Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.
Author's Note: Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (Selly87) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (dracosoftie) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.

Chapter 11:

Draco's POV, Thursday, 2.20pm, The Leaky Cauldron

"You're late, Potter," I state and purse my lips, indignant of the fact that I've sat here for twenty bloody minutes waiting for the great Harry Potter to show his face. I don't even know why I stayed – I should've left at ten past two when I was angry enough to blow up the small conference room with a few skilled swishes of my wand. Damn that ridiculous deadline for my book – otherwise I wouldn't have given a fucking damn about Potter's whereabouts.

Seriously, that man thinks he can get away with absolutely everything. His fame has clearly gone into his head after all these years! It doesn't matter what you do to simplify the matter, Potter always goes and thinks he's above everyone and anything. I wish I could curse his arse from underneath him. Unfortunately, I can't. Well, I can, however I doubt it would go down well with my publisher, who will, and there's no doubt about that, curse my own arse from underneath me. And to be honest, I'm quite attached to my arse.

"I know. Apologies. We've had a little incident in Hogsmeade. Somebody thought it funny to owl Madam Rosmerta a not-so-pleasant surprise – the poor woman was nearly hysterical when we got there and insisted I come to sort it out."

I open my mouth to retort something nasty, but Potter beats me to it. "I would've sent my Patronus with a message but it took us a good while to get on top of the chaos the unwanted gift caused," Potter continues and shrugging out of his robes, he throws it onto the table and slumps into the chair opposite me, while I stare at his forearms, which are covered with fresh small wounds, scratches, bite marks and burns.

"What on earth happened to you?" I ask and pointing my wand at his forearms, I uncross my legs and gracefully get out of my chair to round the table. Sitting down on the edge of the table, I reach for Potter's left arm and inspect his injuries.

"Madam Rosmerta's unpleasant surprise happened to me." Potter sighs and he attempts to pull his arm out of my hands, but I'm faster. Tightening my hold on his hand, I continue to inspect the injuries, and swishing my wand I mumble a few Healing Charms. They work perfectly and before long Potter's left arm looks as good as new.

"Anyone ever taught you self-protection, Potter?" I ask and looking at his face I reach for his right arm where I continue to heal his burns, wounds, scratches and bite marks.

"Yeah, I use healing spells when it matters, Malfoy," Potter retorts, and the moment I'm done, he pulls both his arms out of my immediate reach and crosses them over his chest. "Those were minor injuries, Malfoy; they'd have healed by themselves."

Rolling my eyes, I put my wand away and crossing my legs at the ankle, I lean forward and brace myself on the padded armrests of Potter's chair. I move closer, bringing my face within inches of his, and smirk when Potter sucks in a sharp, quivering breath. "They'd have left nasty scars," I whisper and stare at Potter, with the very intention to make him squirm in his seat. He looks just so perfect when he feels trapped, feels like he can't get away, like he's powerless.

"Like you're concerned about whether my job leaves me with lasting scars or not," Potter scoffs.

"Random scars are unbecoming, Potter, its lightning bolt shaped curse-scars that are in this century. Surely you of all people ought to know that." I'm tempted to run my fingers through Potter's messy hair to expose that ghastly scar on his forehead, but I resist. Instead I run my fingertips over Potter's bare forearm and smirk when he shudders. I lean closer and Potter gasps. I know what he's expecting… but he isn't going to get lucky just yet… When my lips are almost touching Potter's, I halt. "Are you all set for our interview?" I ask, sounding as nonchalant and uncaring as I possibly can. It's difficult, but I manage. I'm a master in keeping my composure when I really want to. On the few occasions that I've slipped – well, it wasn't my fault then!

Instead of responding, Potter parts his lips and slowly wets them with the very tip of his tongue. Then – suddenly – and I'm a little confused as to why exactly, I find myself pushed back hard against the table and Potter's kissing me hard. I try to brace myself on my hands, but Potter's once again quicker and my back is now pressed against the firm wood of the table while my legs – slightly spread to allow Potter to press his erection against mine – hang off the edge and my feet are only barely touching the ground. All in all it's a rather awkward position – but Potter's kissing abilities definitely make up for my current discomfort.

