It had been three years since Draco's parents died in Azkaban. No one seemed to have any proof that they were innocent for death eater crimes. They were the first to go before aurors discovered other ex-death eaters. Draco had been told by many people, most being his friends, that his parents were going to die in a matter of dies locked up in a insane place like that. They had died in the prison and they're bodies were cold and by the time Draco saw them. A small funeral was held; small because no one wanted to go pay their respects to the people who are responsible for crimes such as murder.

The thought of his parents still tortured him. And each time he went back to the empty Manor it reminded him of how much he's lost. The only sound would be the clutter in the kitchens of his various house elves. AT times though, Draco would think he would hear a whisper behind him, then turning around to see no one. The house itself was antiquated.

It had been three years and seven months ago since the battle at Hogwarts. Many people he knew most were his father's friends had died, but there was also a first year in Slytherin who was Draco's prime target to pick on. Wilson Crail died because someone from the Order thought he was a death eater. Draco regretted that death the most at Hogwarts.

It had only been one year since Draco took up a job. This job was not his first idea of an occupation but it paid well. Once he found out he preferred blokes over girls after his first shag with another guy at Hogwarts. Smith made Draco realize what he wanted. And what he wanted was cocks.

The idea of being a muggle prostitute wasn't his first job choice. In fact, he had applied for being on a national quidditch team, any spot at the Ministry, even at Hogwarts where he would rather not work. All of them had denied them the second that they saw Malfoy on the application. It had taken a week for Draco to get back on his feet.

Blaise and Draco had gone to a club one night last year just wanting to get a heavy weight off of their shoulders. Unlike Draco, Blaise had a job. He had started a winery business with Nott in Knockturn Alley. The business had grown large over the years and they were practically rolling in money.

Anyways, Blaise had wanted to take his gay wizard friend to a local gay bar. He had at least hoped that his friend would be able to hook up with someone, or spark an interest with someone to encourage him to find a job. In some way it had.

There had been an add looking for young men who needed quick and easy money. Draco was fascinated by the idea and wouldn't stop talking about it for a month. Blaise thought it was crazy and still did but Draco was more interested in that blasted ad than the half-naked men in that club that night.

Draco had finally dialed the number for the service a month later. After a few days of the company looking over Draco's application they had accepted him and wanted to see him as soon as possible. The meeting was all about what they wanted to see Draco do. He was a trainee and needed to know everything there was about the sex business and Draco had pleased them and now he was the best person in the business.

In just weeks, Draco had enough money to buy his own flat in London. Suddenly, he was back on his feet and nothing could ever be better.

So that's why Draco was bundled up in his winter coat, with his wool scarf covering his mouth and neck from the chilling breeze. He was standing on the side of a London street waiting. Two weeks ago a very handsome, curly, blonde picked him up to out for a drink at a local bar. Never in his prostitution career did Draco have a customer take him out somewhere besides a hotel or their house. It was always business and money. And nothing else.

The blonde's name was Henry and he was a muggle. Draco's customers were mostly muggles and only had some wizards. Henry was very open minded and had no boundaries. Draco got paid by the hour, so at times he actually had to listen to the crap other's would say. Henry told him that his wife caught him snogging her boss. Henry came looking to bury his sorrows with someone. Eventually, they did fuck, and those sorrows were burrowed deep in Draco's arse.

Some muggles had very odd kinks. Something about pain gave them more arousal than other activities. Draco had been spanked, handcuffed, and even had a toy put in him. During all of that he would try not to think about it and just concentrate on what he was getting out of this. A weak arousal, the money, and… that was all.

That was two weeks ago and he was hoping tonight's customer would not be like Henry. The person called by phone, asking for a blonde who can bottom. He told Draco's boss, Eli to meet him by a red payphone at 8:30. Draco knew exactly which red payphone to go to. He was leaning against said payphone, and wondered if the guy knew this was one of the many ways to enter the Ministry of Magic. Probably not.

He checked his watch. Two more minutes. Draco looked around for someone who looked eager for shagging. He was given no description about how the person looked like and was keeping his eye out for anyone who would even pass him. He glanced to his right and saw a ginger haired man walking towards him. Ginger hair was not his favorite thing in the world, but by judging by his expensive coat, Draco could be walking back to his flat with two hundred dollars in his pocket tonight.

