Round 9 - Smoke - Team A - "Wisps"
Title: Wisps
LJ username: deathjunke
Team: Ron
Prompt: Smoke
Length: 5763 words
Rating: PG
Warnings/notes: AU. National Health doesn’t exist.
Summary: Sometimes it's like these things never happened, like wisps of smoke they fade away but the taste still lingers.
Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.
Wisps
Let us begin…
The last thing I remember was getting a drink at the vending machine.
I had just made my decision and put my coins into the slot when a girl bumped into me. The short jolt of pain was like a pinch, then a burn and then it was over before I really registered what happened.
She apologized and looked up at me with teary eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered and drew away from me before I could snap a comment about looking where she was going. She turned the corner and suddenly I felt faint.
My vision blurred and then I really don't know.
---
Hermione turned the corner sharply and rushed right into Harry’s arms. She hid her face in his chest and said just loud enough for us to hear, “It’s done.”
Knowing that this was my cue, I rushed into the alcove, this was our only chance. I rushed over to the stumbling blond who was clutching the wall and asked, “You alright, mate?”
“No, ‘m dizzy,” he moaned placing one hand on his head.
“Let me help you out. I’ve got a car, I’ll drive you home, but you’ve got to put up with sitting with the groceries in the back seat, alright?”
He nodded and I slung an arm around his waist, which was too small in my opinion. I half dragged, half carried the guy to the old blue Sedan.
When we got to the back door Harry pulled it open and helped me manoeuvre the guy into it before he took his place at the wheel. Hermione rode shotgun, looking over her shoulder at me and our captive, her face blotchy and covered in tears.
“Hermy, don’t cry,” I mumbled and shoved the plastic Tesco bag away from me. We’d have to drop off this guy and then get all these bags to Harry’s. The only reason his aunt ever let him take her car was so that he could do the shopping.
“But, Ron, we should let him go.”
“No names,” Harry snapped, his eyes on the road. “He could hear us.”
“Not with that dose of morphine. He’s out.” Hermione threaded her fingers through the thick mess of curls on her head and gave a frustrated groan. “We should stop while we’re ahead. Guys, please.”
“No.” There would be no turning back. I couldn’t afford to. I twirled a pen in my fingers before clicking the thing against the window. The motion calmed me considerably and I was able to relax a bit. “We follow through. No dropping out, no squealing, no dissent. We started this together and that’s how we’ll end it.”
I didn’t expect Harry to chime in, “For better or for worse” but I wasn’t surprised either. He had just as much invested in this as I did, if not more. We were up for anything that would serve our purposes.
I wanted my mother, he wanted his freedom.
---
When I woke I was cold, my feet were bare and couldn’t see. I shifted slightly to prop myself up on an elbow. It didn’t help though because my hands were tied together and then tied to the ropes that tied my ankles together with only about a foot and a half of rope between them.
A kidnapping, how trite was that?
I felt around with my hands, hoping to cut these ropes. All I grasped were pillows. I was on a bed, I knew that at least. It took a moment but I was focused enough to concentrate on everything around me.
Not too far off there was running water, my captor was in the bathroom apparently. I smelled the reek of cigarettes, the rank of old sex and sweat. Wherever I was, it must be cheap, meaning they’ve taken me for ransom.
Shit.
The crunch of shoes on carpet tells me I’m not alone. I turn my head towards the sound. Hopefully they’ll take off the blindfold.
---
Shit.
He’s up.
He’s up and Harry and Hermione are not back yet. We can’t call from the hotel’s phone because of obvious reasons but we wanted to call before he was awake. It just made things easier that way. But, as it is, it looks like I’m going to be the one handling the calls and this guy. He would only need to know one voice. If there was one voice and one person there was no accomplice.
“Need to pee?”
“Yeah.”
He was a hell of a lot calmer than I would have been in his situation. He slid his feet onto the floor and from there I guided him with an arm on his shoulders. There was enough give in the ribbons around his ankles for him to walk comfortably but not enough to run. The ribbons wouldn't tighten when pulled but they wouldn't come loose either. Harry knew his stuff.
I stood behind him, pressed against his back as I unfastened his pants and reached down into them.
“H-Hey!” His face flamed red and he tried to use his bound hands to shove me away. “Authorized personnel only!”
I snickered, I couldn’t help it. I would’ve said hands off or something equally blunt but not that. I continued with my chore and pointed him to the toilet. “You can’t see and I’m not untying you so its deal with this or sit on that nasty ass toilet and deal with whatever you get off of it.”
“I can’t.” he muttered, a whine permeating the tone.
“Just relax and go. This is your last chance for the next two hours. And if you piss yourself, I'll be putting you in a nappy.” I was lying, but he didn’t need to know that.
---
Son of a bitch.
How the hell was I supposed to piss with someone else handling the equipment? And there was no way in hell I was going to sit on a toilet I couldn’t even see. It might be filthy for all I knew.
It was distracting to feel someone so tall and solid and masculine behind me, the smell of earth, aftershave and cigarette smoke clung to him. I wondered if he smoked or if the scent of the room was just getting on him. I was finally able to loosen up a bit - just enough to pee. The bathroom must have been tiny because the sound of urine hitting the water was loud. He tucked me back into my pants, washed his hands then zipped me up before leading me to the bed once again.
“So, man,” he said as he settled next to me on the box spring, “here’s whats happening. We’re going to call your father, ask him for some cash. What happens after is all up to him.”
Oh fuck, please don’t say you’ll start shipping me to him in pieces.
“If he gives us our requested price, then we drop you off somewhere safe and then disappear completely. If he calls the cops, then we have a problem and we call up one of his associates, for instance Romero Nott or Justus Bulstrode and see how much they are willing to give us for the son of Lucius Malfoy--”
There was a knock at the door and then the bed shifted. I heard the door open, a few timid footsteps and then nothing. Maybe my kidnapper was busy or maybe this was a friend that was just watching to make sure I didn’t attempt to escape, not that I’d actually do anything that stupid, mind. Trying to escape without a plan, your sight and a good opportunity got you beaten, tied, watched or worse, dead.
The footsteps moved toward me and I stiffened, not knowing what to expect from this new stranger. Though the man who spoke to me earlier wasn’t out for my blood, I had no assurance that this one would be the same. But all my worry was wasted when I heard some tinkering above me, followed by music. A smaller, softer hand covered my own and squeezed slightly.
