Part 5

Few people in the world knew about the narrow shop near the end of Diagon Alley. With an entrance reserved for horse-drawn carriages, the clientele of Mareschal's Fitting were sorted from the common wizards and witches by simple lack of advertising. Only those who could afford their prices knew about it, and for all their lack of customers, the store profitted more than any other in the alley.

When the carriage came to a stop, Draco immediately moved to open the door, but he hesitated and looked back at Harry. "Remember, follow at my shoulder, don't speak, just--"

"Nod once whenever someone talks to me," Harry said with an impatient sigh. "I haven't forgotten since you told me five minutes ago."

"And try not to look too lost," Draco added. "Bad enough you've never been here before, but if you look like a lost kitten, you'll be lucky if they only take your money."

"That's what you're here for," Harry said. "To show me how this is done."

"Oh Harry..." Draco shook his head in mock wonder. "I'm a wizard, not a miracle worker."

Before Harry could reply, Draco opened the door for his master and stood back to let him out onto the step. The horses began to walk on and Harry nearly turned to call them back, but Draco stepped forward quickly and whispered in his ear. "Relax, they'll come back when we're done."

The two main doors were shadowed as if the store were closed, but Draco opened them anyway and ushered Harry through, then followed dutifully at his shoulder. Unchanged by the war, the store was just as he remembered it. Shelves held samples of expensive perfumes, antique jewelry and a few other items that the Ministry was paid not to notice. Several doors along the wall held generous changing rooms. Along one wall stood several racks of robes in various styles. The rest of the store was a well decorated conglomeration of thick carpets, fine paintings, rich furnishings, and candlelight atmosphere designed to impress its customers of the shop's wealth and place in the world.

"Ah, at last," came a middle aged wizard from his place in the center of the shop. Harry wondered if he stood there all day until someone came inside. "At last I can claim the great Harry Potter as a customer. Sir, you honor me with your presence."

Nodding once and relieved that he wouldn't have to talk, Harry watched Draco take a step forward and address the man, eyes cast dutifully downwards as he gave a small bow. "My master requires a wardrobe befitting his status. Please see to his measurements, comforts and preferences."

The shop keeper turned his attention to Draco, his expression subtly changing. Draco couldn't see it though he imagined it was there, but Harry felt his heart quicken as Mareschal's polite smile turned into a leer. Anyone else might have missed it, but having dealt with spies from both sides during the war, Harry had learned the tell-tale signs of hidden emotion. Mareschal reached his hand out to touch Draco's collar, entranced by the rare sight of a young slave and emboldened by the fact that it was a Malfoy.

Before he realized it, Harry had seized Mareschal's hand an inch from Draco's collar with bruising strength. He didn't let go until Mareschal met his eyes and his silent warning.

"Forgive me, sir," the shopkeep said, his eyes wide. "I intended no disrespect."

Without a word, Harry released him.

Humble bows, Draco thought as he smiled at the floor, might have been intended to humiliate slaves, but they were one of the best assets for a proud piece of property when he needed to hide an un-humiliated grin. The message was clear, Harry Potter was a jealous master and his slave was not to be touched. Considering what a gossip the old man could be when not carefully bribed, no doubt that information would spread throughout the upper echelons of society, and from there to the Ministry and below.

After escorting them both into the first dressing room, the shopkeep went about measuring Harry for tailored robes. Draco stood with his back against a corner, watching him work and smiling at his lover, who impatiently fidgeted and took turns glaring at Draco for insisting on this and at the mirror, cursing his reflection for how self-conscious he felt. He then had to sit through the sampling of the different fabrics and styles, and finally Draco listed the enchantments that would be laid upon each robe. Harry thought he would die of boredom, but Draco looked absolutely at ease.

By the time the tailor gave them a price, they heard the doors chime, signaling another customer. The shopkeep quickly bundled his parchment and quill with his measuring tape and smiled at Harry. "I will get to these immediately, sir. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, they should be ready within the day. If you like, I could have them wrapped and sent to your residence?"

Not knowing what else to do, Harry was about to nod, but Draco beat him to the reply.

"Please have them waiting and ready. My master has further business in town and will return before the day's end to collect them."

"As you wish. Shall I escort you out?"

Keeping in step at Harry's side, Draco glanced up at the other customer and froze as he watched the ministry official who'd tried to buy him back stand by the jewelry as if examining the watches. When the man saw Harry and Draco emerge, however, he began walking towards them.

