Draco sat in a relatively empty Leaky Cauldron, thankful that there weren't many stares to catch from the other inhabitants. In fact, nobody had seemed to notice that he was there, including the barmaid. It took him three attempts to get the attention of the waitress that was making rounds, and when he did she gave a startled jump at the sight of him. The look on her face was one of silent fury as she approached where he sat in one of the darker corners of the bar.

"What'll you be having?" she asked with no inflection in her tone.

"Just fish and chips," he replied. He wasn't sure what his options were, but there was no restaurant in all of London that didn't serve that. It wouldn't be nearly as good as the version his mother made, but it would have to do.

"Beverage?"

"Firewhiskey." And she was off, not even having written down his order.

Draco sat and waited for his food for far longer than it should've taken for it to be made, and with how busy the establishment was he gathered that this was a personal offense against him specifically. Just as he was about to get up and confront the waitress, the door to the bar opened and Potter skulked in, looking sheepish and glum. Draco stilled, hoping that Potter wouldn't notice him there in the corner, but Potter must have felt his eyes on the back of his ratty head, because he turned and looked at Draco. Thankfully, he didn't approach him where he sat, however, and made his way over to the bar and took up a stool there.

Another fifteen minutes later and Draco still hadn't received his food, which had him fuming. The fact that Potter kept 'sneaking' glances at him didn't help. Already Potter had received a plate of food since he'd arrived, and two refills of his drink. Unable to let this go any longer, Draco stood up from his chair, letting it scrape loudly on the floor as he crossed the restaurant. The barmaid didn't look up as he come over to her, but she noticeably tensed.

"Excuse me," Draco said harshly. In his peripheral vision he saw Potter look over at him. The barmaid tried to look as though she'd just noticed him, but it was a bad pretense.

"Sir?" she asked, sounding just as clueless as she was trying to look, which is to say not very.

"My food; I've been waiting for over an hour. I demand to know what's taking so long, seeing as there are very few customers for you to serve."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she said harshly, then pointed over to where he'd been sitting. "It looks like your food is there already." Draco turned to look and surely enough, there sat his food and a glass tumbler of firewhiskey.

"Is this some sort of prank you're trying to play?" Draco asked in a low growl. "You think this is funny? Sure, go ahead, fuck with Draco because he's the scum of the earth, right?" She flinched at his words, but held her ground.

"If you continue to speak like this to me, I'll have to ask you to leave, and you'll still owe for your order, so I'd watch my slimy tongue if I were you." Draco let out a slow, long breath and gave his best effort not to curse her right on the spot for her insolence.

With a flourish of his robes, Draco turned around and marched back to his table, sitting down heavily. Picking up a chip, he realised that the dish was cold. It seemed to have been cooked and set out to cool. He didn't even have to wonder, at this point, if they'd been trying to cause him trouble. Using his knife, he cut the fish in two and saw that it was uncooked inside. They had really breaded raw fish and then just cooked it for long enough to brown the breading, then served it. Draco had now wholly lost his appetite.

"They're giving you a hard time?" Draco looked up to see Potter standing several feet away from his table.

"Not at all, they've been nothing but wonderful this whole time," he responded sarcastically.

"Sure," Potter said, nonplussed. "Mind if I sit?"

"I do, actually." He didn't, but he wasn't about to let him know that. It apparently wouldn't have mattered either way, because Potter took up the chair across from him.

"You usually eat your chips cold?" Potter asked, looking at his plate with mild disgust.

"No, I prefer to eat them raw. Don't even bake them. Just frozen chips." Draco thought he caught the sound of a snort from Potter, but when he looked up, Potter had reassembled his collected manner.

"I could complain if you'd like," Potter offered casually.

"The last thing I need is your help getting a decent meal, 'Boy Saviour.'"

"Well, I guess I'll leave you to your cold chips and underdone fish, then." Potter was clearly bothered, but Draco couldn't really see why. It wasn't like they hadn't been at each other's throats for ages. This is what Draco knew, what he was familiar with. But Potter had offered him a reset, and while he was tempted to accept it, something was keeping him from doing so. Potter still hadn't stood up, though, and this made Draco wonder what Potter was on about.

"Why are you still here?" It sounded like he was being rude, but he'd been asking seriously.