As kind as the gesture was intended to be, I couldn’t help but feel worse.
If there was more than one kidnapper, my chances of rescue were slim to none.
---
Coming home to an empty house was unnerving but, sadly, had become the norm for me. I washed my hands, dumped a bag of potatoes into the sink and ran the water to fill the basin. I was rooting through the chill chest for the chops I set to thaw this morning when my sister came in. I glanced at her, barely letting her presence register. It's not like she talks to anyone anymore. I pulled the chops out from behind the sausages and turned to the stove.
I was a good cook. Fred and George tormenting me at every possible chance made me spend long stretches of time in the kitchen, under my mother’s watchful eye. Neither twin was willing to insight her wrath when a wooden spoon was nearby.
If you watch something long enough you tend to pick it up.
I covered the chops in mushrooms, onions and wine before covering them and tossing them into the oven while I washed and chopped the potatoes. It only took a few minutes for everything to be well on its way. I had enough time to shower and send Hermy an email before I shot over to see mum.
I tried my best to not think of what we had done today as I moved around my bedroom. Kidnapping alone was a major offence but extortion made everything twice as bad. But as it’s said--desperate times call for desperate measures.
And at this point, I was nothing but desperate.
It was a leisurely shower, I admit. Fred and George weren’t home from work yet and neither was dad. Ginny showered in the mornings and after her school team’s tennis practice. I indulged myself and turned my face up to the hot water, letting it calm me. If it wasn’t for small things like this, I’d have broken down along time ago.
Bills needed to be paid, the mortgage, university tuition from Percy and the twins, daily expenses, Ginny’s braces, dad’s car, Ginny’s uniform and equipment, my senior dues that we haven’t finished paying off yet, the gas bill, medical bills and fifty million other things. No matter how many extra hours dad put in, the part time work that the twins did or the small cheques Charlie and Bill sent when they had a bit extra, it was never enough.
Kidnapping that boy had been nothing short of necessary. 50k was nothing to a man like Lucius Malfoy. This was the man that wiped his arse with oil well deeds.
Of course, that number wasn’t all coming in my direction. It would be split in three ways.
Herm would get to go to a university that wasn’t for dentistry. Her parents’ threats of carrying on the family business would carry no weight if she could pay for her own schooling. And poor Harry could finally escape.
As he aged, his uncle's violent flare-ups increased in frequency and severity, as did his aunt’s blind eye. The last beating had gone for so long and so hard that Dudley, the great bully himself, stepped in on behalf of his cousin. I was shocked when I heard it. I always reckoned the boy hadn’t a decent bone in his body but here I was proven wrong. There may be a chance to make him a decent human being yet. Though I hope it's before Vernon kills Harry.
Desperation is why I got Herm to steal some morphine from her parents' office and knock out Malfoy yesterday. Because I was as desperate for the money as they were.
I wrapped myself in a towel and pulled my clothes back on, sans underwear. I needed to do laundry.
I pulled the food from the oven and placed it on the stove top, served myself a plate and scoffed it down. The clock was flickering 6:30 and it takes about a half hour to get to the hospital.
Visiting hours ended at 8.
The trek over was lonely and damn cold. December nights in Catchpole were for the thick skinned and furred. Bu I trekked all the way to the hospital, bypassing the reception desk and everything else that I didn’t need. It was an elevator ride and a jog through the overpass before I got to the cancer ward. The numbers flickered in my sight one after the other. 378… 379… 380… 381… 382… 383… 384… 385… 386…
387, Weasley-Prewett, Molly D.
You know, the funny thing in all this was that I never knew my mother had a middle name until I glanced at her medical charts and asked her what the D was for. She, like always, patted my cheek the way I hated and smiled, “I was born Molly Daphne Prewett, my dear.”
But now I just wish that she had the strength to pat my cheek. Now she lay in that bed, wheezing like she had asthma and using all her strength to recuperate from chemo. Her once fleshy body had been reduced to this rake-thin stack of bones. Her bright red hair was beginning to thin and I knew that soon I would have to bring her a wig. I remember watching her brush Ginny’s hair when we were younger, cooing about how lovely it was and how a woman’s hair was her pride and glory.
I threw myself into the chair beside the bed and watched the machines move and beep, trying to understand how it could all go to shit so fast.
She started feeling unwell last year Christmas time, but she put it off until the New Year. She went to the GP in January, the specialist in February and he announced that mum had advanced Invasive Lobular Carcinoma just in time for my 17th birthday on March 1st.
In April she lost her appetite, in May she lost consciousness on the kitchen floor. By June they admitted her into the hospital and ever since it's been treatment after treatment and test after test.
I hadn’t realized she had woken up until I heard her call to me. I turned and smiled slightly - happy that she was awake for one of my daily visits. It seemed like all too often I just watched her sleep and the machines bleep.
“How long have you been here, dear?”
“Twenty mintues, give or take.”
“Hmm, you eating well?”
“Well enough.”
“Who’s cooking or is it nightly take away?”
“Come now, you taught me better than that.”
“Good to know.” She looked at me and nodded as if confirming something to herself. She touched my hand, meaning whatever she was going to say would demand my full attention be on her. With a slow, drawn-out breath she told me, “You’ve grown to a fine man, Ron, I just wish it had been under different circumstances.”
“Thanks, mum.” My face was probably tomato red. I felt like I was burning up and my chest felt tight. I could never handle compliments that well.
“How is my Harry?” I had to smile at that one. Mum adored Harry on sight.
When she saw him at nine years old with big green eyes and a shy smile she’d fallen in love. Hearing that he didn’t have a mother made her twice as loopy. She was determined to have him so she just put him in line with the rest of her ducklings and marched on. Harry was her boy as much as I was, if not more. She fed, coddled, scolded and loved him as much as she could. The exact opposite of what Petunia Dursley had done.
In return, Harry loved her. He never did anything he thought mum would disapprove of, he helped her cook when he was over, conversed with her for hours when he had free time in the summer and he gave her gifts on holidays and her birthday that he thought she would love.
One Mother's day, Harry’s friend Neville, who worked at the local plant nursery, got him some lovely perennials at a steep discount. At three in the morning, Harry came to my house and started gardening. When my mother woke the next morning, she started crying because she was so touched by her new flower garden only to turn around in a fury because stupid Harry had fallen asleep under some shrubs he was tending to. He got an earful about taking care of him self over breakfast.
He hadn’t seen her in so long.
