Draco Malfoy left his lover's flat (ex-lover his mind corrected) in some disgust. It wasn't necessarily the ending of the love affair that bothered Draco, but more the parting words. "It's like you're not here!" Steven had accused. Draco had gestured around them, "I'm here now, aren't I?" Thinking back, Draco heard the falseness in his voice and inwardly shook his head at the memory. Steven's blue eyes had narrowed. "Emotionally, Draco. It's like you're emotionally absent." Draco hadn't meant to, but he had laughed. "What am I supposed to be emotionally connected to? You? This was just a passing fling, Steven. You knew that, I knew that." There had been a moment of shocked silence between them. Draco knew he'd gone to far, but it wasn't in his nature to back down, so he folded his arms across his chest and waited. Waited for the inevitable. It only took ten seconds, a new record. Steven walked briskly to the coat hanger by the door and grabbed a thick black jacket and a scarf off the pegs, throwing them roughly to Draco, hoping the blonde would drop them and be forced to bend down. But Draco was ready, his reflexes quick; he grabbed both garments midair, with a challenging lift to his brow. Steven opened the door, "I think you should go." He didn't look at Draco and for a moment, for the briefest moment, Draco wanted to apologize, but the moment was gone and the words never passed his lips. He had shrugged into his jacket, wrapped his scarf around his neck and left.

And that was what brought him walking about the streets on an early January morning in muggle London. The city was already awake, despite the clammy chill that hung in the air. The traffic came and went, pausing for the traffic lights. People rushed to and fro, some talking on their phones, some talking to their friends, others, like him, had their head downs. Draco liked living in muggle London. He liked not being instantly recognizable by his blond hair alone. He liked the distance from the Wizarding World. Naming all the reasons were moot; Draco had turned his back and had never looked back. A brisk wind sent a shiver through Draco's spine and he cleared his thoughts. Enough introspection for one day, he decided. What he really wanted was a cup of coffee. He looked up, brushing his blond hair out of his eyes, scanning around until he spotted a coffee shop on a corner, about a block away.

The aroma of coffee hit him as he entered the door and he took a deep breath, nodding absently as a few workers shouted "Mornin'!" It was a pleasant little shop. Four or five tables lined the windows, giving the patrons a view of the people passing on the street. A few tables were occupied, but Draco eyed a comfortable looking spot in the corner. He ordered a flat white and a newspaper, careful to count the money, which was so different from the knuts and galleons he was raised on. Content for the moment, Draco leaned against the wall, opened his paper and was about to sip his coffee when he heard an incredulous, "Draco Malfoy." Standing at the counter, shock evident on his face, was a person Draco had never wanted to see again. He was older, thinner, and the glasses were gone, but there was no mistaking the green eyes or the lightning shaped scar barely visible through a messy fringe. Draco took a deep breath, "Harry Potter," he finally managed to draw out the name.

The tension between them was thick, enough for the muggles to turn around in their seats and glance anxiously at them. That was nothing new. It seemed wherever or whenever he and Potter met there was a spectacle, what was new was Draco's desire to avoid a scene. He noticed Harry's knuckles were clinched and white. "What are you doing here?"

Draco folded his paper and help up his coffee cup, "Same as you, I'd imagine, Potter. Coffee." He sipped his drink, ignoring the fact that it was still too hot.

The brunet glared, "But why here, Malfoy. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off tormenting something?"

Well that stung. He felt an angry blush creeping on his face. Six years he had avoided his past, six years he had been living peacefully and respectfully amongst the muggles, and now Harry Potter was invading his peace; shattering it with accusations that shouldn't bother him so much. Except that it was Potter saying them. Potter was always able to get under his skin. Draco sneered, "Shouldn't you be off burying someone. Do people still have a knack of dying around you?" He knew he shouldn't have said anything, knew he should have listened to that tiny voice that said, leave well enough alone, but too late now. A flash of anger on Potter's face was the only warning Draco had before the other man charged him, punching him squarely on the mouth.

The coffee shop erupted into a panic as the two men brawled in the corner. The two were throwing equal punches, landing on each other's faces and shoulders. The table flipped over, coffee and newspaper pitched in the air. The people in the shop were shouting now, threatening to call the police. Draco's reasoning mind caught up with him. "Potter." Draco dodged a blow to his chin and pushed the other man away. Oddly, Draco was feeling rather calm at the moment. His lip was most definitely busted, he could taste blood on his tongue, and his left eye was throbbing, but he was calm. "Wait, Potter." Draco held up his hands, a defensive posture that caught Potter off guard. Potter had a bleeding nose and a swollen eye as well, and suddenly the whole fight seemed so absurd that Draco began to laugh. After a moment, Potter joined in the laughter. He stood, brushing coffee and napkins off his jeans. "Dammit Malfoy, you prat," Draco laughed harder. There wasn't any real menace to Potter's voice, but Draco was still shocked when Potter extended a hand to him, helping him off the floor.