"Sorry, I'll go," Potter said as he stood.

"Wait━" Draco reached out and caught Potter by the wrist. "I didn't mean… I was genuinely curious."

"If you must know, Malfoy, I was sort of hoping you'd take my offer seriously. When I━" Potter cut himself off to take a deep breath, then sat back down, forcing Draco to release his wrist. In a quieter voice, he continued. "When I saw you in court that day, I knew something was seriously wrong. They'd beaten you. That much was obvious. Pretty sure they didn't feed you properly, either, based on the hollow cheeks you were sporting. You looked a right mess."

"Thank you so very much for reminding me," Draco spat. Potter ignored him and went on.

"I don't know what you went through in Azkaban, but if it's anything like I imagine… Nobody should be treated that way, Death Eater or not."

"I'm not a Death Eater," he said between clenched teeth.

"What I'm trying to say," Potter said in exasperation, "is that I felt partially responsible. If I had accepted your friendship at the start maybe things wouldn't have gotten to the point that they did for you. And no, I'm not going to take full responsibility for what happened in the end, but I've always felt guilty. Like, if I had done something differently, maybe you wouldn't have had to suffer as much." Draco really couldn't understand it. Potter, of all people, and after seven years of nothing but hatred for him, was concerned for his well-being.

"Why do you even give a damn? Not like you ever did before," Draco sighed, shaking his head.

"Well, that was the idea. I wanted to start over." Potter shifted in his spot. "Listen, it's not like I'm saying we have to be best friends or anything. I'm just tired of constantly fighting. It's exhausting. Surely you agree." The last bit sounded like a plea. Draco was so close to saying that, yes, he did agree, but his voice was caught in his throat. He felt horrible for fighting with Potter, but it was all he knew, and with that in the way he would never be able to express himself fully. "You don't have anything to say to that?" Potter asked, breaking Draco's train of thought.

"We can," he said hoarsely.

"Sorry, we can what?"

"Start over," Draco said, insinuating that his meaning was obvious with his snark. Potter smirked a bit, and Draco resisted the urge to do the same, keeping his neutral expression in place.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"It was your idea, how should I know?" Draco scoffed. When he looked down at his food, however, he figured that would be a good place to start. "I guess you could start by telling that good-for-nothing waitress that my food is rubbish."

"I was under the impression that you liked your food severely undercooked," Potter said jokingly.

"Sometimes I like to spoil myself, what can I say? Now shoo." Potter narrowed his eyes at Draco, but stood up and approached the barmaid. He only spoke to her for a moment, and she'd been friendly enough with him, but when Potter turned around to return to Draco's table she shot him daggers through her eyes.

"She said your food will be ready, and better prepared, in ten minutes," Potter said as he sat back down.

"I'm pretty sure she's not happy you just did that."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she gave me a dirty look when you walked away. Thanks to you I'll probably be getting poisoned. Good job, Potter." Potter looked affronted.

"Because of me? Seriously? I'll just go tell her to take your poisoned meal off my tab, then."

"You've got a tab? What's the matter, too poor to pay for it outrightly?" Potter's face immediately twisted in his offense and Draco wished he could take the words back, but it was too late for that.

"I thought we'd started over, Malfoy. Back at it with the nasty insults, are we?" Yes, he'd definitely struck a nerve. "Can't keep it in for one minute, can you? Why the hell do I even try?" Draco had been wondering the same thing. Potter shoved his hand through his hair furiously, standing once again. He took a deep breath, as if indecisive, then walked off with a terse, "See you around, Malfoy." He muttered something under his breath, but he was too far away for Draco to make out what was said.

"Are you done?" Draco jumped, so distracted that he hadn't heard or seen the waitress saunter up to his table. He looked up and was met with an impatient and disgusted look from the woman.

"Yes." He wasn't, actually, as he'd not even taken one bite of his last dish, and hadn't received his new order, but as he glanced around the restaurant he gathered that it didn't matter whether or not he was finished eating. He wasn't sure why he had been accepted in the first place.