Harry couldn’t handle hospitals. He told me once when we were younger that after his parents died, his father’s best friend was supposed to take care of him but he got arrested and imprisoned. The friend’s partner then took in Harry. Harry lived with Remus until he was five and Remus died of chronic lung disease. He was there when Remus died. He was in Remus’ room, watching helplessly as the visit went completely wrong, the respirator stopped helping and the heart monitor buzzed-- unforgiving. That was where he had to wait for his next of kin to retrieve him, Petunia Dursley and her horrifying husband.
He tried several times to come see mum but each time he got stuck at the doors and just couldn’t move. When I dragged him in, he just got a panic attack and passed out. When he woke up on a hospital bed it started again and wouldn’t stop until he was outside.
She knew all about the episodes but never commented on them. She just told us to send him her love.
“He says he’s alright.” A vague answer would be best, there was no reason to make her worry.
“Harry would say he was fine even if he got hit by a bus and was on death’s door step.”
“True,” I chuckled. She was right of course. “But he’s scraping his money together - all those part time jobs are going to pay off soon. He’s looking to rent a flat or a room as soon as he can.”
“Good, good,” she murmured nodding off once again.
I sat there for another half hour, watching the machines and holding mum’s hand. I saw one of the night nurses slide into the room and give me the eye. Taking that as my cue I leaned over, pressed my lips against my mum's warm cheek and left.
---
I listened to the radio for a while but that got old really fast, so I began listening for my captor. I knew a few things based on what I heard. I knew that this person was studying, I heard the turning of pages the scratch of pencil on a paper and the occasional soft huff of irritation. I knew this person had a lot of hair because every time he or she leaned over me to adjust the radio, as I requested, it would brush against me.
I also knew that this wasn’t the same person who had looked after me previously but there was no reason to let them know that.
Boredom was one of those things that were twice as bad when you had no options available to you. Either I could lay here and listen to music or lay here and listen to music. I decided to do one better and sleep.
I have no idea how long I was out for. All I know is that the window in the room was open. I could smell the cool air and wondered if it was night time yet. I patted the area around me, looking for the edge of the bed. Finding it, I swung my feet over and sat up straight.
“Ah so you’re up.” He was back. “I thought you might be hungry so I brought you some food.”
“Thanks… um bathroom?”
“Y-yeah sure.” We made the awkward trip to the bathroom once again. The large guy stood behind me once again with his chest against my back and my cock in his hand.
“You know, if you’d just take off the blind fold--”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Well, then how about untying me? This could be more comfortable for both of us."
“Comfort isn’t a priority at the moment," he muttered, leading me to a chair. “Listen to me, this here is in a tupperware bowl, so you shouldn’t have a problem using a spoon. It’s rice with chopped chicken and peas.”
“I can’t eat if I can’t move my hands or see!” I snapped, fed up with all the toying around and just how helpless I was with no sight and bound hands.
I felt large callused fingers skirt over my wrist pulling the ribbons free. “You’ll have to eat with a spoon because you're getting nothing sharp and I’m not undoing the blind fold."
With a huff, I pulled away from his hands and rotated my stiff wrist and arms. When I finally settled he pushed the bowl and disposable spoon into my hands. I brought the bowl to my chin and cautiously scooped some of the rice into my mouth. “Wow, this is good.”
“Thanks.” He sounded a bit taken a back.
“You made this?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I never really knew anyone who cooked before. My mother would never step foot in a kitchen, let alone lift a pot. And father prefers the cooks and servants to be unseen and unheard.”
“Mum cooked all the time.” His voice was tinged with reminiscence. “There was a bunch of us, dad, my brothers and sister. She never stopped cooking. Roasts, steaks, pies pastries... anything you could ever imagine.”
“That sounds great. I never ate much of that stuff.” The things he listed made me wish, not for the first time, that I had a normal family. My mother only ever went to parties half drunk and when she was home she was so out of it she barely recalled my name or that she had a son.
Father only wheeled out his heir for public appearances and to make an impression in his social circles. I was always a prop, never a person. “Mum and dad were always about the fanfare and decadence of gourmet meals from countries I've never heard of.”
“That’s a shame. A home cooked meal could do wonders for a person.”
---
The next day, the silent person with small hands had taken care of me. Again they said nothing, just turned on the radio and let me daydream. Every meal I was given was heated in a microwave and too tasty to be an instant meal you found in a corner deli or petrol station. I guess they’d brought the food from home.
I think it was about two days later that he came back. He brought me something that smelled savory and spiced. I was starved.
“Bangers and mash, all chopped to bite sized pieces,” he announced cheerily, “So you only need your spoon.” He untied my hands once more and handed me the familiar spoon and bowl.
I started to eat. It was good, in an oddly comforting way. It was warm, heavy and filling. I chewed for a while before swallowing. This was nothing like Theo described it, being kidnapped. He said that they didn’t feed him anything but what he needed to survive, they hit him constantly and they sent a handkerchief with his blood on it as a warning to his old man. He even had the rope burn and the scars to prove it.
My captor(s) were decent to me. I ate three full meals, got three bathroom visits and even a sponge bath once. To top it all off, though I was restrained, it was nothing that chafed or dug into my skin. It was honestly bewildering.
“I can’t understand you,” I finally said.
“What is there to understand?” he said from where he was sprawled beside me on the bed.
“You took me-and… you’ve done nothing.” I gulped down a few sips from the can of juice he had given me. “Why?”
“I need the money. That’s why we took you. Nothing else.”
“Yeah but--”
“So you want me to what? Tie you up and beat you within an inch of your life?” he chuckled and grabbed my free hand, squeezing it. “I’m not cruel, just poor.”
“You’re an odd kidnapper.”
“Mmmm. Reckon I am,” his fingers slid from my hand and I shivered a bit. It felt odd to be touched. My mother never touched me more than necessary and neither did father. Nanny used to hold me but once I reached twelve they relived her of her duties.
“What wrong? You cold?”
“No. Just not used to being touched.”
“Oh, sorry. I forget not everyone is comfortable with contact like that from a stranger.” I felt him leave my immediate area and sit up. “I’m just used to touching the people I talk to. I’ve got a large family.”
“I’m an only child.”
“What’s that like?”
“Rather lonely, actually. There’s never anyone around to hang around with. You get everything to yourself, yeah, but you’re always bored. Well, at least I was once Nanny left. She was great.”
I heard him snicker and felt my brow crease under the cloth.
