Harry darted down the side street and turned to see if he'd been followed. There were no signs to suggest he had been, so with a smile and a spring in his step he started towards Malfoy's potions shop. Malfoy's little performance at the Ministry had done its job; everybody Harry had passed had been gossiping about that rather than Harry's birthday. Normally when Harry arrived in the street he was swarmed in minutes, but today they'd been so caught up in guessing the identity of the mysterious prankster, retelling the events to their friends with increasing exaggeration, or even contemplating what other horrors could be expected from a clearly unhinged evil genius (that one had made Harry chuckle), they hadn't even glanced at him. He'd managed to slip silently through the crowd and to the quiet side street without a fuss.

He strolled along the street, looking for a familiar door. He hadn't been paying much attention when he'd fled to the shop the first time, and that had been two years ago now, so he didn't even know what the shop was called or what it sold. It was just pure chance Malfoy had been in that particular one: chance, destiny or his Malfoy radar drawing him there.

He stopped at a black door half-way down the street just around the first bend. It was approximately the right distance from the main alley and it had a very Malfoy vibe to it: dark colours, silver detailing, and traditional architecture. The difference, and only thing that made Harry doubt himself, was Malfoy was always neat and put-together, surrounding himself with expensive items and posh people, whereas this shop looked run-down and like the only thing keeping the structure from collapsing in on itself was magic. What really gave it away as the right place, though, was the floating sheep brains in the window display. Harry really hoped they weren't the same ones from two years ago.

Plus, when Harry looked closer at the window display he saw Malfoy's distinctive cursive on the little slips of card describing the items for sale. Harry was never going to admit to anyone that he managed to locate Malfoy based on his clear memory of his ex-rival's handwriting alone.

After a quick glance up at the shop sign – Cador and Caliborne's Curiosities, which yeah explained the sheep brains -, and a deep breath to steady his sudden nerves and silence the voice screaming in his head that this was creepy and a bad idea, Harry twisted the doorknob and entered the shop.

Malfoy was sitting behind the counter, his eyes glued to a dusty old yellow book. At the jingle of the bell, he glanced up and, to Harry's absolute shock, smiled softly at Harry.

The same thrill he'd felt the last time Malfoy had smiled at him sparked in his chest.

"Good morning, Potter. How are you on this fine day? Can I help you with anything?"

After a brief moment of hesitation, Harry strode wordlessly forward and flung the newspaper on the counter, raising his eyebrows.

Malfoy flicked his eyes down to it quickly and back to Harry. "Oh my," he said, looking directly into Harry's eyes. "What deranged individual would do something like this?"

Harry shook his head in amazement. "You're an idiot."

"Not according to this article," Malfoy said, laying his book down and picking up the paper, scanning his eyes over the words for what Harry doubted was the first time. "They say I'm an evil mastermind." He had a beaming smile on his face, clearly proud of himself and revelling in the attention. "Did you notice all the little hints to our previous conversations? I hoped you would. You are a half-decent auror after all."

Harry wouldn't admit that made him feel warm.

"How did you even pull this off?" Harry asked, not managing to hide his awe.

Malfoy banged the counter and then gestured to the shop, "Pull up a chair, Potter and I'll tell you all about it." Harry went to grab one of the stools on sale. "Not that one!" Harry froze and looked at him in askance. "That one shoots splinters out its seat when someone sits on it."

Harry eyed the stool with horror before quickly grabbing a different one and, after Malfoy's nod of acceptance, pulled it up to the counter and hopped onto it.

"So? How did you do it?"

"Oh, it wasn't that hard really," Malfoy waved a hand lazily. "I just went through the old tunnels nobody uses anymore to avoid any witnesses in the lobby and the Welcome Witch. Not just because she'd record my presence, she has a crush on me so would definitely remember me being there. I cast a powerful disillusionment charm on myself so nobody would see me sneaking around, disabled the monitoring charms – which are really rather simple to crack, someone should raise that with the DMLE - and used the stairs to get around."

"We have stairs?"

Malfoy smirked. "Yes. And that is why nobody managed to spot me. Because Ministry employees are either too lazy or too busy to use their legs."

"Hey, I'm a ministry employee!"

"And when was the last time you used your legs?"

Harry paused and, realising he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken stairs if there was a lift available, decided to take that as a rhetorical question and hope Malfoy didn't notice. "What do you mean old tunnels?"

