Draco sagged against the wall as Potter's footsteps faded. The Auror might be invisible, but he certainly wasn't quiet.

Draco lifted a gloved hand and touched his lips. Potter had kissed him. Draco had expected a hex after he had placed a mischievous kiss under the guise of giving Potter's tail something to see. He had not expected Potter to reciprocate.

He flicked out his tongue and tasted a hint of Potter's flavour. The kisses had been borderline chaste, a brief press of lips to lips, but Draco still felt shaken. This morning he had awakened, eaten breakfast, and gone for coffee with a mundane, borderline existence stretching out before him. Now, less than twelve hours later, Draco's entire world felt tipped on its edge. Possibilities stretched out before him and each one seemed more terrifying than the last.

Draco sighed, creating a silvery cloud of his own breath. Potter was synonymous with discord. Draco would do well not to involve himself in Potter's life in any way. The sooner Potter did what he'd come to Seattle to do and went on his merry way, the better.

So deciding, Draco peered cautiously around the edge of the wall. Not a soul was in sight. Draco shook his head, left the alley, and headed for the sweet shop before it closed. Potter could find him at the hotel when he finished chasing down dark wizards or whatever he was up to.

Draco was just leaving the shop when he nearly tripped over Potter, who leaned against the wall next to the door, smirking at him. He wondered when Potter had learned to smirk. It should not have looked adorable on him.

"Catch your man?" Draco asked.

"Bastard jumped a bus," Potter said. "Doors shut just as I reached it."

"Bad luck."

Potter shrugged. "If he was tailing me, he'll be back. Although I suppose he could have been tailing you…"

Draco cocked a brow. If that was Potter's idea of subtlety, then his stint with the Aurors hadn't taught him very much.

"Highly unlikely," Draco said.

Potter made a noncommittal sound. "I think I'm ready for that coffee now. My face is half frozen."

The coffee shop whose green-logoed presence blared from nearly every Seattle corner was only a few steps away, so they pushed inside and joined the queue. The place was busy, likely due to the frigid temperature.

"What'll you have, Potter?" Draco asked.

"Surprise me."

"Try to snare us a table, then. I'm not quite ready to go back out into the cold."

Potter nodded and moved away. Most of the tiny tables were taken, but one couple looked to be putting their things away, so Potter walked over and treated them to a disarming smile and a few words Draco could not hear. Of course they were instantly smitten—Draco knew well how a British accent turned Americans into willing slaves, and Potter had an excess of charm that the idiot did not even know how to wield properly. Even so, it did the trick.

A peppy barista asked for Draco's order, so he rattled off his usual complicated coffee request and added a Chai tea latte for Potter, extra hot.

The table was in the farthest corner near the window, so their conversation would be relatively private. The person closest them was engrossed in a tattered looking book, so it was likely she would pay them little mind, anyway, not that Draco planned to divulge any secrets to Harry Potter.

Drinks in hand, Draco approached the table and handed one over. Potter wrapped his hands around the cup, took a cautious drink, and nodded his approval. "It's good." He pointed at the logo blazoned on the bag. "What's a cow chip cookie?"

Draco reached into the bag and pulled out the single cookie he had purchased for Potter on a whim. "Sylvia's weakness. The bint must subsist on them and little else because she's thin as a reed. They are fairly decadent."

Potter broke off a piece of the chocolate-laden cookie and closed his eyes with an expression akin to bliss. "Oh god," he mumbled. He stopped chewing and kept his eyes shut. Draco stared at him, his mind going to dark and forbidden places at the look on Potter's face. The green eyes snapped open and fixed on him, and then the chewing resumed, slowly, as if Draco had brought him a treat from Mount Olympus.

Draco smiled, willing himself not to think about seeing that same expression in a more intimate setting. "It's good, then?" Draco asked.

"This is fucking ambrosia. What is it called and do we have time to go back and get more?"

"I think that one is the Double-Chocolate Amaretto. I prefer white chocolate and macadamia nut myself, although with the number of chocolatiers not far from here, I normally indulge in truffles, fudge, or chocolate dipped huckleberries."