“Blimey, how spoiled were you? A nanny. Mum took care of the lot of us, plus any of our friends that came by, herself. If anyone would have needed help, it would have been her, but if your mum works then I guess...”
“Mum doesn’t work, she just doesn’t care much for children.”
“Err, wow.”
I shrugged and went back to eating. It was good to have a bit of company even if I couldn’t see him.
---
The ransom call went well.
We recorded my voice asking for £50,000 in cold hard cash, delivered by a messenger, to the woman who used to baby-sit Harry. We used three different types of software to make it unrecognizable before recording it on to a cassette tape.
We all knew the plan.
Harry would hire another messenger to bring it to the post office. From the post office, it would be mailed to a PO box under a false name. Another messenger would retrieve the package and bring it to the restaurant Harry worked at. The money’s journey would take about ten hours, total. From there, he would bring the bag to the hotel while Hermione and I cleaned the room of all hair, fingerprints and anything else. We’d meet Harry at the park, distribute the money between ourselves and mail the room key to Lucius with instructions to the motel.
Hermione did her best to make us untraceable, and I trusted her. Every precaution was taken. We brought a prepaid mobile phone in cash and drove into town to make the call.
We all sat in the car around the phone, waiting for Daddy Malfoy to pick up. It was on speakerphone so that we could all hear it. The man answered on the second ring sounding exhausted. “Draco, is that you? I won't play these games with you. It's been a week already--”
I hit the play button and the tape started.
“I’ve got your son. If you don’t want me to give him to the Zabinis or the Bulstrodes for top dollar, you’ll pay a small sum of fifty thousand. The money must be in unmarked bills, wrapped in brown butcher paper, then wrapped in a black garbage bag. Place it in a post box to be sent by a messenger to 385 Mongolia Crescent at 8am, three days from now. If our demands are met properly, you will receive the location and access to your son. If you alert the authorities then you will not see your son again. Good Day, Mr Malfoy.”
I hung up the phone, text messaged the address and pulled the battery from the phone. I passed it off to Hermione, who was responsible for its careful disposal. We had to be careful, there was always a chance that the police would get involved. If we were found out I’d take the fall - but Harry and Hermione would never let me go down alone. So it was best to be sure there was no chance of being found out.
---
Apparently, today was bath day for me.
My kidnapper had a second person in the room with him. Though the new person never spoke, I knew that they were there. With my sight taken, my hearing and perception were twice as good. I was aware of the second presence the minute it walked through the door after my kidnapper greeted me.
It was rather embarrassing to be helped to the bathroom and out of my clothes like a child but I endured it quietly. My skin felt gritty and uncomfortable but things could have always been worse so I didn’t complain.
I sat in the tub with one loose hand under the water checking the temperature. It was best to just go along with what they wanted which, admittedly, wasn’t much. The large pair of callused hands that I had grown used to and comfortable with washed me diligently and as unobtrusively as possible.
“If all goes well, you’ll be home in about three days,” he said. His voice wasn’t as energized as it usually was and I wondered why.
“Really?”
“Yes. He needs to send the money, if he does as we specified then we’ll give you back.”
My stomach clenched, my father wasn’t the type of man to give in under any circumstance. “If not?”
“Then I’m sorrier that I already was...”
That didn’t sound pleasant. So I just took a deep breath and let it slip through my lips. My eyes burned something awful with unshed tears. I’d be given to my father’s enemies and tortured to death or flat out killed.
I was in deep shit.
---
It happened.
Harry saw the messenger drop off the package to Mrs. Figg’s place on his way to school. Once he arrived, he told Hermione and me to leave at lunch.
The plan would be a success after all.
I think that shocked me the most. I kept expecting to hear sirens of police cars behind me and it had been weighing me down something awful. Once I got the news, I was able to breathe easier.
---
Mid morning is when they came, the kidnapper and the one with small hands. They sprayed and vacuumed and scrubbed with a cocktail of cleaners and an open window.
I honestly don't think I ever realized how clean a room can smell before. The smell of powdered carpet cleaner lingered until they put down, from the whispers I heard, baking soda and vacuumed again. There was a definite smell of wood polishing oil and Windex.
It wasn’t until they had gone to scour the bathroom that I realized that they were getting rid of the evidence. It would be as if nothing ever happened here. My body showed no marks, the room would show no use and the three people who had stolen me away would disappear.
I would be left clutching at memories of being spoken to like a human being, being touched with no intent other than establishing contact and of being fed warm, filling food that was delicious in its simplicity.
It hurt to realize that I was just a pawn.
Sure they made their intentions perfectly clear but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
Epilogue
Though I’m not very proud of the methods used, we did manage to make everything work out. We split the money three ways - sixteen thousand five hundred each way. The remaining money was put in an account under Hermione’s name until we could decide what to invest it in.
Hermione is studying to become a librarian - not a dentist.
Harry shares a flat with Herm that’s close to the community college and is taking classes at the local trade school.
I’m still at home. Mum's home now, too and I spend the days taking care of her until her strength builds back up. I’m taking night classes at the same college that Hermione goes to and holding down a part time job at the local coffee shop.
Turns out I’m a people person. While I stand behind the counter, mixing specialty lattes, cappuccinos, teas and coffees or baking muffins, scones and biscuits, I chat with the customers. My boss loves it, she says that’s how it should be. We get a lot of repeat customers, which is great for business and even better for my tip jar.
It was on a Tuesday that Draco Malfoy strolled into the shop. My blood ran cold and I plastered a service smile on my face. As long as I didn’t talk, everything would be alright.
“Can I have two of your four chocolate brownies and a large hot milk tea.” I punched the numbers in on the register and snagged a pastry box and put the brownies in. I handed the box to him, accidentally brushing his hand with my own. He just looked at me for an moment, startled. I felt bad, I didn’t mean to touch him, and it makes him uncomfortable anyway.
I turned around and started on the milk tea, glancing in the mirror above the counter once to see him bowed over something on the counter. I mixed the drink and placed it on the counter before him. “That comes out to eight twenty.” I roughed up my voice a bit, hoping to throw him off.
He handed me the exact amount, shoved a wad of bills into the tip jar at my counter and left with a brusque “thanks”.
The night after, I locked up and counted my tips, leaving the wad Malfoy placed in it last. I counted the rest, put it aside and uncurled the wad of bills. It was mostly tenners but with it was a scribble on a receipt.
