Draco carefully took a seat on the sofa opposite Potter, watching the other man as he played with the teabag string hanging out the side of his cup. It was the only outward sign of unease that Draco could detect; Potter's gaze was steady behind his glasses as he calmly watched Draco settle in.

Draco leaned back into the plush grey cushion and crossed his ankle over one knee, cupping his tea in both hands as he gazed back.

It almost felt like a stand-off of sorts as they each quietly considered the other, and Draco was rather relieved when Potter finally broke the expectant silence.

"So what burning question do you have for me Malfoy?" he asked impassively.

Draco found that to be a rather ambiguous request; he didn't know the terms of the conversation yet. Was he allowed to simply ask Potter about that night? Should he ease the other man into the messy, emotion-laden topics? Every question that instantly jumped to the forefront of his mind felt too intense or too awkward to put to words - especially because he and Potter were not what you would consider friends. They certainly didn't share any sort of comfortable camaraderie in which to foster heart-to-heart conversations.

Draco cleared his throat and took a sip of his warm tea as he considered how best to respond.

"Will you be living in this flat for the foreseeable future?" he finally asked.

It wasn't exactly a burning question but it was one that he was comfortable in asking at that point.

Potter exhaled and his stiff posture relaxed just a little as he absently pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Yup."

Draco arched a brow at the monosyllabic answer.

"My turn," Potter quickly declared, lips curving upwards at the corners when Draco huffed in exasperation. "How do you know about Muggle things?"

"Muggle things?"

"Yeah, like hamburgers and televisions."

Draco's gaze dropped to stare at the shiny plastic lid of his cup as he nodded in understanding. "And how could I - Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater - know about such things?" he replied acerbically.

"Well, yeah."

Draco glanced up and caught Potter shrugging, as though it was simply expected that Draco was the same prejudiced twat from school and that Potter's assumption wasn't insulting in the least.

Draco swallowed the biting retort that was on the tip of his tongue. "Perhaps because I moved into a Muggle village," he replied instead.

Potter blinked, clearly surprised. "Really? I assumed you still lived at Malfoy Manor. What made you move into a Muggle community?"

"I do believe it's my question now," Draco pointed out with a smirk before taking another sip of his tea. "Do you ever leave your front doorstep?"

Potter's expression turned stony. "No," he replied shortly.

Draco sighed in frustration. "Look Potter, we're going to have to give more fully formed responses or this entire exercise is meaningless."

Potter opened his mouth and then closed it again. He swallowed and nodded in agreement, reluctantly conceding Draco's point.

"No, I don't go any farther than the steps out front," he admitted tensely and then ran a restless hand through his hair as his gaze skittered around the room. "For a few reasons," he continued, clearly forcing the words out. "I don't want to run into anyone who might recognise me and ask questions, and…" Potter hesitated, frowning in concentration as his nervous gaze finally fell to his knees and stilled. "Even keeping to the Muggle world doesn't stop me from thinking that I see them everywhere; the people who died. They don't have to look like them at all, I just catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of ginger hair or someone who just fucking walks like them and it brings it all back. Not that I ever stop thinking about it but it's fucking painful when that happens; stabs me right in the gut." He paused and shook his head, still frowning. "It's not worth it."

Draco slowly released the breath he'd been holding. He understood exactly what Potter was talking about; he couldn't count the number of times he'd caught a glimpse of pale blond hair or pretty dress robes and had thought – for one absurd moment – that it was his mother. It was completely illogical and intellectually he knew that his mother was gone, but that didn't stop him from turning his head to look, and it always wrenched his heart at the reminder that it never would be her again.

Potter exhaled shakily and looked up. "Now tell me why you live with the Muggles."

Draco almost didn't want to continue, Potter looked emotionally drained already, but he didn't know if Potter's unpredictable emotional state would allow this to happen for a second time and he didn't want to waste the opportunity.

