Draco was unable to keep Potter out of his thoughts. He told himself it was unreasonable; after more than ten years, he should have been able to speak to Potter without becoming obsessed with him. Yet somehow, he was fixated again, just as he had been back in school. The updated version was less about making Potter suffer, however, and more a desire to know every detail of what the man was up to. It was driving him mad that he wasn't able to control his reaction. So what if Potter had turned out all right? This was no more than the result of it having been far too long since he'd been with anyone.

His frustration made him irritable. Arriving at work on Monday, he snapped at three different people on his way in and very nearly told Elena exactly where she could put the stack of messages she handed to him. He closed his door with more force than necessary and slumped down in his office chair. On reflection, he decided it was all Potter's fault after all. Draco had a tidy, clean life which had taken him years to build after the war. In a matter of hours, Potter had managed to put him in such a state that he was on the verge of destroying it. There was no way he was going to allow that to happen. Besides, Potter had a knack for finding every way possible to wind him up, and that was sure to end badly, wasn't it?

He decided to put the entire thing out of his mind. It had been a single party—there was no reason he should ever need to encounter Potter again. After all, he wasn't in the habit of attending classes at the University, nor was he involved at all with the continued training of the Aurors. He would even give up reading the Prophet if he had to, just to avoid seeing anything about the Hero of the Wizarding World's return.

As luck would have it, he wouldn't be let off so easily.

Ginny appeared in his doorway around ten. She'd already spent an hour poring over the files he'd left her and taking notes on the case at hand. It was a tricky piece of work, removing a large number of enchantments on a house in a shady part of London. There were so many Dark spells in various parts of the house it would require multiple trips and a team of several competent Curse-Breakers. It could take weeks to sort out.

Included in the process was the undoing of a failed Fidelius charm wherein the original secret-keeper had died before it could be removed. Such a state wasn't unheard of, but in this case, the Fidelius had fragmented into at least twenty parts, and over a long period of time, it had begun to break down. The other secret-keepers were no longer able to tell anyone about the location, even in writing, nor take anyone there—only the owner of the property could do so. On top of that, the location was known to at least three former Death Eaters. Two of them were serving life sentences in Azkaban, but the third was still at large, even ten years later. In fact, the whole thing was made more awkward by the fact that the actual owner of the property was also under some sort of protection and couldn't be identified by anyone other than, apparently, him- or herself. Draco surmised it was someone wealthy or important, as the Ministry rarely put in that much effort for private residences.

Draco and Ginny went over the plans for dismantling the charms. It appeared nearly all the people who had set them were dead. Ginny herself, though not one of the secret-keepers due to being well under-age at the time, knew the location and the owner, but was unable to reveal either. Every time she accidentally started to say something, a tongue-tie curse kicked in and Draco had to undo it before they could continue their work. It was infuriating.

The only reason they were bothering with this case was that the owner wanted to sell it but couldn't do so because he or she couldn't list it due to the Fidelius and other protective spells. On top of everything else, it looked like the previous inhabitants had used all sorts of odd spells to insure the house would remain in the family. As he went over the parchments, Draco growled in frustration. It would be easier to blow up the damn house than to remove the protective spells.

Two hours later, they were still working on their plan when there was a forceful knock on the office door.

"Come in!" Draco called. When the door opened, he nearly fell off his seat.

"Malfoy?" Potter said. "I had no idea you were the one working on my house." He plopped into the seat across the desk from Draco.

The house with the failed Fidelius was Potter's? And no-one had bothered to fill Potter in when he arrived that it was Draco's case? The fact that no-one seemed willing to tell people anything when he was involved was unacceptable. Draco would have to have a word with someone.

"What is wrong with everyone in this department?" Draco muttered.

"Sorry?" Potter looked taken aback, and Draco realised he'd spoken aloud.

"My apologies," Draco said, laying aside his quill. "Yes, I'm the one who's been working on this, along with Ginny. We will put together a team of competent specialists as soon as the plans are in place and you're ready to proceed. Are you at least able to give me the address?"

"Of course I can. It's number twelve, Grimmauld Place." He cleared his throat. "The old Black family residence."

Draco did his best to hide his surprise. He'd known his aunt had coveted the property, but something had gone wrong when she'd tried to claim her inheritance. It would seem the house had somehow fallen to Potter, though Draco couldn't fathom how exactly. He would need to find out not only what had happened that the house had become Potter's property but also why it had been placed under a Fidelius.

"Shall we go over the details?" he asked.

"Sure, yeah," Potter replied. "The sooner we figure this out, the better. I'm ready to see the back of that house. The whole neighbourhood, in fact. It absolutely reeks of wealthy, old Purebloods dabbling in the Dark Arts." His eyes widened, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. "Merlin, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to imply—"

Draco held up a hand. "It's fine, Potter. What's done is done, and I'm no longer associated with those sorts of magic."

Potter sighed. "It's not just the Dark artifacts and spells," he said. "The reason the house was under a Fidelius is that it's where we hid from Voldemort and anyone associated with him. The only good memories I have of being there all involve people who have been dead more than ten years. I need a fresh start."