Give me a call one day. I miss your voice. Draco, {348} 555-9595
Finis
LJ username: deathjunke
Team: Ron
Prompt: Smoke
Length: 5763 words
Rating: PG
Warnings/notes: AU. National Health doesn’t exist.
Summary: Sometimes it's like these things never happened, like wisps of smoke they fade away but the taste still lingers.
Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.
Wisps
Let us begin…
The last thing I remember was getting a drink at the vending machine.
I had just made my decision and put my coins into the slot when a girl bumped into me. The short jolt of pain was like a pinch, then a burn and then it was over before I really registered what happened.
She apologized and looked up at me with teary eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered and drew away from me before I could snap a comment about looking where she was going. She turned the corner and suddenly I felt faint.
My vision blurred and then I really don't know.
---
Hermione turned the corner sharply and rushed right into Harry’s arms. She hid her face in his chest and said just loud enough for us to hear, “It’s done.”
Knowing that this was my cue, I rushed into the alcove, this was our only chance. I rushed over to the stumbling blond who was clutching the wall and asked, “You alright, mate?”
“No, ‘m dizzy,” he moaned placing one hand on his head.
“Let me help you out. I’ve got a car, I’ll drive you home, but you’ve got to put up with sitting with the groceries in the back seat, alright?”
He nodded and I slung an arm around his waist, which was too small in my opinion. I half dragged, half carried the guy to the old blue Sedan.
When we got to the back door Harry pulled it open and helped me manoeuvre the guy into it before he took his place at the wheel. Hermione rode shotgun, looking over her shoulder at me and our captive, her face blotchy and covered in tears.
“Hermy, don’t cry,” I mumbled and shoved the plastic Tesco bag away from me. We’d have to drop off this guy and then get all these bags to Harry’s. The only reason his aunt ever let him take her car was so that he could do the shopping.
“But, Ron, we should let him go.”
“No names,” Harry snapped, his eyes on the road. “He could hear us.”
“Not with that dose of morphine. He’s out.” Hermione threaded her fingers through the thick mess of curls on her head and gave a frustrated groan. “We should stop while we’re ahead. Guys, please.”
“No.” There would be no turning back. I couldn’t afford to. I twirled a pen in my fingers before clicking the thing against the window. The motion calmed me considerably and I was able to relax a bit. “We follow through. No dropping out, no squealing, no dissent. We started this together and that’s how we’ll end it.”
I didn’t expect Harry to chime in, “For better or for worse” but I wasn’t surprised either. He had just as much invested in this as I did, if not more. We were up for anything that would serve our purposes.
I wanted my mother, he wanted his freedom.
---
When I woke I was cold, my feet were bare and couldn’t see. I shifted slightly to prop myself up on an elbow. It didn’t help though because my hands were tied together and then tied to the ropes that tied my ankles together with only about a foot and a half of rope between them.
A kidnapping, how trite was that?
I felt around with my hands, hoping to cut these ropes. All I grasped were pillows. I was on a bed, I knew that at least. It took a moment but I was focused enough to concentrate on everything around me.
Not too far off there was running water, my captor was in the bathroom apparently. I smelled the reek of cigarettes, the rank of old sex and sweat. Wherever I was, it must be cheap, meaning they’ve taken me for ransom.
Shit.
The crunch of shoes on carpet tells me I’m not alone. I turn my head towards the sound. Hopefully they’ll take off the blindfold.
---
Shit.
He’s up.
He’s up and Harry and Hermione are not back yet. We can’t call from the hotel’s phone because of obvious reasons but we wanted to call before he was awake. It just made things easier that way. But, as it is, it looks like I’m going to be the one handling the calls and this guy. He would only need to know one voice. If there was one voice and one person there was no accomplice.
“Need to pee?”
“Yeah.”
He was a hell of a lot calmer than I would have been in his situation. He slid his feet onto the floor and from there I guided him with an arm on his shoulders. There was enough give in the ribbons around his ankles for him to walk comfortably but not enough to run. The ribbons wouldn't tighten when pulled but they wouldn't come loose either. Harry knew his stuff.
I stood behind him, pressed against his back as I unfastened his pants and reached down into them.
“H-Hey!” His face flamed red and he tried to use his bound hands to shove me away. “Authorized personnel only!”
I snickered, I couldn’t help it. I would’ve said hands off or something equally blunt but not that. I continued with my chore and pointed him to the toilet. “You can’t see and I’m not untying you so its deal with this or sit on that nasty ass toilet and deal with whatever you get off of it.”
“I can’t.” he muttered, a whine permeating the tone.
“Just relax and go. This is your last chance for the next two hours. And if you piss yourself, I'll be putting you in a nappy.” I was lying, but he didn’t need to know that.
---
Son of a bitch.
How the hell was I supposed to piss with someone else handling the equipment? And there was no way in hell I was going to sit on a toilet I couldn’t even see. It might be filthy for all I knew.
It was distracting to feel someone so tall and solid and masculine behind me, the smell of earth, aftershave and cigarette smoke clung to him. I wondered if he smoked or if the scent of the room was just getting on him. I was finally able to loosen up a bit - just enough to pee. The bathroom must have been tiny because the sound of urine hitting the water was loud. He tucked me back into my pants, washed his hands then zipped me up before leading me to the bed once again.
“So, man,” he said as he settled next to me on the box spring, “here’s whats happening. We’re going to call your father, ask him for some cash. What happens after is all up to him.”
Oh fuck, please don’t say you’ll start shipping me to him in pieces.
“If he gives us our requested price, then we drop you off somewhere safe and then disappear completely. If he calls the cops, then we have a problem and we call up one of his associates, for instance Romero Nott or Justus Bulstrode and see how much they are willing to give us for the son of Lucius Malfoy--”
There was a knock at the door and then the bed shifted. I heard the door open, a few timid footsteps and then nothing. Maybe my kidnapper was busy or maybe this was a friend that was just watching to make sure I didn’t attempt to escape, not that I’d actually do anything that stupid, mind. Trying to escape without a plan, your sight and a good opportunity got you beaten, tied, watched or worse, dead.
The footsteps moved toward me and I stiffened, not knowing what to expect from this new stranger. Though the man who spoke to me earlier wasn’t out for my blood, I had no assurance that this one would be the same. But all my worry was wasted when I heard some tinkering above me, followed by music. A smaller, softer hand covered my own and squeezed slightly.
As kind as the gesture was intended to be, I couldn’t help but feel worse.
