Draco Malfoy tucked his hands into his cloak pockets and kept his head down as he briskly strode up the wet cobblestones of Diagon Alley, a deep scowl on his pale face. He rarely ventured into Diagon anymore but his supplier in France had mistakenly posted his latest order of potion ingredients to the Apothecary at the north end of Diagon Alley instead of to the Westbury location close to his home.
He hated inconveniences and he hated venturing into public places - and unhappily this ticked both boxes; which was why he was frowning in irritation as he pushed through the Apothecary door.
He marched right up to the front counter and snapped at the young shop clerk to fetch him his order straight away.
Draco glanced around as he stood waiting, a sudden feeling of foreboding crawling up the back of his neck; as though someone was watching him.
It didn't take him long to spot the group of three men standing next to the wooden barrel full of eel skins staring openly at him with unguarded hostility.
Draco did his best to appear unfazed as he narrowed his eyes at them before turning back around to wait.
Inside he was begging the shop clerk to hurry the fuck up and bring him his parcel so that he could get out of there. If he'd had the choice he would have sent someone else to pick up his order. As it was, there was only him, and he would have to grin and bear it just this once. And then thoroughly berate his French supplier and demand a discount on his next purchase.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, the young clerk reappeared from the back room and handed over the medium-sized parcel wrapped in brown paper.
Draco quickly scrawled his signature on the parchment the clerk slid across the counter to him and then turned and stalked out as fast as he could, attempting to not look as though he were running away.
Which of course he was.
Life directly after the war hadn't been as awful as he'd expected it to be after the Death Eater trials had concluded; people were wary of him and the Malfoy name but not outright hostile. Yet now, ever since the emergence of that so-called Pureblood Society, Draco had suddenly become a walking target for vigilantes who were convinced that he was connected to it in some way. There were even some ludicrous whispers that he was the original founder of the extremist group.
In truth, Draco wanted no part of that world anymore. Most of his childhood had been an absolute nightmare, his father had perished in Azkaban shortly after the war, and his mother had passed away last year after succumbing to an illness that Draco couldn't cure with his potions no matter how desperately hard he tried.
Now he only wished for a quiet life with his potion brewing, and maybe, far off in the distant future, when the Malfoy name no longer incited anger and suspicion, he would find a partner to share that life with.
Draco's every sense was on high alert as he strode through the light rain, head down and package tucked safely under one arm. He didn't even want to risk stopping in order to shrink the box to a more manageable size, he just wished to make his escape from Diagon Alley and return to the safety of Wiltshire.
He could hear heavy footsteps trailing behind him and he clenched his jaw, anger and fear bubbling up within.
He swiftly sought to determine whether he would make it to the nearest Apparation Point or to the Floo in The Leaky first.
The thought of walking into a dark side alley to the Apparation Point quickly decided it for him.
He lengthened his stride and headed for The Leaky Cauldron, the sound of those footsteps fading as he increased his speed. He attempted to calm himself and not panic; he had his wand and they were still in a public place, so these idiots really couldn't do too much damage.
He withdrew his wand as he approached the brick wall behind the old pub and quickly rapped on the surface. The entryway promptly opened with the shifting of dusty bricks as they magically moved aside and then shut behind him when he hurriedly stepped through.
The cluttered rear courtyard of the pub was empty and Draco jogged the few steps to the door of the Leaky and pulled at the handle.
It wouldn't budge.
Draco stared down at the brass handle with a frown, a cold feeling of dread instantly settling in the pit of his stomach. He shifted his parcel to the other arm and then pulled on the handle again, throwing all of his weight behind it. It still wouldn't move.
He heard the brick wall behind him begin to shift and groan and he knew he was out of time.
"Alohomora!" he cast under his breath, somehow knowing before it happened that the door still wouldn't open. "Fuck."
Draco turned and fled to the right side of the building and then ducked down behind the overflowing rubbish bins. He thrust his box of potion ingredients into the dim space between the bins and the concrete foundation of the pub and then clutched his wand to his chest.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before suddenly transforming into a small ginger housecat.
Draco calmly walked back out to sit in front of the bins and began to clean his paw, grey eyes carefully watching the three wizards who walked through the brick wall and stood with puzzled frowns on their faces, looking about the empty courtyard in confusion.
"I thought you said Jack was locking the doors," one of them hissed angrily.
"He was."
"Where the fuck is he then?"
