"Don't mind me, I'm just passing through," Draco stumbled into the kitchen and waved the house elf away before she could greet him merrily. He poured himself a cup of tea and flopped down at the kitchen table to drink.
He was tense, anxious even. He had no time to consider how to best approach Harry. If he didn't confront him now and make him realize the danger he faced, there might not be another chance.
He dressed quickly and checked his hair in the mirror three times, somewhat concerned about making a good first impression. After so many years, he hoped to strike Harry the way Harry had struck him.
He wore the blue t-shirt with the burgundy West Ham shield on the breast with a gray button-down over the top. He didn't need the T-shirt anymore, nor the letter to Ron and Hermione, but he wanted to hold onto them anyway. Stowing his wand up his sleeve, he readied himself for the challenge ahead and Disapparated.
He arrived in the shadow of the same bus shelter he'd hidden behind the day before. A quick Obliviate took care of the two women sitting on the bench who had seen him arrive, then he took a breath and crossed the road.
The neighborhood was busy, with lots of tourists and lots of cars and lots of shops and diners lining the street. Draco paused under the awning of the bookstore and braced himself. The satiny sweet smoke of Harry's magic permeated the building and he knew it would be overwhelming when he entered. He peeked through the front door but didn't immediately see him. Still, his Tracker senses knew better than his eyes. Harry was in.
He pushed through the door and nearly staggered back from the blast of residual magic that covered him like scattershot. He quickly regained his composure and slipped down the nearest aisle to get his bearings.
"Brilliant. I can ring you up over here," Harry's baritone voice rang out across the store. The left wall of the store was dominated by a checkout counter and registers. The back of the store had a tiny coffee counter. The rest was filled with rows and rows of bookshelves. Draco wove his way through the stacks until he found a good vantage point from the cookbook section.
Harry was wearing another fitted white short-sleeve button-down with a black apron over the top. His dark hair was trimmed short around the back and sides, with a bit of sideburn descending in front of his ears. The top of his head was messy and spiky and roguishly uneven. His dark framed glasses were better sized to complement his face than they had been in school, but they were still the familiar round shape that were so distinctively his style. He smiled at the customer and seemed genuinely pleased to be helping her. Draco rolled his eyes. Ever the Gryffindor. When he was done bagging her selections, he scooped up an armful of discarded books and started reshelving them.
Draco glanced over his shoulder but there only appeared to be one other employee working, the one behind the coffee counter. His heart pounded as he realized there was no turning back. There would be no exiting the store without being seen. Ready or not, he was about to meet Harry for the first time in six years.
He felt the advancing pressure wave of his magic before he heard his feet. He was coming this way. Draco snatched the first book in front of him and leafed randomly to the middle, as though he just happened to be browsing.
Harry rounded the corner just then, finger tracing over the title of a soon-to-be reshelved book. He glanced up with a polite customer service smile, which instantly transformed into a rictus of pure shock.
"Malfoy," Harry whispered, his hands frozen.
"Hello, Potter," Draco said politely. His blood thumped in his ears and his knees were weak.
"What are you doing here?" Harry's eyes were wide and unblinking.
"Just reading up on," Draco looked down at the book in his hands, "chicken pot pie."
"Chicken pot pie," Harry repeated.
"Yes," Draco set the book back on the shelf. "Turns out my technique is as good as theirs, so I don't suppose I need a book after all."
"What are you talking about?" Harry shook himself out of his stupor. His brow furrowed in pained confusion.
"I need to speak with you," Draco cut to the chase. There was no point in pretending this was a coincidental meeting.
"How did you find me?" Harry glanced over his head at the girl behind the coffee counter. "You can't be here."
"I'm not planning on blowing your cover," Draco said. "But I do need to talk to you."
"I don't want to talk to you," Harry said suddenly, taking a step back. His posture wasn't hostile, it was fearful.
"I'm not here to attack you," Draco tried not to sound annoyed. "I was sent by Granger and Weasley to find you and tell you something."