The two looked around at the mess they had made. Potter had the decency to look abashed. Several patrons had their hands over their mouths, shocked at the fight. The workers glared at them. "Well, damn," Potter said softly and with regret, "I really liked this place too."

Draco raised an eyebrow and reached into an inside jacket pocket, discreetly pulling out his wand. "If you clean up, I'll change their memories," he offered. It was more than just a casual suggestion, it was an olive branch.

"We can't do that, Malfoy." Potter paused, bending down to where Draco just noticed an ankle wand holster. "Can we?" Potter seemed unsure, holding his wand out of sight of the other people in the shop. If they were going to act, it had to be now, before anyone left.

The idea of doing something so scandalous with none other than Harry Potter was too much for Draco's vain ego. He shrugged, gave a small grin and began a wordless spell to alter the memories of all those in the shop. He felt, rather than saw, Potter weave his own spell. After a few moments the coffee shop was returned to its pre-fight condition. Draco glanced about him and noticed the blank faces on the workers and the patrons, impressed with his work.

"Confundus?" Potter asked, replacing his wand.

"Modified Memory Charm."

"Oh." He met Draco's gaze, wincing at the damage done to his face. "C'mon, let's get out of here." Draco motioned wordlessly between them. "Yeah, healing magic isn't really my forte," Potter gestured to their faces a little sheepishly, "but I have something that will help." Potter held his arm out, swallowing hard, expectant. Malfoy hesitated, but firmly grasped Potter's wrist, closing his eyes as the familiar pull of side apparition hit him.

Harry handed a healing poultice to Malfoy as well as a bag of ice wrapped in a towel. They were at Harry's flat, a few blocks away from the coffee shop. It was odd now, to be in the company of Malfoy. Just moments ago he had been fighting the blonde man, relishing in each blow that hit, but somewhere in their fistfight, Harry realized he wasn't really fighting Malfoy. He was fighting against everything Malfoy had ever stood for; pure-bloods, wizards, rituals, a life that he had done his best to forget. Seeing Malfoy had brought long simmering emotions to boil until it had exploded like a potion gone wrong in a cauldron. When Malfoy stopped fighting and started laughing, Harry had to laugh too. Harry wasn't normally one to hold a grudge; hadn't even known he was holding one, but all his anger seemed to have left him, maybe transferred to the bloody lip and swollen eye of his one time enemy. One time, because Harry oddly didn't feel any animosity toward Malfoy.

Draco dropped casually on a beige couch, leaning against the armrest. He stretched out, but kept his feet off the couch; he wasn't a barbarian after all. The poultice stung where Draco applied it and then instantly went cool as the medicine activated. He applied some to his split lip and eyebrow, noting that Potter was also tending to his wounds. The flat was nice, Draco admitted to himself. Bright, clean, modern, rather spacious, and quiet. Oddly quiet. Draco leaned his head back on the armrest and placed the ice pack on his eye. "So where are the kids? Out with the missus?"

Harry frowned at the man lying so casually in his living room. At first, Harry thought Malfoy was asking to be cruel, but there was none of the snide, spiteful drawl he had come to associate with the Malfoys. Just an honest curiosity. Harry sat opposite Malfoy in his favorite recliner. Where to start, he thought sourly. "No...no children."

Malfoy's eyebrows lifted, but his eyes remained closed. "Really? I would have thought to see a dozen red-haired Weasley descendants by now."

Harry felt his face go red. He really hadn't talked about his split with Ginny Weasley to anyone, even though it was years ago; it felt strange and alien to be having this conversation with Malfoy, yet Harry found himself answering anyway. "Ginny and I, well, we broke up a year ago."

Draco did open his eyes at that, looking sideways to see Harry rocking in a chair. A thousand different thoughts went through Draco's mind, mostly in regards to how much he hated that family and yet for the first time in a long time Malfoy listened to that voice that urged him to be careful what he said. So, he didn't throw any insults, didn't make any platitudes, but he did smile slyly. "I bet Ronald Weasley threw a fit."