One of Draco's pointed ears flicked as he picked up a heated conversation from within the pub.
The back door of the Leaky suddenly swung outwards and a lanky man with thin hair stumbled out, hands up in submission, as Tom strode out behind him and stood with hands on hips, glaring.
"Get outta here!" Tom ordered sharply. "The lot of you. If you ever come back here and tamper with my door again, I'll call the Aurors."
The group of men eyed Tom warily for a second and then slowly turned and re-opened the entryway to Diagon Alley before walking through and disappearing into the crowd.
Draco watched as an older couple emerged from the pub behind Tom and nodded in thanks to the bartender before continuing on through the entryway into Diagon Alley to do their shopping.
It was as Tom turned to go back inside that he spotted the ginger cat sitting next to his rubbish bins.
Draco's eyes widened in alarm as Tom suddenly snatched up an old bristled broom from beside the door and came at him; wielding the broom like a weapon.
"Get out of here you!" he ordered in irritation. "Stop pissing on my bins you manky old cat!"
Draco was rather affronted by that assessment, but he quickly turned and darted towards the tall wooden fence surrounding the courtyard. He scaled the fence in two agile leaps and then neatly jumped over the top, silently landing on all four paws on the other side.
Feeling distinctly nettled, he looked around for a spot to transform in order to return to the Leaky to collect his hidden parcel.
This outing was turning out to be far more bothersome than originally anticipated.
"I said scat!"
Draco stiffened and blinked incredulously as that meddlesome old bartender came barrelling out the front entrance of the Leaky, still brandishing his broom.
They were in the middle of Muggle London for Merlin's sake and that twit looked positively mental.
Draco turned and took off up the crowded footpath, startling people as he ducked between legs, ears pinned flat to his head, as he tried to put as much distance between himself and the wizarding pub as possible.
He turned up the nearest side street and continued to run until the footpath was no longer crowded and the buildings had changed from commercial shopfronts to quiet residential flats.
He finally came to a stop beside another set of bins teeming with rubbish - Salazer, he would need a bath when he finally made it home - and sat down to recover his breath.
The longer he stayed in his Animagus form, the harder he found it to push down those animal reactions and instincts. He had to firmly remind himself that the danger had passed and that he no longer needed to keep running.
Draco glanced around for a suitable location to transform and suddenly spotted a very familiar form sitting hunched over on a set of steps across the narrow laneway.
Draco paused, whiskers twitching, as he stared at the Muggle. Why was he so familiar?
And then it hit him - it was Harry Potter; he'd know that ridiculous black hair and short stature anywhere.
Only…
Draco narrowed his eyes and took a step closer. This Potter was in dire need of a shave. And a wash. And some food, apparently.
Draco continued to watch Potter as the man shifted to rest his arms on knees that were far too knobbly to be attached to a thirty-two year old man, all the while staring listlessly at the pavement.
This man in no way resembled the confident, heroic Harry Potter that Draco knew and loathed.
Potter glanced up then and Draco nearly ducked behind the bins in alarm, until he remembered that Potter wouldn't recognise him in this form. Even if Potter had the Animagus register memorised, he wouldn't know it was Draco because he'd never bothered to officially register.
Feeling curious, Draco decided to walk to the edge of the footpath, look up and down the quiet laneway, and then safely cross to Potter's side of the street.
He slunk along close to the buildings and sat down, partially hidden by the set of steps attached to the building directly beside Potter's.
Now that he was closer, there was no mistaking that this was indeed Harry Potter; although he wasn't wearing glasses, his eyes were that same distinctive emerald green - only dull and lifeless.
Potter looked like a shell of a man, with no sign of life inside; as though he was missing his soul.
That was when Draco suddenly remembered that Potter's two best friends were dead. That nearly the entire Weasley family, plus Longbottom, had all been caught in that explosion about six months ago.
Draco made a habit of avoiding the tripe The Prophet continually produced, but this had been big news and he had reluctantly given in and scanned the articles detailing the attack and Potter's subsequent breakdown.
He was now staring at the aftermath of that tragedy; Potter had obviously fallen into a deep depression and didn't appear as though he was about to snap out of it any time soon.
A younger, less mature, Draco may have revelled in the situation: Harry Potter miserable because the Mudblood and the Weasel were gone. But enough time and life experience had passed that Draco only felt an odd sort of curiosity about this stranger sitting there, and even a slight pang of empathy.