The waitress vanished his food, along with his plates and drink. He stood up from his table and left, thinking it would be nice to have a new owl, even if that would be his only remaining companion. He walked to the owl emporium and stepped inside the dark store. Thankfully the shopkeep wasn't at the counter, so he was free to look around without feeling the heated glare on his back as he had been all day. The owls were all sleeping and Draco tried to keep quiet as he browsed the selections. He stopped at a cage which held only one, small owl, which was awake and staring at him with large, golden eyes. If the tag on the cage was correct, this was a Northern saw-whet owl.

"Hello little one," Draco said softly to the bird. The owl hopped forward a couple times, continuing to stare at Draco, and cocked its head. "You're all alone, aren't you? I know how that feels." The owl hooted softly and Draco felt his heart squeeze in response. "Where have all your friends gone?"

"They've all been put in another cage." Draco turned, startled by the man's voice coming from behind him. "As cute as this one seems, he's been attacking the others. He's feisty, that one. Sorry, didn't mean to spook you."

"You didn't," Draco said defensively, feeling as though the man would kick him out at any moment. The mask he wore in situations he wasn't comfortable in was in place and he hoped that the old man hadn't noticed any weaknesses in him.

"I wouldn't suggest buying him, if that's what you're here for. He's injured several of the other owls and he's not very people-friendly."

"You're not going to make me leave?" Draco felt confused. Every place he'd entered that day he'd been escorted out of, making him feel unwelcome in the only society he'd known all his life.

The kind-looking man made a face at him, as if to say the thought was ludicrous. "Why would I do that? I assume you're a paying customer, and so long as you don't try anything dodgy, you're welcome here." Draco didn't know what to say. The only people who had shown him any kindness that day were his mother and Potter, and Potter's kindness hadn't lasted long.

"Thank you," he muttered awkwardly. He wasn't used to saying those words, but he couldn't deny that it felt nice in a way. Plus, he supposed this man deserved his thanks. Nobody else had been nearly as welcoming to him.

"No trouble at all, Mister Malfoy."

"Draco." He'd come to strongly dislike his own last name, and so he didn't offer it. It was tied to a childhood that disturbed him to think about, and crimes he hadn't wanted to commit. The man nodded in response.

"And you can call me Enthir. Have any of the other owls caught your eye? We've got a nice selection of barn owls over there," he said, pointing towards the back area of the shop. Draco glanced back down at the Northern saw-whet all alone in his cage.

"Actually I'd like to meet this one." Enthir looked at Draco as though he'd lost the plot, but shrugged and kneeled beside the cage.

"If you lose a finger don't cry to me about it. I've warned you." After pulling on a thick rubber glove meant for handling owls, Enthir opened the cage and swung his hand in quickly, catching the owl by the talons. The bird's wings pumped frantically and its under feathers began to rain down onto the floor of the cage. "Alright, alright, calm down!" Once the bird was firmly in his grasp the older man stood up and handed another thick glove to Draco and he put it on. "Careful, now. Don't let his talons go or we'll all be in trouble."

Draco nodded and held his hand out so he could take the owl. His hands were firmly wrapped around the owls legs right above Enthir's hand, but when Enthir let go the owl slipped from Draco's grasp. Enthir cursed and Draco felt his stomach drop at his mistake, but they both fell silent when the owl landed softly on Draco's shoulder.

"I'd thought I'd seen everything," Enthir said in awe. "He's never been like this with anyone. Most people won't even give him a chance after I explain what sort of temperament he's got, and if they do they soon regret it."

Draco laughed, feeling more light-hearted than he had in months. "I think I've made a friend," he said, allowing his grin to spread. He stared into the owl's shimmering yellow eyes. "Hi there." The owl bumped Draco's nose with his beak, causing Draco to chuckle once more.

"Silver and gold," Enthir said. Draco gave the man a confused look. "I just meant, you've got grey eyes and he's got yellow." Draco smiled again and felt the owl nipping at the top edge of his ear.

"You've just been attention deprived, haven't you?" Draco asked, speaking in a slightly babyish tone. He wasn't sure where that had come from. Surely he'd never spoken like that before. Again he gazed into the owl's large eyes. There were flecks there that shimmered in what little light the few sconces provided. They resembled little stars, and suddenly Draco knew what he was going to name the bird. "How would you like to be Cosmos?"

