Chapter Text
It’s been years, and Harry hasn’t seen him since they’d flown past the Fiendfyre out of the room of requirement. Harry had left him there in the corridor to join the battle.
With everything on his mind, Harry hadn’t noticed him missing for the rest of that exhausting, painful day. Both his parents were running around the castle ruins, screaming his name. It was a day filled with chaos for everyone, even when the war had ended.
By the time Harry could take a breath, his rival had disappeared without a trace.
He had been missing from his own trial, where he was sentenced to a five year probationary period, during which he was forbidden from doing any magic, or even to be in possession of his wand - Harry had turned it over to the Ministry after the battle. The five year period wouldn’t begin until he was found.
Harry didn’t miss him, not really. They weren’t in school anymore. Harry had decided not to return for a final year, so the lack of a snide, sneering rival had not been as glaring from outside the castle walls.
As time went on, despite both Harry and Ron working for the Ministry, Harry’d heard nothing of his rival. He spent most days gardening in Neville’s greenhouse, not thinking about anything before the summer of 1998.
So when Harry was invited to Dean’s bachelor party in a gay strip club hidden in the depths of wizarding London, seeing the white-blond hair and pointy chin again was a bit of a shock.
Harry had spent most of the evening slumped between Ron and Neville in their spacious corner booth. All of the groomsmen had been invited, but Harry only knows Ron, Neville and Dean.
“Next week.” Ron says. He shakes his head. “It’s been such a long time coming.”
Dean whoops loudly as he and one of the other guys return to the table with a tray of shots.
“Not too long, they only got engaged last year.” Neville says. “If this is Dean’s party, I can’t wait to see what Seamus does.”
They each accept a shot, raising them in a toast to Dean.
The pulsing violet and magenta lights along with the pounding music keep the energy in the club high. The pleather seats are tacky and the servers scantily clad, but the atmosphere is altogether so strange that nothing stands out as more strange than the others.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Seamus just had us meet him in a pub for far too much beer and Auror stories.” Harry says, downing the tequila. Seamus is a man of simple taste, and whilst Dean enjoys the club scene, Seamus never seems to catch the rhythm.
“Dean! Fancy a lap dance?” Neville shouts. Dean laughs loudly.
“Think Seamus would have my head, mate! I’d be more than happy to watch some of you get lap dances, though.” He says with a wink.
“Harry, you game?” One of the other groomsmen asks.
Harry laughs with everyone else. Other than Dean, he’s the only one in the group that likes men. Still, he hopes to escape the night without getting a boner in front of his friends.
There’s a game - Harry can vaguely hear them discussing the rules - but he’s distracted by the change in dancer on the pole off the the side.
The first dance - a husky brunet, fully nude after his performance - left the stage through a gauzy but opaque curtain. It seems to function much like the veil Harry had watched Sirius disappear behind. The performer had walked straight through the fabric as if it was only an illusion, and maybe it was.
The new dancer is a tall, lanky blond clad in high heeled black boots, black boxer briefs, and an oversized white button down.
Harry recognises him.
He nudges Ron.
“Look over there.”
“Mate, I’m happy the bloke’s caught your eye and all, but please don’t make me watch him strip naked.” Ron says with little more than a glance at the dancer.
“No, look at him. Really look. Doesn’t he seem familiar?” Harry hisses, elbowing Neville. “Neville?”
Both Ron and Neville squint at the dancer, but neither seems to recognise him at all. Neville shakes his head.
“He’s just another stripper, Harry. Have you been here before? Maybe you saw him then.”
“No, I know him!” Harry insists. He stares harder. The white-blond hair and long, slender legs don’t help him recall a name, no matter how he wracks his brain.
Though his friends return to the conversation, Harry keeps watching the dancer.
He’s graceful, lithe, and when he unbuttons his shirt to slip dangerously down his shoulders, his collar bones make Harry’s throat feel dry.
That face with its sharp pointed chin, seductively arched brows and pale eyes is like an itch in Harry’s brain. He can’t turn away or stop trying to place the face. It seems impossible for Harry to forget such a lovely face.
Eventually, he closes his eyes. Runs through everyone he can think of - friends, family, friends of friends, classmates - anyone he’s known since his first introduction to the wizarding world at eleven.
His eyes snap open.
“Malfoy.” He breathes.
