It could never be just a normal day for Draco. His mother would owl with news about Andromeda or Teddy, Pansy would firecall about Blaise or Nott or whichever seeker she pulled earlier in the week. Or, apparently, Harry Potter would stumble in to his bar.

Because it made perfect sense for that to happen, of course. It wasn't like Draco worked at a Muggle bar in iMuggle/i London or anything. He barely saw any Wizards at all, let alone the saviour of them all. He would sooner expect Dumbledore to stroll through the doors, and, you know. He's dead.

But the thing that ireally/i fucked with him was that it wasn't as bad as he had anticipated. Sodding Carol had gotten his hopes up, squealing about someone at the bar being just his type. And he had turned on the charm, of course, prepared to dazzle his new suitor. So of course it would be Harry Potter. Why wouldn't it be? But he had been pleasant and he had made Draco laugh, and that had definitely been new. Draco hated himself just a little for it, too, because he hadn't meant for that to happen. He had turned on the ice, proof that old habits die hard, because he really didn't have anything against Potter anymore. They were just two kids before, kids in a situation that they had no place to be in. If Weasley's dad had been the one to worship the Dark Lord, Draco just as easily could have ended up Potter's sidekick. He knew that now, knew that they were each a product of terrible circumstances. It had been five years since the war, after all. Draco had grown up. Some.

And he had seen Potter hovering in the back of his family's trials; not saying anything, but sitting in the very back, making himself as small as possible. His trying to blend in was what made him stand out; nearly everyone else at the trial was fidgeting, whispering (poorly) to their neighbours about every little thing that had been said. So it was clear to Draco that the little idiot Gryffindor boy just might have done some growing up of his own.

But that still didn't prepare him for a chance meeting at his bar. They had chatted casually, Carol hanging on every word, of course. Draco remembered making a mental note to never introduce her to Pansy, because he was sure that the whole world would somehow end up in flames from all their gossiping. Potter had asked him questions, dancing around the very obvious ones like, "what the hell are you doing here" and "so, you're legitimately gay? I thought that was just some tripe the Prophet had printed." Instead Draco had answered "How's your mum" and "How did you get into bartending." (She's fine, thanks, and I stumbled upon it when I decided I needed to get out of the house).

Draco had ended the conversation when Potter had finished his drink. He said "It was nice to see you, er- to catch up." He had actually said it, ever so smooth. And Potter had said "Yeah. Yeah, it really was. I'll drop in again sometime soon." And he had left, just like that. Like they were old mates that had bumped into each other in Diagon.

And as Potter left, Draco absolutely did not spare a glance at his arse. That statement is 100% false. Certainly.

~xxx~X~xxx~

Harry chanced a glance back at the bar (the bar, not Draco, honestly) as he opened the door to leave, and he may have done a little internal victory dance when he saw that Draco was watching him leave. Maybe. Just a little one. He watched Draco wave politely, and he didn't think he was imagining the little half-smile that he saw. Harry returned the wave, and couldn't help the grin that took over his face as he returned to the rain outside. Stomping through the puddles was much more fun now, and it turned into puddle jumping instead. The kind that you did when you were five, splashing around in your wellies without a care in the world, least of all how muddy your trousers were getting and who was going to wash it out. Granted, there was no mud now, and he could just use a cleaning charm, but. Semantics.

As Harry did his best Gene Kelly all the way back to his flat, he couldn't help but replay the past half hour in his head. It was one of those strange time warps that seem so long while they're happening, but as soon as it's over and you think back on it, it feels like no time at all. And while he was thinking about it, he had to admit, if only to himself, that talking to Draco was easy. Once they had gotten past the iciness and he had made him laugh (Godric, he made Draco Malfoy laugh), conversation flowed. Harry blamed part of it on the fact that he hadn't talked to the man in literally five years, so they had quite a bit to catch up on. But that part should have been cancelled out since Harry also could not recall a single civil conversation between them. But Harry is living proof that there's a first time for everything.

He was pissed at himself for not asking the questions he really wanted the answers to. But he was also proud of himself for not asking them, because it would have been a surefire way to scare the living daylights out of Draco and make him reconsider just who he was going to bludgeon with the 40 of Guinness. Honestly, Harry was just glad he asked questions at all. It would have been much easier to drink his scotch down all in one go and dash out of the bar. He probably would have tripped.