Understanding the desire for a blank parchment, Draco nodded. "Shall we take a look, then? I'm certain I can help you."

After work, Draco desperately needed a drink and some time to unwind. Although he and Potter had managed not to hex one another, they'd had a number of small disagreements about various aspects of the house, including the removal of several permanent sticking charms. Unfortunately, this had a strange effect on Draco. Rather than curing him of his Potter obsession, it only served to fuel it. No-one other than Ginny had been relaxed enough around him to disagree with him without apology. He found it oddly refreshing.

While Ginny gathered her belongings from his desk, he tidied up and neatly stacked his parchments related to the case. He wondered whether she was tired of his company or if she would be willing to go someplace with him. He felt he could use a friendly face and some light conversation about something other than Potter's house. After a moment's hesitation he said, "It's been a long day. I'm going out for a nice glass of firewhiskey and something to eat. Do you want to join me?"

Ginny shrugged. "Sure. Let me get my things."

When Ginny had rejoined Draco at the lift, she asked where he had in mind. He said, "I know a place not far from here. We can walk there, and there's an Apparition point behind it."

"Sounds good," she agreed.

He brought her to his favourite new spot, a little place called the Torchlight. It happened to be owned by Pansy Parkinson, but Draco had a feeling he should keep that fact to himself. It was technically a Muggle pub, but it catered heavily to wizard tastes as well.

After the war, it had been harder for Pansy even than for himself. He'd had the benefit of a trial and Harry Potter testifying on his behalf; Pansy hadn't had either. Yet she still had a reputation to put behind her—she'd been the one to suggest turning Potter over, after all. No one looked kindly on that. Potter's allies had viewed her as siding with Death Eaters, but that wasn't strictly true; she'd merely been in self-preservation mode. Potter's enemies had known she wasn't truly on their side and had seen her as an opportunist and a traitor.

She'd spent several years hiding amongst Muggles and had, of all things, actually married one. She'd told him upfront; part of moving beyond her past had been to refuse anything with the appearance of dishonesty. Surprisingly, her husband had taken it rather well. It was unclear whether this was because he was somewhat dim or because he claimed to have magical relatives—though he wouldn't, or couldn't, say who. Together, they operated the Torchlight. He usually tended bar, but on busier nights, Pansy served as well. Either way, Draco knew she would be about somewhere and glad to see him.

Inside, both the lighting and the conversation were at a low level. They approached the bar, where they were greeted by Pansy's husband. He was a large, muscular man with a mop of shaggy blond hair that could have rivalled Hogwarts-era Potter's in its quest for untidiness. After asking Ginny what she wanted, Draco ordered for both of them. They took their glasses and chose a table by the window. Just as they were settling in and perusing menus, the door opened and in walked Potter. Draco suppressed a groan.

The Universe was out to destroy him.

He wasn't alone; he was with Ron, who had his Auror robes slung casually over one arm. They were laughing about something, but Draco wasn't interested in what. He could only sit there, helpless to do anything but stare at Potter. He wasn't wearing the elegant robes he'd had on at the party, nor was he in the professional robes he'd had on that morning. Instead, he was wearing Muggle denims and a t-shirt, and damn it all if he didn't look good. Were he anyone else, he would have been precisely Draco's type. Draco cursed himself for having such an inappropriate thought, though it didn't stop him from taking one last peek at Potter's rather fine, tight arse before dragging his attention back to Potter's face.

Potter was leaning against the bar, talking to Pansy's husband as though they were old friends. He shook the man's hand and clapped him on the shoulder. The man said something that had Potter barking out another laugh and exchanging a glance with Ron.

Draco sighed.

Ginny had obviously heard him; she followed his gaze and saw Potter at the bar, his arm slung around her brother's shoulders. "Oh! Harry's here, and he's with Ron." She hesitated. "I need to go to the loo. Why don't I ask them to join us on my way back?"

Draco lifted one shoulder slightly. "Why not?" It couldn't be any worse than having them sit three tables over, just near enough for Draco to continue staring. On second thought, that might be better. At least that way he could look without Potter realising and thinking him rude.

He made to change his mind, but Ginny slid out of her seat and went in search of the toilets. Draco fiddled with his glass, stared out the window, and opened and closed his menu. When he couldn't stand it any longer, he finally turned back to watch Potter, but by that time, he saw it was just Ron. Potter had disappeared somewhere. Draco returned to sipping his drink absently while he waited for Ginny. After a few moments, he heard a slight rustle and assumed Ginny had come back to their table. When he looked up, however, it was not Ginny seated across from him.

"Fancy meeting you here, Malfoy," Potter said.

"You're the one who chose to sit down. By the way, what are you doing in here?" He had an insane desire to add 'in my favourite pub', but he refrained.

"I'm having a drink after work, same as you."

"I meant, why are you in this specific pub? Aren't you supposed to be signing autographs someplace?"

Potter snorted. "It just so happens I know the barman here," he said. "He's my cousin."

"The hell?" Draco just stared. He had to fight the urge to bang his head on something.

