19-Feb-05

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author.

Huge thank you to my beta krazyredhead0317.

February 19, 2005

She looked up at the grey sky. Warm droplets pounded on her face, streaming down her neck, washing off her memories, making her feel whole. Here, she thought, this is happiness.

A soft tap on her shoulder tore Hermione from the dream, and startled, she ripped her eyes open. She couldn't recall falling asleep, but judging by the bright sunlight filling the room, she must have dozed off for a few hours. Harry, already dressed, his unmanageable hair still wet, smiled at her. "Morning, sleepyhead. Robert will meet us in forty-five minutes."

A quiet knock interrupted him, and a muffled "Breakfast" sounded from the corridor.

"Coming," shouted Harry and dashed across the room. 

Using the moment, Hermione rolled off the bed. Her head felt heavy, and it took a moment for everything around to stop spinning. Muttering that she hated Jack Daniel's, she wrapped herself in a bedsheet, grabbed her jeans and a tee and shuffled to the loo. She really did hate drinking, and the whiskey combine with jet lag, Hermione was feeling quite the worse for wear. The cool shower did help, and she felt much better when she came back.

As she returned to the room, she found Harry waiting for her, absent-mindedly skimming through a fresh issue of the San Francisco Chronicle, with their breakfast neatly served on a coffee table. He threw the newspaper on the table the moment she sat down near him. "I didn't know if you wanted any juice," he said, removing the Warming Charm from the tea and pancakes. Pushing his glasses low on his nose, he opened the menu."They have some weird stuff here." He began to read in a nasal monotone. "Wheatgrass juice, sprouts juice, broccoli juice, acai berry juice, fresh coconut water. I'm pretty sure they have dandelion juice too, and I think I've seen carrot tea somewhere as well. They must have ordered it all straight from Lovegood's gardens." He unsuccessfully tried to conceal a wry smile.

Hermione snorted and elbowed him. "Stop it."

"Hey," he exclaimed, and unable to hold his façade any longer, laughed out loud.   

Sipping her English Breakfast tea and nibbling on her pancakes, Hermione grinned at him: she treasured these rare moments of Harry being so carefree.

"Fresh coconut water, though ..." Harry rubbed his chin with a puzzled expression. "Draco likes it; he likes everything coconut. I've never come round to understanding the taste." He grimaced. "It's pretty weird, actually...reminds me of wet socks. Yucky stuff."

Wanting to prolong the moment, Hermione flailed her hand and puckered her lips, trying her best to impersonate Lavender. "I dunno," she said. "Piña Colada tastes sooo fabulous."

Alas, Harry's gaze became unfocussed, and he drew a heavy sigh. "Yeah," he breathed out absently, and Hermione reckoned that the moment had passed. They finished their breakfast in silence, and fifteen minutes later, they were ready to leave.

"Are we going to come back?" she said as she put her jacket on and threw her purse over her shoulder.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure. I hope not. I paid while you were sleeping, just in case." Setting 'Do not disturb' signs on both doors, he added the Muggle-repellent charm, said, "Come on," and walked down the corridor to the elevator. 

Robert, a cheerful-looking American Auror, was already waiting for them in the lobby. Hermione had last seen him in London in November. He had been coming to the Ministry every four or five months to exchange information on wanted wizards and witches. Functioning under the regulations of Magical Intergovernmental Criminal Information Management, they were supposed to disclose such data regularly. The lack of a Muggle-like network and computer system was a drawback, of course, so they had to do it the old-fashioned way, by physically cataloguing pictures, names and other facts. Naturally, as soon as Hermione had begun to work there, the majority of the paperwork had somehow landed on her shoulders. Thus she knew Rob rather well.

"Hi, guys," he shouted as soon as they were close enough, blinding them both with his sparkling-white toothy smile and enthusiastically shaking their hands. His smile always made Hermione nostalgic: it reminded her of a toothpaste commercial that had been popular when she was little and of her parents. She focused on his eyes rather than his smile: he had nice, warm eyes.

"Sorry I couldn't make it to the airport yesterday. My girls had a soccer practice," Rob said.

"It's all right, Rob. We were dead tired anyway." Harry smacked his shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Did you say soccer practice, mate? Why not Quidditch?"

Rob let out a hearty chortle. "Ah, man, they're still too young for Quidditch," he said, steering them from the hotel to the street.