The ginger shot Draco a nasty look as he walked past him, joining a girl. Where the bloody hell was this person? Draco thought his balls were about to turn into icicles.

Then he saw a dark figure under the street light on the opposite side of the road making his way towards Draco. Making sure no one else was there, he looked around him. Only Draco was standing by the red payphone. The figure was closer when Draco looked again. Suddenly it stopped. It was looking directly at Draco. The world seemed to have paused and he just stared back at the stranger.

The figure approached Draco. The person was dressed in a black coat that matched his hair, but his scarf was covering most of his facial features as well as a pair of glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. If the person were to walk three feet closer to Draco, he would be able to see his face.

"Malfoy?" said the stranger in a surprised tone.

He knew that voice. Only some people called him by Malfoy. On the streets his nickname was Draco Black (his mother's maiden name, and purposes regarding that no one will know his actual identity.) This person must be a wizard, Draco thought. He knew who it was. That voice was husky just now, but usually it was harsh. Well to Draco it was harsh. He had gone to school with him, and felt his stomach drop.

"Potter?" He managed to say.

.

Earlier that night

"Harry you can't spend the rest of your life like this," Hermione said hotly.

Not my whole life. Just until I am over the whole thing with Oliver.

Earlier in the year, Harry had gone to a Puddlemere United when Oliver Wood had asked him to come. After the game, which was won 400-60, Oliver had taken Harry out to dinner. It was more than Harry had expected. He knew Oliver must be filthy rich from being an international quidditch player, but taking him out on a proper date to an elegant dinner was more than Harry envisaged. The soft sounds of violins playing to even the golden brackets wrapped securely around the silverware was elegant.

It was that night that he thought he might be in love with his old Gryffindor captain. And it wasn't oblivious that the other man was fawning over him as well. The Prophet was ecstatic about their relationship and practically camped outside each of their houses, obsessing over getting a picture of them together. The press was having a field day over the two. An international quidditch star and The Boy Who Lived? That was the only interesting thing happening in the Wizarding World at that moment.

So the charade went on for months. Harry sucking up to what turned out to be a horrible lie. He had believed every word that came from Oliver and then just weeks ago Oliver had come out with the truth.

They were at their usual restaurant for dinner. The first one that they had gone to for their first date months ago. Harry had sensed something was wrong with the other man and was waiting for him to say something. Anything. Just something to make Harry not nervous. That wish was never granted of course.

"Harry I need to tell you something. I should have told you before we started to go out actually," Oliver had said.

That had gotten Harry's attention and he looked up directly at Oliver urging him to go on. Oliver looked pale like he was about to be sick.

"I-I'm so sorry. Really I am. But two seasons ago I was in a horrible state. A horrible one. And I needed a boost. Even the beaters were getting more attention than I, the keeper, was," he paused. "And then I saw you a day before that game and needed to get more publicity-"

"So you used me?" Harry said, interrupting the other man's apology.

"Harry I'm sorry. I love you now. It was stupid-"

"Damn right it was stupid Oliver!" Harry said loudly, but not loud enough to attract other people's attention at the restaurant.

With that, Harry had left, leaving Oliver alone. He hadn't spoken to him since then. And since that incident Harry had been cooped up in his place ignoring Hermione's lectures to get up and get something.

He looked up at Hermione, and she looked utterly furious.

"Are you even listening to me Harry?" She said heavily.

"Of course..," Harry said.

"Then why aren't you getting up?"

Harry looked at her confused. He didn't know what she was talking about, only that she was pointing towards the phone that was hardly ever used.

Slowly he got up. He walked towards the phone knowing Hermione was watching him intensely. What was he going to do? He picked up the phone but stared down at the dials.

"What are you waiting for Harry?" Hermione prodded.

He didn't answer her. Did she want food to be delivered? No that didn't have anything to do with their conversation. It had to be something about Oliver… Oliver didn't have a phone. If she wanted him to contact Oliver she would have to have tied him up and forced him to fire call him. Which would have been easier than to pretend like he had heard her.

"You obviously weren't listening were you?" Hermione said. She took the phone away from him and started typing in numbers.

Who was she calling? He didn't know any wizards that had phones. Besides Luna but Merlin knew what she would do about his relationship status.

"Hello," Hermione said, sounding pleasantly which was not how she was sounding just seconds before. "Is this Lucky Man industries?"