Then, as suddenly as the kiss started, Potter breaks away and panting hard he stars down at me, actually forcing me to blink twice to sharpen my vision. "Don't you fucking play games with me, Malfoy," Potter snarls and gracefully straightening himself, he sits back in his chair and rests his hands in his lap. "Do proceed, Malfoy, I do not have all day for your annoying questions."

I have to admit, it takes me a moment to compose myself, but when I do, I swiftly sit up, brush the invisible dust off my designer clothes – yes they're Muggle and no I'm not a pure-blood traitor – and clear my throat. Drawing my wand, I Accio my Dictaphone and switching it on, I ensure my settings are correct before I hit the 'record' button and gently place the device on the table, making sure it's out of the danger zone – Potter seems to be a little unpredictable this afternoon… "Well, talk," I say and copying Potter's position, I rest my hands in my lap.

"Talk about what?" Potter asks sweetly, and I'm torn between grabbing his collar, slamming him into the wall and fucking him hard or opening my mouth to make a snide remark. Much to my own astonishment I opt for neither of the two – I must be demented. Without a doubt my rather frequent encounters with Potter are messing with my composed, cool, aristocratic nature. There is no other explanation.

"The war," I respond.

"Where would you like me to start?"

Merlin! Is he playing dumb or is he purposefully trying to infuriate me? "The beginning…"

"I thought that book of yours was going to be an unbiased account of the Second Voldemort War not my life's story?"

I take a deep breath to compose myself. "Fine… We'll play this game your way…" I smile but I'm itching to… to… to do something I know I will regret even before I finish the curse. "We'll start at the end… In hindsight, what is your personal opinion about the war?"

"It was a ridiculous waste of time, wizards and witches gave their lives for no sane reason and still the wizarding community hasn't learned anything from the whole fracas."

"Potter! Could you please at least put a little bit of effort into this? There's no way I can use this as a quote in relation to anything." I sigh.

"Why? You asked a question… I answered. What is wrong with that?" Potter smiles that typical Potter-smile that just makes me want to punch him in the face and knock his teeth out. Fortunately for the Golden Boy, I'm not a very violent person.

"You are trying to infuriate me," I growl and Potter laughs. He laughs. He fucking laughs. He bloody fucking laughs!

"Correction, Malfoy, you are letting me infuriate you."

Right now it would really be safer for Potter to back off. I'm about a nanosecond away from losing my temper. Still… I have to keep my cool. "Why do you believe that the wizarding community hasn't learned from the war?" I ask instead of allowing Potter to involve me into a pointless discussion.

"Because they're still looking for somebody to lead them. Voldemort saw that weakness and he used it to his advantage. When the wizarding community realized that Voldemort wasn't going to give them what they wanted and needed they turned to somebody else and declared them their hero, their savior – "

"You," I interrupt.

"Exactly. Instead of fighting the monster when they had a chance they allowed the monster to brainwash them and then came running to me for help."

"You're going to have to permanently go into hiding if I write that." I sigh, and pushing his chair back, Potter rises and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Maybe. Though I'm hoping that it will open people's minds and make them realize that what I say makes sense." Potter shrugs. "Anyway, Malfoy, your time's up for today. I'm out of the country from tomorrow until the end of the month. So any further meetings for interviews will have to wait until I return in three week's time." And with those words Potter turns on his heel and leaves the room.

I stare after him – thoroughly gobsmacked – and it's only the slamming of the door that pulls me back into the real world. That slimy little git! He's cleverer than I thought. And though it greatly pains me to do so, I must admit that Potter tricked me with my very own tactics. I don't have the faintest idea how he managed to worm his way under my skin but he did and also had the indecency to overpower me with my very own weapons.

Respect, Potter, respect! I didn't think you had it in you… but apparently the rumors are true and you were indeed sorted into the wrong house back when we first met.

TBC