It was surprisingly warm and sunny outside. With London's miserable February weather, it seemed to Hermione that the winter wasn't going to end any time soon, if ever. Here in San Francisco, however, spring was definitely in the air. Plus, Rob's cheerfulness appeared to be contagious, and Hermione found herself grinning despite everything and without reason. "How old are the girls?" she asked, tilting her face up and enjoying the warmth of the Californian sun on her skin.

"Five. They're twins," said Rob, and he readily fished a picture from his chest pocket, in which two blue-eyed girls giggled just as cheerfully as their father.

"They're gorgeous," said Hermione and Harry in unison.

"My little stars," Rob muttered as he thoughtfully gazed at the photo, before clearing his throat and stashing it back in his pocket. "All right, guys, follow me," he said, with his enthusiastic smile once again in place. "The Apparition point's a few blocks from here."

"Where are we going?" questioned Harry, hurrying after him and forcing Hermione to hurry as well, even though she didn't really want to speed up: she would have gladly enjoyed a lovely relaxing stroll.

"We're going to our famous Monsieur Henry," Rob said, navigating them up the steep hills of San Francisco. "Just don't be surprised...he's quite a character."

"Why? Who's he?" Harry frowned. "Does he know something?"

"Well, Henry's owned an escort agency for, I think, the last ninety years or so. He has the vastest clientele and the best girls and boys in the Bay area."

"Escort agency!" said Harry, who obviously didn't like the sound of it and failed to see a connection. "What does it have to do with Draco?"

Hermione put a calming hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Wait. I'm sure we're about to find out how it connects to Draco." She sighed...patience had never been Harry's strong suit.

"You see," Rob said, "we routinely check Henry's so-called establishment. Just in case. There have been instances when we discovered runaway kids among Henry's escorts. Anyway, long story short: I visited him last week and found this." Rob stopped, extracted a photograph from a pocket of his trench coat and offered it to Harry. Solemnly, he went on, "I'm not sure if it's Draco; he looks kind of different. I did ask Henry the name of the man in the photo, and I'll be honest, I even pulled a bit of a bad-cop routine on the old bastard. Alas, he swore that he didn't know anything. He said that the man calls himself D, and that he found him wandering the streets."

Harry's sharp intake of breath caused Rob to cease talking. "It's him," Harry managed to rasp as he turned to Hermione and thrust the picture into her hands. One quick glance lodged a hard lump in Hermione's throat: it really was Draco, and, oh Merlin, did he look different. Clasping Harry's arm, she felt his muscles tense, and she could bet that he was silently clenching his wand.  

"Well, let's get going," said Rob, beckoning them to a hidden courtyard. "Ready?" He took hold of their hands.

"Yes," they answered simultaneously, and a second later Hermione felt the nauseating force of a Side-Along-Apparition. As soon as they landed, both of them assumed ready-to-strike positions with their wands out. Rob, however, shook his head at them, mouthed, "Relax, there's no need," and guided them up the stairs. Henry, clothed in a flashy à la seventies terracotta suit, met them in a foyer, which looked rather dated to Hermione's eyes. Muted sage wallpaper wasn't really her thing.

"Robbie, my dear, so nice to see you again," Henry murmured, making a special emphasis on 'again' and curling his lips in a polite smile.

"Hey there, old man, how are you?" Rob strode to Henry and smacked his shoulder, perhaps with a little too much force. "I brought you visitors," he said, nodding toward Hermione and Harry.

Henry's face lit up with curiosity. "You did, Robbie? Hmmm, let me see." He grabbed the glasses that dangled from a thick gold chain on his chest and put them on his nose, scrutinising his guests. "Merlin, is that Mister Harry Potter himself?" he eventually whispered. "I can't believe it. In my humble establishment!" He dashed to Harry, clasped his hand, and shook it enthusiastically. When the stern-faced Harry, after a bit of a struggle, finally managed to free his hand, Henry turned to Hermione. "Miss Hermione Granger, I presume. What a pleasure," he purred, and with a gallant bow, kissed her hand, peering in her eyes.

It took all Hermione's politeness not to wrestle her hand from Henry's. There was something repulsive about him: his almost colourless, slightly bulging eyes, or his clammy fingers, or maybe it was his insincere grin. She couldn't quite determine. Noticing from the corner of her eye that Harry was discreetly wiping his hand on his trousers, Hermione concluded that it was indeed Henry's fingers.

"Mister ..." Harry paused, prompting Henry to provide his last name.

"Just Henry, Mister Potter. Call me Henry." Henry waved his hand dismissively.

