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Chapter Two
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Draco shivered as he passed through the door, not quite sure what to expect. The sudden cold wave that passed over him certainly didn't help. What did the scan do? What did it scan for? His mood was not improved by his suspicion that there was no way he was going to get out of this place without Potter finding out now. He was sure to be bloody well informed as his 'patron'. Damn! How the hell was he going to get Potter to go along with it? Potter would deny him for sure . . . it's what he would have done if their positions were reversed. He didn't know what this club did to people who got in under false pretenses, but he was sure it wouldn't be good. He just hoped that whatever this club was, it wasn't something his father would be angry about him being caught in. That was the last thing he needed.
He jumped when his clothing suddenly altered. The, "hey!" of indignation was barely out of his mouth before he grinned. He may not have wanted the change in his apparel, but he had to admit the transfigured clothes were a far higher quality than the ones he'd been wearing -- and that wasn't easy to accomplish. The silk of the half buttoned shirt felt very nice against his skin -- high quality material always showed, he mused. The trousers he now wore, well, mostly wore, were well-tanned soft leather that hugged his legs and backside -- quite erotic actually. Unfortunately there were no sides! The front and back held together by a series of metal rings the full length of his legs. He felt distinctly exposed, and it really left him even more uneasy as to what kind of establishment, exactly, this was. The other problem was his decided lack of footwear.
"Shoes?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as it dawned on him he hadn't even seen the man retrieve his wand. Getting sloppy, Draco!
His question was waved off. "Your scan indicated shoes would be an unnecessary addition to your apparel for the evening."
Excuse me?! "Shoes are always required."
Mr. Warren chuckled. "Oh, you're one of those, are you," he quipped, smirking.
Draco stiffened immediately. "Really?" he drawled, anger a banked flame deep inside. "And just what those do you think I'm one of?" he continued, wondering just how insulted he should feel. He reached to touch his wand, wanting the reassurance of its presence. "Hey! What happened to my wand?" he demanded angrily, his lack of shoes forgotten as his precarious position took on a whole new layer of meaning now that he realized he was wandless. How the hell had the blasted man taken it from him?
The prat smirked at him, his gaze flickering down once then rising slowly.
Oh hell!
"Your wand was transfigured as part of your club clothing. You can't use it inside anyway," Warren explained tersely, his eyes narrowing. "Your patron did not explain this?"
"Of course, he did," Draco snapped, "I simply did not expect it to be transfigured." It took every ounce of will that Draco had ever possessed to stay calm. He was liking the odds of this evening jaunt turning out well, less and less, especially as he watched the muscle-bound brute jot down something new on his infernal parchment.
"And to answer your question," Warren continued suddenly, finally looking back up at him, "I think you're a rich, pampered, mama's boy, who thinks he's all that, but doesn't have a clue what he really wants."
All that? Draco didn't fully understand the man's phrasing, but he understood enough of it. "Now listen here, you over-grown--"
"No time to discuss it," the behemoth interrupted, propelling Draco forward. "Antony will escort you to your patron."
Before Draco could muster his outrage at being so summarily dismissed, he took in what the git had said. Damn it!
"Have fun," Warren called as he passed back through the door they'd entered, his words sickly sweet.
Draco decided he really didn't like what the sneer on the man's face implied -- which meant that Blaise Zabini was dead. That's all there was to it -- right after Harry Frigging Potter! Carefully hiding his anger, Draco turned a bright smile on 'Antony'. "Well, if you'll just point me in the right direction," he said, "I'll be all set."
Antony laughed. "Sorry, can't do that."
Arranging his features into a look of puzzlement that he'd perfected years ago, Draco frowned just a touch. "Why not?" he asked.
"Because pets don't wander around by themselves," he replied without missing a beat, gripping Draco's upper arm and pulling him along.
Draco felt a flush of shock radiate out from his stomach in a rippling wave of dizzying heat. " What did you say?" he demanded, attempting to wrench out of Antony's grasp. Surprisingly, he couldn't. Damn! Draco thought with a wince of pain as steel-like fingers bruised the flesh of his arm. He's stronger than he looks!
