Harry Potter inspected the quills and placed each carefully chosen one on the counter. He was buying a stack of them as well as rolls and rolls of parchment, flush with the idea that he was venturing on his first year of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The last few years had been terrible. So much death and destruction. But being Year Two A.V. (after Voldemort) things seemed to settle back to normal. Harry never imagined he'd return to Hogwarts after the horrors he witnessed there, but when he was asked by Dumbledore to return (and after Dumbledore's unexpected "resurrection") how could he refuse? Besides, the curse on the position was gone with Voldemort. At least Harry hoped so. The idea of becoming an Auror and continuing the chase just didn't appeal to him anymore. Finding and destroying all the Horcruxes and slaying Voldemort was enough for one lifetime.

He thanked the cashier, a pretty girl who, after her initial shock at realizing who she was serving, winked at him. Harry just smiled a little awkwardly, and left the shop. It was like that all over: either he was mobbed or he'd get little flirtatious gestures from strangers, letters of marriage proposals, and all sorts of strange stuff with owls. It was too bad girls didn't interest him. There just weren't enough wizards brave enough to owl him those kinds of letters, he supposed.

He left Diagon Alley and walked into Muggle London. The streets were safe now that all the Death Eaters had been rounded up. Most of them, anyway.

The air smelled damp with a heavy mist, and rain didn't look too far off. Feeling a chill, he decided to duck into the next tea shop he saw, and there, across the street, was one fit to order. He dashed across the lane, shoes slapping wetly on the paving, and entered the warm shop, inhaling the buttery aroma of freshly baked scones. Shaking out his robe, he knew he must look like an eccentric to the Muggles, but he sometimes felt more at ease in Muggle shops, having been raised one by the Dursleys. He gave his relatives one little thought as he made his way to a table. Funny. He hadn't thought of them in two whole years.

He settled onto a seat and dug for his book in his bookbag, the same old one he had dragged around with him when he was a student at Hogwarts. Buried so deep in the bag, he hadn't noticed the waiter standing over his table waiting for him. He snapped up again, ready to order a pot and some sandwiches when his green eyes locked on ice grey.

They stared at one another, neither saying a word. Harry's urge to grab for his wand was strong, but he deliberately pressed his palms to the table. For his part, the waiter only trembled, his eyes widening, his long blond bangs nearly obscuring those cold eyes. But he didn't retreat, and Harry had to give him credit for that. Ten points to Slytherin, he said in his mind, not daring to say it aloud.

The waiter suddenly scanned the room, no doubt looking for another waiter. He gave Harry one more glare before he hurriedly moved toward the kitchen.

Harry breathed again. That was bloody awkward. And quite an unpleasant surprise. What the hell was Draco Malfoy doing working in a Muggle tea shop?

Harry shifted on his chair. He supposed it was all Malfoy could scrape up after the war. Draco had tried to be a Death Eater, wanted to be, except that he found that it wasn't exactly what he expected. Especially when Voldemort merely wanted to use him and hung the threat of killing his parents over his head if he didn't comply. Harry hated Malfoy at first…before he fully understood his dilemma. Dumbledore made him see it, of course. Dumbledore was always doing that. Harry thought he'd never forgive the old wizard for making him think he was dead, but after a while, Harry saw the necessity of it; the impetus that would put Harry into necessary hunter mode and take him out of the fear of being the hunted. With Dumbledore's protection out of the way-with no one else looking after him-Harry had seen no other choice. And all the while, Dumbledore could work unimpeded for the Order. Crafty, that old man.

He sat at the table a while longer, drumming his fingers. He was really getting quite hungry and wondered if he shouldn't find somewhere else to go, when he heard a commotion at the kitchen door. Two people were yelling, and one of them sounded like Draco. The argument burst through the doors, startling several Muggles nearby. The red-faced older man yelling at Draco was pointing toward the door and telling him in no uncertain terms to get out. Draco briskly untied his apron, heaved it to the floor, and stomped toward the door. He shot a last scathing look at Harry before he roughly pushed the door opened and slammed it behind him.