With this realisation, he looks back toward the dancer, now nude aside from his heeled boots, spinning around the pole, one hand at the top, knees hooked around the pole. Harry gets out of his seat to reach the stage, joining the throng of men at the stage.
His glamours prevent him from being recognised by anyone, although his friends have become accustomed to his new look by now and could pick him out in a crowd.
Still, he feels nervous as he approaches his reclusive old rival.
Harry wonders how he ended up here, why he’s a performer of all things. He is still a wanted man, having not served his sentence, but as he was one of the least threatening Death Eaters to have escaped, was not a high priority. He still presumably could access his family’s wealth, could’ve lived in the Manor in luxury even while on probation.
Malfoy dropped smoothly onto the floor, crawling towards a man to the side of the stage, arched back and arse on display, hard cock between his legs. Harry unconsciously drew closer. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the almost ghostly, unearthly figure glowing in the violet lights. Malfoy gingerly took a Galleon from the man, twirling it in his fingers before it vanishes from his hand.
His head turns towards Harry, and he crosses the small distance, dropping down onto his elbows as he reaches out, his arse high in the air and his hand reaching out. Harry’s breath catches as the cool, delicate fingers brush against his, and he realises with a start that he’s holding out a Galleon as well.
Malfoy’s eyes show no recognition as they roam over Harry’s disguised face, and really, Harry knew he wouldn’t be noticed.
But while up close looking into the familiar eyes, the ones which used to flash with disdain upon seeing him, melt into liquid mercury when angry, and grow cold when embarrassed, Harry found no emotion inside them. It was startling.
He noticed then that Malfoy seemed to move with a peculiar lethargy, one which appeared graceful and seductive, but didn’t match the quick, efficient movements full of confidence and dignity that Harry remembered from their Quidditch and duelling days.
He watched as Malfoy showed off his body for the eager audience, touching here and there as he moved about the floor in an almost sleepy way. The Malfoy he’d known was far more feline in his grace.
A bit baffled and more than a little hot and bothered, Harry could only stare as Malfoy finally stood and walked back through the gauzy curtain, his pants and shirt disappearing moments later where they were left on the floor. His boots clicked against the wood, and Harry could hear them from inside the curtain as he walked away.
Harry was flushed when he rejoined his friends.
“Get yourself a private session, Harry?” Dean asked with a grin. Harry laughed along but shook his head.
“You alright, mate?” Ron asked once the attention was off Harry again. Harry frowned.
“It was Malfoy up there.” He said, and Ron’s concerned face morphed into shock.
“ Malfoy? He’s here after all this? I’ve half a mind to go arrest him right now, to be honest.” Ron said.
“I can’t figure out why I didn’t recognise him at first. Neither did any of you. I thought I would know the pointy faced git anywhere.” Harry wondered aloud.
“Maybe he’s got a spell to prevent it. I can’t imagine it would be good for business for a stripper to be arrested as a Death Eater. Wonder why they hired him, though.” Ron said.
“Beats me. He didn’t recognise me, either.”
“Well that’s likely for the better. I can just see him pulling out a wand and trying to duel you in front of everyone.” Ron laughs.
Eventually, the night comes to a close and Harry falls asleep in his familiar Grimmauld bedroom, head pounding in the silence.
He wakes up with an awful hangover, and he ventures a guess that he’s not the only one. The lights from the night before still seem to flash in his eyes, and he has to drink a gallon of water to get the cottony feeling out of his mouth.
Given how terrible he had felt, he can’t explain how he ended up at the same club the next night, this time alone.
Malfoy comes out again, now clad in a shimmering, flowing red robe and bare feet. His dance naturally exposes his body as he goes along until the sleeves finally slip off his arms while he swings himself high up on the pole.
Harry once again makes eye contact, but the lack of recognition bothers him. Malfoy’s eyes have never looked so shallow.
The third night Harry’s there, he doesn’t disguise himself. He’s filled out a bit from his Hogwarts days, and hasn’t been in the news for years. His long hair covers his scar, with the back tied into a small knot at the nape of his neck, and he doesn’t wear glasses anymore, so he isn’t spotted on his way in, and though one or two peoples’ eyes linger on him, no one says anything.
Malfoy appears, wearing silky green bottoms which barely cover his arse and a black corset and stockings. He’s also wearing the same high heeled black boots as the first night. It’s very distracting, but Harry manages to find his way to the front of the crowd again.