Potter finished chewing and swallowed. "You still have your love for sweets, then?"

Draco took a drink of his coffee and glanced away. He did not want to remember their school days. "You too, I see."

Potter nodded and took another bite of cookie, then chewed and swallowed before replying. "Yeah, I could never get enough sweets as a child. I guess I'm still trying to make up for feeling deprived. These are really good, though."

Draco chuckled. "I suppose we should go back and get you a box, lest you attempt to wrest Sylvia's from my grasp."

"Who is Sylvia?" Potter asked.

Draco frowned at having provided Potter with an opening for his questions. "Who was following us?" Draco countered.

"I don't know," Potter replied.

"But you know why."

"Maybe." Potter shrugged. "Sylvia?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Sylvia Spagnola is the Chairwoman of the Pacific Northwest Orchid Growers Society."

Potter's brow wrinkled, marring the edge of his scar, just visible beneath his messy black fringe. He had thankfully yanked off the woollen cap. "Herbalist?"

"Yes, Potter. Herbalist. Do I need to find you a dictionary?"

"No. I just don't understand. Why? And why here?"

Draco glanced out the window. "As much as I would love to regale you with the story of my life, or the last ten years thereof, I have a very early meeting tomorrow and should probably retire early."

Potter got to his feet. "I'll see you back to your hotel."

"I'm not a damsel in distress."

Potter grinned. "I'm going that direction, anyway. We might as well walk together."

"As you will." Draco picked up Sylvia's cookies and tossed his coffee cup into the trash before heading back out into the cold with Potter on his heels. After a moment of mental debate, he returned to the cookie shop.

The clerk looked up in surprise when Draco walked in, trailed by Potter. "Bru! Is everything all right? Did I give you the wrong ones?"

Draco smiled and shook his head. "No, my… friend, here, has suddenly become obsessed with your Double-Chocolate Amaretto. Can you wrap up a half dozen for him, please?"

Potter started to reach into a pocket of his coat, but Draco waved him off. "Never mind, Potter. I'll expense it as another Sylvia-related charge." Draco handed the clerk his Muggle credit card and took the package of cookies. Draco gave them to Potter.

"Any friend of Bru's is a friend of mine," the clerk said with a grin as he rang up the charge. Draco frowned, thinking he should try harder to remember the man's name, but he gave it up as a lost cause. He scrawled his fake signature on the tiny piece of paper and took the receipt, tucking it away with his credit card. Draco had fallen in love with the little plastic rectangle. He could purchase any Muggle item he wanted simply by handing them the card. Gringotts could learn a thing or two about trade from the Muggles.

He glanced at Potter, who smiled and mumbled thanks. Of course, Draco would never admit to Potter that he admired anything Muggle, be it cookies or credit cards, or those amazing coffee drinks laced with peppermint flavouring and chocolate syrup.

The air seemed to be even colder when they exited and Draco pulled on his gloves with a sense of relief. Already the sidewalks gleamed with ice, sparkling in the dim light of the streetlights like crushed diamonds.

"Why Seattle?" Potter asked finally. Draco had been impressed with his silence, but it was no surprise when Potter broke it.

"Why not?" Draco countered. "Plants grow everywhere. Same question to you."

"Criminals grow everywhere, too."

"How long will it take you to investigate me?" Draco asked.

For only a moment, Potter seemed ready to deny it, but then he shrugged. "Depends on logistics. Could be finished tomorrow, could take a week. It would be easier if you would simply tell me why you're here—what sort of Herbology and why?"

"I've never felt particularly cooperative where you were concerned, Potter."

Potter huffed a breath that fogged the air before him. He walked through the cloud as it dissipated. "Don't I know it." His tone did not sound bitter, but amused.

Draco lifted a brow and looked at him again. He wanted to ask what Potter had meant about the Daily Prophet not knowing everything about him, but assumed he would get nowhere with that line of questioning after rebuffing Potter's own request for information. He wondered if the new thingbetween them would ever become something tangible, or if it would be smothered by their mutual lack of trust before it could germinate.

If there even was a thing and Potter wasn't simply playacting. It was possible he had learned subterfuge during his stint as an Auror.