Uh oh. Harry leapt up, strode across the shop, and yanked open the door. He caught sight of Draco disappearing around the corner just as the sky let loose with a torrent of freezing rain. Harry lifted his cloak's hood over his head and trotted after.

"Malfoy! Wait up!"

Draco turned once to glare at Harry and hurried his pace. He wore no jacket or cloak and he was quickly getting soaked. "Sod off, Potter! You are the last person I want to see."

"You look like a drowned rat, Malfoy. At least use a drying charm."

Draco halted abruptly and Harry had to dig in his heels to avoid colliding with him. "A drying charm? Now just how the hell am I supposed to do that?"

Harry forgot. He had been at Malfoy's trial when they broke his wand and forbade him from obtaining another. Harry thought at the time it had been fair, especially because Malfoy had willingly joined the Death Eaters while he was still a student at Hogwarts. But it quickly became apparent to the Wizengamot that Draco was coerced into joining; coerced in the worst possible way into plotting to kill the headmaster and had wanted to leave the Death Easters almost the moment he discovered just what was expected. But it didn't excuse his behavior. At least he hadn't been sent to Azkaban.

Harry didn't answer. Draco sneered and turned away again and stomped hurriedly down the street. Unable to stop himself, Harry followed, but at a distance this time. "Stop following me, Potter!" Draco cast over his shoulder.

Harry ignored him and kept pace, even as the grey shadows fell. The rain made it darker, blurring the streets in washes of blues and dusky greens. Draco hurried his pace, obviously trying to lose Harry, when Draco unaccountably slowed and then finally came to a stop. His shoulders slumped. Without turning around, he said in a strangely defeated voice, "Potter, can't you leave me alone? There's really not much left to hex. And it's your bloody fault I just lost my damned job."

"I didn't-"

"I wasn't about to serve you. And that bloody Muggle wasn't taking my refusal. He can keep his crap job." Draco began to shiver and Harry made a quick non-verbal warming charm over him. Draco turned, his grey eyes blazing in the dim light. "Keep your damned charm. I don't want it."

"Look, Malfoy, I'm sorry about the job. I never knew you were working there-"

"Of course you didn't. Who cares? Now sod off!"

He didn't move and neither did Harry. They simply stood in the rain. The drops beat on Harry's hood while Malfoy's hair plastered to his scalp and he blinked away the water from his lashes.

Something about his disheveled appearance disturbed Harry and he thrust his hands deep in his trouser pockets. "My flat isn't too far from here. At least come and wait till the storm is over. Maybe get a bite."

Draco's sneer deepened. "What kind of trick is that? As if I would ever go anywhere with you!"

"It's warm and dry. Don't be an idiot."

"You don't think I have someplace to go?"

Harry shrugged and cast his hands upward. "I don't know. I don't know why I should care. Do what you want, Malfoy." Harry turned and pulled his cloak over his chest.

"Well I don't." Harry stopped. Draco's voice, so strong before, became husky with emotion. "Yes, that's right. How's that for perfect revenge, Harry Potter? The once Prince of Slytherin hasn't got a pot to piss in. I was tossed out this morning. Couldn't make the rent." He spit the rain from his mouth. "And now no job. This must be absolutely perfect for you."

Harry turned back and sighed. "I don't have ill-will for you, Draco. Not anymore. I was at the trial, remember? I know what they did to you. I know what Voldemort threatened."

Draco said nothing more. He clutched his arms and hunched, trying to keep warm. And since Harry removed the warming charm, he began to shiver again.

Harry stepped off the kerb into the street. "The flat's this way," he said, not turning round. He really wasn't certain what Malfoy would decide to do. He walked several yards thinking that this was it. He'd never see Malfoy again. He resisted the urge to look back and after a few more steps smiled when he heard a faint, reluctant step behind him.

