Draco always ran his errands the exact same way. First to Flourish and Blotts to read up on the latest research into magic, then to some only half-shady places on Knockturn Alley for potions ingredients, to the potions shop on Diagon Alley for the rest of his potions ingredients, possibly into Quality Quidditch for a new broom or some such, into Gringotts to place any leftover money into his vault, and finally into Florean Fortescue's for some ice cream. The thing he loved about Florean Fortescue's was that each serving of ice cream was perfect for exactly one person – the person purchasing it. No two ice creams looked the same, and no two ice creams tasted the same. Even identical twins had different ice creams, if only slightly. Draco's was a relatively pleasant whitish color at the top and faded, near the bottom, to a cacophonic rainbow. It tasted of dark chocolate with a slight hint of chili pepper and – of all things – a tiny dash of orange. He wouldn't have picked it out of a lineup to taste, but once he'd tasted it, he never wanted any other flavour ever again.
Two years after the war saw Draco leaving Flourish and Blotts with his nose stuck in a recent release about some theories as to what made magic work. He was so absorbed in what he was reading that he ran headlong into a figure staring into the window of Quality Quidditch. Caught off-guard, Draco immediately lowered the book and offered a hand to help up the person he'd knocked over. "I'm so terribly sorry for—oh," he started, interrupting himself as he saw who it was he was helping up. "It's you, Potter. Watch yourself next time." He saw in the other male's face a sort of disconnect, as if he couldn't believe that Draco was actually being polite for once, that faded when Draco's sneer returned in both his voice and his facial expression.
"Draco," Harry said, feeling strange over the fact that he was past all pretense of hostility. "It's been a while since I've seen you. Two years, I think." In fact, Draco himself felt strange keeping up the pretense of hostility, but he didn't want to continue this conversation. Hogwarts was the one thing he absolutely did not want to think about or remember, so the hostility was necessary. He didn't want the memories coming back and overwhelming him again.
"Not long enough, I say," the blond hissed, hating himself for saying it but knowing it was necessary on more than one level. He wasn't that person anymore, the one who snapped at people and got everything he wanted and pushed people around, but if he had to erect a wall of hostility to protect himself, he had to do it. "Watch yourself from now on, will you, Potter?" That said, Draco shoved past the Boy Who Lived and made his way to Knockturn Alley to finish his errands. Harry stared after Draco, wishing he could know what was going on in the youngest Malfoy's mind.
After a few moments wondering, Harry turned back to the window of Quality Quidditch and the latest model Firebolt just behind the glass. He stared for a few minutes more before going inside to buy it, getting distracted by just about everything inside: Gloves, boots, padding, helmets, practice Snitches and quaffles and bludgers. A couple of hours had passed by the time he actually got to the counter to pay for his new broom, and the clerk took another five minutes just groveling and sniveling to the Boy Who Lived. Harry was used to it, but that didn't mean that he liked the simpering and the attention. He decided, when he left the shop, to get some ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, to calm himself after the shopkeeper had grated his nerves. He went into the ice cream shop, ignoring the outdoor seating for the time being, and quickly ordered and paid for his ice cream. Whitish at the perfectly domed top, the ice cream faded to a rainbow of colors at the bottom and tasted of chocolate with chili pepper and a dash of orange, just the same as Draco Malfoy's, though he didn't know it.
The sun was suddenly blinding when Harry left the ice cream shop to sit outside, though after a moment Harry realized it wasn't the sun, but its reflection off the pale blond locks of one Draco Malfoy, with whom Harry wished to reconnect. Sure, Ron and Hermione were still very good friends, but aside from them and the rest of the Weasley clan, Harry had no contact with anyone from Hogwarts. He wanted to know how Draco had fared after the war, after school, even if Draco insisted on being hostile, so he smiled and walked over to where the youngest Malfoy was sitting. "Is this seat taken, or may I sit with you?" he asked politely, trying to make a good impression. He didn't notice the other male's ice cream just then.
"I suppose you may, if you insist upon stalking me, Potter," Draco said, his eyes falling on the Gryffindor's ice cream instead of his face. He was struck by how similar – how identical – their ice creams looked. Not just a little similar. The two servings looked exactly the same, and it unnerved Draco a bit, made him forget that he was supposed to be driving this harbinger of memories away. He heard his voice speaking before he fully realized he was speaking: "Harry, do you notice anything odd about your ice cream in comparison to mine?" Harry blinked a couple of times, looked from his own ice cream to Draco's and back again, then sat down heavily, his new broom almost falling loudly to the ground.
"They look identical," Harry said, carefully placing his brand new Firebolt on the ground next to his seat. "Completely identical. I've never heard of that happening before."