"From the old Ministry," Malfoy answered. Seeing Harry's confused look, Malfoy sighed and explained further. "The current Ministry structure is built on top of one that was used back when the wizarding population was smaller and there were less employees. They never demolished the old one, just buried it, so all the old offices and corridors are down there and you can access them from the original entrance. You ever been to the lowest floor and seen that weird statue of Bonkorvitch the Troll Hunter?" Harry nodded. He'd been down there once or twice and always thought the statue was oddly placed and random; it was the official government headquarters and home to the officials who ran the wizarding world, the statue should be of someone high-status or legendary, not some guy who killed three trolls before being torn apart. "Well, that's the main access tunnel. The Ministry covered it up because they don't want people just wandering around down there unsupervised, but my father had the original plans. Honestly, with the amount of time Granger spent harping on about Hogwarts: A History at school, I thought she would've told you about the history of the Ministry when you started working there."

She probably had, but Harry tended to zone out when Hermione started lecturing them about history or magical theory. He understood that she loved talking about it and researching things, but Harry just wasn't interested. He wished he'd paid attention now, what Malfoy had described – secret tunnels, a whole building underneath them, abandoned rooms – sounded fascinating and like it would be fun to explore. He might have to sneak in there at some point, he couldn't resist a mystery.

"So that's how you managed to do it with no witnesses," Harry said. "As easy as that."

"I did have some help," Malfoy admitted. "Sneaking that amount of dung bombs into the auror department was virtually impossible because, unlike the minister's office and The Department of Magical Games and Sports, there are still employees there overnight. Luckily for me, Pansy had a meeting with her probation officer and she likes wearing short skirts, so nobody really noticed her 'accidentally' leaving her shopping bags full of dung bombs in a few rooms."

Harry felt like an idiot. He'd seen Parkinson that day strutting around the department, flirting with various aurors in her tight-fitting clothes, but had just rolled his eyes and gone back to his own case. He hadn't thought anything of it, but he was supposed to be a highly-trained auror with perfect observation skills so he should've.

"Where did you get all the pranks from? They weren't all common items you could buy, especially not in bulk if you wanted to avoid suspicion."

Malfoy nodded, "That was a bit of a challenge. The sardines were easy, I just went to a muggle shop and got them, no questions asked. I mean, I got some odd looks, but that might've been my stunning good looks. Or the fact I went in robes."

Harry wanted to interrupt and to ask so many questions about Malfoy, the personification of a pure-blood Slytherin, going to a muggle shop and just how that came about but Malfoy didn't pause long enough for Harry to ask.

"The dung bombs, well, Weasley – the fun one - doesn't mind bulk buying from his shop and was glad of both the business and the implications of a massive chaos-causing prank happening."

Harry would have to ask George if he knew who he'd sold his dung bombs too and what they were going to be used for, and if he was officially in on it. He was the sort of person who would revel in the knowledge of what was to come and happily provide whatever was needed for mass destruction. Harry didn't think George would out Malfoy though; in all likelihood after this George would only respect him.

"The brooms, all faulty ones the manufacturers just throw out. I asked if I could have them, they said yes. The insult charms…well, I perfected that particular charm in Fourth Year." Malfoy grinned at him and Harry shook his head, smiling. "The Nifflers were a bit more complicated, but Millie – Millicent Bulstrode – works for a creature rescue charity, and they got wind of a smuggling ring; some wizards were snatching nifflers from the wild and selling them as 'exotic pets' to both wizards and muggles. Normally they'd inform the aurors, the aurors would go in wands blazing, and the nifflers would be stuffed in an evidence lockup for a while before either being released or given to Millie's charity. I volunteered to liberate them early so we could get them to her faster rather than wait for the aurors."

Harry was a bit worried Malfoy had let criminals get away and wondered if he should flag a potential smuggling ring with the department head or the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It seemed like something they'd be interested in.

Malfoy seemed to read that in his face. "Oh, don't worry, Potter. They're not gonna want to start their smuggling ring up again anytime soon. I made sure they were properly traumatised and also sent an anonymous tip to the DRCMC, so they're all on a watchlist." Harry relaxed.

Malfoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "The hardest part was the Hippogriff feathers. They're not really monitored but they're also not used in too many common potions so apothecaries don't stock them. If you want them, you have to get them from the source. Millie didn't have any Hippogriffs in her sanctuary so I had to go into the wild." He shivered and glared at Harry. "I hope you know what hell I had to go through for you, Potter. Luckily, I had a year, so I could visit herds and pick up their discarded feathers rather than corner one and pluck it." He shivered again and there was a vague look of horror in his eyes.