He knew what it was like to have the people you held dear taken from you; the loneliness and despair that could creep in on you if you weren't careful.
Draco shook himself and decided to approach; the urge to snap Potter out of this unsettling stupor propelling him forward. This was also the most interesting thing to have happened to him in a long time and he wasn't about to pass up the chance for some entertainment. He would simply walk over and then, when Potter inevitably reached down to pat such a handsome specimen of a cat, he would bite Potter's hand.
He flicked his tail and began to trot up the footpath towards the hunched over wizard, wanting to appear as amiable as possible at the onset.
Potter's lacklustre gaze flicked up to him as he advanced.
Draco chuckled internally as he feigned an air of charming adorability. This was going to be brilliant.
Potter merely stared at him blankly.
Draco felt a flicker of hesitation at Potter's rather odd behaviour, and then he stopped altogether as a very furrowed scowl appeared on Potter's pale face, green eyes sharpening.
"Get the fuck out of here!" Potter suddenly shouted aggressively, waving one arm at him.
Draco hissed and jumped back, taken completely by surprise. He was so astonished that he didn't know quite what to do for a moment.
When Potter began to stand, still glaring at him, Draco decided that it was time for him to get out of there.
He turned and ran back up the footpath as fast as he could, wondering if that mad idiot was going to chase after him. Potter certainly seemed angry enough to take pursuit.
Draco leapt over a deep stairwell and then up onto a brick window ledge, knowing that Potter wouldn't be able to reach him there unless he used magic, and surely Potter wasn't crazy enough to draw his wand in Muggle London.
He twisted round on the narrow ledge and looked back down the street. Potter was sitting exactly where he'd left him, no longer watching Draco but staring morosely at the ground once more. It was like the whole incident hadn't even transpired.
Draco narrowed his almond-shaped eyes and his tail twitched crossly. Well, that was just… infuriating. How dare Potter rage at him nonsensically and then pretend that nothing happened.
The whole thing was completely illogical, and Draco hated things that didn't make sense.
Why was Potter so angry? If he'd somehow known it was Draco, then surely he would've used his name?
The ginger cat nodded to itself on the ledge. Yes, Potter definitely would've said, 'fuck off Malfoy.'
Huffing through his tiny nostrils in irritation, Draco leapt off the ledge and then ducked into a side alley the next street over to quickly transform. He'd spent long enough in his Animagus form and he really needed to ensure that his costly package of potions ingredients were still where he'd left them.
Draco straightened his wool coat with sharp, jerky movements as he strode back up the footpath towards The Leaky, deftly maneuvering through the crowd of stony-faced Muggles on their way to work.
He was still feeling rather unsettled after the Potter incident and he had a feeling that the sensation would not be leaving him any time soon.
He swiftly collected his parcel from where he'd hidden it without any further confrontations and used the Leaky's Floo to return home.
He walked through the front door of his modest home in Wiltshire with a sigh of relief, toying with the idea of returning to see if Potter was on the same set of stairs the following morning.
Draco slowly wandered down the hall into the potions lab adjacent to his bedroom and set the box down on his well-used work bench. He stared down at the top of the paper-wrapped parcel with a thoughtful frown.
He hadn't heard any further rumours about Potter since he quit the Aurors; no little tidbits about his love life or his overwhelming grief, which they seemed to delight in speculating about, despite it being in rather bad taste. He had a feeling that nobody even knew where Potter was. Not even those nosy reporters at The Prophet.
Draco reached down and absently untied the twine around his box. He unwrapped the brown paper and then lifted the flaps of the box, beginning to lift out the ingredients and line them up on the bench in order to check them off his supply list before methodically putting them away.
He relaxed as he worked, losing himself in the precise and orderly process, the scent of different dried herbs and fragrant oils infusing the air around him and bringing him peace and comfort. He'd been tense since he left the cosy sanctuary of his home this morning and only now was he able to feel untroubled again - except for this wretched Potter mystery.
Draco plucked the clipboard off of the hook on the wall next to the cabinet and tapped the end of the quill against his jaw in thought. He didn't have too many orders at the moment, so he could probably afford the time to puzzle out this intriguing Potter situation.
By the time he'd finished up in his lab, cooked and eaten dinner, and then sat down with a cup of tea and a book in his favourite armchair next to the fire, he'd firmly decided to return to Muggle London the next day in his Animagus form; just to see what sort of reaction it produced from the Gryffindor.
Hopefully he would get close enough to bite him this time.