There was a pause

"Yes I'm aware that I'm a woman it's for a friend."

Another pause.

"I was actually wondering if you could send-"

The person on the other line seemed to have interrupted her.

"You don't do deliveries?" Hermione said softly.

Pause

"Oh yes that would be nice. A meeting and then they could go back? Yes wonderful. A preference? Not a brunette. And... someone who is willing to do anything."

Who was Hermione talking to?

"Tonight would be fine. Yes, yes I know exactly where you're talking about. Lovely. Thank you-I'm sorry what was your name? Oh thank you Eli."

She hung up the phone and smirked at Harry.

"Hermione what did you just do? What about Ron-"

"Ron? I made that call for you. You need to get your mind of Oliver and slumping around for a week is not going to be such a brilliant idea.

"I can't shag a hooker!" Harry bleated.

"Yes you can," Hermione said gently.

This was going to be a shitty evening. He couldn't shag a stranger. The other guys he had had sex with were all people he knew. Seamus, Terry, and Oliver were all people that he could be comfortable with when doing that but a stranger was completely mad.

Though the look on Hermione's face told him there would be no argument. He marched upstairs. How could Hermione do that? And why did she know that number?

He came back down the stairs dressed in better and cleaner clothes than he was in before. Hermione beamed once he came back.

"I don't know how much they pay but here is a twenty," she said giving him the muggle money. Harry could feel his face getting hot at what Hermione was doing. This was beyond what he would even think she was capable of doing.

"And if the person does a tip-"

"Okay Hermione, alright," Harry cut in. "And where am I meeting this guy?"

"The phone booth that's the entrance to the Ministry of Magic," she replied.

Harry turned around and grabbed his jacket from off the hook. He stared at Hermione, as he began buttoning up his jacket.

This was going to be a shit night, he reminded himself.

.

Present

Harry couldn't believe that he was staring at Malfoy. The years had treated him well though. His hair was still the bright blonde streaks as it was the last time that Harry had seen him. Unlike it being nicely held together it looked like it had barely been paid attention to at all. Malfoy wore muggle jeans and muggle clothing, which went against all of Harry's thoughts of Malfoy being an aristocrat but he was already too lost in all these thoughts to utter a word to said blonde.

"I don't care if you give me a hundred dollars I am most certainly not going to let you touch me in anyway," Malfoy said suddenly.

He might have changed his clothing and rearranged some looks but his attitude was still the same.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to touch you," Harry said, stepping away to prove his point. Hermione was expecting him to come back to Grimmauld Place snogging a stranger up the stairs.

They stood there looking at each other neither one knowing what to do about the situation.

"So why did you want a prostitute Potter?" Malfoy said at last.

"Shut it," Harry said.

He hated Malfoy. He hated the situation. He wanted to hate Hermione, but he just found himself very mad at her instead of hating her. It wasn't her fault that Malfoy had showed up.

"So why did they send you? Don't they have hundreds of whores waiting to actually do something?" Harry asked.

Malfoy glared at him. "I am the best out of the hundreds of whores for your information."

He was the best? That was impossible for Harry to grasp. Malfoy, the evil bastard, was the best out of hundreds of other men at sex?

"I don't believe that," Harry said.

"Want me to show you?"

"No, you didn't want me touching you remember?"

"I can get drunk enough to envisage you being someone more attractive. Obviously there's a reason why you dialed a whore line."

Harry was not about to tell Malfoy that Hermione had actually called the company.

"I am not shagging you Malfoy," Harry said simply.

"Good. I wouldn't touch you even if I were drunk," said Malfoy.

This back and forth arguments made Harry feel like they were still back at school. Those icy grey eyes stared back at Harry. Silence lingered between the two before Malfoy began to walk away.

Without thinking, Harry turned after him. "Malfoy! Where are you going?"

"You don't expect me to actually shag you do you?" he asked, continuing to walk.

"I wasn't-"

"Or I'm not going to let you shag me," Malfoy said coldly.

Harry rolled his eyes and moved so he could be in front of Malfoy. This took the other man by surprise and glared back at him.

"Look just get a drink with me."

"No."

"It's not a choice."

"You can't force me."

"I'll pay you."

"I don't take bribes."

"Whore."

"Prat."

"Just one drink."

Malfoy continued glaring at Harry then sighed.

"Fine. Just one drink though, so you can stop talking to me."