If there was more than one kidnapper, my chances of rescue were slim to none.
---
Coming home to an empty house was unnerving but, sadly, had become the norm for me. I washed my hands, dumped a bag of potatoes into the sink and ran the water to fill the basin. I was rooting through the chill chest for the chops I set to thaw this morning when my sister came in. I glanced at her, barely letting her presence register. It's not like she talks to anyone anymore. I pulled the chops out from behind the sausages and turned to the stove.
I was a good cook. Fred and George tormenting me at every possible chance made me spend long stretches of time in the kitchen, under my mother’s watchful eye. Neither twin was willing to insight her wrath when a wooden spoon was nearby.
If you watch something long enough you tend to pick it up.
I covered the chops in mushrooms, onions and wine before covering them and tossing them into the oven while I washed and chopped the potatoes. It only took a few minutes for everything to be well on its way. I had enough time to shower and send Hermy an email before I shot over to see mum.
I tried my best to not think of what we had done today as I moved around my bedroom. Kidnapping alone was a major offence but extortion made everything twice as bad. But as it’s said--desperate times call for desperate measures.
And at this point, I was nothing but desperate.
It was a leisurely shower, I admit. Fred and George weren’t home from work yet and neither was dad. Ginny showered in the mornings and after her school team’s tennis practice. I indulged myself and turned my face up to the hot water, letting it calm me. If it wasn’t for small things like this, I’d have broken down along time ago.
Bills needed to be paid, the mortgage, university tuition from Percy and the twins, daily expenses, Ginny’s braces, dad’s car, Ginny’s uniform and equipment, my senior dues that we haven’t finished paying off yet, the gas bill, medical bills and fifty million other things. No matter how many extra hours dad put in, the part time work that the twins did or the small cheques Charlie and Bill sent when they had a bit extra, it was never enough.
Kidnapping that boy had been nothing short of necessary. 50k was nothing to a man like Lucius Malfoy. This was the man that wiped his arse with oil well deeds.
Of course, that number wasn’t all coming in my direction. It would be split in three ways.
Herm would get to go to a university that wasn’t for dentistry. Her parents’ threats of carrying on the family business would carry no weight if she could pay for her own schooling. And poor Harry could finally escape.
As he aged, his uncle's violent flare-ups increased in frequency and severity, as did his aunt’s blind eye. The last beating had gone for so long and so hard that Dudley, the great bully himself, stepped in on behalf of his cousin. I was shocked when I heard it. I always reckoned the boy hadn’t a decent bone in his body but here I was proven wrong. There may be a chance to make him a decent human being yet. Though I hope it's before Vernon kills Harry.
Desperation is why I got Herm to steal some morphine from her parents' office and knock out Malfoy yesterday. Because I was as desperate for the money as they were.
I wrapped myself in a towel and pulled my clothes back on, sans underwear. I needed to do laundry.
I pulled the food from the oven and placed it on the stove top, served myself a plate and scoffed it down. The clock was flickering 6:30 and it takes about a half hour to get to the hospital.
Visiting hours ended at 8.
The trek over was lonely and damn cold. December nights in Catchpole were for the thick skinned and furred. Bu I trekked all the way to the hospital, bypassing the reception desk and everything else that I didn’t need. It was an elevator ride and a jog through the overpass before I got to the cancer ward. The numbers flickered in my sight one after the other. 378… 379… 380… 381… 382… 383… 384… 385… 386…
387, Weasley-Prewett, Molly D.
You know, the funny thing in all this was that I never knew my mother had a middle name until I glanced at her medical charts and asked her what the D was for. She, like always, patted my cheek the way I hated and smiled, “I was born Molly Daphne Prewett, my dear.”
But now I just wish that she had the strength to pat my cheek. Now she lay in that bed, wheezing like she had asthma and using all her strength to recuperate from chemo. Her once fleshy body had been reduced to this rake-thin stack of bones. Her bright red hair was beginning to thin and I knew that soon I would have to bring her a wig. I remember watching her brush Ginny’s hair when we were younger, cooing about how lovely it was and how a woman’s hair was her pride and glory.
I threw myself into the chair beside the bed and watched the machines move and beep, trying to understand how it could all go to shit so fast.
She started feeling unwell last year Christmas time, but she put it off until the New Year. She went to the GP in January, the specialist in February and he announced that mum had advanced Invasive Lobular Carcinoma just in time for my 17th birthday on March 1st.
In April she lost her appetite, in May she lost consciousness on the kitchen floor. By June they admitted her into the hospital and ever since it's been treatment after treatment and test after test.
I hadn’t realized she had woken up until I heard her call to me. I turned and smiled slightly - happy that she was awake for one of my daily visits. It seemed like all too often I just watched her sleep and the machines bleep.
“How long have you been here, dear?”
“Twenty mintues, give or take.”
“Hmm, you eating well?”
“Well enough.”
“Who’s cooking or is it nightly take away?”
“Come now, you taught me better than that.”
“Good to know.” She looked at me and nodded as if confirming something to herself. She touched my hand, meaning whatever she was going to say would demand my full attention be on her. With a slow, drawn-out breath she told me, “You’ve grown to a fine man, Ron, I just wish it had been under different circumstances.”
“Thanks, mum.” My face was probably tomato red. I felt like I was burning up and my chest felt tight. I could never handle compliments that well.
“How is my Harry?” I had to smile at that one. Mum adored Harry on sight.
When she saw him at nine years old with big green eyes and a shy smile she’d fallen in love. Hearing that he didn’t have a mother made her twice as loopy. She was determined to have him so she just put him in line with the rest of her ducklings and marched on. Harry was her boy as much as I was, if not more. She fed, coddled, scolded and loved him as much as she could. The exact opposite of what Petunia Dursley had done.
In return, Harry loved her. He never did anything he thought mum would disapprove of, he helped her cook when he was over, conversed with her for hours when he had free time in the summer and he gave her gifts on holidays and her birthday that he thought she would love.
One Mother's day, Harry’s friend Neville, who worked at the local plant nursery, got him some lovely perennials at a steep discount. At three in the morning, Harry came to my house and started gardening. When my mother woke the next morning, she started crying because she was so touched by her new flower garden only to turn around in a fury because stupid Harry had fallen asleep under some shrubs he was tending to. He got an earful about taking care of him self over breakfast.
He hadn’t seen her in so long.