"It is quite curious," Draco agreed, taking a bite of his own heavenly ice cream and remembering his need for hostility. "Is there a reason you happen to be stalking me, Potter?"
"I just wanted to catch up with someone from Hogwarts, from the last time I felt like a normal human being in any capacity," Harry admitted, staring into the ice cream he'd just begun to eat; because of this distraction, he didn't notice that Draco's entire body stiffened at the word "Hogwarts".
"If you so wish to connect, I must ask that you not mention our schooling or the war," Draco said, taking a spoonful of ice cream that he suddenly didn't want to eat. Harry looked up from his own ice cream, slightly startled by the morose tone of Draco Malfoy's usually-haughty voice. He felt suddenly very, very guilty, though he couldn't understand why.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was a sore spot for you," the dark-haired male half-whispered, not wanting to drive away this potential friend. "Tell me what happened to you after the…well, since we lost track of each other's lives."
"My parents are…gone, I sold Malfoy Manor, and I'm living in a flat just off Diagon Alley which I purchased outright with a small portion of the proceeds of selling the Manor," Draco rattled off, stating simple facts. The circumstances of his parents being gone – his father dead, his mother in Azkaban for life, with a single complicated mess surrounding both – was a memory that Draco lumped together with Hogwarts, in a box somewhere in the back of his mind labeled "DANGER: DO NOT OPEN". "I work a couple days a week at St. Mungo's, helping build up their stocks of potions, sometimes providing emergency doses of potions not normally kept in their stock, like Liquid Luck or a particularly strong sleeping draught." Harry had frozen with his spoon halfway to his mouth, laden with ice cream, when Draco had said the elder Malfoys were gone. He didn't know exactly what that meant, but he could guess.
"God…I'm sorry, Draco," he gasped out, putting his spoon back in the dish. "I didn't realize…I wouldn't have asked…" Draco waved a hand. He'd decided to be civil, at least minimally.
"It's alright. You didn't know," the blond assuaged, taking a spoonful of ice cream and eating it instead of abandoning it like he had the last. "What about yourself? How have you and…Miss Weasley been faring?" He wanted to say the girl's name, but he couldn't recall it and he didn't dare try to think back to a time when he'd have heard it. Harry seemed to grow uncomfortable.
"We broke up a year and a half ago," the brunette sighed, looking off to the sidewalk. "It just wasn't working out. As for work, I wanted to be an Auror, but…it didn't quite work out. I've been taking odd jobs as I can get them." Draco raised an eyebrow at this. Harry Potter, unable to become an Auror? It was unthinkable. Inconceivable, even.
"What happened that you're not an Auror?" Draco asked, very curious. Everyone at Hogwarts knew it was Harry Potter's dream to be an Auror, and even the media had picked up on it.
"Ginny talked me out of it, and I haven't quite talked myself back into it yet," Harry admitted sheepishly, and Draco's eyebrows drew together in a look that said he was scheming something.
"I could get you a job at St. Mungo's with me, which would get you a good recommendation for the Ministry, and from there it would just be a matter of getting your confidence in the profession back up," the youngest surviving Malfoy said, surprising the both of them with his offer of kindness. They both blinked a couple times before recovering their faculties.
"That would be wonderful," Harry said, meeting Draco's silvery eyes fully for the first time that day. Draco was staring back into Harry's green eyes, and that eye contact was almost too much for Draco to handle; it reminded him so fully of Hogwarts that he had to look away almost immediately, though he felt guilty for doing so and tentatively looked back up to meet Harry Potter's haunted yet startlingly clear gaze. "What would I be doing?" Draco shrugged.
"Most likely helping myself and a couple of others with potions," he said, taking bite of ice cream. "The recipes are readily available at the hospital, in case you need them, and the rest of us would be more than willing to help you if you need it. The next time I go in I'll see what I can do for you."
"Thank you, Draco," Harry replied, smiling, and he really did mean it, strange as the sentence felt on his lips and in his throat. "I'm living in a flat near here as well; would you like to come over for some tea?" Draco shook his head, though he wanted to accept.
"I don't think that would be the best idea. I'll owl you once I've worked something out at St. Mungo's for you," the blond replied, doing his best to finish up his ice cream. It wasn't melting, but he felt the need to get home as soon as possible. He hated to rush when eating, but he needed to get home. He didn't quite fully understand why, but he had an idea that was only marginally correct. He politely excused himself, returned his empty dish to the girl at the counter inside, and made his way back to his own flat, where he made himself tea and sat down in the plush black armchair in his living room, trying to focus on the present instead of letting the past swell up and wash over him.