He rounded the corner, his flat coming into view and the spark of a plan forming somewhere in a dusty corner of his mind that seemed to only conjure plans related to Draco Malfoy. So maybe this plan wasn't about beating him at Quidditch or figuring out what he was up to that time in sixth year... but is a plan to seduce him really any more embarrassing than a plan to stalk him and get him expelled?

iI'm a grown man, I am 23 years of age. I can make my own decisions, and they are good decisions./i

(The answer is yes. It is more embarrassing).

~xxx~X~xxx~

Draco woke up to the sun filtering in through his curtains, and he was not happy about failing to close them all the way. He rolled over indignantly and ran his hand through his hair, combing out the weird little tangles he got in his fringe over night. He was in a state, unsure if today would be a good day or a bad day... it probably would depend on who was in his bar. And he did not mean Harry Potter, he meant other guests. Carol... Charlie... Taylor, maybe... You know.

He rushed his shower and his cuppa, making an extra cup to take with. Whenever he woke up in his weird head space, he always had an extra cup of Earl. It fortified him, made him feel like it was a special day and that he really had what he needed to face the world. Which was a bit silly, really, since he did carry a wand and could destroy anyone with two words, one breath. But tea had its own kind of magic.

He was dressed in one of his favourite shirts today, a light grey one with grey-blue sleeves that brought out his eyes (Merlin, he was such a ponce sometimes). It had lots of tiny buttons about halfway down the front, and he always left some undone because he liked to be able to see the tattoos on his clavicle. It was proven that some of his bar guests liked it, too. And if it used to bother him that he got tips for being fit, and not so much for being a great bartender, it definitely didn't any longer.

He grabbed his tea off the counter, fiddling with the tag as he shoved his wand into his boot and left his flat. He settled for walking to the pub today, a nice late Spring day, and he let the sun warm his face. He remembered that he was wearing the same jeans as yesterday (thank Merlin for cleaning charms, yeah?) and dug out the tube of Smarties from his pocket. Smarties, tea, and the sun... he was ready for whatever this day had for him.

iBring it on, Carol./i

As Draco pushed open the door to the pub he was surprised to see that it was empty, save for his favourite waitress. A grin immediately spread across his face as she turned to him and gave him a huge I-Can-See-All-32-Of-Your-Teeth smile, throwing her arms up in the air and almost knocking herself in the head with the broom she held.

"I'm ba-ack!"

Draco crossed to her in three long strides, giving her a wet kiss on the cheek, genuinely happy to see her.

"Rosemary, I absolutely did not expect to see you today."

"Well don't sound so excited, Draco."

"Wow, Lem, you've been back for thirty seconds and you're already trying to out-sass me. Let me just remind you that it's never going to happen. Not ever."

He shot her a wink as he snuck behind the bar, setting down his tea. Rosemary, or "Lem," as he called her, was easily his favourite waitress the pub had. She started out as one of his regulars, would stop off on her way home from Uni once a week. Once a week quickly because twice a week, and then three times a week. She had worked at McDonald's for ages, but Draco got her to come over to the dark side. She was adorable, had these massive blue eyes and a round face that made her look younger than she was- she hates it, he loves it. Draco loved her because she was just so... genuine. She'd had the same boyfriend for ages, almost 5 years now, and she was only 21. She still lives with her parents, and her dad works for the Tube. It was just so provincial and sweet, and Draco needed a dose of that in his life.

"So?"

"So what, love?"

"What have I missed? I've been gone for ages and I have to know ieverything/i. Every last detail, Draco, you're my favourite source for gossip. Besides Carol."

"I will have you know that I am not a gossip. I only share tidbits with you and with Pansy. That does not a gossip make, Rosemary."

She laughed and threw a dishrag at him. Now Draco was sure it was going to be a good day.

~xxx~X~xxx~

This was a terrible plan. This may have been Harry's worst plan ever, and he had a whole book filled with terrible plans. Probably a whole library, depending on who you asked. He reached up to tug on his hair, but it didn't feel right when he was in Taylor's body. The hair was too soft and it just fell right back into place, doing nothing to calm his nerves. Bollocks.

To his right, Cheryl would not shut up. Harry should not have taken her with him. She had refused to use Polyjuice when not on a case, so he really should have just stopped the plan right there. But Harry had a pretty solid track record of not knowing when to quit. And sometimes, it paid off. He was hoping now would be one of those times.