* * *

Harry flicked his finger and said a non-verbal Alohomora, and the door clicked open. "Lumos," he said to the room and it instantly lit, revealing one high-ceilinged room with a tall bay window overlooking the rain-sheened street below. A few dirty clothes were scattered about and Harry flicked his hand and they zoomed from their place to retreat to his dresser in the one bedroom. The flat was furnished simply, with a worn leather sofa, a few Muggle lamps changed and enchanted, a table, a disreputable green wing chair, and his Firebolt propped in the corner. The tiny kitchen was open to the rest of the room and was cluttered with dirty mugs and dishes.

"Sorry about the mess," Harry mumbled, heading toward the kitchen. He took out his wand and waved it, and the dishes made their way obediently to the sink where a sponge began to wash them.

Draco still stood in the doorway. He had an uncertain look on his face. For a moment, Harry wasn't sure if he was going to change his mind. He puttered in the kitchen trying to let Draco decide for himself.

Opening a cupboard, Harry rummaged for the tea tin. "Earl Grey okay?" he said behind the door to Draco. "It's all I've got. I have to take a trip to the grocer's."

Draco said nothing. He continued to stand in the doorway, dripping water on the floor.

Harry put a kettle on and stuffed the tea into the brown teapot. He grabbed a loaf from the breadbox and cut a few slices. After ducking into the small fridge he pulled out a wedge of cheese. "Cheese sandwiches are all I have, I'm afraid." He scratched his head and set the wedge on the counter.

"Why are you so pathetic, Potter? You've got the whole Wizarding world at your feet, and you live in this seedy one-room flat. And your larder is empty."

Harry shrugged. "I don't need much. Never went in for all that fancy stuff. And besides, I'm going to be spending most of my years at Hogwarts from now on."

"Oh yes." Draco finally stepped in and lightly closed the door. He was still shivering. "I read about your appointment. Aren't you afraid what happens to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers?"

Harry set to work slicing the cheese and laying it on the slabs of bread. "That was Voldemort's curse. I don't think he's going to be cursing anyone anymore."

Draco shivered. "Oh no?" he said quietly.

Harry looked up. "Sorry. Can I use a drying charm on you now? You're getting my carpet wet."

"My apologies. Wouldn't want to hurt your carpet."

Harry took that as a 'yes' and raised his wand. Draco's clothes and hair were instantly dry, and the blond looked down at himself as if to verify that fact.

Harry realized he was still wearing his robes and he unbuttoned them and hung them on a peg by the door. He gestured to the still standing Draco to take a chair by the kitchen counter and the former Slytherin shuffled to the tall chair and slid his lank frame into it. Out of the mist of the street and in the warmer surroundings of Harry's flat, Harry got a better look at Draco. He didn't look well. There were dark circles under his eyes and the once carefully coifed hair looked like it needed a wash. He looked a lot thinner, too, even frail. Harry wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten properly, and with those thoughts came unbidden feelings that he thought had been long buried. He marveled that Draco could still send a shiver down his spine as he had done when Harry first noticed his feelings for the Slytherin in their fourth year. He shook his head at it. No one at Hogwarts had known that Harry liked boys but he supposed after all that had happened since, no one would care what Harry's preferences were-except of course for all those girls sending him proposals of marriage.

Draco was straight as far as Harry knew. And anyway, it would have been impossible approaching Draco at Hogwarts. The backlash alone would have been intolerable. And now here he was in Harry's flat. Looking right pathetic, true, and a bit helpless which only made him more endearing. But Harry could almost feel the palpable hate emanating off of Malfoy. And now was not the time to test any waters. If ever.

The kettle whistled and Harry busied himself preparing the tea. After he poured the water, he got down two mugs, the sugar bowl, and took out a small carton of milk from the fridge. He opened it and sniffed. "Oh dear. Milk's gone off, I'm afraid. We'll have to go without." He tossed it in the bin and finished making the sandwiches. When he slid the plate toward Malfoy his suspicions were confirmed: Malfoy leapt onto a sandwich and devoured it in a matter of seconds. He reached for a second one without apologies.