The fact that Malfoy had faced his fears (even if he wouldn't admit they were his fears) just so Harry could have a decent birthday, for Harry, made him feel oddly honoured and more than a little pleased.

Yeah, the auror department were never going to crack this case.

"Has anyone ever told you, Malfoy, that you're kinda amazing."

Malfoy blinked in surprise and stared at Harry for a moment, apparently dumbfounded. He shook his head as if to clear it and straightened up. "Of course, just never in that context before – usually it's in more…intimate situations - and certainly never you." Malfoy's tone was a little dreamy, like he hadn't expected Harry to say something so nice but it was everything he'd ever wanted.

For his part, Harry was trying to push down the images that Malfoy's throwaway comment about 'more intimate contexts' and mentioning Harry in the same sentence brought to mind.

He decided to change the tone of the conversation to distract himself from such thoughts. Harry coughed and crossed his arms, trying to keep his voice light and expression disapproving despite being anything but. "You know doing this sort of stuff isn't going to get the reporters to leave you alone. Isn't that what you wanted? For them to think you're boring so they don't write about you? Pretty sure creating mass hysteria and chaos isn't the way to go about getting that. They'll never leave you alone if they find out."

"Oh?" Malfoy said, leaning forward so he was centimetres from Harry's face. He looked up at Harry through his eyelashes, a smirk dancing on his lips and his tone dropping low. "Who's going to tell them?"

Something tugged low in Harry's stomach and his breath caught in his throat. Well, that didn't distract him from those sorts of problematic thoughts.

It was a challenge, and Harry couldn't resist a challenge.

Harry swallowed. "What about your friends?" Harry said. "Parkinson and Bulstrode at least know you were up to something; enough to raise suspicion and the aurors to investigate."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, "Would Weasley and Granger report you?"

"What? Well, no, I don't think so. Not unless it was something really really unforgivable. In fact, Ron would probably have joined in."

"Well, then, why would my friends out me?" Malfoy suddenly frowned. "And don't you dare say 'because you're Slytherins.' If I hear anything remotely similar come out your mouth I will whack you over the head with that splinter-stool."

Malfoy leaned back and away from Harry, and Harry felt the loss.

"Well," he said carefully, trying to think of a way to say what he was thinking without offending Malfoy and getting splinters in his face. "You're not known for your loyalty."

Malfoy drummed his fingers on the counter and tilted his head to the side, likely considering whether that was close enough to give Harry a chair to the face.

"You mean loyalty is not a quality stereotypical of Slytherin house?"

Harry scrutinised Malfoy's face, eyes darting briefly to the stool, and searching for any sign of offence so he knew how to proceed. He couldn't find anything as Malfoy's expression was blank and more inscrutable than it had been in school, when he'd worn his emotions plainly for everyone to see. Well, for Harry to see. Harry noticed he was a lot colder to others.

"No…" Harry tried. "At least not the main one, not like it was with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff."

Malfoy nodded as he looked past Harry into the distance. Harry wondered if someone was there but he hadn't heard the bell go so resisted the urge to turn around.

Suddenly his eyes snapped to Harry's. "Did you know," Malfoy said. "That the entirety of Slytherin knew about my little dementor stunt in Third Year. I openly plotted and bragged about it in the common room for weeks beforehand. Nobody said anything."

Harry blinked in surprise. He'd known some of Malfoy's housemates had known, they had too as it was a scheme that required more than just Malfoy to pull off, but not that all of them had.

"And," Malfoy continued. "The moment Umbridge gave one of her 'special detentions' to a Slytherin – a Second Year who she'd caught snogging her boyfriend in Myrtle's Bathroom -, we started spiking her drink with whatever Weasley products we could find, hit her with more confundus charms and jinxes than was probably good for her health, and eased off on the whole monitoring and punishing thing, gradually dismantling her reign of terror from within? Towards the end we spent our shifts lounging in the common room or occasionally plotting with Peeves if we could get him to stay still long enough."

Harry shook his head. He'd thought all the Slytherins had been aiding Umbridge in punishing the rest of the school for their 'indiscretions', just because they thought they were better than everybody else, and in return Umbridge left their house alone. He hadn't known the Slytherins had suffered too, nor that they'd been taking what sounded like very effective measures (and vengeance) against her.