Now, he holds out a Galleon as soon as Malfoy drops to the floor, and Malfoy makes his way over.
The grey eyes hold his longer than before, nothing inside them, but staring at Harry. The hand which had reached out to take the coin hesitates, grasping the Galleon but not releasing Harry’s hand.
The long, pale fingers press into Harry’s hand, almost urgently squeezing. The barest hint of... something flashes over his features, briefly, just long enough for Harry to see it.
The song ends almost abruptly, and Malfoy leaves the stage again, turning at the last moment to glance back at Harry. He hadn’t even been out long enough to take the corset off.
Harry sits at a table for a long time after, wondering. He sort of hopes in the back of his mind that Malfoy might come out onto the floor and speak to him, but he’s alone until the bartender shouts for the final call.
He falls asleep uneasy, something not sitting right in his mind about the encounter. Malfoy would never touch him, and especially not like that. Like he was trying to tell him something.
That’s what he tells himself the next day, when he’s in the front of the crowd, but barely glancing at the dark-haired man on the stage now.
His eyes snap into focus as Malfoy comes out, wearing the same thing as the first time Harry had seen him.
He seems to perform in a sort of trance, barely making eye contact when he takes coins from the viewers, seeming to move in one long, connected movement like a snake. He moves like it’s nearly impossible to lift himself onto the pole, though he still does. His whole body is trembling with the effort.
He doesn’t wince exactly, when he hangs from it. But his movement is shaky, unsteady and he doesn’t manage to turn longer than two times before he slips to the floor, which he barely is able to make look intentional.
By the time he makes it over to Harry, he looks exhausted, his eyelids lowered how some might see arousal, but Harry sees something worse.
He’s been drugged.
Maybe it’s just the late nights catching up, maybe he’s just tired. He has performed every night Harry’s been here, after all. Surely it’s tiring even without working early in the morning. Harry knows the club doesn’t open until 4pm, though he doesn’t want to consider why he knows that.
Maybe he’s had too much to drink before he came out. He had some pre-performance nerves. Could happen to anyone.
A nightmare, perhaps, which kept him from resting properly.
But Harry knows those aren’t the reason.
When he takes Harry’s offered coin, Harry squeezes his hand. Tries to catch his attention. To tell him he knows , and wants to help.
Malfoy’s eyes snap to his, then widen slightly. Like he’s surprised to see him. Harry squeezes again, and Malfoy’s fingers twitch in his. Then he pulls away, ending his dance before the music is over and disappearing behind the curtain.
Harry rushes to the nearest waiter.
“That dancer, the blond one who just finished. Does he do private sessions?” He asks urgently. The waiter eyes him cautiously.
“I believe he does. Let me go back and see if he’s interested.” He offers, gesturing for Harry to take a seat at the bar and wait.
A few minutes later, the man reappears, and Harry wonders if he’s imagining the man looking pale and frightened.
“Sorry sir, Asher is occupied for the rest of the evening. I can arrange for a private session tomorrow, or a different dancer tonight.”
“Tomorrow night is fine. Earliest possible opening.” Harry says.
“Of course. 7pm, we’ll set up the fourth room in the green hallway.” The waiter says, and the arrangement is quickly made.
Harry leaves, knowing he won’t see Malfoy again tonight.
The worry doesn’t fade from the back of his mind even after he’s gone.
He could barely sleep that night. The next day seems to crawl by, Neville asking him a couple times if something’s bothering him.
“Didn’t sleep well, is all.” Harry assures him, trying to be more careful with the plants while Neville keeps a concerned eye on him. He doesn’t have the best track record when he’s distracted.
Harry arrives at the club as soon as it opens, taking a spot at the bar until 7. He barely drinks anything stronger than soda water, although one shot of firewhisky calms his nerves slightly.
Finally, the time comes and he makes his way over to the green hallway, lit by hovering Lumos charms with a green tint. The fourth door is open already, and Harry finds an envelope with the name he’d given the waiter yesterday, along with a bill and the rules for the room.
Patrons are required to remain seated once the dancer enters the room. While touching is permitted, penetration and fluid exchange is not. Do not follow dancers from the room.
Simple enough, although it does nothing to ease Harry’s nerves.
He sits in the velvety chair and looks around at the many mirrors hanging on the walls. He assumes that behind at least one, a camera or a person watches the happenings of the room. It makes his skin crawl.