"Pretty spectacularly," Harry answered honestly. Ron was still one of his best mates, but his answer to breaking it off with Ginny was a sore spot. "He actually tried to jinx me."

"Really?" Malfoy sounded impressed. When no more information seemed forthcoming, he prodded, "And?"

"And he missed," Harry sighed, "Actually, it bounced off an anti-jinx ward I had on." Malfoy looked like he was trying to hold in a laugh and Harry smiled at the memory. "He had tried some sort of inflation hex," now Malfoy was laughing, "when it backfired he swelled up, like a balloon." In all honesty, it had taken a couple of months for he and Ron to return to speaking terms. It was all in the past now, and it helped to laugh at it, even if it was with Draco Malfoy of all people. They slipped into a companionable silence. Harry kept waiting for some ugly emotion to rear its head, for more accusations to fly, for the arguing to start, for them both to continue the pattern that had for so many years defined their childhood. Yet nothing came. Malfoy seemed content to sit in silence and not pester Harry. That was a new experience. It seemed every time he met someone from the Wizarding World they asked him a litany of questions: What has he done since defeating You Know Who being the most asked. But nothing from Malfoy. Either the other man didn't care or already knew. After a while, Harry decided to ask Malfoy a question of his own. "So, how about you? Married? Have any progeny?"

Malfoy snorted, "Hardly. In fact, I had just been thrown out this morning." He sat up, taking the ice pack off his face, a strange vulnerability in his eyes that Harry rarely saw. "I shouldn't have said what I did to you, at the coffee shop. I was having a rotten morning, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry for that."

Harry was speechless. Malfoy from his past had never ever apologized. It was difficult to reconcile the Malfoy he knew from the Malfoy that was in front of him. But then, maybe they just grew up. Harry smiled, "Thanks. I didn't mean to hit you so hard." Malfoy waved away Harry's concern and laid his head back. A clock in the hall struck nine and Harry got to his feet. Only nine in the morning and yet his world was very different than he thought it would be. He didn't expect to see Draco Malfoy, of all people, drinking coffee in a muggle shop, didn't expect to physically fight said Malfoy, and certainly didn't expect for him to be recuperating in his flat. Strange day, and strange that he wasn't as bothered by Malfoy's presence as he thought he would be. Harry made his way into the kitchen, stomach rumbling and grabbed ingredients to make breakfast for two.

By the time the sausage was done, and the eggs fried, and the beans warm, Malfoy appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Are you cooking?"

"Just finished." Harry wiped his hands on a towel, waved a wand so the dishes would wash and motioned Malfoy to follow him to a small table in the corner, each hand balancing a plate as if he had done it a thousand times. "Have a seat and bon appetit."

Malfoy gave him a strange look before sitting down. Two glasses appeared, full of sparkling wine, and he raised the flute, "Cheers."

Draco pushed open the door to his factory shop and shrugged out of his coat, mind still turning over and over from the strange events of the morning. He absently minded waved greetings to workers as he made his way downstairs to his office. On the way he passed several new designs in various stages of completion; a half finished men's suit, three wedding dresses, and several formal wear that all had to be completed before the Fashion Weeks. So much work to do, so little time. Draco sighed as he entered his office, pushing the red button on the voicemail. Muggles, he had found out surprised, had many ways to cope for their lack of magic; electricity being the main one. Draco dropped into his leather chair and brushed his fingers through his hair listening to the messages. A few were from fabric vendors and Draco jotted down the messages and numbers to return their calls later. He looked at the calendar on the wall. There was still time. He had never missed a deadline, much to the shock and surprise of the fashion industry. How such a small firm managed to keep up with the demand and quality aggravated some of Draco's competition. A small smile played on his lips. Of course, they didn't have magic to assist them. Draco had been taught to take advantage of any situation he could to succeed in life. Though he consciously made it a point to ignore most of his upbringing in the muggle world, that was one lesson that he had taken to heart.

"Hey Drake," one of Draco's assistants knocked briefly and stuck his head in. Brian Weston was one of the lead designers and partner for Drake Black Designs, and Draco's best friend. He was short and skeletal thin, from smoking too many cigarettes a day and from living up to the impossible standard gay men had in high society London. Draco waved him in. "We're missing a batch of cloth for the Genessy Affair."

"I just got their call. It should be in by noon." Draco replied lightly. "Baring's is running a little later than usual. Go down to their shop tomorrow if the lace isn't in by then."