"After my mother passed, I didn't want to live in the Manor anymore," Draco replied. "I didn't particularly wish to reside there after the war either but I didn't like the thought of my mother living there on her own while my father was in prison, so I stayed. When I made the decision to move, I knew I wanted to remain in the same county, so I looked at nearby villages and picked the most appealing one. It just happened to be Muggle."

"And that didn't bother you?"

Draco couldn't help but smile a little. "Yes it did, but I also thought it would be good for me."

Potter snorted, his gaze slowly losing that disconcertingly haunted look.

"So I bought a small cottage up on the hill on the outskirts of Westbury. I venture into the village and converse with the Muggles and sometimes we eat hamburgers."

Potter snorted, clearly trying to picture the scene in his head as his lips stretched into a smile. "I'd like to see that."

"You'd have to actually leave your street for that Potter," Draco pointed out.

"Perhaps I will," he replied offhandedly, surprising Draco. "Your turn."

Draco didn't want to lose the light-heartedness of the moment so he asked an easy one. "Who does your shopping for you?"

Potter set his cup down on the table and pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged. "Come on Malfoy, I thought you were a Muggle expert now," he replied with a smirk.

Draco frowned, wondering how on earth the two things were related.

Potter chuckled. "I order everything I need online. You do know what the internet is, right?"

Draco's expression cleared. "Ah yes, the thing that is melting Muggle brains."

Potter barked out a startled laugh. "What?"

"I overheard some older Muggles discussing it in the pub one night," Draco sniffed defensively. "They said that everyone was glued to their mobiles these days and that the internet was melting their brains."

Potter threw back his head and laughed and damnit if Draco didn't find the git attractive in that moment.

"It's not literally melting their brains Malfoy."

"Well I did assume as much," Draco replied derisively, "but during my close observation of the Muggles in Westbury, it does appear as though most of the population are addicted to those ridiculous little devices. I certainly don't want any part of it."

Potter stared at him, grinning. "So do you sit there with a set of binoculars and make detailed notes on the daily habits and characteristics of the elusive Muggle?"

Draco couldn't help but smile in return. "Don't mock me Potter; I need to study their culture in order to fit in. They already think I'm odd because I live all alone at the top of the hill."

Potter's smile widened. "I knew you were single if you had all this time to spend bothering me." He cocked his head to one side, gazing at Draco with open curiosity. "No significant other in your life then Malfoy?"

Draco cleared his throat self-consciously. "No, I'm afraid not."

"No tempting Muggles in Westbury?"

Draco smirked. "Most of the men in Westbury are over the age of fifty, and that's a little too timeworn for my taste." Potter chuckled and Draco turned to glance out the window. "London is much better for that sort of thing, but I can't really be bothered to make the journey all the way out here when my home is so comfortable and quiet." He turned back to Potter. "Plus, not many of the men I meet are agreeable to moving to the country," he added with a slight shrug. "And I have no intention of moving to the city."

"I prefer the country as well," Potter agreed, sounding the tiniest bit wistful.

"Then why are you in central London?" Draco couldn't help but scoff.

Potter shrugged, expression closing off as he turned away. "It's different."

"And… different is better because it doesn't spark memories?" Draco asked astutely.

Potter turned back to him. "I'm tired."

Draco blinked, taken-aback by what sounded like a rather abrupt dismissal. "Would you like for me to leave?" he eventually replied uncertainly.

"No, I mean I'm tired of dealing with it. All of it," Potter elaborated. "I couldn't take it anymore so I did everything in my power to avoid anything familiar at all costs. So now I sit here in my strange little flat, surrounded by nothing, and pretend to be someone else."

"And that's clearly working out well for you," Draco commented with a frown.

Potter's eyes narrowed as he turned back to him. "It's better than the alternative."

"What? Having some semblance of a life? You can't just pretend it didn't happen Potter, that's not healthy."

"But it's better," Potter said emphatically. "As soon as I left and moved here and stopped talking to people, it was better."