Again the bird bumped Draco's nose, and he figured that meant he approved. Draco rubbed the feathers above Cosmos' eyes and chuckled softly when the owl's eyes became hooded, showing that he enjoyed the sensation.

"How much do you want for him?" Draco asked Enthir, who was still staring at him and his new friend with an open mouthed smile. Enthir blinked, as though just now tuning in to the question he'd been asked.

"Five galleons should do it," he told Draco. It was Draco's turn to blink, then.

"That can't be right. Aren't most owls over ten galleons?"

"Normally, but for this one I'm willing to drop the price. You'll be doing me a favor getting that one out of here. Not to mention it would be just plain wrong of me to overcharge you for a companion."

"That's… very kind of you." Draco paused and deliberated thanking the man. He'd already used those words once that day, and he wasn't sure he could muster saying them again. Draco thought that he'd like to say 'thank you' more, but his pride reared its ugly head and disagreed vehemently.

"You'll be needing a cage and food as well, correct?" Draco nodded stiffly and Enthir waved his hand for Draco to follow him. "This cage should suit him well, and the stand comes with it. It's nothing fancy, but it'll do." Enthir took the simple brass cage and stand and set it near the register counter not far from them, then walked several feet from where Draco stood and grabbed a decent sized bag of owl pellets. Draco followed Enthir to the counter he went to stand behind and paid for the items, happy that the cost wasn't all too expensive.

"Oh," Draco said, realising they'd forgotten something. "I'll be needing a cover for the cage as well. Something thick that'll keep out the sunlight."

"Ah, yes, I've got just the thing." Enthir left the back of the counter and then through a door that Draco assumed led to the man's living quarters. A moment later he re entered the shop area with a thick, black cloth that was embroidered with charmed, purple thread that seemed to dance over the fabric.

"That's an interesting cloth," Draco observed, lifting one blond brow in appreciation.

"It was just lying around," Enthir said with a shrug of his shoulders. Draco thought he heard a twinge of a lie in the man's voice, but didn't mention it. "Now, I'm not sure if he'll deliver a letter. I've never tested him out before because there was no guarantee he'd come back. Would you care to send him out for a test run before you leave? Just in case?"

"Sure," Draco said slowly. He didn't want to send anything to his mother; he hadn't found a place to stay and didn't want her worried. In fact, he wasn't sure he had anyone to send a letter to, but Enthir had already gathered a bit of parchment and a quill. Draco tried to think. He still felt bad for the way things had gone with Potter, so he considered sending a note of apology. Again, his pride seemed to quell that notion, but he resisted it and decided it couldn't hurt. Something in Draco was yearning to be a better person, to redeem himself for the horrible things he'd done and all the people he'd hurt. The person he'd hurt most of all, without question, was Potter, despite what he said to the man earlier that day. Without regard for what his pride was telling him, he took the quill in his nervously shaking hand and began.

Dear— He furiously scratched it out. He definitely should not start with Dear. How do you write a letter to your sworn enemy? Draco had only written letters to his parents, and on rare occasions his friends, before this.

Mr. Potter— No, that wasn't right, either. It felt strange and oddly formal, addressing Potter this way, but then, it was strange writing to Potter at all. Deciding against it, he scratched that out too, simply settling with Potter. Noticing the unsightly scratches at the top of the page, he hastily flipped the parchment over.

Potter,

I'm not sorry, alright? About lunch, that is. Merlin, what was he writing? He shook his blond head and continued, his head fuzzy as he tried to think of anything to write to the Boy-Who-Hated-Him that didn't make him sound like a complete berk.

I wanted to start by saying— what the hell was he trying to say? Damn. This was so much harder than it seemed at the start, and that was saying something. Draco stifled a groan as he set the tip of the quill against the rough parchment once more.

This is stupid. I shouldn't be writing to you anyway, should I? I'm probably the last person you'd like to hear from right now, and it'd probably be better if I left you well enough alone. Part of me feels bad about earlier, and that same part of me wants me to say sorry, but it's more difficult than I thought it would be. I guess that's all.

-Draco M.

He sighed as he placed the quill back in the inkwell near his hand. He read over the short letter he'd written and frowned. It was a poor excuse for an apology, if one could even consider it that, but it would have to do. Draco folded the letter, pausing before he handed it to Cosmos as Enthir spoke.