Snorting, Antony did not stop their forward progress. "You heard me," he replied, just as he pulled Draco through the wall.
Fully intending on laying into the prat currently holding him in an iron grip, Draco reared back, blinking in surprise as they entered the room. The lighting muted, it was still easier to see here than in the anteroom. His mouth went utterly dry as he took in the decor and the . . . customers. All men, none of them were dressed as he was used to seeing.
Leather sure is in fashion with this crowd, Draco thought torn between amusement and horror. He knew what this place was. He'd heard of places like this. This was a place where blokes that liked other blokes-- Draco almost groaned, an incredible sinking feeling in his gut . . . alongside the huge knot that had formed there. He was utterly done for. Potter would give up the game. Draco's father would find out where he'd been, that seemed inevitable now. After that, he was ruined, if not dead. He wasn't sure just how angry his father would be, but he was completely certain he'd be yanked out of school at an absolute minimum.
So the question is, how do I get Potter to play along? he thought, nebulous ideas forming one after another as he was guided relentlessly forward. Unfortunately, none seemed like they might work. If he'd been dealing with another Slytherin, the outcome would be inevitable. The hypothetical Slytherin would find himself in the rather unique position of having a hold over Draco that only time would tell how would be used against him. Of course, this increasingly hypothetical person would play along, anything else would be short term revenge, not long term profit.
"Ah, there he is," Antony said suddenly, startling Draco completely out of his thoughts.
Following Antony's gaze with his own, Draco's jaw nearly fell to the floor. He'd certainly never seen Potter dressed like that before. Dressed from head to toe in black, form-fitting leather, Potter was leaning against the back of his chair, simply oozing confident, overt sexuality. Wow! he thought, amazed. Who knew he hid that kind of body? As that thought registered, he shook his head, not really believing he'd thought it in the first place. Potter equals enemy. Potter is not hot!
Picking up his pace, Draco was surprised when it resulted it his being easily released. All the better, he thought, now hoping to reach Potter and speak to him before Antony asked the insufferable prat any questions. "Potter!" he called out, raising his voice just enough to reach the lounging student.
Potter's head jerked up just as Draco reached him, piercing green eyes suddenly focused completely on Draco.
Leaning forward, Draco whispered urgently. "Play along."
Potter's response was to stare at him incredulously.
Wilting a little, Draco closed his eyes before he continued. "Please," he asked -- he refused to think of it as pleading. Malfoy's didn't plead.
An amused snort from Potter had Draco snapping his eyes back open as anger flashed through him. It froze inside when he saw the oddly speculative look on his rival's face as he rose slowly to stand mere inches from Draco. He swallowed against the unexpected, intense heat radiating off Potter's body as the Gryffindor stood before him looking far more confident than Draco had ever seen him.
"Why should I?" he asked, just as quietly as Draco had. Leaning forward, Potter didn't continue until his mouth was right next to Draco's ear, his words a softly taunting whisper. "What's in it for me?"
A shiver ran through Draco at the silky words. "I'll owe you," Draco replied with apparent ease -- though inside, he was throwing one of the absolute biggest tantrums he had ever thrown.
Throwing a quick glance toward Antony, Potter smiled at Draco. "I like that idea. We'll work out the details later," he said before turning to face Antony fully.
"I gather, this young man does actually know you?" Antony asked.
Draco really didn't like the knowing smirk on the man's face. To his complete surprise, however, Potter frowned, apparently not approving of it either. He glared at the man. "Of course he does," Potter snapped. "Didn't you believe him when he told you so?"
Suddenly bowing toward Potter -- Bowing?! -- Antony's smirk was instantly wiped off his face. "We just wished to make sure, Sir. He claimed you had patroned him, but displayed a certain . . . lack of knowledge about the rules."
"I'll deal with that," Potter replied abruptly, turning his glare toward Draco.
Draco watched in bemused silence as Antony stammered apologies and backed away. He turned back to face Potter only find himself being hauled forward for the third time. This time, however, he ended up sprawled across Potter's lap at the end of the short journey.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Potter?!" he sputtered in outrage, immediate beginning to remove himself from the ignominious position.
