Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Streetrat Nightlife
Streetrat Nightlife
[Drarry] Homeless and down on his luck, Draco's forced into prostitution in the muggle world just to get by. Newly divorced and under work-related stress, Harry is depressed and lonely. When two ol...
?Blocked
It's dark, so cloudy that not even the moon and stars provide any kind of illumination. A chill wind washes over Harry, and he's reminded of something Ron had said to him years ago:
"Lazy wind, that."
"Lazy wind?"
"Yeah. Goes right through you."
Harry hates walking through this part of town, especially in the winter when the nights get dark so early and anyone could attack you from anywhere if you're not careful. He carries his wand with him at all times, but he doesn't even want to entertain the idea of getting it out in the worst part of a bad muggle town: if he didn't get his head kicked in before he could utilise the thing, he's most certainly lose his job. Probably his access to the kids too. Most likely do a stint in Azkaban to go on top of it all. Instead, he vouches for keeping his head down and his nose clean, not speaking until spoken too and not so much as glancing in anyone's direction, lest he be accused of looking at someone wrong. If he could, he'd happily give this area a wide berth. But it's the only way from the bus station to his flat, and the divorce from Ginny has left him high-and-dry moneywise. He can't afford a car.
To his left, he hears a retching sound, and glances up to see a thin, scantily-clad blond man doubled over and vomiting onto the pavement. One hand is braced against the corner wall of a nearby nightclub, the other clutching at his stomach. Between heaves, he's apologising to a very angry-looking man who's standing just far enough away to avoid his shoes being splashed with puke.
"I'm sorry," the thin man says a final time. He straightens, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. "We... we can try again, if you want. Now that I've got it all out I should-"
"Fuck that. Forget it," the angry guy says, and stars to walk away. The blond grabs his arm.
"Wait. You still need to pay me," he says, sounding desperate. The other guy laughs.
"Pay you? For that. You're joking, right?" he says, and he walks away. The blond sags against the side of the building, makes a noise that's somewhere between a sigh and a sob. Only for a second though. Then he mutters something to himself, turns to the club's blacked-out window, schuzzes his hair up, straightens his torn shirt. Then he takes a deep breath inwards, turns outwards to the street. Harry lowers his eyes, doesn't want to be caught watching. This is the kind of area where you can get shanked just for looking at somebody the wrong way. Though the blond man looks harmless, Harry's learned that you can't trust anybody around here.
The blond man's spotted him, though, and he calls out.
"Alright there, darling? You looking for a good time?"
"Um. No, thank you. Not into that," Harry replies awkwardly, and to his dismay the blond simply slinks over to him.
"Oh go on. You can pretend I'm a girl if you like," he says as he approaches. "After all I - Potter?"
It's only when the blonde is a foot away from him, under a streetlight and fully illuminated that Harry recognises the pale, pinched face, the spill of white-blond hair, the cold grey eyes. A single word escapes him.
"Draco?"
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: Short chapter I know, but it's just the beginning dahlings. Let me know what you thought.
"Lazy wind, that."
"Lazy wind?"
"Yeah. Goes right through you."
Harry hates walking through this part of town, especially in the winter when the nights get dark so early and anyone could attack you from anywhere if you're not careful. He carries his wand with him at all times, but he doesn't even want to entertain the idea of getting it out in the worst part of a bad muggle town: if he didn't get his head kicked in before he could utilise the thing, he's most certainly lose his job. Probably his access to the kids too. Most likely do a stint in Azkaban to go on top of it all. Instead, he vouches for keeping his head down and his nose clean, not speaking until spoken too and not so much as glancing in anyone's direction, lest he be accused of looking at someone wrong. If he could, he'd happily give this area a wide berth. But it's the only way from the bus station to his flat, and the divorce from Ginny has left him high-and-dry moneywise. He can't afford a car.
To his left, he hears a retching sound, and glances up to see a thin, scantily-clad blond man doubled over and vomiting onto the pavement. One hand is braced against the corner wall of a nearby nightclub, the other clutching at his stomach. Between heaves, he's apologising to a very angry-looking man who's standing just far enough away to avoid his shoes being splashed with puke.
"I'm sorry," the thin man says a final time. He straightens, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. "We... we can try again, if you want. Now that I've got it all out I should-"
"Fuck that. Forget it," the angry guy says, and stars to walk away. The blond grabs his arm.
"Wait. You still need to pay me," he says, sounding desperate. The other guy laughs.
"Pay you? For that. You're joking, right?" he says, and he walks away. The blond sags against the side of the building, makes a noise that's somewhere between a sigh and a sob. Only for a second though. Then he mutters something to himself, turns to the club's blacked-out window, schuzzes his hair up, straightens his torn shirt. Then he takes a deep breath inwards, turns outwards to the street. Harry lowers his eyes, doesn't want to be caught watching. This is the kind of area where you can get shanked just for looking at somebody the wrong way. Though the blond man looks harmless, Harry's learned that you can't trust anybody around here.
The blond man's spotted him, though, and he calls out.
"Alright there, darling? You looking for a good time?"
"Um. No, thank you. Not into that," Harry replies awkwardly, and to his dismay the blond simply slinks over to him.
"Oh go on. You can pretend I'm a girl if you like," he says as he approaches. "After all I - Potter?"
It's only when the blonde is a foot away from him, under a streetlight and fully illuminated that Harry recognises the pale, pinched face, the spill of white-blond hair, the cold grey eyes. A single word escapes him.
"Draco?"
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: Short chapter I know, but it's just the beginning dahlings. Let me know what you thought.
Sign up to rate and review this story