Harry cleared his throat and said, "We have a few questions for you, Henry."

"Of course you do, my dear boy," Henry croaked, throwing an odd and not entirely friendly glance at Harry. The next second, however, his smile was back, and he exclaimed, "My goodness, where are my manners? Follow me, my darlings," and strode down the wallpapered corridor, beckoning them to follow him. 

"Would you be so kind, Mister Potter, as to give me an autograph? I want to surprise my grandchildren."

"You don't have grandkids, Henry," said Rob with a snort. "Who are you kidding?"

"He-he-he, Robbie, Robbie, you know me too well," Henry cackled, rounding the corner. "Here we are," he said when they all reached a big and surprisingly modern room. A huge window filled one of the walls, showcasing a beautiful view of the Golden Gate Bridge. "Make yourself comfortable, dear friends." Henry gave them another of his smiles and settled behind an elaborately carved mahogany desk. "How can I help you, Mister Potter?" He locked his fish-like eyes on Harry.

Rob walked around the desk and, hovering over Henry, his usual friendliness completely gone, said, "Did you find the wizard I was asking you about?"

Henry shifted in his chair. "Robbie, I told you before, and I'm telling you again, I don't know where he is. He appears once in a blue moon, and I give him clients. That's about it. If you think I like this situation, you're terribly wrong. They ask for him when he's not around – he is a pretty boy, you know. It's not how I like to conduct my business, and I hate it. If clients are unhappy, I am unhappy."

He didn't get a chance to add anything else, because the next moment, Harry's wand was pressed into his jugular vein. "Clients?" Harry hissed. Driving the sharp end of his wand deeper into Henry's neck, he continued through clenched teeth, "What kind of clients? Did you force Draco to work for you, you stinky pimp?"

For a moment, Hermione contemplated interfering. However, eventually deciding that a little bit of heat would do Henry good, she remained silent. Impressively, he didn't bat an eye at the sudden attack. He just uttered a displeased grunt, raised his hands in a pacifying gesture and said, "Young man, please remove your wand from my neck. I'm too old for these games, and as you can see, I'm unarmed." When Harry ignored him, he went on, "I'll tell you one thing: I've owned this business for ninety-five years. None of my escorts has ever been forced to work here. It's a privilege to be hired by Henry's Escort Agency. I have very high standards." He paused and drew a tired sigh. "Please do step back; it's getting highly taxing to talk with you two hovering over me like that."

Rob growled but took two steps back, whereas Harry moved only about an inch, though he did remove his wand from Henry's neck. "Keep talking," he got out gruffly.

"Ahh, much better," Henry murmured. "I believe, Mister Potter, you owe me an apology. I did save your friend, after all."

"Partner," Harry corrected.

Henry chuckled and arched an eyebrow. "As you wish: I saved your partner. He was cold, hungry and sick when I found him. Barely conscious. Wandering the streets, still in a hospital gown: he probably walked out of a Muggle infirmary the moment he came to. He still had a needle in his arm. He was bleeding, Mister Potter. He might have died if it hadn't been for me. I reckon I've earned at least a little respect, if not gratitude."

"Hospital gown," Harry whispered, recoiling and gazing around, his green eyes frantically seeking Hermione. Sensing his need for her, she was near him in a heartbeat, her fingers intertwined with his and her shoulder keeping him from slumping. God, she caught herself thinking, in just what kind of mess did Draco get himself?

"As for your concerns, and I can see you have them ... " Henry's voice was cold, and his eyebrows arched suggestively. "Alas, I cannot tell you anything soothing, as what happens between an escort and a client, stays between an escort and a client. You'll have to ask your partner. Perhaps he will tell you, some day. I bet he's got some stories." He chuckled.

Hermione felt Harry trying to leap toward him once again. This time, she didn't let him. "He isn't worth it, Harry," she whispered, clasping his hand with both of hers. She could feel Harry's heart thumping wildly, and her own heart tightened in response: she truly wished that Henry would stop talking. He had spoken enough drivel already.

As if sensing her thoughts, Henry stood up, walked around his desk and stopped near them. "All in all, I have been extremely nice to your partner. I offered him a place to stay and a job. The fact that he could never stay here for long wasn't my fault. Something wasn't right with his head." He tapped on his own head to demonstrate his point, and Hermione noticed how long and perfectly polished his nails were. Somehow that discovery made her nauseous. Henry was positively disgusting.