Harry couldn’t handle hospitals. He told me once when we were younger that after his parents died, his father’s best friend was supposed to take care of him but he got arrested and imprisoned. The friend’s partner then took in Harry. Harry lived with Remus until he was five and Remus died of chronic lung disease. He was there when Remus died. He was in Remus’ room, watching helplessly as the visit went completely wrong, the respirator stopped helping and the heart monitor buzzed-- unforgiving. That was where he had to wait for his next of kin to retrieve him, Petunia Dursley and her horrifying husband.
He tried several times to come see mum but each time he got stuck at the doors and just couldn’t move. When I dragged him in, he just got a panic attack and passed out. When he woke up on a hospital bed it started again and wouldn’t stop until he was outside.
She knew all about the episodes but never commented on them. She just told us to send him her love.
“He says he’s alright.” A vague answer would be best, there was no reason to make her worry.
“Harry would say he was fine even if he got hit by a bus and was on death’s door step.”
“True,” I chuckled. She was right of course. “But he’s scraping his money together - all those part time jobs are going to pay off soon. He’s looking to rent a flat or a room as soon as he can.”
“Good, good,” she murmured nodding off once again.
I sat there for another half hour, watching the machines and holding mum’s hand. I saw one of the night nurses slide into the room and give me the eye. Taking that as my cue I leaned over, pressed my lips against my mum's warm cheek and left.
---
I listened to the radio for a while but that got old really fast, so I began listening for my captor. I knew a few things based on what I heard. I knew that this person was studying, I heard the turning of pages the scratch of pencil on a paper and the occasional soft huff of irritation. I knew this person had a lot of hair because every time he or she leaned over me to adjust the radio, as I requested, it would brush against me.
I also knew that this wasn’t the same person who had looked after me previously but there was no reason to let them know that.
Boredom was one of those things that were twice as bad when you had no options available to you. Either I could lay here and listen to music or lay here and listen to music. I decided to do one better and sleep.
I have no idea how long I was out for. All I know is that the window in the room was open. I could smell the cool air and wondered if it was night time yet. I patted the area around me, looking for the edge of the bed. Finding it, I swung my feet over and sat up straight.
“Ah so you’re up.” He was back. “I thought you might be hungry so I brought you some food.”
“Thanks… um bathroom?”
“Y-yeah sure.” We made the awkward trip to the bathroom once again. The large guy stood behind me once again with his chest against my back and my cock in his hand.
“You know, if you’d just take off the blind fold--”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Well, then how about untying me? This could be more comfortable for both of us."
“Comfort isn’t a priority at the moment," he muttered, leading me to a chair. “Listen to me, this here is in a tupperware bowl, so you shouldn’t have a problem using a spoon. It’s rice with chopped chicken and peas.”
“I can’t eat if I can’t move my hands or see!” I snapped, fed up with all the toying around and just how helpless I was with no sight and bound hands.
I felt large callused fingers skirt over my wrist pulling the ribbons free. “You’ll have to eat with a spoon because you're getting nothing sharp and I’m not undoing the blind fold."
With a huff, I pulled away from his hands and rotated my stiff wrist and arms. When I finally settled he pushed the bowl and disposable spoon into my hands. I brought the bowl to my chin and cautiously scooped some of the rice into my mouth. “Wow, this is good.”
“Thanks.” He sounded a bit taken a back.
“You made this?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I never really knew anyone who cooked before. My mother would never step foot in a kitchen, let alone lift a pot. And father prefers the cooks and servants to be unseen and unheard.”
“Mum cooked all the time.” His voice was tinged with reminiscence. “There was a bunch of us, dad, my brothers and sister. She never stopped cooking. Roasts, steaks, pies pastries... anything you could ever imagine.”
“That sounds great. I never ate much of that stuff.” The things he listed made me wish, not for the first time, that I had a normal family. My mother only ever went to parties half drunk and when she was home she was so out of it she barely recalled my name or that she had a son.
Father only wheeled out his heir for public appearances and to make an impression in his social circles. I was always a prop, never a person. “Mum and dad were always about the fanfare and decadence of gourmet meals from countries I've never heard of.”
“That’s a shame. A home cooked meal could do wonders for a person.”
---
The next day, the silent person with small hands had taken care of me. Again they said nothing, just turned on the radio and let me daydream. Every meal I was given was heated in a microwave and too tasty to be an instant meal you found in a corner deli or petrol station. I guess they’d brought the food from home.
I think it was about two days later that he came back. He brought me something that smelled savory and spiced. I was starved.
“Bangers and mash, all chopped to bite sized pieces,” he announced cheerily, “So you only need your spoon.” He untied my hands once more and handed me the familiar spoon and bowl.
I started to eat. It was good, in an oddly comforting way. It was warm, heavy and filling. I chewed for a while before swallowing. This was nothing like Theo described it, being kidnapped. He said that they didn’t feed him anything but what he needed to survive, they hit him constantly and they sent a handkerchief with his blood on it as a warning to his old man. He even had the rope burn and the scars to prove it.
My captor(s) were decent to me. I ate three full meals, got three bathroom visits and even a sponge bath once. To top it all off, though I was restrained, it was nothing that chafed or dug into my skin. It was honestly bewildering.
“I can’t understand you,” I finally said.
“What is there to understand?” he said from where he was sprawled beside me on the bed.
“You took me-and… you’ve done nothing.” I gulped down a few sips from the can of juice he had given me. “Why?”
“I need the money. That’s why we took you. Nothing else.”
“Yeah but--”
“So you want me to what? Tie you up and beat you within an inch of your life?” he chuckled and grabbed my free hand, squeezing it. “I’m not cruel, just poor.”
“You’re an odd kidnapper.”
“Mmmm. Reckon I am,” his fingers slid from my hand and I shivered a bit. It felt odd to be touched. My mother never touched me more than necessary and neither did father. Nanny used to hold me but once I reached twelve they relived her of her duties.
“What wrong? You cold?”
“No. Just not used to being touched.”
“Oh, sorry. I forget not everyone is comfortable with contact like that from a stranger.” I felt him leave my immediate area and sit up. “I’m just used to touching the people I talk to. I’ve got a large family.”
“I’m an only child.”
“What’s that like?”
“Rather lonely, actually. There’s never anyone around to hang around with. You get everything to yourself, yeah, but you’re always bored. Well, at least I was once Nanny left. She was great.”
I heard him snicker and felt my brow crease under the cloth.