"Writing a love letter, there?" Draco gaped at the man's question.

"A love letter? To Pott━to another bloke?" Cosmos shuffled his talons on Draco's shoulder at his sudden outburst, but didn't seem too bothered. Enthir held up his hands, as if in surrender, but there was still an amused grin on his wrinkled face. "What do you think you're playing at?"

"It's not as if it'd be the first time," Enthir said with a croaking laugh. "I was only asking a question, Draco. You can settle down."

"Sorry," he grumbled, looking away. Merlin, why did he get so riled up? He chalked it up to his short temper lately. Ever since finding out that the Manor had been taken, everything set him off. "It was just— it took a moment for me to think of what t o say. I'm not used to writing to— well, erm… nevermind," he explained badly. He wasn't used to this whole 'telling the truth' thing, and he had to admit he wasn't very good at it, either. He realised that his reason sounded faulty, but luckily, Enthir didn't press him.

"That's quite alright, I've got all day," Enthir said softly. "Now, if you're finished, let's see if Cosmos here has what it takes to be a true delivery owl." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, looking a lot more enthusiastic than Draco felt. As Draco handed the folded parchment to Cosmos he wondered if he should toss it and start over, but Cosmos took the letter in his beak and flew out of the open shop door. Anxiety clung to the walls of Draco's throat as Cosmos disappeared from view.

"I'll wait here, if you don't mind," Draco told Enthir.

"Alright," Enthir said, only giving Draco a slightly disapproving look. "Is this a contact that is close by? Do you expect him to respond quickly?"

Draco hadn't considered that. Come to think of it, he didn't know where Potter was these days. He apparently wasn't living with the Weasleys anymore, but he'd never actually told him where he was staying. Draco assumed it had to be close by, since Potter had been in Diagon Alley not even an hour before. "Maybe?" he settled on.

"Stay if you like, then. I'm curious as to whether or not he'll be timely myself, so I don't mind at all." He stood there near the counter, gazing absently at the quill and inkpot, when Enthir spoke again. "I'll just put the kettle on."

Draco turned around and leaned his elbows onto the counter and listened to the quiet sounds coming from beyond the open door near the back of the shop. How would Potter respond? Would he even bother to? And if he did respond, was Draco meant to write back to that? Questions flew through Draco's mind as he waited for a letter he didn't know for certain if he'd receive.

Harry counted the money that he'd found when he'd been cleaning the house. He'd gathered twelve sickles, two knuts, and three galleons. That would at least be enough to buy a few day's worth of food and to send out the job acceptance letter he'd written out for the Auror's Department. Pocketing the money, he wondered if they'd still accept him after his refusal. He supposed that, since he hadn't told them that he'd never work for them, that they might, and he was depending on that. If he were going to survive living on his own, he'd need to have money, and seeing as his vault was off-limits, that meant he had to find other means with which to survive.

Now on the fourth floor, in Regulus' room━he'd still been too upset to go in Sirius'━he headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste to shop for food. It hadn't been long since he'd eaten lunch with Malfoy, perhaps little over an hour, but already he was famished. After not eating for two days the half of his meal that he'd eaten today had brought back his hunger with force. He knew he'd be searching for scraps in the pantry if he hadn't found the little money he had, and was so enlivened by the fact that he could now buy food that he'd been completely distracted from the Malfoy situation.

As he reached the ground floor, he heard a tapping on the front door. Harry completely stilled. Anyone who knew about Grimmauld Place wouldn't be stopping by for a visit, and if they did they would've used the Floo. His heartbeat picked up as fear turned his blood cold. Maybe he'd been too quick to jump on moving to Grimmauld Place, he thought as the tapping sounded again. Not all of the Death Eaters had been rounded up, and Harry began to understand the weight of living alone. He took a deep breath and slowly, quietly, made his way to the door and peeked out of the looking hole, having to stand on the tips of his toes to see through. A small, grey owl pumped its wings as it hovered outside the door. Harry felt every muscle that had been tensed release and instantly felt foolish. He'd certainly let his fear get the best of him, being paranoid like that.