They said nothing more until they reached Draco's hotel. He thought Potter would leave him in the lobby, but Potter asked, "Do you mind if I use your loo? It's a long ride back to the… where I'm staying."

Apparently so, if Potter planned to take a ferry. That left only a few options, actually. Draco thought he might do some investigating of Potter in his free time. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

"Of course." They took the lift and Draco fished his card key from a pocket. He tried to be careful around the door, as well, since his magic had also destroyed the electronic locking device once, much to the confusion of the hotel management.

Draco took off his coat and gloves and waved Potter towards the bathroom. He assumed the man could get into little trouble in there on his own.

oOOooOOo

Harry set the package of cookies on the edge of the fancy sink. He glanced into the mirror and grimaced at his appearance. He looked like a Muggle lumberjack beneath the woollen hat. He was surprised Malfoy had kissed him at all. And hadn't that been a surprise? He still wondered why Malfoy had done it. Shock value? Slytherin amusement? Or had he simply wanted to? It was probably too much to hope he had wanted to.

Harry attended to his business and washed his hands with forest-scented soap. The towels were a marvel—thick and gold and ultra-absorbent. Harry thought about stopping by the front desk to ask where they purchased them. He dried his hands and then hung the towel back on the shining silver bar, patting it down and straightening it when it threatened to slide off.

Below the towel rack sat several bottles and jars. Harry lifted one, curious.

"Did you die in there, Potter?" Malfoy called.

Harry rolled his eyes and left the bathroom. Malfoy was seated at the desk, planner open and papers scattered over the surface. He glanced at Harry, but it was plain his mind was elsewhere. The unspoken dismissal was heavy in the air.

Harry pulled his gloves on en route to the door. "Well, um. See you later?"

"Most likely, Potter," Malfoy said and waved a lazy hand. Harry was glad to see he still wrote with a quill and not a Muggle biro.

Harry sighed and went out, feeling oddly bereft. They had been getting on better than expected and he was somewhat surprised by Malfoy's brush-off. Not that he had expected to be invited to stay…

Scratch that; he had been hoping for another drink and possibly more talking. And more kissing, his traitorous mind supplied helpfully.

No more kissing, he countered firmly, although he felt somewhat idiotic arguing with himself.

Outside again, a few flecks of snow drifted from the sky and Harry wrinkled his nose. Carl had mentioned that any amount of snowfall would shut down the entire region. Such a thing would put a serious crimp in his investigation.

He started down the street, eyes scanning every shadow for possible lurkers. He wondered if the man in the trench coat had actually been following them, or if Malfoy had made that up in order to (kiss him) be a prat.

Regardless, he saw no one other than a few well-bundled pedestrians, most of them obviously heading to or from their cars. Harry crossed a few streets and had just started down the elevated pavement that led to the ferry terminal when he realized he had left his cookies on the counter in Malfoy's bathroom.

He stopped and pushed the fingers of his gloves more tightly onto his hands as he pondered. He could leave them and it would give him an excuse to return the next day, but it might seem like he had done so on purpose, or worse, that he did not really want them. Harry did want them, not only because he was getting hungry, but also because Malfoy had bought them for him. His former enemy had bought him confections. It seemed like a turning point.

Harry had only been gone for a few minutes. Surely Malfoy wouldn't mind one last interruption? He would be in and out before Malfoy had time to be distracted.

So deciding, Harry turned round and headed back to the hotel. He gave the doorman a sheepish smile and mumbled, "Forgot something."

The lift stopped three times on the way up. Twice to let off serious-faced businessmen, and once for an older couple who moved in shuffling motions, the man solicitously holding out his arm for the woman to grasp as he gave Harry a friendly smile. The sight gave Harry a pang. Sometimes he wondered if he would end up old and alone, still lurking at the Burrow during holidays in lieu of having a family of his own.

Harry shook off his maudlin thoughts and walked to Malfoy's door. He raised his hand to knock.

A muffled sound from inside stilled his hand. Something about it gave him a twinge of unease, so he rapped sharply on the portal. "Mr Black?" he called loudly, changing the name from Malfoy at the last moment.