"Sure," Brain hesitated a second, then smiled broadly. "Since when do you take delays so well?" His eyebrows shot up and down suggestively perhaps just noticing the slightly swollen lip Draco was spouting and mistaking its origins. "Have a good night?"

Draco pointed to the door, "Out." He tried to keep his face straight, but his lips were turned slightly up. For anyone else it wouldn't have been recognizable, but Brian knew him well.

"A good morning, then?" Brian was backing out of the office, dramatically pausing at the door. "Do tell."

"Out."

Brain laughed, "You're no fun, Drake."

Draco rolled his eyes. His office was at the end of the hall and with no one around he spared a bit of magic to close to his door. For a moment he had nothing to accomplish and his mind wandered back to his very surreal breakfast with Harry Potter.

"This is pretty good," Draco offered as he took another bite of his eggs.

"Thanks. I should be 'pretty good' at it by now." Potter responded with a bit of edge to his voice, "I've been making breakfast since I was eight."

"Come off it." Draco had never prepared any of his food until he decided to live with the muggles. To think of eight year old spoiled Draco making breakfast was laughable.

Potter shrugged. "It's true. I did the cooking and cleaning for my aunt and uncle up until Sixth year maybe."

Draco was a little shocked and scandalized. He may have had his differences with Harry Potter, but he was still the Boy Who Lived... relegated to the level of servant? Impossible. A little of his disbelief must have showed on his face because Potter laughed. "Shocking, isn't it?" He echoed Draco's thought.

They had continued eating for a few moments before Potter put his fork down. "When was the last time we ate together, Malfoy? Do you remember?"

"We never ate together, Potter, but" he continued before Potter could clarify. Draco knew what he meant, "It must have been Sixth Year…" A deadly silence fell over them and that awful tension from the coffee shop returned. Draco had a distinct feeling that they were standing at a precipice. On one side was their past, awful and dark and dreary. Full of pain and anger, and adolescence. One wrong push would undo everything they had accomplished this morning. On the other side was something equally terrifying, but for the opposite reasons. It was the unknown. There was a feeling of freedom and liberation on that side of the cliff. So the moment of truth then. Did Draco let himself slip backwards, as he so often did in times of trials, or did he move forward? Potter's green eyes were watching him, warily, and...hopeful? Eleven year old Draco suddenly reared its head. He had wanted to be friends with Potter years ago, before the animosity, before the War, before everything they were interfered. Was it possible to ignore all that, and start a new? Draco had never seen himself as brave, but he took a deep breath, putting the fork he hardly remembered holding down. "I think," he started slowly, "that if we are to continue this association," Draco waved as if he was trying to come up with a better word and failed, "there are certain subjects that need, no, must be left alone."

He thought Potter would object, saw the recognizable defiance on his face before it suddenly smoothed over, replaced with a thoughtfulness that matched his own. "I think," Potter echoed quietly, "You're probably right." He paused, "It goes against my better nature though, not to address something that is bothering me."

Draco laughed, "I wonder you don't get into more fights then."

Potter was about to take offense, but realized he wasn't being serious. Potter grinned, "You're a special case, Malfoy."

And then they were both laughing again. Not a forced laughter, not contrived, but genuine laughter. Sometime later Potter's clock in the all chimed again. "Is that ten then," Draco had lost count.

"Eleven," Potter had replied.

"Bugger," Draco had lost track of time. He pushed away from the table. "I'll be late to work."

Potter's eyes had widened. "Draco Malfoy works?"

"Yes, you git." Draco grabbed his coat and scarf and headed for Potter's door, hand lingering on the knob for a moment. "Thanks for breakfast, Potter." He went through the door, "It's been...surreal."

Potter leaned against his door frame, grinning like an idiot. "Sure." Draco had turned to leave, when Potter had called out his name. "Hey Malfoy?" He had half turned, indicating he was listening. "Want to have coffee tomorrow? Same place, same time? Without a scene this time?"

Draco's mind had almost shattered. It was one thing for he and Potter to have a strange day together, but two? He didn't know what else to say, except somehow the words, "It would be my pleasure," slipped off his tongue. Before Potter said anything else, Draco had disapparated away.

And now he was at work. He glanced down at his glass desk top. Nothing had changed physically to his reflection. He still looked like Draco Malfoy. White blonde hair, a little too long in the front, but short in the back. Pale skin, light grey eyes. He touched his lip. He still felt like Draco Malfoy. So, why did everything feel so different.