"Or," Malfoy said, and his voice wasn't soft anymore. He sounded like he was choking back emotions, his voice rising in volume with his frustrations and determination to prove his point and, Harry quickly realised, the surge of painful memories. "That every single Slytherin from our year and the year below turned up to Vince's funeral, even after he treated everyone like shit that last year? That, when Theo was left orphaned after his father was killed in the battle and his mother fled to the continent without him, Blaise took him to his house to live with him and his mother, who practically adopted Theo as a second son? That my mother spent months with Pansy, trying to boost her confidence, drag her out of her depression, and repair her family's reputation even though our own was destroyed because she saw her struggling and nobody else was helping her, only ostracising her. That Millicent set up a support group at her sanctuary, using the creatures there as therapy animals after Greg," Malfoy broke off, refusing to meet Harry's eyes and voice dropping to a whisper. "Tried to kill himself. Nobody thought of us, they threw us aside the moment they could and abandoned us, as nobody wanted to help an ex-Death Eater. Even you."

Malfoy looked up and there was a strength in his eyes, a depth and clarify in them that hadn't been there previously, as he focused intensely on Harry.

"Perception, Potter, is often key," Malfoy said. Harry wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but he had to agree his own perception of Malfoy and his friends had just changed. "Slytherins may not have loyalty as their key trait, attributed to them by a talking hat, but that doesn't mean that we are incapable of it. When threatened, we join together and fight for each other, because usually nobody else will."

Harry didn't know what to say. He hadn't known any of that. He'd been under the impression that all Slytherins would stab each other in the back if it would gain them power or favour, that they would lie to improve their reputations no matter what the expense to other people, and they didn't have bonds – or morals - strong enough to withstand even a minor attack; no Slytherin would risk their life to save their friend, let alone jump on a troll like Harry had for Hermione, they wouldn't put themselves out to help a homeless orphan like the Weasleys had for Harry, or form a renegade group to take down a corrupt and unjust official. They had done all of that though. He should've known better. Crabbe and Goyle followed Malfoy unfalteringly for years, backing him up in fights without question, which couldn't just be stupidity, and his housemates couldn't have failed to notice Malfoy struggling in Sixth Year without questioning why.

Honestly, Harry hadn't thought about what happened to the Slytherins after the war or what effect it had had on them. The only person he had thought of in passing was the man in front of him, and by default his family, but after the trials even that had dimmed a bit. Harry had had bigger things to worry about, like the rebuilding of the wizarding world that had been left in ruins and what the hell to do with his life now his destiny was complete; the wellbeing of a few kids who had hated him and made his life miserable in school didn't even cross his mind. He was embarrassed to think that way now; he shouldn't have preached about acceptance and supporting each other in the long battle to repair the damage to their world and themselves when he was ignoring a quatre of the population.

Harry wasn't sure how the conversation had turned from a light-hearted and enjoyable discussion on Malfoy's pretty amazing pranks to an in-depth and emotional analysis on house stereotypes, prejudice, and the neglect suffered after the war, but what he did know was that Malfoy had just bared a part of his soul for Harry. Harry wasn't stupid enough to take that lightly or for granted. There was no way Malfoy would've given this to Harry in the past. Malfoy always had a perfectly crafted mask, one that only seemed to chip away when he was around Harry, and walls nobody could beat down. The only time Harry had seen those walls fall was when they were in Myrtle's bathroom, when Malfoy was desperate and scared and Harry had almost killed him, and that wasn't something Harry ever wanted to re-live. So for Malfoy to willingly let him in, at least a little, well, that was a gift better than any he'd received for his birthday.

Harry had known Malfoy, and known him probably better than most other people with the amount of time he spent obsessing over him, but he didn't know him. He didn't know the intricacies of his emotions, the complexity of his relationships, what he was like in his quiet time, his intimate thoughts or what he was like now, although he felt an increasing desire too. However, what Harry did know was that Malfoy would hate him if he acknowledged how much he'd revealed to Harry and how he'd lost his mask; he would see it as a sign of weakness, that he had left himself vulnerable in front of Harry, an ex-rival. If Harry wanted to keep the conversation and their cordial relationship going, he would have to ignore that and distract him; steer them towards more stable territory, somewhere Malfoy felt safe.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly, fidgeting with discomfort. "You just…never seemed that close."