Eventually, the door opens, and Malfoy, along with a hulking, broad shouldered man, this one dressed professionally in a black button down and trousers, enters the room. He has a hand on Malfoy’s waist. It makes Harry’s skin crawl.
“Good evening, Mister Black. Allow me to introduce Asher, who will be entertaining you this evening. I trust you’ve had time to read our welcome card?” He says in an oily voice that reminds Harry of the Dark Artifact shop owner he’d met once.
“Ah... yes sir.” Harry answers. “Hello… Asher.” He adds, feeling the fake name out and not liking the way it comes out.
Asher gives him a dirty smile, though it looks fake and unnatural, and his eyes have the same glazed over look they’ve had on the pole, though he looks less like he’s been drugged and more like he’s operating under someone else’s orders.
“Very well, enjoy your evening, and do call if there’s anything else we can do to ensure you have a pleasurable experience.” The man says, bowing out of the room and closing the door with Malfoy on the inside.
He’s wearing a grey silk shirt and well-tailored black trousers along with the black boots Harry recognises. They make him significantly taller than Harry, and his legs seem to go on for days. He snaps himself out of his admiration and focuses on the situation.
“Mister Black,” Malfoy purrs, sauntering closer. His voice sounds off, like someone else is speaking through his mouth with only the vaguest idea of how Malfoy talks.
“A-Asher-” Harry says, trying to keep a neutral expression. Malfoy kneels on the seat, one knee on either side of Harry’s thighs. His arms rest on Harry’s shoulders, wrists crossed behind his head. Malfoy swirls his hips over Harry’s, and he’s distracted momentarily.
Malfoy doesn’t seem to recognise him now.
Harry leans in, his lips close to Malfoy’s ear like he’s about to kiss or bite. The likelihood of them being watched is high, and he has to figure out what’s wrong without letting the observers know he knows something is wrong.
“ Are you okay, Malfoy?” Harry whispers through his teeth. He hopes his lips don’t move noticeably. Malfoy starts slightly, leaning back to look into Harry’s face. His hips grind down, and Harry closes his eyes with a quiet moan.
“ Potter?” Malfoy whispers back, almost too quiet to hear. Harry drops his hands to Malfoy’s waist, caressing his sides in a way he hopes looks interested to anyone watching, but feels reassuring to Malfoy.
“ Yeah. You okay?” He asks again.
Malfoy doesn’t answer. When he opens his mouth, the glaze over his eyes deepens until the steely grey is almost fuzzy. He closes it again like he’s forgotten what to say. Harry squeezes his hips. Malfoy winces.
“ Do you need help?”
Malfoy doesn’t speak, he seems to be losing himself in the music and dance as he bites his lip and looks down at Harry through heavy lidded eyes. He nods almost imperceptibly, but Harry sees it. His heart pounds in his chest.
He was right, Malfoy isn’t here willingly. He’s drugged, or perhaps under the Imperius curse. Maybe both.
Malfoy continues his job, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it over his shoulders to hang on his elbows. Harry slips his hands inside to rest on Malfoy’s pale skin. His chest looks a bit blurry, and running his fingers down it, it feels blurry, the faintest hint of ridges running diagonally. Harry realises Malfoy should have scars. He’d know, considering he’d put them there.
Harry looks back up at him, trying to figure out what the hell he can do.
“ I’ll Apparate us away.” He offers. Malfoy leans down, nipping at Harry’s throat and ear. Harry’s hands tense.
But of course, a club with people held against their will would most likely ward against Aparating.
Harry tries to think of other options, any option really. There’s no floo inside, he doesn’t have his cloak, and he’s afraid to leave Malfoy here. He’s sure it’s easy to see them conversing.
Harry takes a breath, stilling Malfoy’s hips on his lap. There’s only one way out, and it’s through the front doors.
“ Get up.” He whispers. Malfoy complies, but winces as soon as he’s on his feet, dropping back onto Harry’s lap. He shakes his head. Harry puts his fingers on his wand where it’s strapped to his leg. He whispers ‘ Finite Incantatem’ at Malfoy, who jolts slightly. The red spell light is almost unnoticeable, but definitely there.
The haze fades from his eyes, and he looks down at Harry like he’s surprised to see him, as if he’s not aware he was conversing with Harry just seconds ago. Harry pushes him off his lap again, helping him stand, then getting up himself.