"Why did they send you? Why didn't they just come find me themselves?" Harry paused his retreat.
"Because you're a very good hider."
"Then how did you find me?"
"I'm a very good seeker," Draco's smirked.
Harry smiled back, catching the double meaning. He caught himself and looked away, his hands busy with the remaining stack of books. He glanced over at his coworker again and sighed.
"Let me get the rest of these shelved," he said. "Meet me outside."
Draco nodded and brushed past him towards the front door. The slight contact sent ripples of goosebumps up his arm. He didn't need his eyes or his Tracker sense to know that Harry turned and watched him walk away.
He waited for Harry on the bench in the bus shelter and watched crowds of muggles swarm by. Harry was mad if he thought he could ever be one of them. While these people went about their days, powerless and dull, Harry shone like a brilliant star. One that was about to go supernova if Draco didn't get through to him in time.
Harry exited the bookstore, his apron removed and his hands jammed into his charcoal gray trouser pockets. He crossed with only a cursory glance at traffic and sat next to Draco on the bench.
"Not here," he said softly. He glanced over, his expression miserable. "I assume you were the one who asked Diane to call me yesterday, not Ron."
"I wouldn't expect you to take a call from Draco Malfoy," Draco said wryly.
"It makes sense now," Harry nodded. "I was a bit confused when she said very handsome, when Ron is a bit of an acquired taste."
"Oh behave," Draco said mildly. But inside his stomach fluttered. Was he saying that it made sense to call him very handsome?
"If you found Diane and this place, I assume you also know where I live," Harry said.
"I do."
"Then let's go," Harry held out his hand. "We might as well Apparate."
"No," Draco jumped to his feet. "Uh, I mean, there are too many people. We'll take the Tube." He needed to ease Harry into the realization of his impending doom.
Harry shrugged and led him to the station entrance. He swiped through the turnstile and turned in surprise as Draco Apparated past the barrier. Harry cleared his throat and scratched his nose.
"Been a while since I've seen anyone do that," he muttered.
"Come on," Draco waved him along.
They boarded the train and stood near the door, each holding onto the same pole. Now that they were standing in close proximity Draco's head had to swim against the current of Harry's magic. It filled his lungs and his ears and saturated his tongue with smoky sweetness. He sagged against Harry's shoulder as vertigo overwhelmed him.
"What's wrong with you?" Harry asked in Draco's ear.
"Nothing," Draco straightened his posture and shook his head to clear his mind. He wasn't intentionally Tracking anymore, but his magic had latched onto Harry's signal and he found it difficult to disengage.
Harry frowned and peered at him. "Are you sick?"
"No," Draco said. "Just a bit tired."
"Me too," Harry sighed. He pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes. "'I'm not feeling well lately."
"That's sort of why I'm here," Draco said as the train pulled into Harry's station. "Let's go, this is your stop."
Harry looked up in surprise and gave him a withering look. They exited and went up to street level, then Harry led Draco in the proper entrance of his building rather than popping inside.
"I realize it won't live up to your standards," Harry opened the door and swept his arms around to encompass the small space. He dunked his keys in a bowl by the kitchenette and kicked his shoes off. "Tea?"
"Yes, thank you," Draco sat on the sofa beneath the wall of windows. He struggled to maintain his composure as he was pummeled on all sides by Harry's magic. It practically puffed out of the cushions when he leaned back.
Harry puttered quietly around the kitchenette, doing every task by hand, and Draco couldn't help staring in wonder. Why would someone willingly wash a dish manually? Harry looked up and caught Draco staring.
"You think I'm mad, don't you?" he asked with a smile.
"I've always thought you were mad," Draco said. He looked around the room at the cluttered surfaces and nodded at the lizard cage on the floor. "I've never seen a white skink before."
"Neither had I," Harry said, bringing two cups over and sitting next to him. "But as soon as I saw him I had to have him." He nodded at Draco's uniquely pale hair, "You'd make a good match, you're practically the same color."
