"Harry! Harry! How does it feel to be another year older?"
"Harry! How would you say this year compares to last year's celebrations? Are they more joyful now people have recovered from the war?"
"Harry! How is auror training going? Are you top of the class? Are you bottom? How does it compare to duelling with You-Know-Who?"
"Harry! Tell us about your relationship with Ginevra Weasley! Has it been difficult with her still being in school? Are the reports of trouble in paradise true?"
Harry strode quickly down the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, his breaths coming out in pants and his eyes focusing steadfastly in front of him. He wasn't fleeing the reporters who were on his heels and had been stalking him and screaming questions since about five minutes after he'd apparated outside The Leaky Cauldron, he was just a fast walker. Honestly, he'd be impressed with the Rita Skeeter wannabes' speed and persistence if he wasn't so frustrated and fuming at the deliberate disregard of his wishes. Despite his constant 'no comment's and pleas for them to leave him alone, he still couldn't visit George at his shop or withdraw some galleons from Gringott's without it being front page news the next day, and he had to answer the same stupid questions again and again and again.
How did it feel to be a year older? The same as always and no different, as any person on the planet would say when asked. Is it more joyful now people are recovered from the war? No, because they hadn't recovered and people they loved were fucking dead, gone for good. Was duelling in a controlled, monitored environment under the watchful eyes of experienced law enforcement personnel the same as being 17 years old fighting a homicidal, sadistic lunatic with an army and the intent of murdering you and taking over the world? Yes, of course it fucking was. How was his relationship? It was just dandy, and even if it wasn't, every couple had obstacles they needed to overcome and oh, yeah, it was none of their damn business.
They all claimed to know him but they didn't.
"Harry! Is it true you and Dumbledore were lovers?"
That was it!
Harry darted down a small side street, so narrow the reporters got stuck at the entrance as they all tried to force their way through first to get to him. He sprinted down the street to lose them, and when he heard the first yell of triumph from behind practically threw himself into the nearest shop.
He slammed the door closed behind him, barely acknowledging the jingle of the bell above the door as he ducked down below the window and slid to the floor, panting heavily and feeling as though he'd run a marathon. He held his breath as the sound of screeching and footsteps stampeded past the door, only exhaling when the last shouts had faded.
"Well, what a…surprise. I've never seen someone that excited about newt entrails before. How are you, Potter?"
Harry's head shot up to find Draco Malfoy watching him with amusement and a little surprise.
Harry hauled himself up of the floor quickly, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat his cheeks at the knowledge that Malfoy had seen him in such a position. Harry studied his face and realised it wasn't unfriendly, Malfoy wasn't laughing at him the way he did at school, Malfoy found it funny the same way Harry found it funny whenever Ron tripped over and sprawled on the floor. Harry couldn't see any sign Malfoy was about to draw his wand either so relaxed slightly, strolling closer to the blonde with only a quick glance down at his hands to make sure he wasn't up to anything. He stopped in front of Malfoy.
"Malfoy, um, yeah, sorry about that." Harry shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Reporters."
He didn't know why he felt the need to explain himself. It was Malfoy; he didn't care.
"Eloquent as ever, Potter. But I understand, I'm no stranger to…enthusiastic reporters myself."
Harry couldn't tell if that was Malfoy trying to make the conversation about himself and prove to Harry how important he was – that reporters wanted his attention almost as much as they wanted Harry's – or if it was genuine understanding, comradeship and empathy that made his expression so soft. In all honesty, Harry didn't know where the two of them stood after the war and felt like they were on unsteady ground. It had never been complicated in school with their mutual rivalry and distaste of everything about each other, and it was a fairly easy relationship despite it being full of torments and spite and prejudice on both their sides. But you didn't go through a war at 17, watch numerous people die, and end up saving each other's lives without changing and that uncomplicated relationship transforming into something tangled and uncertain. Harry didn't think either of them knew how to act around each other or what to expect anymore.