"Not in public," Malfoy said. "That's dangerous from a political standpoint. Ambition is our key trait and making the wrong connections or associating with pariahs is a sure way to ruin your reputation and your family's irreparably." He grimaced. "Not that my reputation is so great these days, but it's not like the others are any better."

"No, even in private you were all distant," Harry said with a frown. "In the Gryffindor common room we'd play games with each other, study with each other, chat openly by the fireplace and help the other years. You sat quietly in your little groups and read silently."

Malfoy eyed Harry suspiciously, and that was a very familiar look.

"How do you know that?" Malfoy said distrustfully, leaning towards Harry again. "When did you see us together?"

Harry shifted in his seat and resisted the urge to wring his hands awkwardly. "I, er, broke into the Slytherin common room once. In Second Year."

Malfoy straightened up. "What?"

"Hey, in my defence, you were acting secretive so following you was the only option!" Harry said indignantly, drawing himself up and pointing a finger at Malfoy. Malfoy raised a sceptical eyebrow and Harry deflated. "Okay, no, you weren't. You were being you, proclaiming yourself superior and calling Hermione names and issuing threats. But there was a giant fucking snake slithering around petrifying people you openly despised, you were a Slytherin, and I didn't like you. You were the logical culprit." Harry paused and carried on apologetically. "Obviously, it wasn't you. It was Ginny…or Ginny possessed by a 16-year-old Voldemort, but shockingly my mind didn't jump to that conclusion."

Malfoy stared at him. Harry shifted in his seat again and looked away from Malfoy as the silence dragged on for a while. He had just started debating about whether he should leave or break the silence when Malfoy spoke.

"I don't know whether to be offended you automatically assumed I was going around trying to commit murder or flattered you thought I was so magically capable I could pull that off. Either way. you must've thought a lot of me," he said, sounding dazed.

"Of course that would be your response," Harry said, exasperated and weirdly fond. "I thought you were petrifying everyone and your first reaction is 'I am just that amazing'."

"I am just that amazing," Malfoy said. "So you followed me to the common room?" Harry nodded. "How did you get in? It's not like you could just stroll in, you'd need the password."

"You, er, let us in. Me and Ron."

Malfoy frowned at him. "I think I'd remember letting my sworn enemy and his ginger sidekick traipse into my sanctuary. Spells would fly."

"We were using Polyjuice potion to look like Crabbe and Goyle," Harry explained. He briefly wondered if he should be revealing what they'd done back then to Malfoy; it was a long time ago and nobody would care that The Saviour had brewed a restricted potion when he was twelve, in fact they'd probably be impressed by it. However, there were some who would demand he be punished, that he couldn't get away with something just because he was famous, or they would use it to assassinate his character. Plus, Malfoy might be offended by it and stop talking to him, and Harry didn't want that. He didn't think Malfoy would though, the curiosity in his eyes confirming that. Malfoy had always been as interested in Harry as Harry was with him. He sighed and shrugged sheepishly. "We jumped them on the way back from dinner, stuck them in a broom cupboard, then wandered the dungeons until you found us. We must've looked like idiots, stumbling around like lost lambs, Ron arguing with his older brother dressed like Crabbe and me forgetting to take my glasses off."

There was silence for a few moments as Malfoy cast his mind back, trying to identify the incident Harry was talking about. Harry saw the moment he remembered as his eyes widened comically and he pointed an accusing finger at Harry.

"That was you?!"

Harry grinned. "Guilty."

"I knew something weird was going on!" Malfoy said vehemently, shaking his head. "But Vince and Greg didn't mention anything when they returned, and it would've been impolite to broach it."

Sometimes Harry thought the older wizarding families thought impoliteness was more important than sense. It made Harry want to laugh that the only thing stopping Malfoy discovering their little ploy and reporting them, definitely achieving his lifelong goal of getting him expelled, was his unwillingness to be impolite.

Malfoy was still talking. "I can't believe you broke the school rules! Wait, no, I can. You broke rules more than you completed your potions' essays. But this is a violation of everything sacred in house relationships! People can't just be wandering into other houses' common rooms casually, it's disrespectful! Upsetting the peace and tranquillity and safety of their schoolmates' haven! What if we'd been discussing something personal? What if we had been upset and having an emotional breakdown and needed support from our housemates?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "What if we'd been naked? I don't want some idiot Gryffindork seeing my private parts." Malfoy paused. "Unless he's cute."