"What's his name?" Draco asked as he took a sip of his tea. Not enough sugar.
"Dragon," Harry said, his cheeks flushing slightly.
Draco spluttered and set his cup down before he could spill. He looked cockeyed at Harry. "Dragon."
"Not because of you," Harry said quickly, his cheeks burning brighter. A wave of repressed magic rolled off of him and hit Draco square in the chest.
"Well I wasn't going to suggest that, but now I'm suspicious," Draco said, retrieving his cup.
"Merlin," Harry rubbed his eyes again. He looked positively fatigued.
"Listen," Draco set his cup down again. "I know I'm the last person you want to talk to right now, but I need you to hear me out. There's something you need to know."
"Malfoy," Harry shook his head. "It's been years-"
"Listen to me," Draco interrupted him. "Your life is in danger and you're about to die. And when you do, you might kill everyone around you."
Harry stared at him in shock.
"Do I have your complete attention?" Draco asked. "I'm here because Ron and Hermione sent me. They're worried about you, and rightfully so. You've stopped doing magic and that's an incredibly dangerous thing to do. If you don't start using it again it will back up on you and destroy you."
Harry continued to stare. "That's why you're here?"
"Yes," Draco nodded. "Why did you think I was here?"
"I thought-" Harry shook his head. "Never mind."
"Magic is an active thing, Potter," Draco continued. "It doesn't just lie dormant until you need it. If you don't use it, the pressure builds up. It's like bottling up steam. At some point it's going to blow. And someone as powerful as you are could blow catastrophically."
"Why am I only hearing about this now?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering the teacup in his hand.
"People who grow up in the Wizarding community know about it so well that no one really talks about it. No one thought to teach you, I guess."
"So I'm a hostage to it?" Harry set his teacup down with a thud. "I have to use magic or I'll die?"
"Sort of," Draco shrugged. "I've never heard of someone giving it up completely before so I've never thought of it that way."
Harry ran his hand through his hair and swore under his breath. He stood and paced two steps away and then two steps back.
"It would be like deciding you don't want blood to circulate in your veins anymore," Draco added. "It's as natural a function as that."
"Is this why I've been feeling sick?" Harry looked down at him. His hands were braced on his hips, emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders.
"Yes," Draco nodded.
"So what do I have to do?" Harry asked. "I'm not going back, so can I just do a spell here and there and release the pressure?" He waved his hand at the kitchen in a wandless cleaning gesture.
"No, don't!" Draco jumped up and seized his wrist but it was too late. The spell leapt from Harry's fingers like a shotgun blast and laid waste to the dishes in the sink. Powdered ceramic residue fluttered down to coat the countertop.
Harry's jaw dropped as he took in the carnage. He looked down at his hand in horror. Then he looked at Draco's hand in horror. Then Draco looked at his hand in horror. His left pinkie and ring finger were gone.
"Fuck," Draco's knees buckled. Harry caught him and laid him out on the sofa, then ran for the loo. He came back with bandages and tape and gauze and alcohol and knelt at Draco's side.
"You'll be okay," Harry hissed through his teeth as he wrapped the bloodless wound. The force of the blast had cauterized the flesh and left a clean pair of nubs.
"Fuck," Draco said again as the pain started to set in. Harry gripped his wrist tightly as he wrapped his hand in gauze and taped the dressing in place. "You don't even have any numbing potion?" he whimpered.
"No," Harry's face was ravaged with guilt. At any other time Draco would have teased him for such a Gryffindorian display. But for now he was in pain and desperately needed something to stop it.
He shoved Harry aside and clutched his hand to his chest as he staggered to his feet. He closed his eyes and whispered a steadying charm and felt a sweet, temporary relief descend over him. It would at least bolster his concentration enough to Disapparate home.
Harry was still on his knees, staring up at him in awe. He watched Draco take a cleansing breath and push the pain and panic aside. Draco looked down at him grimly.
"Don't go anywhere," he said. "And don't do any more magic until I get back." And in the next breath he Disapparated.