Draco apparates to an alley in the Westminster borough of London. Harry was let into Ian's wards but his magic is still bound. It's fine, he doesn't mind picking up Ian. Mrs. Goyle is always so amenable to the needs of Greg's friends. She truly is a wonderful woman. He'll pick up Ian, apparate back to the Goyle's and floo to France. Kyle wanted to come with but Potter said no. That in itself is weird, out of the two of them he gives in to their son much more than he does.
He looks down at the directions and address Potter gave him, it's only a couple blocks. He treats him like he's never been in muggle London before. He even tried to make him change his clothing. As if he's going to meet Ian's parents in a hoodie and jeans, and that jacket. Please! Potter wasn't even in the military, he has no right wearing that jacket; and he sure as hell isn't going to wear that thrift store find. And yes, he knows what a thrift store is, thank you very much.
Fucking street trash are talking to him. Draco glares at the youth trying to sell him drugs. Does he look like a man that's going to buy crack? Do crackheads wear £4,000.00 coats? Answer, no they do not. Not even new crackheads. Cocaine is for the people in £4,000.00 coats and good cocaine, not street corner cocaine. Do they think he's a mark? He's not.
"I'm talkin' to you." A man grabs his shoulder.
Draco spins, glaring at the dirty person, how dare he. They always said that his eyes were expressive, let this piece of shit see what he's thinking, "Fucking touch me again, and I'll slice that hand off and shove it up your ass." He snarls taking a step closer, "Fuck off." He spins back around ignoring the trash, brushing at his shoulder as if he could remove the feel of the man's hand on him.
He stops in front of the building; he checks the paper again before slipping it into his pocket. There are three youths hanging out in front of the door.
"Would you look at this shit." Youth one, a Spanish child leaking magic.
Draco steps toward the door, looking for the buzzer, unit 4C.
"Fancy bloke's ignoring you, Toby." A tall black youth in the same atrocious military jacket Harry wears steps up to close ranks with his shorter friend. These children can't be any older then Steadforth and only half as smart.
"Maybe he's a social worker or some shit." A dark-haired youth stands from sitting against the door.
"If I was a fucking social worker, I'd be here with The Met rounding all you waste of spaces up and sending you off to juvie. Now get out of the fucking way, I have no time for your bullshit and even less inclination." Draco steps forward, "Move!"
"Alright, man, shit. Don't get all ass sore on our account." The dark-haired youth answers, making some hand movement that sends the other two off to the sidewalk.
Draco pushes the buzzer.
"Yeah?"
"Tell Ian Steadforth that Draco Malfoy is here, and to buzz me up." He crosses his arms looking at the three youths. "If you try anything, fucktard," He points at the youth named Toby, the one leaking magic, "I'll bind your core so strong that all you'll be able to do is pull goddamn scarves from your fucking sleeves."
"I wasn't. I wouldn't." He puts his hands up.
"You shouldn't use tard, asshole." The tall black youth sneers.
"Excuse the fuck out of me. Learning social graces from hood kids, wonderful, my day is going perfectly."
"Dickhead." Dark-haired youth smirks, "The door's open, but the elevator's busted."
"Mickey?" Toby stares at him.
"Fuck this prick." Mickey crosses his arms staring back.
Draco pulls the door open, looking for the staircase. Of course, Steadforth would be on the top floor.
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Uncomfortable Truths
FanfictionHogwarts 8th year. This story is a slice of life, showing them grow out of the roles they were placed in while battling the ghosts of their past. Dealing, often poorly, with what life throws at them. Learning to be teenagers instead of soldiers. Ver...