Keenly feeling the loss of his wand, Draco took a step back and stumbled into Harry's arms. Surprised, he turned his head to look up at Harry, but his master stood with an expression more at home on a dark lord's face than the wizarding world's champion. He would have been afraid if Harry had been looking at him. Instead, he gave a small breath of relief.

"Mr. Kernwall," Harry ground out.

"Mr. Potter," the official said pleasantly. "How fortuitous to meet you here."

"I'm sure fortune had nothing to do with it," Harry said. "If you'll excuse us."

Harry's arms gently turned Draco towards the door, and after a moment's disorientation, Draco obeyed. He felt a little better knowing that Harry stayed between him and the official, and by the time their carriage came around and stopped before them, he was recovered enough to open the door and follow Harry inside again.

As soon as the door shut, he was pulled into Harry's lap and held tightly. Startled at first, he relaxed and half-closed his eyes, letting his master hold him. "It's all right. He didn't do anything."

"I didn't think he'd follow us," Harry whispered. "I didn't think he'd be so bold."

"They make the laws, why shouldn't they be bold?" Draco smiled and put a hand on Harry's. "Come on now, you should be comforting me, not the other way around."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, his voice muffled in Draco's hair. "I thought he might, I don't know, apparate, port-key somewhere with you."

"He might try it some day," Draco said. "If not him, then someone else. Don't ever let me out of your sight, not even for a moment."

"I'll never let anyone touch you," Harry promised. He sighed and slowly relaxed as a different part of Diagon Alley appeared in the carriage windows. The street that had dazzled him when he was eleven years old looked far different when viewed from a carriage. The people looked smaller, the shops looked mundane and dingy. Most of the damage from the war was not repaired, so burned out buildings and black craters where spells had blown out the cobblestones dotted the street. If the carriage hadn't been charmed to ride smoothly, the trip would've been very bumpy.

"So," Harry said. "What was this other business you told Mareschal we had?"

"We didn't have breakfast." Draco took a deep breath and turned in Harry's arms so he could see his face. "I thought we might stop somewhere for lunch."

"That sounds good to me. Where would you like?"

"The Wild Hunt would be best, I think," Draco said softly, glancing at the carriage floor as he spoke.

Harry frowned. He had no idea what the Wild Hunt was, but anytime Draco looked away, he grew suspicious. His lover liked to think he was a great manipulator, but in truth his Malfoy often found manipulating him extremely difficult. Of course he knew Draco could manipulate other people very well, but when it came to Harry, Draco seemed to turn a little self-conscious. Harry wasn't sure, but he liked to think it was because Draco ultimately didn't like manipulating his lover.

"I've never heard of that," he said. "Where is it?"

"The far end of Knockturn Alley." Draco winced at Harry's widening eyes. "Please, just give it a try. It's quiet and it has private booths and no one will bother us, I swear."

Harry hesitated. "It's a dark shop, isn't it?"

Draco gave a tiny nod. "Please? If we go anywhere else in Hogsmeade, they'll all stare."

The black collar around his slave's neck seemed to stand out on Draco's pale throat, even though it was half covered by the top of his robe. Harry touched it with his fingertips. "All right. But if anyone tries to hex the food, we're leaving."

Down Knockturn Alley they rode, and while witches and wizards ducked out of the way of their carriage, Draco pointed out the different shops that Harry had never heard of, Bathory's Body Works which Draco said sold lotions and perfumes, Gogmagog Grog, an alehouse of ill repute, and Sorileja's Book Repository, which Harry thought he should take Hermione to now that he knew about it. Towards the far end of the alley the carriage came to a stop at the Wild Hunt, not at the front door but at the side where a raised platform gave easy access to a separate entrance.

This time Draco did not have to open the door. An attendant in fine green robes opened the door for them and escorted them inside the foyer. Curtains covered several doorways, but if Harry hadn't known that this establishment catered to dark wizards, he would have thought it was a normal restaurant.

"A private table," Draco said softly to their waiter. "Completely private, if possible."

Nodding once, the attendant lead them away from the sounds of boisterous conversation in the next room and instead took them upstairs. Through sheer black curtains Harry briefly spotted a large dining area with several wizards and witches seated, but none of them saw him.

"The veils are one way," Draco whispered to him. "They can't see us back here."

"What kind of restaurant is this?" Harry asked.

"The kind where you don't have to worry about people watching you."

In the upstairs section, they walked past several private booths separated by curtains. At last they stopped at an empty booth and sat down on comfortably padded seats and two menus already on the table. The attendant closed the curtain and they were entirely alone.