Potter frowned. "That's how I knew about this place. Dudley somehow managed to send me an owl inviting me to stop in. We haven't really been in touch since I left, but I was glad to see he's doing all right for himself."

"I think I know how he sent you the owl," Draco said faintly. "He's married to Pansy."

"Parkinson? No shit." It was Potter's turn to stare.

"None whatsoever, I assure you. Well. This certainly makes things interesting."

Potter, for some reason, found the whole thing funny. "Oh, Merlin. It makes sense, really," he said. "Those two are a match made in—well, definitely not heaven, that's for damn sure. They suit each other, though."

Draco was doing his best to glare at Potter, despite the fact that he was absolutely right—Pansy and Dudley were perfect together. "Can't argue with you there," he said grudgingly. "It still doesn't explain why you're sitting at my table, though."

"Touchy, aren't we?" Potter shrugged. "Saw you sitting here with Ginny and figured maybe we'd join you."

"Did it occur to you we didn't want your company?"

Potter snorted. "You're not on a date with her, Malfoy, unless you were lying to me the other night." He paused, looking up at the ceiling and back down at Draco. "Which you might well have been given that you also told me you were shagging Snape." He leaned closer. "Or letting him—"

"Potter! That's disgusting. I never said sh—I never said that. I said 'love affair'. There's a difference. And no, I wasn't lying about being gay."

"Whatever." Potter waved his hand airily.

Draco studied Potter for a moment. Something was different. When he finally figured it out, he said, "You're wearing your glasses."

Potter chuckled. "Well, yes, you see, because I'm nearly blind without them. Smooth transition, there, by the way. Funny, you always used to think my glasses were stupid."

"Maybe I still do. What I meant was, you didn't wear them the other night." Draco was flustered. He was used to having the upper hand and being the one with the witty retorts. It was unnerving, having Potter be so capable.

"Ah. That would be my contact lenses."

"Con-what?"

"Contact lenses. Muggle invention, but they work better than trying to charm my eyesight into behaving. Muggles do occasionally have good ideas, you know." He raised an eyebrow as if daring Draco to contradict.

Draco had to will himself not to rise to it. He was torn between finding this side of Potter hex-worthy and incredibly sexy. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to say, "How was training this afternoon?"

"Miserable. Aurors just out of training are ridiculously arrogant. I wonder if I was that bad at their age."

"You were probably worse."

Potter grinned. "Probably." He took a large swig of his drink. "What about you? Any more progress on my house?"

"I—"

Draco didn't get the chance to respond. Ginny returned, slipping into the booth next to Draco, and Ron sat down beside Harry.

"So, what are we talking about?" Ron asked, looking from Draco to Potter. His tone was light, but his eyes were hard—he obviously thought it might be unwise to leave the two of them alone too long. Draco agreed, but he decided they probably had very different ideas about why.

"Oh, nothing, really," Potter said. "Work, mostly."

Ron groaned. "No, thanks. I just came from there."

They chatted companionably for a bit, Potter and Ron doing most of the talking. Draco noticed that Ginny kept stealing glances at Potter, but she said very little. That wasn't like her; she was normally quite animated. He could practically see her thinking, and he wondered what was on her mind. He didn't get the chance to ask her. She excused herself the moment she was through eating. Draco tried to convince her to stay, but she told him she was too tired.

Potter gave Ginny a warm smile and wished her goodnight then turned to Draco with a sly grin. "You're welcome to stay, but I can't promise Ron will behave."

"Hey!" Ron protested. "We work together, and I've only hexed him once. All right, twice, if you count the stinging hex meant for Robards' arse."

"No, I should go," Draco muttered. At least he had confirmation that it was Ron who had 'initiated' him on his first day at the Ministry.

"Nah, I swear I'll be good," Ron said. "You don't have to go." He winced. "Never thought there'd be a day I would say that."

Draco shrugged and settled back into his seat. "Fine."

"Good," Potter said. "I'll order another round."

Eventually, Ron begged off, claiming an early morning, leaving Draco alone with Potter once more.

"So," Potter said. "It's down to us." He chuckled. "Like old times."

Draco scoffed. "Not entirely. As I recall, this would be the point when one of us would threaten or curse the other."

Potter raised his eyebrows. "Surely not in a semi-Muggle pub?"

"Of course not."

"Good. I'd really like to let the past stay where it is. I'm done fighting." Potter held Draco's gaze. "Are we agreed?"

Draco swallowed. There was much more behind Potter's words than merely calling a truce. "Potter—"

"Look. I'm not saying we have to be best mates or anything, but as long as we're working together on my house, we need to be all right with each other." He paused. "Can we do that much?"

"I—yes. Yes, we can."

Potter extended his hand across the table, and Draco took it. A smile spread across Potter's face. "Excellent."

Draco watched Potter's easy confidence as he collected himself and stood up from the table. Draco considered briefly whether he should ask Potter to join him for a drink again sometime to test their new acceptance of one another, but by the time he had nearly worked himself up to it, Potter was stepping out the door and into the night.