"It did my business no favours," Henry continued, "and the last time he was here, I warned him if he left again, he mustn't come back. Ever. I'm not healthy enough to handle that type of problem; I'm an old man. And yet, just because I love Robbie, I asked around the other day and found out where he was seen lately. Here is the place." He extended his hand with a parchment to Harry. "Now, please, leave. You've made me tired." With that, he bowed his head, muttered, "Miss Granger," and, facing Rob, added, "You know the way out, Robbie. Kiss the girls and Sophie from me," and disappeared with a pop.

Rob, shifting awkwardly in the middle of the room, rubbed the back of his head and said, "Well, that was intense. Um, food, anyone?"

"Can we just go there?" said Harry, giving Rob the paper with the address.

Rob threw a quick glance at it and shook his head. "Nope. It's too early. Come on, I'll explain everything over lunch."

Soon, they were sitting in a cosy place on Union Street. Hermione had already ordered a shrimp cocktail and was now sipping a nice cold chardonnay, thoughtfully watching the motley passers-by and listening to the boys, who were waiting for their steak tips, meanwhile enjoying Bloody Marys. Though, to be honest, Harry hardly looked pleased.

"What did you mean, 'it's too early'? Why?" he said as soon as their waiter had taken the order.

"It's not what you think," said Rob.

"What? I thought it was a room or a motel or something of that sort," Harry said.

"It's not. It's a place, a church to be exact, where hobos spend the night."

"Hobos?" said Hermione, not quite grasping the meaning.

"Homeless people."

"Homeless people." Harry's eyes widened, and he raked his fingers through his messy locks. "I don't understand."

"I think it's my fault that our talk with Henry got out of hand. I should have explained more," Rob said, and took a swig of his drink. "First of all, Henry's not exactly a pimp. He does provide housing for newbies, just to get them going, you know. Until they can rent their own place."

"Still a bloody pimp," Harry muttered. 

Hermione nodded. She had to agree, Henry did come across as an utter git.

Rob swayed his head. "Perhaps he is. It's not the point. We are talking about Draco now, and, as he explained to me, he found Draco in a very bad state, sifting through the trash, looking for something to eat. Henry took him in, cleaned him up, bought him a wardrobe and introduced him to clients. The usual shit, I guess."

"I just don't understand," Hermione said, "why Draco didn't try to contact us. He knows you, he could have found you." The whole story sounded illogical to her, right from the Draco-sifting-through-rubbish part.

"Henry said something about Draco's head not being right. What did he mean?" Harry said, his gaze dark.

Rob sighed. "Yes, about that. It seems that Draco doesn't remember anything, even his name, except that it starts with D. Some kind of traumatic memory loss, I guess."

"Oh, God." Hermione glanced at Harry, who kept silently clenching and unclenching his fists. "What happened to him?"

"No idea," said Rob. "What I do know...at least what Henry told me...is that Draco was restless. He kept disappearing for weeks and then reappearing on Henry's doorstep, hungry and dirty again. Eventually, Henry had it with him. I can imagine that there will be an extensive interdepartmental investigation, once you're ready to make it official, that is. There are so many questions, starting with how the hell he ended up in San Francisco in the first place."

"I have to talk to him," muttered Harry, staring at the window with blank, unseeing eyes.

The waiter brought Hermione's shrimp cocktail first, but her appetite just wasn't there any more. Somehow, the image of a dirty and hungry Draco deprived her of any desire to eat.

"We need to find him and take him back to London. Today," said Harry, just as his and Rob's food arrived at the table. He finished his drink, and to Hermione's surprise, began to consume his steak tips. Sometimes, boys astonished her. Truly.

A few hours later, Rob brought them to the desolate city-centre area where Draco supposedly spent his nights. Plastic bags and old newspapers covered the pavement, and the church that towered over it looked ominously dark for San Francisco. The thick fog that had begun to cocoon the city made the picture even more ghastly. "You can wait there." Rob pointed to a Starbucks across the street.

"Wow," Hermione said, genuinely surprised. "You have Starbucks in this kind of neighbourhood?" 

Rob chuckled. "It's San Francisco, baby. We have them everywhere, and besides, on weekdays, this street doesn't look so empty." He glanced at his watch, coughed and, with a guilty expression, went on, "They will begin to gather right after sunset. I'm sorry, guys, but I need to go. It's Saturday, and the girls are waiting for me."  

Harry patted his shoulder. "It's all right, Rob. You spent enough time with us, as it is."