Draco shook his head. "Avoidance isn't an improvement. You can't just exist as this shell of a man for the rest of your life." He paused and leaned forwards. "Why didn't you just kill yourself?"

Potter's eyes widened in shock but he quickly recovered. "Don't you think I considered that?"

It was Draco's turn to be stunned as he sat back in his seat, hand unconsciously clenching around his cup.

"I should've fucking been there too," Potter continued heatedly, as though angry with himself. "I should've stayed but my fucking job was more important than spending time with my friends and family, and now I have to live with that decision for the rest of my life." He looked at Draco, eyes burning. "God, I wish I'd stayed. Every day, I wish I hadn't left early that night."

Draco's stomach twisted as he stared back at him. "You wish you'd stayed so that you could've died along with the rest of them?"

"If I had stayed, it may have changed things," he uttered quietly.

Draco's lips parted as it dawned on him just who he was speaking to: the unequivocal hero, the Saviour, the Chosen One. Of course Potter believed that he could've saved them – if only he'd been there to do it.

"You feel guilty," Draco said in realisation. "If you hadn't left early, you think they'd all still be alive."

"Perhaps." Potter swallowed but didn't turn away. "And if not, then I would be dead too."

"And that would be a satisfactory outcome as well?" Draco retorted scornfully. "Then why not just do it yourself?"

Potter shook his head. "Because too many people sacrificed themselves for me to be here."

Draco nearly growled in frustration. "I don't think this is quite the life your parents envisioned for you when they fucking died for you."

Potter suddenly glared, glasses slipping down his nose. "And you're not exactly living the life your father imagined for you either Malfoy."

"Thank fuck for that," Draco exclaimed. "My father was a raving lunatic Potter."

"What does it matter?" Potter snapped. "I'm alive, aren't I? I didn't slit my wrists-"

"You may as well have for all the life that's fucking in you!" Draco shot back. "You hardly eat anything and you look like shite – you're a walking corpse Potter."

Potter suddenly stood, hands balled into fists. "Why do you care Malfoy?" he demanded, glaring down at him. "Is the fucking life debt that important to you? Or perhaps you just want to be the one who saves Harry Potter – is that it? Run off to The Prophet the moment you think I'm happy and well-adjusted again?"

Draco glared, livid. He stood and put his cup down on the coffee table. Potter would never see him as anything other than the arrogant, attention-seeking prat he'd been back at Hogwarts, no matter how hard he tried to show him otherwise.

"Grow the fuck up Potter."

He turned and strode to the door, a burning anger churning in his stomach and prickling over his skin. He was furious, but he also felt degraded and embarrassed. Potter never failed to make him feel foolish and insignificant. Well, he was finished with this senseless plan of trying to help the daft prick.

He wrenched the door open, wanting to pull it right off its hinges.

"Draco, wait."

He paused and closed his eyes bracingly for a moment, one hand still on the doorknob. Despite telling himself that it would be in his best interest to keep walking, he reluctantly glanced back over his shoulder.

Potter was stood next to the coffee table, hands fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. "I did try to warn you that I would be an arse," he offered apologetically.

Draco sighed and looked away, feeling tired. "It's fine, I'll just go-"

"The thing is," Potter hurriedly interjected, taking a step forward. "I don't want you to leave."

Draco looked up in surprise.

"Despite the fact that you're a part of that same time in my life that I'm trying to forget or ignore, or whatever the fuck it is that I'm doing, I… I like the company." Potter swallowed and for the first time in Draco's memory, the man looked lost. "All I know is that I don't want you to stop visiting."

Draco could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he stared back at him. Despite feeling utterly useless, perhaps his plan wasn't so futile.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"All right, Harry," he said slowly. "If you would like to meet again tomorrow, I will be at The Leaky at half twelve."

With that, he turned to leave, but not before seeing the flash of panic on Potter's face.