Harry stared at him, not sure whether to be intrigued or horrified. "Why would you be naked?"

Malfoy shrugged, "I don't know, maybe I was taking a shower and someone stole my robes so I had to sneak through the common room, or you walked in when I was changing for bed, or I was fucking my boyfriend and left my books down in the common room and thought 'hey, they're more important than clothes'. Or I was part of a massive orgy, who knows. Honestly, I'm pretty sure the Seventh Years were partaking in an orgy during our Fourth with the amount of discarded clothes and underwear found in the common room and noises I'd overhear."

Harry was having a hard time shaking the image of him walking in on a naked Malfoy out of his head. He tried to pull his thoughts back into safer territory, somewhere that didn't leave him gaping like a fish, but it kept getting derailed.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Malfoy said thoughtfully, almost to himself. "When we were in school, everything was about our houses: Quidditch, house points, relationships, rivalries. The first thing people wanted to know was what house you were in and the friendships you formed were determined by where you were sorted. A Gryffindor and Slytherin couldn't be friends, let alone anything more, because of their house pride and values even if they were compatible and would get along well. Nobody would study with a Hufflepuff due to the stereotype they were slow and stupid, even though they got some of the best grades in exams due to their hard work, and Ravenclaws didn't get invited to parties because they were seen as buzzkills and too uptight. But now we're older," Malfoy sighed. "Well, it means a total of jack shit, doesn't it. It doesn't matter what house you were in. Your identity is not determined by the colour of your robes or what table you sat at for breakfast. We're all adults, with jobs in different fields, relationships based on love; what was the centre of our world at school barely crosses our mind now." Malfoy seemed to realise he'd been rambling and shot an embarrassed look at Harry. "At least, that's how I feel."

Harry took a moment to process that, wondering when Malfoy became so wise and aware. Was it a recent thing, something that happened after the war, or had he always been like this and Harry was just too blind and too consumed by his negative opinion of the boy he was to see it?

After a moment of thinking it through and realising that Malfoy had a very good point, Harry nodded slowly. "Yes, I…I agree with you, I think."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. "Well, alert The Prophet. Harry Potter agreed with something I, his greatest enemy, said."

Harry snorted, before becoming serious again. "You are right though. Back in school, in between the random Voldemort attacks and attempts on my life, everything revolved around the houses." Harry noted with some interest that Malfoy hadn't flinched at Voldemort's name, merely blinked. "Slytherins were evil, Gryffindors were good, Ravenclaws were dull, Hufflepuffs…well, most of the time they seemed a bit scared of me. Hell, out of lessons I didn't really interact with the other houses except our little battles until Fifth Year when I started talking to Luna, and even that was because I was a pariah and nobody else wanted anything to do with me. Ironically, the house I was closest to – had the most interactions with outside of class- was Slytherin. Now though, Luna joins us fairly regularly for tea, Hermione's work best friend is Padma Patil who was a Ravenclaw, Nev's dating Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff, and Ron's favourite sparring partner when it comes to Quidditch is Miles Bletchly from Slytherin. I don't even know what house my Auror partner was in, I've never asked and don't really care. We've all just kinda…mixed together and forgotten why we shouldn't have."

When Harry looked up, Malfoy was smiling softly at him. Harry's lips tugged up shyly in response.

"And you're sitting talking one-on-one with Draco Malfoy in a dusty old shop without exchanging insults," Malfoy said calmly. "I don't think any of us saw that coming."

Harry chuckled. "Not only that, Draco Malfoy just forced the Ministry of Magic to shut down for me. Pretty sure if anyone said that to teenage me he'd laugh in their face before having them committed to St Mungo's for suggesting it."

Malfoy grinned.

There was a soft chime from the back room and Malfoy turned to look towards it. He snapped his head back to Harry and started to rise.

"Excuse me one moment, I just need to check on that potion. I'll be back."

Harry nodded and mumbled something incoherent as Malfoy dashed around the counter and through a swing door camouflaged in the wall next to it. Harry started drawing patterns in the countertop as he waited for Malfoy to come back and he considered how to ask the one question that he'd been desperate to ask all morning.

Malfoy sauntered back into the room a few minutes later, brushing his arm against Harry as he passed and causing Harry to shiver.