"It's so quiet," Harry murmured as he picked up his menu. To his dismay, he didn't recognize any of the dishes. They all had strange names like Gwydion's Cauldron, Lyfael's Spear and Sword, and Sweet Song of Taliesin.

"No one can hear in or out," Draco said. "If you like, we could start one of their music charms." Amongst the jumble of napkins, sugar and a little sign advertising a colorful alcoholic drink, Draco touched a white ornament that Harry had mistaken for a salt shaker. Instantly soft flutes and string instruments played in the background.

Knowing that they were sitting in a dark wizard hangout, no matter how fine the decor, made Harry uneasy, but the nervous look in Draco's eyes made him smile. He reached over the table and put his hands over Draco's.

"It's fine," he said, stroking the back of his lover's hand. "You come here often?"

The moment he said it, Harry winced, but Draco's smile turned crooked and he slid one hand free from Harry's, trailing a finger over the black glasses and ending on his master's lips.

"I'll always know I'm your first and only, Potter," he whispered. "There's no way you practiced your seductive charms on anyone else."

Harry kissed his fingertip. "Why practice when I caught the best the first time?"

"Flatterer," Draco said, glancing down at the table as if looking for crumbs or rough edges, trying to hide the pink flush across his cheeks.

"Fair skin always gives you away." Harry put his hand under Draco's chin and made him look up. "You never blush around anyone else. Is it just an act for me?"

Draco's blush deepened. "I don't have to act around you. I think you're the only person I never had to lie to."

"Of course you didn't have to lie," Harry said. "You were quite open about being mean."

"And who's fault is that?" Draco asked. "I tried to be nice when we met. You're the one who turned me down."

"You were a little terror," Harry said, smiling despite himself. "And you've hardly changed. You're still a manipulative, spoiled brat."

"And you love it," Draco murmured.

"Every bit," Harry said. "I never thought I'd be in love with my Malfoy. You never blushed back then, now that I think about it."

"And why would I?" He half-shrugged and tilted his head into Harry's hand, closing his eyes. "Who was there to make me blush?"

"Oh?" Now Harry's smile turned crooked. "You didn't practice your seductive charms on anyone?"

"Unlike you, Potter, I never needed any practice."

"Cheeky." Harry turned the menu towards him. "You're so smart, then tell me what these weird names mean."

"Hm? Oh!" Draco chuckled. "I forgot you wouldn't know some of our references. Just tell me what you'd like. They have almost everything here."

"You go ahead and order for me," Harry said. "Just...something simple."

When the waiter came back and took their order, Harry wondered what two orders of Morrigan's Children were, half-expecting something bloody and poisoned to arrive on his plate. Instead what quickly popped in front of him on the table was a pair of small roasted birds that looked like pheasants on a bed of vegetables. He looked up and found Draco watching him with a bemused expression.

"Did you think it would be terrible?" Draco asked. "Real children, perhaps?"

"Ah...something like that," Harry said, smiling sheepishly.

"Really, you must learn to trust me."

"You've tried to trick me more times I can count," Harry argued. "And succeeded quite a few times."

A laugh escaped before Draco could squash it. "Yes, I have, haven't I?" Then he leaned forward across the table, pushing his plate out of the way and stealing a kiss before Harry could pull back in surprise. When he eased back, still close enough to gaze into his master's eyes, every trace of humor was gone.

"I can't help what I am," he whispered. "I'm a Malfoy, made of nothing but bad faith. But no matter how I trick you, I'll never hurt you."

The first time Draco had ever admitted his failings and feelings, sitting beside him in the Grimmauld living room when they were alone, Harry had felt a rush of fear. Fear of the intensity of Draco's emotions, but also fear of his own provoked emotions. He had a member of the Malfoy family, the monsters of the Ministry and veritable demons of dark magic, as his all too devoted lover. If Malfoys were made of bad faith, it was bad in that it burned bright and consumed them until they could see nothing else, devoting their hearts to terrible causes and lovers alike.

He reached up and put a hand behind Draco's head, holding him still as he stole the kiss back. "I know." He refused to let go for a moment, staring into his slave's grey eyes, forcing himself to meet the almost fanatical devotion there. Frightening, but exhilarating, too.

"You're so strange," he murmured. "Do you trick me because you love me?"

"Yes," Draco said. "Because I want to keep you alive."

Turning that thought over in his head, Harry gently brushed Draco's cheek with his fingertips. That Malfoy was so honest about his dishonesty didn't surprise him. That he was beginning to feel comforted by Malfoy's trickery did.

TBC...