Harry thought he heard his name, quickly cut off. His wand was in his hand in an instant and he cast Alohomora, killing the Muggle lock in a shower of sparks. The door flew inwards and Harry dove inside, crouching as he rolled. A red bolt hit the door where his chest would have been had he remained standing.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted.

A dark wand tore from the hand of a round-faced man and spun behind one of the sofas. Harry's quick gaze took in Malfoy, bound to the desk chair in the centre of the room. A dark figure stood next to him, wand at Malfoy's throat.

The man ducked behind the chair, using Malfoy as a shield, and Harry's Stunner clipped the ends of his hair.

"Bloody hell!" the first wizard yelled as he dove over the sofa, obviously going for his wand.

"Fuck this!" cried the second man and Harry heard the pop of Disapparition. Harry shot to his feet and sent another spell after the first man, but he had got his hands on the fallen wand and used it to cast a hasty Shield Charm. Lucky bastard. Harry swore.

Harry's shouted, "Incarcerous!" surely caught the man, but it was too late. He disapparated, Harry's spell binding him as he vanished. Harry cursed again, angrier this time, incensed at having allowed them to escape.

Malfoy watched in silence, only lifting a brow when Harry's attention returned to him.

"Any idea who they were?" Harry asked, flicking his wand at Malfoy and casting a wordless Finite Incantatum. Malfoy's bonds disintegrated and he flexed his hands as he pulled them round in front of him.

Malfoy shook his head. "They were looking for you. I suppose I should be grateful you came back."

Harry scowled. "Why wouldn't you be grateful?"

"Because if you hadn't been here, they wouldn't have been here," Malfoy snapped. He got to his feet and stalked to the door where he examined the destroyed mechanism with a loud sigh. "Damn it, now I will have to explain this to maintenance." He moved to the desk and picked up the cream-coloured telephone, only to grimace and slam it down. "Salazar, not the phone, too."

"Well, what did they say?" Harry demanded.

Malfoy snatched up his cell phone and hissed. "Bloody everlasting hell! I really liked this one." He threw the apparently dead phone down atop his planner and headed for the bedroom. "They said 'What is Harry Potter doing in Seattle traipsing about town with the likes of you?'" Malfoy snapped in falsetto mimicry and then disappeared into the bedroom.

A moment later, Harry heard him talking to the hotel staff, explaining that the door lock was broken—again—and also the telephone. And probably the thermostat. Harry winced and looked around, wondering what else had been affected.

Malfoy entered the room once more and picked up the wine bottle to pour another glass, stopping only when the red liquid threatened to spill over the lip. He lifted the glass and took a healthy gulp. It was only then that Harry realized Malfoy was more shaken than he had let on.

"Is there anything you want to tell me now, Potter?" Malfoy asked without turning around.

Harry sank down onto the sofa with a sigh, still holding his wand in case the men returned. "I'm here to track down a smuggling ring. There has been an influx of magical artefacts from Hawaii. It started as something of a novelty and quickly grew into a problem. Many of the items are embodied with a curse that activates the moment they leave the islands, some with horrific results. The Ministry has sent several groups to port cities to try and locate the smuggling route."

"Looks like you got lucky," Malfoy said with a sneer. "You found them on your first try."

"Yeah, lucky me," Harry agreed dryly. His steady gaze met Malfoy's. He didn't bother to mention that there was no guarantee that the attackers and the smuggling ring were related. They could have been following Harry for a different reason completely.

A knock sounded on the door and Malfoy strode over to admit a dark-haired Muggle with a large toolbox and several electronic parts. The man immediately began to tinker with the locking mechanism.

"I suppose I should go," Harry said and got to his feet. He paused, thinking he ought to cast some wards to keep the culprits from returning, but was unable to do it while the maintenance man was working.

"You are not going anywhere!" Malfoy said, his eyes flashing.

The workman glanced at them and Harry sat back down, unwilling to get into an argument with an audience.