"Sorry about that," Malfoy said as he plonked himself back on his stool behind the counter. "A customer has requested a rather complicated and unique potion to be brewed, and my boss would kill me if I messed it up. Even if I was distracted by Our Mighty Saviour." Malfoy grinned at him again.

This time Harry didn't smile back, keeping his eyes on the counter as he traced the grain with his finger, trying to work up the courage to ask his question. The air seemed to get heavier with his lack of response and he felt the atmosphere become tenser by the second. He saw Malfoy stiffen up out of the corner of his eye and swallowed, knowing that if he didn't ask now he never would and would likely make their semi-friendly relationship awkward again.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Malfoy said, sounding bemused.

Harry glanced up and met Malfoy's eyes. "Why did you do this for me?" Harry gestured to the newspaper still lying on the counter between them. "We're not friends, we never were. Why take this risk? You could be arrested if you were found out, your reputation would be in tatters and you'd lose connections and respect and friendships. And why make all this effort for someone you barely see, let alone talk to? This must've taken months of planning and probably a lot of money. Why?"

Malfoy kept eye contact, looking at Harry seriously and speaking slowly, as if he wanted Harry to listen to what he was saying and believe him. "I said I'd protect you. I meant it."

The honesty rang true in his voice, the depth of his tone and the seriousness in his eyes making it very hard for Harry to think Malfoy was lying.

"But why? You don't need to do that." Harry said, exasperated.

Malfoy was quiet for a moment. "Even if I didn't owe you for saving my life and keeping me and my mother out of Azkaban, I don't think it's fair what they're doing to you. I made a promise to myself after the war that if I saw injustice then I would speak up, so the same thing didn't happen again, and you should be allowed some peace and quiet after the crap you've been through." Before Harry could interject and say Malfoy didn't owe him anything, Malfoy was continuing. "Besides, I suppose I feel…close to you? Like you said, at school we interacted with each other the most out of classes. You were a daily annoyance in my life, always there, and I was always aware of you. I guess spending so much time around you, knowing you, it made me a little…possessive. Seeing other people upset you makes me uncomfortable." He took a slow breath. "You're my Potter, and if anyone is going to ruin your birthday it's going to be me."

For what felt like the millionth time that day, Harry wasn't sure what to say. It went deeper than Malfoy wanting to be the only one who could break Harry, despite his last sentence making it sound that way. What Malfoy had described, it was eerily close to what Harry himself felt: this strange, undeniable but completely irrational attraction to Malfoy, a connection that was different to all his other relationships and that he couldn't quite define. Possessive, yes, obsessive, yes, and the thought of anyone hurting Malfoy definitely made Harry feel uneasy. There was also a sort of…dare he say, fondness there; something that made him smile at Malfoy's jokes, even if they were insulting Harry, a reluctant appreciation for his skill, and a comfortable camaraderie between them. Being with Malfoy was like pulling on an old, warm jumper after years of forgetting it existed.

Malfoy frowned, "Honestly, I'm surprised you came here rather than make the most of it. I thought you'd be out drinking yourself into a coma or more likely getting food poisoning at the Hog's Head with your entourage whilst you could, rather than sitting in this little shop with me."

It was a good point, but the truth was Harry had wanted to come here. His first thought on having a free day wasn't to go out drinking with Ron and Hermione, it was that he needed to see Malfoy, wanted to spend his time with him.

"Please. People are going to be talking about this for weeks," Harry said lightly, hiding the fact the thought that he'd subconsciously chosen Malfoy over his friends terrified him slightly. "They won't remember it was my birthday until September. I can celebrate with Ron and Hermione at the weekend or something."

Malfoy smiled at him, and again it was one of those soft smiles that made Harry feel warm. He wasn't sure he'd managed to fool Malfoy that his visit was nothing extraordinary, but Malfoy didn't push it.

"You want a drink, Potter?"

Harry nodded, returning Malfoy's smile as the blonde made his way into the back again and handed him a butterbeer before starting to chatter on about Puddlemere United's recent disaster match against the Appleby Arrows, and how if their chasers kept bashing the ball around like it was a mouldy watermelon then they stood no chance against the Chudley Canons improved team on Saturday.

If someone had told Harry he'd be sitting drinking butterbeer and discussing Quidditch with Draco Malfoy on his birthday casually and easily without incident even this time last year, he never would've believed them. It was not how he'd expected to spend his birthday, but he had to admit it was one of his better ones.