Draco found himself in a strange space, small and open with every room combined into one. The bed was in one corner, a muggle telly was in another, a tiny kitchenette was in a third, and a door that likely led to the water closet was in the fourth. One wall was entirely lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, which looked out onto the city beyond. The view was breathtaking, but the lack of drapes made it feel particularly exposed.
The bed was unmade, there were dishes in the sink, a stack of magazines cascaded across the floor, and dust bunnies gathered along the baseboards. It was nothing that a couple of cleaning charms couldn't handle, though clearly there were no cleaning charms being employed here. In the corner between the bed and the window a glass terrarium contained a small white lizard. A skink, if Draco wasn't mistaken.
But Draco had no room in his brain to think about the lizards and dusty floors. He was presently overwhelmed by the flood of magical residue that was impregnated into every object in the flat, the powerful signature of a wizard who had tried to stopper up his skill and was now seeping from every pore.
Draco reeled in stunned revelation as the satiny sweet feel and taste of Harry's magic rolled over him like the tide. It enveloped him, crept up his spine and trailed down his arms. It slipped between his legs and caressed his groin. He grasped the wall and steadied himself, employing his training in Occlumency to barricade his mind against the influx.
Hermione and Ron weren't wrong. Harry was a very powerful wizard indeed. He was oozing magic, splitting at the seams from the log jam inside of him. He had plugged the exhaust of a running engine, and if he didn't release the pressure it would eventually tear him apart from within.
He had to quickly decide what to do before Harry could return home and find his former school rival waiting for him in his flat. No, this was the wrong way to meet him. He needed neutral ground. He Disapparated to the sidewalk outside and checked around to make sure no one had seen him. He could feel Harry's signature out here, too. He was seeping magic everywhere he went, leaving sopping wet footprints that a Tracker of Draco's calibre could follow with his eyes closed. Hell, Harry was leaving such a strong trail that Draco suspected even a Squib could sense it.
He headed down the road, bobbing along in Harry's wake. He found the cafe where he probably stopped for morning coffee, and immediately noted it as a high casualty location. If Harry's magic were to reach critical pressure here, he could take as many as a dozen muggles out with him. He tracked Harry's trail down into the Tube, Apparated past the turnstile and hopped on a train that was moving in the same direction as Harry's magic. The train itself was devoid of his signature, but Draco could catch a whiff of it from the tunnel, like scent on the wind. He rode for several stops until a platform appeared that utterly reeked of Harry's essence. He hopped off and ascended to street level.
The trail was hot now, leading across the street and straight into a bookstore. Draco didn't need to go inside to know that Harry was in there now. His magic curled around the entrance like smoke, radiated through the windows like heat. It was satiny and sweet and far more dangerous than it let on.
Draco stood on the opposite side of the road, tucked into the shadow of a bus shelter as the sun slowly slid below the city skyline. In the deepening evening light he could see into the brightly lit store interior, as employees in tidy black aprons shelved books and dusted shelves. He waited patiently, utterly certain that Harry would appear.
As that thought flitted through Draco's mind, Harry stepped in front of the window, wheeling out a long contraption with a line attached to the wall. He pushed it back and forth across the floor and shouted happily to his coworkers over the noise. Draco suspected it was some kind of cleaning machine, but he didn't have much interest in contemplating the machine because oh Merlin there was Harry Potter, right in front of him, for the first time in six years.
His breath left his body in a long sigh as he took in the sight of him. Harry was taller than he remembered, possibly a bit taller than Draco. He was broad, so much more than he had been in school. No longer the slender Seeker physique, his body had filled out and hardened, a quality that was visible even through his fitted white short-sleeve button-down shirt and black apron. As he pushed the cleaning machine back and forth his bicep flexed and relaxed, creating a bulging rhythm that was a pacemaker for Draco's pulse.
When he smiled, he smiled brilliantly. He smiled sincerely and joyfully, without the awkward, conflicted angst that had plagued him, and frankly everyone else, as a teenager. He looked happy. Draco winced as he realized the odds of that scintillating smile being directed at him were virtually nil.
One of his coworkers must have made a joke because Harry threw his head back and laughed. The satiny sweet smoke of his magic billowed and spread, then receded as he went back to cleaning. Draco felt as though his hair had been blown back by the swell.
A few minutes later the lights shut off and the four bookstore employees took their leave. They hung their aprons and exited by the front door, and the last one out secured the locks. Draco marveled that the locks were engaged by hand, and no one raised a wand to set protective wards.
He ducked behind the bus shelter as Harry and his three coworkers crossed the street directly towards him. Even in hiding he could locate Harry by the strength of the magic that was radiating off of him. It rolled over Draco's body and washed away as Harry swept down the street with his friends.