“We have to run.” He whispers, pulling out his wand. Malfoy’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t disagree.
Harry opens the room’s door with Malfoy’s hand gripped tightly in his own. The same man from earlier is already walking up the hallway.
“ Alpha.” Malfoy whispers, but Harry doesn’t tear his eyes away from the man to ask what that means.
“Did you have a problem with your session, sir?” He asks, then sees Malfoy standing behind Harry. “We don’t allow patrons to leave with our dancers.” He says, sternly.
“ Petrificus Totalus.” He whispers, wincing as the large man hits the floor with a thud.
Unfortunately, it seems they had been watched in the room. As Harry turned, he moved just in time to avoid a spell cast his direction by one of three large bouncers blocking the hallway.
He shoves Malfoy behind him, ducking and shielding himself from more spells.
“Stupefy!” He shouts, one by one knocking the bouncers back. “Come on!” He grabs Malfoy’s hand again, pulling him back up the hallway as more staff members draw their wands.
Harry manages to shield himself and Malfoy from the incoming fire, and knocks back, disarms and petrifies as many as he can see.
Malfoy’s hand is shaking in his grasp, and Harry Accio’s someone’s wand, handing it to him.
“Just do your best to shield yourself.” Harry says, blocking another spell.
Malfoy seems to have no trouble casting protection and stunning spells, though anytime Harry glances at him, he’s staring at the wand like he’s forgotten what to do with it.
The club’s patrons look shocked and afraid. By now, Harry’s sure nearly all of them have seen Malfoy naked at some point, so it must look strange to see him fighting his own establishment’s employees.
Harry looks over again as a particularly strong spell knocks out four bouncers. Malfoy’s not using the wand, only gripping it tightly in his fist. Harry doesn’t have time to think about that.
Finally, they make it out to the street, and Harry Apparates them to Grimmauld as fast as possible. He falls onto his hands and knees, panting.
A few minutes later, he turns to look at Malfoy, who looks shell-shocked and nervous. He’s looking at the floor.
“You alright?” Harry asks.
“I-I’m fine.” Malfoy stammers uncertainly. His entire body is trembling. Harry gets up and gestures for Malfoy to follow him into the kitchen, where he makes a pot of tea and cooks some eggs. Even though it’s past dinner, he hadn’t eaten since lunch and this seems fastest.
“Sit down, I’m just about done.” Harry says as he plates their food. He puts one in front of Malfoy and sits down across, digging into his own food straight away.
Malfoy stares at his plate while Harry starts eating.
“You going to eat?” Harry presses, and Malfoy starts, though not looking up.
“It’s for me?” He asks. Harry frowns.
“Yeah, who did you think it was for?”
Malfoy doesn’t answer, drinking all of his tea in one go, and eating the eggs and toast faster than Harry would’ve imagined possible.
“You… can absolutely not answer me. But… how did you get there?” Harry asks, halfway done with his own food and looking at Malfoy’s completely cleared dish. Malfoy stares at his empty plate for a long, quiet moment.
“I don’t know. You look different.” He says.
Harry shrugs, tugging the tie from his mussed knot of hair. He drags his fingers through it but decides it’s not worth the effort now. Maybe after the adrenaline fades.
“Shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, I’m not seventeen anymore.”
“Not 17?” Malfoy asks. Harry frowns. Malfoy is about the same age as him, doesn’t he know his own age?
“Do you know what the date is?”
“Winter?”
“What year?”
“1998?”
Harry nearly drops his fork, but catches it before it hits the plate.
“Malfoy, it’s 2002. We’re twenty two. You’ve been missing for four years.”
Malfoy’s mouth drops open slightly. He still hasn’t looked at Harry since they left the private room, but his brow furrows as he stares at the table. His breathing gets louder in the silent room, heavier and faster.
“Malfoy?” Harry asks, leaning forward.
Malfoy retches suddenly, and Harry Accio’s the rubbish bin just in time for Malfoy to hurl into it.
“Okay, forget what I said earlier. You have to answer my questions, alright?” Harry says firmly once Malfoy has stopped puking. He sets the bin aside, getting a glass of water and making Malfoy drink the whole thing.
Malfoy nods weakly, a shiver running up his spine.
“Yes.”
“Come with me, please.” Harry says. He walks them to his bedroom, where he finds Malfoy a soft, comfortable muggle outfit, tossing each piece onto the bed as he pulls them out.
