The Making of His Father
TEN YEARS LATER
Since he was graciously kicked out all those years ago, Draco had been at work. He had freed both himself and his mother from drowning, but she didn’t want freedom. Didn’t want him. But being wanted was overrated. There was so much more out there than simple want , than animalistic need . Draco preferred to have , and he had quite a lot now.
Money. Power.
People.
So many chess pieces to play with.
He wasn’t one to owe others. He preferred the role of tax collector. He didn’t speak many languages, but fear was universally understood. That was his preferred currency.
The streets had raised him. He had gone from imported hand lotions to damp blankets. Tailored clothes to discarded rags two sizes too big. The typical “poor me” roguish type - abandoned as a child. A great starting point for most protagonists. Antagonists. Something to add to his memoir. He had done his fair share of reading. Libraries do their best to be dry when the outside world is waterlogged with sludge and rain. It’s incredible how easy it is for a small child to hide between stacks of books.
But he didn’t have to hide anymore- no, Draco Malfoy walked freely in the City of Progress. Hiding was the job of the people he had acquired like china pieces. Like mother like son. He liked to collect things. Thieves. Shadows. Beasts. Friends in places both high and low. Having a target on your back meant nothing when everyone around you had six on theirs. Draco had protection. He was insured. And he wasn’t even 20 yet. A great start.
Most people doubted his humanity.
There were rumors surrounding him, many created and tossed around by himself. He was a warlock in disguise. A lonely creature feeding off a young host body. A demon with smooth cheeks and hints of baby fat stolen off the children he gobbled up. A monstrosity. And they’d be right.
"Are you brooding again?"
A lanky figure dropped down out of nowhere, making Draco jump, then immediately scold himself for it. The boy was hanging upside down by his knees on one of the many steel poles that ran horizontally beneath the rafters of the Lock House, gangly arms swaying.
"I'm not brooding. I'm thinking," Draco rolled up the map he had been staring at.
"I don't brood."
The boy rolled his eyes, "Whatever."
He flipped down from his perch, landing in a graceful crouch. Harry Potter. Draco preferred to use his last name.
A mangy half-elf Draco had picked up shortly after being booted from his home. He had had to put up with the infuriating kid and all of his bravadoes for years, keeping him out of trouble, yanking him by the scruff of his neck to pull him out of oncoming carriages - He was the closest thing to a friend a creature like Draco could have.
"What do you think about Harvati, Potter?"
Harry swished over to him, tapping the rolled-up map and getting soot marks on it.
“The cheese?”
"The man." Draco snatched it away.
“Unfortunate name…” Harry traced his hand down the rotting wooden table, miraculously avoiding splinters. “His security is tight, although I get the suspicion that his guards are more concerned about keeping whatever is in that manor in rather than keeping rabble out .”
He paused. “Not that anyone in their right mind would try to break in.” He glanced teasingly at Draco, but the boy was busy stuffing various poisons and knives into his too-full cross-body bag.
“Good thing we’re not particularly right-brained,” Draco mumbled.
“Speak for yourself, I’ve been taking up pottery recently-”
“We’re visiting him tonight.”
The half-elf jerked his head up, "Tonight?" His eyes glinted in worry, but his long fingers tapped the table in greed. "Are we ready?"
"Maybe. But Harvati is , and I can't let another opportunity like this pass us. Who knows when he’ll be back in town? He’s always on wild goose chases.”
“What's he looking for?” Harry lifted himself onto the table and sat cross-legged.
“A cure.”
“And are you going to give him one?”
“...maybe.”
Harry exhaled loudly, "okaaay then. Let me round up the team-"
"No," Draco straightened, rolling his shoulders, "I'm going alone."
"Alone? Except for me, right?”
"Yeah, of course."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, "are you sure you don't want more people? I just don't feel like it's safe-"
“Since when do you care about safety?”
“I do when it comes to you,” his leg stopped bouncing. “That’s why I’m here isn’t it?”
"We're going alone ." Draco hissed. Sometimes his voice came out harsher than intended. Sometimes Harry said things that made him uncomfortable.
"All right then, boss. Damn. Have some manners asshole." He let his hand drift over the stack of polished knives Draco had laid out.
"Are you taking these? They're a little big -"
"I'm going unarmed."
Harry's fingers stilled for a moment. "Right," he slipped one of the knives into his padded boot. "Any other curve balls I should know about?"
“Take the silver knife.” Draco walked out of the room. As usual, he couldn’t hear Harry’s silent footsteps, but he didn’t need to check if the boy was following him. He always did.