Malfoy ignored Harry to hover near the man and chatter away at him, talking about some Muggle sport, of all things. Harry thought Malfoy's proximity to the door was more to deter Harry from leaving than anything. He rolled his eyes and retrieved his empty wineglass in order to pour the remaining wine from the bottle into his glass.

He carried it to the window and looked out into the dark Seattle night, lit up with Muggle lights as far as he could see, and highlighted by the flakes of falling snow that were much larger now and beginning to stick to the rooftops and roadways.. It was really rather beautiful.

oOOooOOo

Draco paused in his casual small-talk, utterly distracted by the sight of Harry Potter standing near the window. He had removed his outerwear and retrieved another glass of wine, and Draco had to admit his relaxed pose was stirring.

Harry Potter, the world's fittest Auror and extraordinarily powerful wizard, was in Draco's hotel room drinking a glass of wine. The Daily Prophet would have paid handsomely for such a story.

Tuan finished installing the new card reader for the door and then gestured at the telephone across the room. Draco nodded, wishing Tuan could fix his destroyed cell phone while he was at it.

Tuan tsked when he picked up the handset and pressed on the buttons. "You a menace," he announced in his heavily accented voice. "How you break all the things, Mr Black?"

Potter snorted a laugh from the window and Tuan grinned and gestured at Potter with a Muggle tool. "He know. Mr Black break your things, too?"

"You have no idea," Potter replied, lips quirking an amused smile and eyes sparkling. Draco felt it was hardly fair that the bastard was not only good-looking, but also charming enough to win over the normally-reticent maintenance man. And the nerve, accusing Draco of breaking his things. He had never broken a single thing of Potter's.

"You," Draco said sternly to Tuan, "Fix things. And you. Silence." He glared from Tuan to Potter.

"Yes, Mr Black, sir," Tuan said, but he was grinning widely. Potter only gave him an enigmatic stare and turned back to the window.

Tuan finished quickly, swapping out a new phone for the broken one. He checked the thermostat and pronounced it functional, and then packed up his tools and smiled at Draco. "You break anything else, Mr Black, you just call. I come back and fix for you."

"Yes, yes, thank you, Tuan. There will be a substantial tip left for you at the front desk tomorrow, as always."

"Goodnight, Mr Black. Goodnight, Mr Black's friend." Tuan gave a half-hearted bow and went out. The door locked with a satisfying click.

"A menace," Potter said without inflection, as though it were a curious concept.

"You are the menace! I was perfectly fine here until you came along. You come back into my life and within a single day I've been followed, attacked, and had half my room destroyed."

"The room is fine!" Potter protested.

"And tomorrow I have to go and replace my cellular phone before Sylvia tries to contact me."

"Would you rather I hadn't hexed them?"

"I had rather you hadn't come here," Draco complained, but before Potter could retort, he added, "But since that's a moot point now, and since you have seen fit to drag me into whatever bloody mess you have stirred up here, then I expect you to put it right."

"How do you propose I do that?"

"You're the Auror, you figure it out. I don't particularly care, but you are not going anywhere as long as there is a chance of random criminals popping in and demanding to know your whereabouts."

"Are you suggesting I stay here?"

Draco rolled his eyes. Honestly, how the man had lived so long already was a mystery. "No, Potter, I am not suggesting it, I am demanding it. Unless you know of some way to keep the mayhem that follows you from fucking with my life more than it already has."

"I was going to set some wards…"

"This is a Muggle establishment, Potter. How do you propose to do that without destroying even more Muggle devices?"

"I do have some skills," Potter replied dryly. He arched a brow and Draco tried valiantly not to think about Potter's skills.

Draco glared at him. "Whatever, but if I wake up with a wand at my throat, I will hunt you down and hex your balls into aubergines." He started for the bedroom and then paused. "That sofa there pulls out into a bed. It's not Transfiguration, but it's serviceable. Should you care not to abandon me to your stalkers, that is."

With that, Draco entered the bedroom, walked to the mirrored wardrobe, and pulled out his dressing gown. A long, hot bath would do him good, and if Potter was gone when he finished, well, he would deal with that if it happened. Truthfully, he trusted Potter to do the right thing. When had he not?

~TBC~