious mind. The man had been kind to him since their fight. He had intended to gain his trust when he disclosed all that he had to Harry during their tiff with the cauldrons as well as emotional leverage. Standing over Harry now, however, it was as though his plan had been turned around on him. He felt so much closer to the other wizard and cursed himself repeatedly for his lapse in judgment. He had stepped too close to the man. He was as kind as the bum on the street whose name he had never taken the time to learn. He was nothing like the faceless guard of the Muggle malls who he had Confunded without consideration. He was as endearingly careless of formality as Amy. Draco found himself understanding why those around the simple boy had found him undeniably worthy of their time and in many cases, their lives. He demanded, without having to part his lips, honesty and loyalty, and Draco could no longer deny that his own propaganda had been thinly veiled truths.

Touching Harry's wrist, this time with a firm and steady hand, he stroked the beads of the bracelets and willed himself to feel their power. Nothing. Nothing at all. He sighed deeply and ensconced himself into the crook of Harry's arm. He would bring them up tomorrow and whether or not Harry found him trustworthy enough to use one of the bracelets, he would at least finally come to know why they possessed the powers that they did.

Thank you all for your patience in the adding of these two chapters. I have the 5th and 6th chapters finished but for the fact that I no longer have a word processor capable of spell check! It may be another few weeks before I have the equipment necessary. Until then, thank you for continuing to read, given my long stint of writers block/not having a whole lot of time.

Thanks are due to thebrunnetteone for the BETA! Without her, this whole thing would be a mess of grammatical errors and spelling disasters.