Harry had asked Cheryl to come to the pub with him after training, stumbling his way through an awkward explanation of 'this is not a date' and 'I need your help scheming.' She ate it up, because, of course, he was blushing so hard he should have caught on fire, and because she was a Slytherin- that's why he asked her in the first place. And who else would he have asked, really? 'Oh hey, Ron, did you want to come to Draco's pub with me to spy on him cause I think I want to take him to dinner and then back to my flat so he can fuck me against the door. Are you free?' That would go over really well. So he decided on someone from his class, they had to do what he said for the next three weeks. Harry chose Cheryl because he had a strong feeling that she could make anyone blush, and he really wanted to see how Draco reacted to her. Plus, she's kind of the only one that he can tolerate outside of the classroom. She was actually pretty interesting when she wasn't looking at him like she wanted to peel his clothes off and cover him in whipped cream. Harry found it intriguing that she still looked at him that way, even though she told Harry to his face that he's gay. And it's not even like he's flamboyant, or even out, really. His close friends know, yeah, but he doesn't, like, walk into class and say "Hello, I'm Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world and gay Auror." She just knew. And Harry wanted to use her Sherlock-level gay deduction powers on Draco.

And Cheryl was just the type of person that couldn't say no to free merlot and watching Harry drool over a hot boy. Even if Harry wasn't in Harry's own body. So, despite Harry's better judgment, they walked to the pub, Harry filling Cheryl in every step of the way. Stories about their school days, about the times he's been to the pub as Taylor, and the one time as himself. Cheryl didn't have much to say, but after Harry had finished talking about school, she had said, "fine line." Harry tended to agree.

~xxx~X~xxx~

Draco wasn't one to get his hopes up. But whenever he heard the door to the pub swing open, he made himself take a beat to breathe, and then look up. It had happened at least half a dozen times so far today, and it was never anyone he wanted to see, not even Carol. It was just people who wanted to eat, and it drove him mental. Lem had started keeping a tally of how many times he let out an exasperated sigh, and it was getting to be an embarrassingly high number. She was lucky they had the bar between them and that he loved her, because right now he really wanted to crucio her. Or at least a jelly-legs jinx. He was getting restless.

But the next time the door swung open, a smirk spread across his face, and Lem turned to him immediately, recognising Taylor from Draco's not-gossip. Draco gave great descriptions, and he was very observant. (Taylor's eyes weren't just brown, they were cognac with honey at the centre, and he had long straight fingers that Draco wanted to do really dirty things with).

The grin faded a little when a woman stepped out from behind Taylor. Draco heard Lem let out a little giggle, stifled from behind her hand, as he waved to Taylor and whoever the trollop was. (That's the exact second when Draco knew it was getting bad. He was not the jealous type, yet here he was. Being jealous).

"Hey, stranger. It's been a few days." Draco was cool, he was so cool and so slick (he was sweating).

"Yeah, er- hi."

"I'm Rosemary!" And there she went, waving a napkin and grinning at Taylor. Draco was going to kill her.

"Oh, right, er, introductions. This is Cheryl, she's in my class."

"The hopeless class that drove you to drink at 3 pm last week?"

Taylor laughed and Draco made a mental tally of the success.

"That's the one. Chezza's, um... not so bad. Improved a lot in just a week."

"So you rewarded her by taking her out? That's an interesting method you have there."

Taylor smiled and Draco knew he saw right through the sarcasm. He was losing his touch and that just would not do.

"Speaking of taking me out, you said you were buying. Draco, a glass of merlot, if you will?"

"Sorry iCheryl/i, but I can't help but recall that I did not introduce myself to you... yet somehow you know my name."

"This one won't shut up about you. And may I just say he ireally/i did not do you justice."

She was practically growling at Draco, and he had a terrible vision of her climbing up onto the bar and crawling towards him, unbuttoning her top as she went. She was definitely attractive, for a woman, but no. Just no. He granted her a smile and turned reached above the bar to grab a wine glass.

"And for you, Taylor?"

"Whatever you want, Draco."

Draco swallowed, those words igniting him. He felt his adam's apple scratch up and down his dry throat; his jaw tightened, and he felt his cheek muscles flex. He looked down and there were Taylor's cognac eyes, burning into his, the honey bits at the centre turning gold and actually looking like they were about to catch on fire. Draco licked his lips, refusing to look away from Taylor's eyes. He lives for tension like this, it made his veins crawl and his fingertips twitch.

"Let's start with scotch."

~xxx~X~xxx~