Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Note: Written for the Territories Challenge (prompt: Madam Malkin's).

Taking a Hand

When Harry had first walked into Madam Malkin's with hopes of receiving a temporary job, he had not expected to see Narcissa Malfoy manning the front. In fact, she was quite possibly the person he least expected to see working at a shop in Hogsmeade. Although he did concede that it was a step better than working at, say, the Hogshead. A decent place, but perhaps the grimy atmosphere and overall lack of proper hygiene wasn't up to the high, tasteful standards of elevated societal members like the Malfoy family.

After informing Mrs. Malfoy of his situation, she regarded him with an unreadable look before going to the back, presumably to get Madam Malkin. An informal interview later that mostly consisted of the owner testing Harry's knowledge of sewing and cloth, which is largely attributed to his childhood at the Durseleys; Aunt Petunia often handed him articles of clothes to patch up holes and such. It was deemed as a "girly" activity, and Dudley did not hesitate to remind him of that. And if Harry only loosely sewed his cousin's trousers so that unsightly tears would occur. Well, that could hardly be blamed on Harry.

With a new job and a reminder to come to work the following week at 8 a.m., he left the shop, again wondering why Narcissa Malfoy was working there. After the war, it was true that the Malfoy name lost standing and prestige in certain circles, but with Harry's input at the trial, their reputation was still intact. He wondered how Draco was doing before his plans with Hermione and Ron occupied his thoughts.

The next week, Harry arrived a few minutes before his designated shift, and Madam Malkin handed him his uniform: a fitted pea green pinstriped vest with soft magenta pink accents. His name was neatly embroidered in golden flowing script on the left breast. As long as he wore dark colored trousers, anything would do.

As he buttoned the vest, Madam Malkin guided him to the backroom and instructed him to unload the boxes of cloths and separate them into labeled piles. For the next few weeks, he spent the majority of his time back there, sometimes organizing, sometimes creating new designs. He preferred the backroom and usually left the front for Narcissa to tend to. Although she often received a few curious glances and double takes, it was nothing compared to the awe-filled gazes and star-struck gaping that the customers adopted when Harry Potter walked up to assist them. Word got around fast, and soon, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was booming with business as everyone hustled and bustled about, trying to get a glimpse of the Savior. This was the reason he retreated to the back where non-employees were warded off.

Many people questioned his choice of occupation, expecting him to join the Aurors after graduation. For a while, Harry himself expected to do just that, but then he thought about it some more. Really thought about it. And he couldn't bring himself to join. When Ron threw himself enthusiastically and vigorously into the training program, Harry just watched and wished him luck.

Narcissa was quite possibly his favorite co-worker, or rather one he got along well with. Not that he disliked the others, just that they all tended to look at him with varying degrees of hero worship in their eyes. He and Narcissa, however, had a sort of quiet understanding, a camaraderie that stemmed from their interaction back in the Forbidden Forest when she lied to Voldemort for him. On the whole, they didn't speak to each other often but working alongside each other was a familiar, comforting task. An unexpected companionship, but not an unwelcome one.

"Harry," Narcissa called, peeking into the backroom where he paused in opening a bag of black buttons. It was one of their slower days, and Harry was in his usual station and the other worker, a nice if a bit gossipy girl working part time, was stocking the racks.

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"I need to assist Madam Malkin with an important order she's working on. Draco is coming in soon for a robe fitting. Could you oversee it?"

He knew why she was asking him. The other co-worker present was too inexperienced to start fitting customers, and Harry had a firm belief that Narcissa was aware of the old school rivalry between him and her son. He knew she wouldn't ask this of him unless she really was preoccupied.

Harry only hesitated for a second. "Yes, of course, I can do it."

He set down the bag of buttons, mentally preparing himself as he made his way to the front of the store. A part of him wanted to just tuck tail and make a tactical retreat but the other part of him was morbidly curious about how the event would play out. He didn't have to wait long.

The Malfoy heir strolled in, the arrogant swagger replaced by a humbling confidence. His chin was tilted slightly upwards but he was no longer looking down at people. Instead, he was looking at them head on. He carried himself as the Head of his family, a title he earned after his father's sentence to Azkaban.

Malfoy wasn't surprised to see him there. Narcissa must have told him about his occupation; and if not her, the Prophet always made sure to blast everything they found out or "found out" about him on their front pages.

Harry gave a polite smile, gesturing for him to step up on the elevated stand in front of the mirrors. Malfoy nodded at him in greeting and followed his unspoken instruction.

The fitting was a quiet affair. No words were exchanged besides soft commands from Harry, and he was only slightly disappointed. He didn't know what he was expecting, but the almost civil silence wasn't it. The Malfoy he had known all his life wouldn't miss a chance to make spiteful jabs and jeers at him. It was disconcerting in all honesty. But people changed. He knew Malfoy changed; he even expected him to change after all he's been through, after all they've been through.

It was just different, at odds with what he knew.

Harry instructed him to lift his arms, and with a flick of his wand, he wordlessly conjured a measuring tape that quickly flittered about Malfoy's tense form, recording his measurements.

And what better way to meet up with his old rival than this place here. At Madam Malkin's. The place where all those years ago Harry met Malfoy for the first time. He didn't think that the bratty child getting his Hogwarts robes fitted would have such a profound impact on his life. This was when Harry decided he would avoid Malfoy, even before he insulted Ron. Back when Malfoy insulted Hagrid, his first friend. What would have happened if Harry had accepted Malfoy's hand of friendship?

"And you're done," Harry said, taking a step back. "I'll give the measurements to your mother, if that's all right?"

"Yes, that's fine," Malfoy said, stepping down from the stand. "Thank you."

"No problem."

With a final nod, Malfoy made to exit the shop, but Harry cleared his throat, stopping the Slytherin from walking away. The blond raised an eyebrow, giving him a questioning look.

Harry extended his hand, hoping he understood. Gray eyes widened, a disbelieving expression on his face. Harry kept his face as earnest and sincere as possible, urging him to take it as it is: an apology, a hope for a better future together.

And Draco took his hand.