𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

Chapter 10

Delusions

Harry fingered the glinting object in his pocket, minutely hearing the plastic around it crinkle. He pulled his hood down further as he entered the shabby brick building. A bored looking woman with lipstick smudges on her teeth popped her gum and clacked her teeth together before glancing up and asking, "You want?"

Not even a full sentence, Harry thought, impressed. He yanked the baggie out of his pocket and slammed it down on the counter. The woman stared at him after the rough action with arch eyebrows that had been drawn on and pushed her tongue through her stale purple gum. Harry thought she might have been trying to raise one in question but it was too hard to discern as the artificial brows didn't work as well as real ones would have.

The woman was now eyeing both the baggie and Harry's face, darting between the two. Harry growled and shoved the plastic closer to her. His voice came out hoarse and sandpapery, "Your whores do Polyjuice?"

The woman smiled smartly in understanding and plucked the bag from under his flat palm between two gaudily manicured nails. She nodded and pushed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, probably trying to corral her gum as she made a tick with her wand behind her. She indicated the couches and chairs that bordered the small room and popped her gum again, "Wait here 'n someone'll be right wit ya."

Apparently it was far too much effort to say full words.

Harry began unbuttoning his coat as he turned away when she waved her hand dramatically and called him back, "Oh, hold on there. You wan' male or female?"

Harry ground his teeth together, "Does it matter? By the time I see them," He jerked his thumb towards the bag, "They'll look like that."

The woman gave him a derisive look at his caustic tone, and, looking down her nose at him, she said condescendingly, "Now my girls don' much like bein' men and my boys ain' much like bein' women."

Harry waved her off and fought the urge to roll his eyes, "Male," He said gruffly.

She nodded but Harry didn't miss the slight surprise in her widened hazel eyes. Perhaps she had recognized him? She handed him a small slip of paper with the number '48' on it, written in a vibrant red. Harry inclined his head and turned away from her successfully.

He went to find a seat as far away from the other men in the "waiting room" as possible. One of them was scratching fitfully at his neck as if he had fleas and Harry tried not to stare at him as he twitched.

His palms were sweating and he bunched up the material of his jeans beneath them, clenching and unclenching his hands. He refused to allow himself to think because, if he did, he would stand up and walk out that door. He glanced around for something to distract him, realizing the only type of 'reading' material in the establishment was porn.

He looked away distastefully and tried to corral his runaway emotions. He wanted this, he reminded himself breathlessly. There was a queasy feeling in his stomach but he relegated it with the fact that, in only a few moments, he would see Draco for the first time in weeks. His stomach gave a jump at that and he pushed down the excitement that was mingling with much darker emotions.

Two men were called before him, one looking much more prepared for a business meeting than fucking an indiscriminate whore and the other a lean man who looked around shiftily as though afraid someone might recognize him.

Finally it was Harry's turn as the woman's lips parted to realize the glorious syllables, "Forty-eight." Harry jumped up out of his seat as if electrified and dropped his strip of paper in his nervousness. He stooped to pick it up, feeling foolish, and approached the desk.