Silently, Harry took out the bread again and made a few more slices.

Harry leaned over the counter and bit into his sandwich, alternating between taking sips of tea. He tried not to stare at Draco but he looked and acted so different. I suppose we all went through some changes in the last few years.

Draco seemed to have had his fill and slurped up the tea, grabbing the pot and pouring more. He sat back and sighed, almost comfortable, before he seemed to remember where he was and stiffened again. He stared into his mug. "Thanks, Potter. I…I guess I should be going." He took another log gulp of hot tea which seemed to gird him to brave the rain again and he stood.

Harry glanced at the window. "Draco, it's still raining. There's room here. If you want, you can bunk on the sofa. I'm not here much these days getting things ready at Hogwarts. You're free to stay."

"I've taken enough charity already," he growled. He went to the exit, but Harry swiftly headed him off and pressed his hand to the door.

"Malfoy, you're a bloody mess. Why don't you take a hot bath and think about it?"

"I don't have to think about it. Get out of my way."

"The war is over. It's time to start anew. Get rid of old hatreds."

"Well it isn't over for me. The Wizengamot saw to that."

"What did you expect them to do? Slap your hand and say 'Naughty, Malfoy. Now don't do that again'? You were a Death Eater! You tried to kill-"

"I KNOW!" He spun. "Don't you think I know full well what I did! But my parents-" He slumped again and leaned against the doorframe. "And what did it matter in the end?"

Harry looked at the floor. The raw emotions roiling on Draco's face were hard to take. "I know what it's like to be an orphan," said Harry softly.

"A poor one? Everything was taken by the Ministry. Restitution, they said. That's fine. But what about me? If they wanted me to suffer why didn't they just send me to Azkaban?"

Harry didn't have an answer. He felt a little ashamed of himself. No one had bothered to find out what happened to Draco. Not only was that unkind it was mighty foolish. With his anger and temperament, Draco could have risen as a Dark Wizard. Harry wondered why he hadn't. Instead, Draco had succumbed to his poverty and just resumed a meager existence.

"Look," Harry said carefully. "It's not charity. It's just-two old fr--acquaintances from school catching up. Just take the bath, Malfoy. Take the sofa. There's no reason not to and you've nowhere else to go. Do you really want to spend the night in the rain?"

Draco clenched his teeth and stared at the window. He blinked and Harry could tell that his eyes were glossy. Harry moved away from the door and trudged back to the kitchen. "The bath is through there and there are extra towels. I'll just tidy up in here a bit."

Malfoy stood at the door a long time. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, looked at the door, looked at the window, and then took a deep, shuddering breath. At last, he moved sluggishly toward the bedroom and Harry heard a door close and water running.

* * *

Harry sat with his book but couldn't concentrate on it. Instead, his eyes drifted up toward the window and watched the rain slide down in sheets. The bath had stopped running a while ago but Malfoy hadn't come out. Harry began to wonder if he ever would when the bathroom door creaked open. He ducked into his book again and pretended to be absorbed.

"Well," said Malfoy from the doorway. He looked better, pinker, cleaner, but he was wearing his old, dirty clothes again. "Thanks for the hot water." He glanced at the window and squinted at the heavy rain. His shoulders sagged again.

"Draco, don't go. I told you. The sofa's yours if you want it."

Draco clenched his jaw and turned away. "Why are you doing this?"

"It's what friends do for each other."

"We were never friends, Potter."

"Well maybe it's time we start."

The look in Malfoy's eyes seemed to say "that will be the day", but he didn't move. Harry took that opportunity to go to his wardrobe and drag down an extra blanket and a pillow. He tossed them on the sofa. "If you get up first, put the kettle on," he said, before escaping into his bedroom and closing the door.


On to Chapter Two
"Death Eaters Die Hard"

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