Potter clamped his hands around Draco's arms, making it impossible for him to move.
Snarling, Draco twisted within the tight grip. "Let go of me, Potter!"
"Sit still, Draco," Potter hissed back sternly. Unexpectedly, he chuckled. "You're rubbing up against . . . interesting things."
Draco stilled instantly.
"Good," Potter said as soon as Draco had. The git didn't loosen his grip, however. "Now that I've got your full attention, I'll let you in on the rules of this place."
Draco gaped as he listened. Yes, Zabini was definitely dead for this . . . or worse. Reluctantly listening to Potter's words, the apparel of everyone there began to take on new significance, as did Antony's reference to 'pets'. He tensed as sharp stab of arousal shot through him.
No sodding way!
He barely registered the rule covering the fact that he couldn't leave the place until the evenings 'festivities' had ended. Once in, stays in.
"I'm not a pet, Potter!" he spat angrily.
Potter just laughed. "Like the sorting hat, the scanning charm is never wrong . . . or so I've been told."
Like the sorting hat?! he thought in horror. If it was anywhere near that accurate-- Draco cut off his thoughts abruptly. Denial was a good fall back position. "It is this time!" he retorted.
One rule he was unutterably grateful for was the one regarding secrecy. Apparently, what went on here, stayed here. If what had happened already tonight got out, he would never live it down. A Malfoy dressed like a pet, in a 'men's only' club. He shuddered to think about it.
"The charm is actually a less . . . sentient version of the sorting hat," Potter went on, utterly unperturbed by Draco's outburst. "It can detect buried desires the person isn't even aware of."
Not on it's best day! Draco thought vehemently. Yes, denial did sanity good.
"Now, we can handle this one of two ways," Potter went on, seemingly oblivious to Draco's inner turmoil. "Which way, depends on whether or not you want my protection."
Potter's protection? Now that's something I never thought I'd be offered, Draco thought, incredulous. He had no clue why that thought caused a wave of sadness. "I don't need your bleeding protection, Potter!" he denied vehemently.
"Very well," Potter replied, dumping Draco off his lap. "Have fun."
Sputtering angrily, Draco stomped off.
"Oh, Draco?"
"What Potter?" Draco sneered, stopping, wondering what new surprise Potter was going to throw at him now.
"Don't drink anything you don't buy yourself, watch the bartender make, and then hand to you directly."
Draco's eyes widened at the implications. "What kind of place is this?" he demanded harshly, barely remembering to keep his voice quiet. No one was supposed to know he didn't know all this already.
Potter shrugged. "One heavily weighted toward the masters." His eyes narrowed as he continued. " Most people know what they're getting into when they come here . . . unlike someone I could name."
Draco huffed, spinning away from Potter and once again beginning to storm away. He couldn't help but notice that the inhabitants seemed just a little more . . . sinister now. He sighed. All he had to do was keep to himself until this night from hell ended.
"Oh, one more thing," he heard behind him. He grit his teeth, turned around and stalked back to the git, seething inside.
"Get on with it, Potter," he snarled quietly.
"If you're not 'interested', don't make eye contact with any of the masters," Potter replied smoothly, smirking. "They'll take it as a come on."
Merlin have mercy!
"Any other bits of advice?" Draco asked through still clenched teeth.
"Nope, don't think so."
"Good!"
"Having problems with the new pet, Harry?" said a voice directly behind Draco.
Draco started and spun around. "I am not a--" He found himself staring at a rather solid chest, not a face. He looked up, and then up some more. Bloody hell! This guy is huge. Draco took an automatic step back.
"Nah, Randolph, he's not mine, just a . . . guest."
Resolving not to turn around and soundly berate Potter for discussing him as if he wasn't standing right there -- not that it was difficult to resist the urge. Draco wouldn't have turned his back on the freak in front of him for much of anything. He turned the full force of a Malfoy glare on the man standing in his path. "I'm not a pet. That stupid scanner thing is obviously defective," he said disdainfully.
The oaf, Randolph, laughed, smirking at him.
Harry hissed. "Malfoy!"