His voice was merry, a rich baritone with a confident lilt that Draco remembered from school. As much as he had changed that quality was the same, which Draco found oddly comforting. He waited until they descended to the Tube to follow behind and kept a safe distance as they waited for the next train. Harry's magic coiled around him and held him fast as they boarded one car ahead of Draco's. And when they exited, his magic coaxed Draco off at their stop.
They walked a block and entered a pub together, leaving Draco to decide whether he should enter, too. He was much more likely to be spotted indoors. He had no polyjuice on him to conceal his identity, and he'd foolishly given the invisibility cloak back to Hermione. Even a hat to conceal his distinctive white blond hair would help.
He scanned the street and spotted a small newsstand with a rack of umbrellas, hats, and scarves, undoubtedly for unprepared tourists who had expected sunny skies in London. He crossed the street and casually Accioed a simple cap that would mostly shield his hair and eyes from view.
"You going to pay for that?" the shopkeeper asked as Draco turned to leave.
Draco gave him a withering look and Obliviated the memory of his transaction before continuing on his way. He didn't bother dwelling on the theft. He'd come a long way from his upbringing, so he was comfortable forgiving himself for the occasional transgression.
The pub was crowded and dark, and loud enough to make Draco want to retreat to the sidewalk. But back in the far corner he could see Harry with his friends and of course that meant he would stay. He ordered a pint and approached the occupied booth that was directly beside Harry's. With a quick flick the occupants realized they had business elsewhere and departed. Draco smiled to himself and sat, leaning against the high wooden seat back with Harry on the other side. He sipped his pint and thought about how close they were, if not for the slender barrier between them.
Harry's magic welled over the top of the booth and flooded across the floor. Draco hardly had to concentrate to pick it out above the clutter of everyone else's essences. It was like a growing ooze, like soft, rising bread dough, like too much cologne. It enveloped everything and seeped into every corner, satiny and sweet and alluring. Draco noted the pub as another high casualty location. If he went off here, it would be very, very bad.
It was difficult to hear, so Draco employed one of the only pieces of spy gear he was willing to use, having mostly decided years ago that spy gear was amateurish and beneath him. But in cases like this he needed help. He conjured his Extendable Ear and laid the string out along the bench seat, tucking the listening end just around the edge so it was pointed at Harry's table. Now he could eavesdrop easily.
"-Desperate for a shag," one of the girls was saying.
"I'm sure you could find someone here who would be willing to oblige," another girl said. The group laughed at the suggestion.
"Get Harry pissed enough and maybe he'll oblige," the third girl said. They laughed even harder.
"I don't think there's enough lager in the world," Harry moaned humorously.
"I tried to convert a boy once," the second girl said. "He was willing to try but he couldn't keep it up, if you know what I mean."
"I already know from experience that I couldn't," Harry said with false dismay. The girls all laughed again.
Draco took a big swallow from his pint. A group of three patrons walked up to his table and asked him if he was alone, with just a touch of annoyance. He sneered at them and wordlessly sent them away. Muggles were too easy.
"No, no plans for the weekend," Harry was saying. "I've got a standing invitation for drinks with my landlord and her friends on Saturday but I'm not feeling much like going out right now."
"Are you okay?" the first girl asked. "You've been acting kind of rundown lately."
"Been feeling a bit off, yeah," Harry sighed. "Kind of fluey, just not myself."
Draco's stomach went cold. Harry's magic was seeping at a dramatic rate, and he seemed totally unaware of the risk. If he was feeling unwell, it didn't bode well for him or anyone around him. He didn't have much time left. He silently cursed Hermione and Ron and Hogwarts and the entire Wizarding community for not teaching their poor muggle-raised savior about the risks of stifling his magic.
He snapped back to the present as Harry bid his coworkers goodnight and slid out from the booth. Draco scrambled to retract and pocket his Extendible Ear and tugged his hat down over his eyes. Harry hugged one of the girls and turned to leave, accidentally bumping Draco's table with his hip as he did.
"Sorry, mate," Harry dropped a hand onto Draco's shoulder as he steadied the wobbling table.
"No problem," Draco said, keeping his head tipped down.
Harry paused for just a moment, his fingers lingering on Draco's shoulder for just a breath longer than they should have. Draco thought about Hermione and Ron's warning that he was powerful now, and certainly the intense overflow that sheeted off of him supported that opinion. He wondered whether Harry possessed any innate Tracking ability, too, and whether he could taste Draco's essence through his fingertips.
But in the next breath he was gone, pushing through the crowd to the door, and then he was out into the night.
Draco's heart pounded. It had been just a fraction of a second of hesitation, but Draco knew with certainty that his cover had been nearly blown.