“Blimey, how spoiled were you? A nanny. Mum took care of the lot of us, plus any of our friends that came by, herself. If anyone would have needed help, it would have been her, but if your mum works then I guess...”
“Mum doesn’t work, she just doesn’t care much for children.”
“Err, wow.”
I shrugged and went back to eating. It was good to have a bit of company even if I couldn’t see him.
---
The ransom call went well.
We recorded my voice asking for £50,000 in cold hard cash, delivered by a messenger, to the woman who used to baby-sit Harry. We used three different types of software to make it unrecognizable before recording it on to a cassette tape.
We all knew the plan.
Harry would hire another messenger to bring it to the post office. From the post office, it would be mailed to a PO box under a false name. Another messenger would retrieve the package and bring it to the restaurant Harry worked at. The money’s journey would take about ten hours, total. From there, he would bring the bag to the hotel while Hermione and I cleaned the room of all hair, fingerprints and anything else. We’d meet Harry at the park, distribute the money between ourselves and mail the room key to Lucius with instructions to the motel.
Hermione did her best to make us untraceable, and I trusted her. Every precaution was taken. We brought a prepaid mobile phone in cash and drove into town to make the call.
We all sat in the car around the phone, waiting for Daddy Malfoy to pick up. It was on speakerphone so that we could all hear it. The man answered on the second ring sounding exhausted. “Draco, is that you? I won't play these games with you. It's been a week already--”
I hit the play button and the tape started.
“I’ve got your son. If you don’t want me to give him to the Zabinis or the Bulstrodes for top dollar, you’ll pay a small sum of fifty thousand. The money must be in unmarked bills, wrapped in brown butcher paper, then wrapped in a black garbage bag. Place it in a post box to be sent by a messenger to 385 Mongolia Crescent at 8am, three days from now. If our demands are met properly, you will receive the location and access to your son. If you alert the authorities then you will not see your son again. Good Day, Mr Malfoy.”
I hung up the phone, text messaged the address and pulled the battery from the phone. I passed it off to Hermione, who was responsible for its careful disposal. We had to be careful, there was always a chance that the police would get involved. If we were found out I’d take the fall - but Harry and Hermione would never let me go down alone. So it was best to be sure there was no chance of being found out.
---
Apparently, today was bath day for me.
My kidnapper had a second person in the room with him. Though the new person never spoke, I knew that they were there. With my sight taken, my hearing and perception were twice as good. I was aware of the second presence the minute it walked through the door after my kidnapper greeted me.
It was rather embarrassing to be helped to the bathroom and out of my clothes like a child but I endured it quietly. My skin felt gritty and uncomfortable but things could have always been worse so I didn’t complain.
I sat in the tub with one loose hand under the water checking the temperature. It was best to just go along with what they wanted which, admittedly, wasn’t much. The large pair of callused hands that I had grown used to and comfortable with washed me diligently and as unobtrusively as possible.
“If all goes well, you’ll be home in about three days,” he said. His voice wasn’t as energized as it usually was and I wondered why.
“Really?”
“Yes. He needs to send the money, if he does as we specified then we’ll give you back.”
My stomach clenched, my father wasn’t the type of man to give in under any circumstance. “If not?”
“Then I’m sorrier that I already was...”
That didn’t sound pleasant. So I just took a deep breath and let it slip through my lips. My eyes burned something awful with unshed tears. I’d be given to my father’s enemies and tortured to death or flat out killed.
I was in deep shit.
---
It happened.
Harry saw the messenger drop off the package to Mrs. Figg’s place on his way to school. Once he arrived, he told Hermione and me to leave at lunch.
The plan would be a success after all.
I think that shocked me the most. I kept expecting to hear sirens of police cars behind me and it had been weighing me down something awful. Once I got the news, I was able to breathe easier.
---
Mid morning is when they came, the kidnapper and the one with small hands. They sprayed and vacuumed and scrubbed with a cocktail of cleaners and an open window.
I honestly don't think I ever realized how clean a room can smell before. The smell of powdered carpet cleaner lingered until they put down, from the whispers I heard, baking soda and vacuumed again. There was a definite smell of wood polishing oil and Windex.
It wasn’t until they had gone to scour the bathroom that I realized that they were getting rid of the evidence. It would be as if nothing ever happened here. My body showed no marks, the room would show no use and the three people who had stolen me away would disappear.
I would be left clutching at memories of being spoken to like a human being, being touched with no intent other than establishing contact and of being fed warm, filling food that was delicious in its simplicity.
It hurt to realize that I was just a pawn.
Sure they made their intentions perfectly clear but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
Epilogue
Though I’m not very proud of the methods used, we did manage to make everything work out. We split the money three ways - sixteen thousand five hundred each way. The remaining money was put in an account under Hermione’s name until we could decide what to invest it in.
Hermione is studying to become a librarian - not a dentist.
Harry shares a flat with Herm that’s close to the community college and is taking classes at the local trade school.
I’m still at home. Mum's home now, too and I spend the days taking care of her until her strength builds back up. I’m taking night classes at the same college that Hermione goes to and holding down a part time job at the local coffee shop.
Turns out I’m a people person. While I stand behind the counter, mixing specialty lattes, cappuccinos, teas and coffees or baking muffins, scones and biscuits, I chat with the customers. My boss loves it, she says that’s how it should be. We get a lot of repeat customers, which is great for business and even better for my tip jar.
It was on a Tuesday that Draco Malfoy strolled into the shop. My blood ran cold and I plastered a service smile on my face. As long as I didn’t talk, everything would be alright.
“Can I have two of your four chocolate brownies and a large hot milk tea.” I punched the numbers in on the register and snagged a pastry box and put the brownies in. I handed the box to him, accidentally brushing his hand with my own. He just looked at me for an moment, startled. I felt bad, I didn’t mean to touch him, and it makes him uncomfortable anyway.
I turned around and started on the milk tea, glancing in the mirror above the counter once to see him bowed over something on the counter. I mixed the drink and placed it on the counter before him. “That comes out to eight twenty.” I roughed up my voice a bit, hoping to throw him off.
He handed me the exact amount, shoved a wad of bills into the tip jar at my counter and left with a brusque “thanks”.
The night after, I locked up and counted my tips, leaving the wad Malfoy placed in it last. I counted the rest, put it aside and uncurled the wad of bills. It was mostly tenners but with it was a scribble on a receipt.
Give me a call one day. I miss your voice. Draco, {348} 555-9595
Finis