This was easier than Harry thought it would be though. He hadn't seen Malfoy in a year, or at least Malfoy hadn't seen him. Harry had glimpsed him a few times in Diagon Alley and once at a Quidditch game – the first one after the war – but Malfoy had never acknowledged him, and Harry didn't have a good enough reason to approach him. Curiosity didn't count, not after the shit they'd done to each other. He'd never forget Malfoy but he hadn't been at the top of his list of concerns, so this was the first real time he was interacting with him since his challenge at Harry's party last year. Wands weren't being drawn, insults weren't being spat out, so he counted that as a win.
Harry nodded. "Yeah, I've seen their, um, 'enthusiasm' in their pursuit of you in the papers. It was out-of-line they broke into your mother's hospital room after she got hit by that curse."
Malfoy mock gasped, "You read, Potter? I always thought Granger did that for you." He waved his hand dismissively. "Let them follow, I have nothing to hide and neither does my mother. My life is dull and they'll realise that soon enough. If they're looking for gossip or scandal or a sordid affair between me and Professor Flitwick, they will be sorely disappointed." He paused, then muttered so quietly Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear. "But if they don't learn quick enough, I'll have to take morally questionable actions to speed it along, and make them suffer. Like those bastards who upset my mother."
Harry grimaced. He'd seen the headline in Witch Weekly proclaiming Malfoy to have slept his way through the Hogwarts' staff to get such good grades, and one that claimed he'd slept his way through the higher-ranking members of the Wizegamot to get off on any charges. Why they were obsessed with Malfoy's sex life he had no idea, and was frankly surprised they hadn't accused him of sleeping with Harry seeing as the both of them were the newspapers' favourite topics and it had been Harry to get him off those charges. Maybe they thought Harry knew better.
Yeah, they really didn't know him.
"You weren't fucking Professor Sprout in Greenhouse Three then?" Harry said light-heartedly. "I think I read that somewhere."
Malfoy snorted. "No. Come on, Potter, you know me better than that. You think I would lower myself to rolling around in the dirt? I had enough trouble getting it out of my hair after Herbology, I didn't need it in other, more intimate, places."
Harry burst out laughing, Malfoy's pleased expression making him laugh even more. "What a lovely image. Thanks, Malfoy."
"You're welcome."
They drifted into a comfortable silence and Harry took the time to look around at his surroundings. It was dark but not Borgin and Burke's dark. It was an odd little place, full of potion ingredients and items that seemed normal but Harry had no doubt did something magical. It seemed like the sort of place a person would go too to look for something bizarre and specific.
Harry turned to Malfoy to ask what he was shopping for when his eyes fell on his chest.
Was that a name badge?
"Do you work here?" Harry blurted.
Malfoy looked startled at Harry's sudden outburst but quickly recovered himself, drawing himself up as if he was expecting Harry to attack him. "I do."
"Why?"
Malfoy had enough money that he'd never have to work a day in his life. Harry had made sure that when they went to trial the Malfoys didn't have to surrender their vaults like many other Death Eater families. He thought they'd learned their lesson about blood prejudice and suffered enough during the actual war, and didn't deserve the rest of their lives to be difficult because of actions of desperation. And of course, there was the small matter of two of them saving his life. They'd been given fines, with the intention of it being compensation for those they'd hurt, but it turned out that hadn't been too many people - at least none that could be proved. Lucius had been in Azkaban for a year, then had the humiliation of being wandless, so he could barely do anything let alone destroy villages and massacre people. Narcissa had never been a Death Eater and Draco had been such a crap one he'd not been made to do all too much - apparently he was boring to watch. A couple of torture victims - most of whom Draco had been responsible for - had been well compensated and the Malfoys had kept most of their money.