Harry opened the door and the owl quickly swooped in, dropping the small letter it held in its beak on the floor at Harry's feet. He bent to pick it up and watched the little owl perch on one of the umbrellas in the stand nearby, apparently intent on waiting for Harry to reply to the letter he'd received. Harry reached out to pet the owl, but when his finger was only a few inches away the owl began trying to bite at it furiously, and he flinched, bringing his hand back to the letter.

"Rude owl," Harry mumbled, unfolding the letter. He read through the poorly written apology, and when he got to the bottom his jaw dropped a bit. Malfoy had sent him a letter? An apology letter? Harry had to admit it wasn't a very good one, but still, for Malfoy this was a huge step forward. At least, he thought it might be.

There were indents in the letter, like Malfoy had had written on the back, and when Harry flipped the parchment over he saw the first attempts of the letter that Malfoy had crossed out. He snorted at the scribbles which almost completely masked the words beneath. For some unexplainable reason Harry's stomach flipped when he re read the short note. Perhaps he wasn't wrong about Malfoy after all. Harry looked at the owl who was still eyeing him suspiciously after his attempt to pet it. He supposed he'd better reply before the owl got any more ideas. Summoning some letter writing materials he began to write a response letter, a smile playing lightly on his lips.

Dear Mr. Malfoy, he began, chuckling under his breath.

I appreciate your dreadful idea of an apology. I'm not sorry about lunch, either. My offer of starting over still stands, though I'm hesitant to remind you of it, seeing as you didn't react well the first time. I'll leave the decision up to you. I just figured I'd let you know that if you ever felt like coming around to not being an arsehole, you might not be too insufferable to have as a friend.

Yours insincerely,

Mr. Harry James Potter

P.S. Where did you get this bird? He's kind of a prick. If it takes my fingers off when I try to give this letter over, you're going to owe me big time. Not that you don't already.

Feeling awkward yet satisfied that he'd written at least a decent response, Harry folded the parchment and hesitantly handed it out to the owl sitting atop its makeshift perch. The bird took the letter gently, though, and Harry opened the door so that it could take its leave. Sighing, Harry figured he should probably go out shopping. It wouldn't be healthy to continue eating all his meals at the Leaky Cauldron. It occurred to him, however, that he still didn't know where witches and wizards got their food. There was Honeydukes, but they mostly sold sweets. Hell, how had he eaten here before? He had always had someone else to cook for him. At that thought, something finally clicked and he called out, astonished that he hadn't thought of it before.

"Kreacher," he said, and not a moment later the old, weathered looking house elf cracked into the room.

"Master Harry" Kreacher grumbled in his aged voice, seemingly not bothered by his summons.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything. I was just, ah… well, er... " Now that it came to it, Harry felt rather awkward asking Kreacher, who had only just appeared, and probably from the middle of his work, to cook for him. "Do you know where I could buy some food? I'm starving."

"Kreacher would be glad to assist Master Harry," he croaked in response. "Master Harry has not asked for Kreacher's assistance in a very long time, sir."

"Yeah, I, er. . ." Harry stopped, figuring that maybe it wasn't the best idea to tell a house-elf that you didn't need them. "I was staying with Ron's family." Kreacher looked up at the mention of the Weasleys. His expression was hard to read. Before the last time he had been at Grimmauld Place, Kreacher had, to put it nicely, disliked the entire Weasley family for their blood-traitor status. After Harry had given Kreacher Regulus' old locket, however, Kreacher had seemed to at the very least quell his constant mumbling about blood and rot and filth. Harry had even thought that Kreacher had begun to like Ron and Hermione.

"Kreacher will prepare a meal, if Master Harry is hungry."

"You won't be missing the Hogwarts kitchens?" Harry asked. He didn't want to steal Kreacher away from his work just to make him some food, but his stomach was rumbling its affirmative at the idea of Kreacher's cooking.

"Kreacher is meant to serve master Harry first and foremost. If Master Harry wishes Kreacher to serve him, then Kreacher will serve Master Harry instead of the school."

"That's, erm... Great. Yeah. That works. Just, er, let them know that you're leaving, though." Kreacher nodded, disappearing with a crack! And Harry smiled at the thought that he was finally going to have a decent home-cooked meal since leaving the Burrow. Perhaps living on his own wouldn't be quite as bad as he'd thought.