The Man From H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S. (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Seven

   They didn't stop moving for a good half an hour. The need to be inconspicuous meant they slowed to a brisk walk once they were confident they weren't being followed. But even then they led any would-be-pursuers on a wild goose chase through the streets, doubling back on themselves frequently and dashing down secluded alleyways and underpasses wherever possible.

Harry's mind didn't stop, just like his feet pounding on the pavement. The more he considered it, the firmer his conviction became that there had to have been some dirty play involved. There was no way all three of Voldemort's men could have shown up to intercept them by coincidence. It just wasn't possible. They had to have been tipped off.

The thought sullied his mood. He had, despite the odds, become rather fond of Malfoy, and thought he'd enamoured himself to the Russian in return. He'd managed to make a crack in his icy exterior, just in time for him to question Malfoy's loyalty to him. To H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S. rather – that's what he meant. His loyalty to the program.

He scowled as they entered a less than savoury district, the kind all cities held in their corners. A couple of women dressed garishly and insufficiently for the cold February air called to him and Malfoy as they hurried past, but Harry paid them no mind. Malfoy had been purposeful in his movements for the past several minutes, and it seemed he had a destination in mind.

Sure enough, within the next few minutes they came upon a dingy hotel that Harry had little doubt rented rooms by the hour, and they swerved in through the cracked door and into the shadowy entrance hall. A young woman with black hair cropped into a severe bob and fringe looked up from behind the reception desk as they walked inside the otherwise deserted lobby, and her eyes automatically went to Malfoy. Harry couldn't tell if it was in recognition or because (Harry could no longer deny the truth of it to himself) of his striking handsomeness.

He couldn't determine if she knew him or not, therefore he could not immediately guess why they had come into this establishment. As they stopped at the end of the narrow corridor in front of the desk, he opened his mouth to ask where they were. But before he could utter a single sound, Malfoy's hand came up. He didn't even look away from the receptionist. He just pressed a single finger against Harry's lips.

Harry was so stunned he wasn't sure what to do for a moment. But then Malfoy began to speak, finger still pushed against his mouth, and he forgot about everything else.

It wasn't like any language he had ever heard before. It was a sort of hissing noise, like a snake, rasping from the back of his throat and vibrating over his tongue and teeth. There was a small part of Harry's brain that flared to life with intrigue, trying to decipher the noises. But he couldn't liken them to any other speech he had ever encountered, not even when studying ancient languages at Oxford. And besides, the rest of his brain was too busy trying to ensure his body didn't shudder head to toe at the exotic, commanding-sounding words.

The receptionist appeared to have no such crisis, and paid rapt attention to every utterance, nodding along. She then replied back in the same tongue, and Harry then had to deduce she did indeed know Malfoy, or was at least K.G.B. herself. How else would she too know the strange language? He gave a muffled sort of squeak, and attempted to interject. Whatever was going on, he deserved to know.

That got Malfoy's attention, and he turned to glare at him, pressing his finger down harder. Harry could easily have stepped back and away from the intrusive gesture against his face, but for a reason he couldn't really fathom, his feet remained routed to the spot, willingly allowing himself to be muted.

The receptionist smirked, glancing at him with her dark eyes, and said something further to Malfoy in their secret language. Draco replied something which made her laugh, and she held up a hand to placate him as she moved into a back room.

When she came back she held a half-full bottle of vodka, two chipped glass tumblers, something wrapped in a scrap of newspaper, and a room key. The mysterious item fit comfortably in Draco's palm before he slipped it into the pocket of his tan leather jacket. He then took the bottle and pinched the glasses between his long fingers, nodding at the young woman as he did.

He removed his hand from Harry's face with a pointed stare, then picked up the room key with his free hand and turned and headed towards a door to their right. Harry glowered at his back, then realised the receptionist was smiling at him, her eyes narrowed as she licked her lower lip and winked.

He cleared his throat and straightened his tie before following his partner. For now, at least, they were still theoretically on the same side.