Malfoy shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "I wanted to get out and do something. It's terribly boring sitting at home with mother and father and occasionally spending some galleons on a new book or Quidditch equipment. I've read most the library by now and Quidditch is no fun without people to play against." Harry opened his mouth to volunteer to play against him because it'd been too long since he'd been on a broom and even longer since he'd had a decent seeker to compete against (not that he'd admit that to Malfoy), but the thought of going to Malfoy Manor, where Hermione had been tortured, had him shutting it quickly.
Malfoy's voice went quiet and the tone was that of someone admitting a secret. Harry subconsciously leaned closer. "Besides, I don't want to get by on my family name and reputation anymore, not that there's much left of it. This way I'm earning what I have for myself." He smiled and Harry stared at the honest expression there. "It's a wonderful feeling."
Harry smiled back. "Yeah, I get that. I wish I wasn't given freebies because I'm 'The Boy-Who-Lived.' That's why I became an auror – there's no special treatment there, if I don't have the skills, I won't succeed."
Malfoy looked at him strangely. "Potter, if you tell me your reputation wasn't earned and you don't deserve the odd concession for saving our arses, I will throw this jar of what I'm pretty sure is pickled sheep's brain at your head." Malfoy held up a jar of floating chunks of who-knows-what pointedly, eyeing it with disgust. "If anyone deserves some peace and recognition, it's you."
"But other people did just as much as I did! I don't deserve all the credit for ending the war! I had no choice!"
Malfoy didn't respond to Harry's outburst by yelling back, instead he was calm. "That is true. All the others do deserve recognition too for everything they did, including keeping your stupid self alive. Honestly, Granger deserves a medal for that alone. But just because they also did things, does not mean you didn't. It doesn't lessen your involvement, just compliments it."
Harry was quiet for a moment as he considered that. As much as he hated to admit it, he appreciated Malfoy's outlook. He wasn't acting like the vast majority of the wizarding world and ignoring Harry's friends and others' sacrifices and triumphs nor was he downplaying their involvement either. He was saying that all those people did just as much as Harry in their own way to win the war. That included Malfoy, though Harry doubted Malfoy would consider himself to be one of those people. Perhaps he was right that Harry should start accepting the recognition and deserved some peace, rather than him shooting down everyone who even implied he was special.
Harry looked up and met Malfoy's eyes, hoping his expression conveyed his appreciation because he wasn't sure how to put it into words.
He didn't need to. Malfoy's gaze fell behind Harry and his face twisted into a grimace.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Ah…" Malfoy pointed to the door and Harry swivelled around quickly to see a flash of a camera. There was a yell as the reporter called to the others that he'd found Harry and the sound of a loud crowd flocking to the shop.
"Shit," Harry said, backing away from the door with wide eyes and bumping into the counter.
Malfoy hesitated for one second before he placed his jar of floating brains on the counter and straightened his clothes.
"You can go out the back door. I'll distract them," Malfoy said, turning towards the door and eyeing it with consideration. Harry could practically see the ideas and schemes flickering through Malfoy's brain and the excitable gleam in his eyes promised trouble for those on the other side of the door.
Harry exhaled sharply in relief. "Thanks, Malfoy."
Malfoy nodded and started towards the door but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He turned his head towards Harry and quirked his lips up.
"Oh, and Happy Birthday, Potter."
Malfoy snapped his head back to the door and turned the handle before Harry could utter his thanks.
"Try not to drown yourself in alcohol or trip and fall face first into your cake," he called behind him as a parting shot.
Harry grinned and waited until the door slammed shut, cameras flashing and Malfoy's voice calling everyone to silence, before he snuck out the back.
Meeting Malfoy hadn't lessened his curiosity. It'd only made it stronger.
The best birthday present he received that year he didn't know about until the next morning when the Daily Prophet arrived.
Malfoy Heir Speaks About His Lifelong Ambition to Overtake Celestina Warbeck in the Wizarding Music Charts and his Current Attempts of Transfiguring Himself Into A Fish.
Headmistress and former Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall, urges witches and wizards not to attempt this as the results would be disastrous.
It beat last year's birthday by far.