As Draco seethed, the oaf stopped laughing, his expression turning to something akin to revulsion . . . and something else Draco really didn't care to identify.
"Malfoy?" Randolph sneered.
"Yes," Draco replied proudly, raising his chin. "Draco Malfoy, to be precise."
What the sodding hell are you doing? he asked himself. Announcing his name like that was counter productive!
"Really?" Randolph asked, his voice a velvet hiss as he stepped closer, invading Draco's personal far too much.
Draco gulped. Fear, not a foreign concept!
Behind him, Harry laughed. "I told you that game would get you in trouble here," he said.
Game?
"Game?" Randolph asked, easing back a bit.
"Yes," Potter purred.
Gods above! Draco thought as a shiver snaked down his spine, and a goodly portion of his blood headed straight south. Who knew Potter could sound like that?
"He likes to pretend to be one of the mighty Malfoy's."
I am one of them. Prat!
Randolph frowned. "Why?"
Harry chuckled, but Draco didn't dare take his eyes off Randolph. The guy was seriously creeping him out. Draco stiffened as he suddenly felt Potter against his back. "Why not?" the crowding Gryffindor asked in a whisper, his arms snaking around Draco waist possessively, pulling him against the broad expanse of chest. "He gets to pretend he doesn't want any of it, and has to be . . . coaxed."
Draco sputtered incoherently, despite the hot flash that flooded him at the idea -- and rather startling images -- of Potter . . . coaxing him. He wanted to jerk away from Potter, but didn't dare that either. If he did, he'd end up against the creepy dude -- with a raging hard-on that would be difficult to explain in the circumstances. Well, maybe it wouldn't be all that difficult . . . considering. Potter was the better of the two options, he reasoned quickly, deciding to stay put for the moment.
Of course, his decision had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it felt surprisingly good to be held by the Gryffindor, a thought he didn't want to think about too closely. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this incredibly turned on. He didn't want to be, but he was. Denial was all well and good, but Draco had never been very good at lying to himself -- everyone else, yes, just not himself.
This was one of the secrets he'd revealed to Blaise. Not Potter, that had come as a complete surprise tonight. Not the bloody 'pet' thing, either. That was a bunch of bullocks as far as he was concerned. No, what he'd revealed to Blaise was his preference for blokes. Of course, he'd been smashed out of his mind at the time, and so had Blaise. Draco had been sure the other boy wouldn't remember what he'd said, and it had felt so good to finally tell someone. Unfortunately, the former had been a wrong assumption.
"Really?" Randolph whispered, his expression changing decidedly away from anger and revulsion to something far more dangerous. "Well, Harry, if he's really not yours, I'd be interested."
Draco gaped. He'd never! Randolph was talking as if Potter had the right to simply hand him over, like Draco didn't have a say in the matter. "I'll have you know you--" he began hotly, only to be interrupted . . . by a hand firmly covering his mouth. He squirmed within Potter's grasp, but suddenly stilled as he realized the Gryffindor hadn't been kidding about his physical . . . condition. Interesting that!
Merlin help me! Draco thought, as a shard of pure lust doused him, rendering him more mute than the hand that muzzled him.
"Not mine," Potter repeated, suddenly dropping his hands and stepping back.
Draco swayed.
Randolph grinned. "If you like," he said, finally looking to Draco instead of bloody Potter, "I can even pretend to be Lucius Malfoy, and you the naughty young man that needs to be . . . punished."
Draco's eyes widened, his mouth and words dried up, and his stomach twisted. He backed up to Potter quickly, whispering. "I've changed my mind Potter. I think I will take you up on your offer of protection." He ground his teeth together when that just caused the Gryffindor to chuckle yet again.
"Sorry, Randolph, looks like he's mine after all," Potter replied, slipping an arm around Draco's waist, his hand curling firmly around Draco's hip.
Randolph's eyes flickered down Draco's body--
Shuddering, Draco suddenly desired a very long, very hot bath.
--and back up again, disappointment appearing in his eyes. "Too bad. That sounded like fun. Let me know if you tire of him, Harry," the prat said as he turned and left, obviously seeking out other . . . entertainment.
"That was just sick," Draco admitted with another shudder.