He turns to find Malfoy has already stripped down, now bent at the waist straight legged, unbuckling his shoes. Harry looks away.
“I’m sorry, do you prefer shoes on or off?” Malfoy asks. Harry turns.
“Er, I don’t care. They don’t look comfortable though, I would take them off.”
Malfoy steps out of them, looking at the clothes on the bed.
“These are for you, go ahead and put them on. Should be more comfortable.” Harry says, gesturing to them. Malfoy nods, dressing quickly.
He doesn’t seem to care that Harry’s in the room, and Harry supposes it doesn’t much matter given that he’s seen Malfoy naked every night for several days now.
“Alright, I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom you can use.” He offers, opening the loo door and switching on the light.
Malfoy goes into the bathroom and brushes his teeth while Harry leans against the doorframe.
“Do you know if you have any drugs or potions in your system?”
“Yes. I get injections sometimes.”
“Injections? Of what?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” Malfoy says.
“I’m bringing you to a healer tomorrow.” Harry says, gesturing for Malfoy to come back into the bedroom and shutting off the light. “Are all the dancers there hostages?”
“I don’t know. I’m the only one who lives there.”
“You don’t. Not anymore.” Harry tells him. Malfoy doesn’t react. “Do you think you can eat something? Maybe some bread and milk?”
Malfoy shakes his head.
“No.”
“Alright, we can try again in the morning. Can you tell me what happened right after I saw you last?” Harry asks, sitting on the bench below the window. Malfoy watches him move, but stays standing.
“I don’t know. When did I see you last?”
“Uh, 1998. It was after we flew out of the Room of Requirement, away from the Fiendfyre. I didn’t see you after.”
Malfoy frowns, looking at the floor and scratching his arm.
“I don’t remember that.”
“Can you tell me what you do remember, then?”
“Yes. I don’t know what happened after... that. I was asleep a lot. Heard… someone laughing. I knew it. From there, everything is blurry.”
“Do you remember anything else? Even just bits and pieces?”
“Yes. I remember, er… drinking? Sometimes drinking with people at the club… The patrons. The shots, the injections, those were painful. A man looked at me funny, not long ago. He stood in the same place you stood the first night.”
“Brown hair, big nose?” Harry suggested. Malfoy nodded.
“Yes. Big nose man. He looked at me like he recognised me. I don’t- He wasn’t supposed to, nobody has recognised me. Blaise. Blaise er… Zabini?”
“Your friend, right?” Harry asks, wondering what Zabini might have to do with this.
“I don’t know. I tried to talk to him, but they uh.” Malfoy cuts himself off, making a strange motion with his hand.
“They what? Who’s ‘they?’” Harry prompts.
“They had something er, a hidden band. On me and one other dancer.”
Malfoy puts his foot on Harry’s knee, lifting his trouser leg. Harry hesitantly feels along his cold ankle, finding a thin metal band tight against his skin. It was easy to miss, invisible as it is.
“The other one was always breaking the rules, he fucked patrons in the private rooms when they didn’t pay. I- I didn’t know why they gave me one, I didn’t break any rules. I’m good.” Malfoy continues.
“What does it do?”
Malfoy puts his foot back on the floor.
“Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it tells me what to do. I can see but not think. Sometimes it does something else. Jack changed it.”
“Who’s Jack?”
“The bartender.”
“Did it go off tonight? When I had you stand up?”
“Yes. It hurt.” Malfoy says, shifting his weight between his feet.
“You can sit, if you want.” Harry offers, shifting over a bit on the bench so there’s room for Malfoy, but he drops to the floor where he was standing, sitting on his heels with his hands resting on his thighs. It doesn’t look very comfortable and Malfoy is stiff, looking pained.
“Are you tired?” Harry asks.
“Yes.”
“Would you like to go to bed? I’ll bring you to a room.” Harry offers, standing. He holds out his hand, which Malfoy stares at for a second before taking it and getting up as well.
“Yes. You don’t want me in here?” He asks.
“Er, sure.”
“I don’t have to,” Malfoy says quickly. “Tell me where to go.”
“It’s fine, I’d feel better with you in here too. I can’t imagine they’ll just let you go like that.” Harry admits. “I can keep you safe in here.”
“Okay.” Malfoy whispers.
“I’ll only be a minute, make yourself comfortable on the bed.” Harry says, stepping into the loo.