Hermione readily joined Harry and, smiling, added, "Yes. Thank you for everything, and sorry for spoiling your weekend."

"Ah, that's OK." Rob gave them his habitual, sparkling smile. "That's what buddies are for, isn't it? By the way, I made you a Portkey. Untraceable!" He wiggled his brows, looking very smug. "I told you I have connections. It should bring you right to Hermione's apartment." With that, he handed Hermione an envelope. "The card inside will activate it." He hugged Hermione, shook Harry's hand and, saying, "All right, then, I'm out of here," turned to leave. "Send a Patronus if you need me," he said, before walking down the street and eventually vanishing in the fog.

"How does he know where your flat is?" Harry said, as soon as Rob had gone.

Seeing his scowl, Hermione began to laugh. "Honestly, Harry, you're such a dunce sometimes," she said, and smacked him upside his head. "Don't you remember, we had lunch at my place, all three of us?"

Harry rubbed his smacked head and said, "Nope."

"Gee, and you're one of the best Aurors, the one that's supposed to remember everything. Oh, whatever, let's go to Starbucks. It's getting chilly." She hastened across the street, listening to Harry's grumbling that it wasn't physically possible to remember everything as he followed her. Once they had settled near the window with two Grande Lattes, they looked at each other and said in unison, "And now we wait."

And they waited, watching how slowly dark silhouettes began to appear near the church. They emerged from the fog from different directions, somewhat resembling ghosts, or so it seemed to Hermione. Some of them dragged big, black bags with their possessions behind them, while other used shopping-carts for the same purpose. Either way, the sight was depressing.

Hours went by, but they didn't see anyone who resembled the one wizard they needed. Hermione threw a glance at Harry, and if his clenched teeth were any indication, he was beginning to lose hope. She sighed and turned back to the window, noticing another silhouette that had appeared at the beginning of the street. He was tall, and he had long blond hair, but that wasn't what caught her attention. The shopping cart with his possessions rolled after him on its own. She did a double take, and then tugged on Harry's sleeve. "Look."

"Merlin," said Harry. A second later, he was on the street, yelling, "Draco!"

Did Harry just Apparate? Hermione thought as she ran outside. He was already near Draco when she caught up with him. Draco stopped and faced them, causing Harry to freeze on the spot. Hermione heard his loud intake of breath and locked her gaze on Draco's face. Yes, it was Draco: very thin, with his blond locks matted and stubble covering his face, but it was definitely him.  

For a few long moments, all three of them silently stared at each other.

Harry was the first to speak. "Draco? It's me," he said and moved closer to him.

Draco blinked and, rubbing his stubbly cheek, said, "It's interesting that you keep calling me Draco. It does sound familiar, although I cannot quite recall why." His gaze moved from Harry to Hermione. "You look somewhat familiar, as well. Do I know you?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, Draco, you do know me."

"Have we met through Henry?" he said and regarded her with interest, his eyes roaming over her and lingering on the places they shouldn't.

Feeling with embarrassment that her stupid cheeks were flaming...she was supposed to have dropped that blushing nonsense years ago; she wasn't a shrinking violet after all...Hermione hurriedly muttered, "No, not through Henry. Actually, you know Harry even better than me."

Draco returned his grey eyes to Harry again and frowned. "Hmm," he said, and, for a moment, it seemed that his gaze lit up with a spark of recognition. He made a tiny step toward Harry, whose face immediately brightened with relief.

Harry quickly covered the distance between them and, with the words "Come on, partner, it's time to go home," embraced Draco, who didn't protest and even shifted into Harry's embrace.

Hermione drew a sigh and relaxed. Alas, her delight was short-lived, because the next moment, Draco said, "I'm sorry, I don't remember you," and stepped back with a nonchalant shrug. "Oh, and I think I'll keep that," he added with a cocky, very Malfoy smile, showing them Harry's wand clasped between his fingers.

"Fuck," she heard Harry's grumpy whisper.

Indeed, Hermione thought. Apparently, with or without memory, Draco's reflexes still worked fine. His Auror training hadn't been in vain. Fortunately for them all, as soon as Draco began to walk away slowly, Hermione's skills kicked in as well, and, not giving it another thought, she drew her wand, called to Harry, "Be ready to catch him," and aiming at the retreating Draco's back, shouted, "Stupefy!"

Harry bolted with lightning speed and caught Draco in mid-flight, quickly repossessing his wand. It took only a second to activate the Portkey, and soon all three of them were swirling towards London.