It was around 5am when the journal suddenly warmed, glowing faintly in the receding darkness of room 78.

"Subtle." Draco muttered, rolling his eyes to the vacant surroundings. The pink cover glimmered back in response.

Was it possible for an inanimate object to look mocking? After hours spent staring blankly at the musty wall, Draco thought the answer was rather yes.

If he were to be completely honest, he wouldn't probably have noticed hadn't the diary already been resting across his bare stomach.

The last few hours into the early morning had passed alternating between counting the mould stains dotting the ceiling and flipping idly through the journal's blank pages, almost but never allowing himself to stop at the first page. He missed his mother dearly and, part of Draco, felt like he had already spent his time mourning her loss without having a proper closure.

He shook the feeling off, chastising himself. His mother was alive, and he'd better stop that train of thought before it led to further misery. The Draco that relished wallowing in self pity was gone, and what was left behind didn't have the time to worry about matters he had no control over.

He sighed heavily, unwilling to let his old dramatic self die completely, and opened the journal. Lupin's handwriting was surprisingly neat and pleasant. The message was barely two sentences long.

"Wouldn't want you getting too comfortable, now". Draco huffed, reading the words in his head in the dry timbre he had come to associate with the other wizard.

What a wanker.

The next line held a completely different tone. "How are you feeling?" Lupin asked, simply.

Draco shut the diary, finding that he wasn't ready to answer that just yet. He had mixed emotions about the other man's unexpected bouts of compassion, but it wouldn't do him any good to dwell on why a rather simple question about his well being had reignited the now familiar ache of loneliness.

No time like the present, he told himself, trying to sound confident for his own benefit.

The dawn light was starting to filter through the moth-eaten curtains and Draco almost bemoaned the fact that no Muggle had attempted to rob him during the night. He knew that hours of inaction hadn't helped with his current state of mind, and he found that he was actually ready to face the day.

He summoned a pair of black jeans and a white shirt from his bag, buttoning it high against his neck. It was a bit of an overkill but no Malfoy had ever faced the enemy in a t-shirt. He tittered at the thought of an amnesiac, semi-muggle Potter as the enemy. There was something exciting about the idea of approaching the other boy as a stranger, and Draco felt a little thrill at the possibilities. Part of him believed he and Potter were never meant to get along, their incompatibilities too deep to overcome, but he rather missed the time when the biggest of his worries was how to provoke the bespectacled idiot into losing his temper. Everything was easier, then, and Draco wanted that feeling back, even if it meant them being at each other's throats at any given opportunity. The dimwitted Saviour did look entertaining in anger red and, regardless of the outcome, it wasn't any day that one could have a second chance at meeting their childhood nemesis afresh. Maybe, this time around, he could even persuade Potter to shake his hand.

His shoulder relaxed and he felt himself easing into a semblance of what could almost be called a good mood.

Slipping into his new trainers, Draco appreciated how the canvas was steadily breaking in to become the most comfortable pair he owned. He went through his bathroom routine quickly, poking at the dark skin under his eyes with a sort of detached acceptance. His hair was getting long. A poor attempt at fixing it a month prior had left the sides shorter and kind of choppy and the fringe brushing just below his eyebrow. It had now reached the eyelids, tickling annoyingly every time he shifted. Draco thought it fitted his new brooding aesthetic to a tee, leaving the pristine and polished image of the rich brat behind. He wasn't that person any longer, and the realisation wasn't as bitter as he had expected.

With a half smile gracing his lips, Draco prepared to leave. It was only when he reached into his backpack for the felix felicis, that he felt his nerves unexpectedly tense.

Not so long ago, sleep deprived and desperate enough to be considering the daunting promise of deathlike slumber bubbling away in his cauldron, Slughorn's challenge had ringed in his ears with the suave voice of hope.

Ignoring the insane urge to reach into the sleeping draught in front of him and lick it off his fingers, well aware it was on the poisonous shade of wrong, Draco had hopelessly tried to mend his mistakes, willing the potion to turn lilac or, at least, not red.

On the day, he would have given his wand hand for the chance of claiming that particular prize. For the chance of letting pure luck lifting the heavy consequences of failure from his withering shoulders, if just for a while. Not the way Draco would have had preferred wasting the opportunity, but he had long lost the privilege of being picky.

Of course, despite his proficiency in potion, anxiety had gotten the best of him. To add insult to injury, he had lost to an almost equally desperate Granger, whose draught had been a sad purple and far from perfect. Draco had been grateful his father was in prison for that.

That day, not so long ago, he would have begged the mudblood for a sip.

Now, in a shabby motel room, twirling 24 hours worth of golden luck in between his fingers, he was suddenly anxious.

His chance had finally come, and the circumstances couldn't be more different. The irony of using what he had once hoped would help him pleasing the Dark Lord to instead find the only boy actually able to destroy him, was almost poetic. What stayed the same was his once in a lifetime opportunity of a perfect day wasted on someone else's fight.

And people called him selfish!

He uncorked the vial and let about one third of the potion fall onto his tongue, surprised at finding it completely tasteless. For whatever reason he had expected sweetness. As soon as the liquid had reached the back of his throat he felt pervaded by a strong sense of purpose and the compelling need to go for a walk.

The sun was now shining fully over the horizon and he had just a fleeting moment of regret for his outfit choices before a cool breeze tickled his skin, bringing the smell of the ocean. He would head in that direction.

His feet dragged him aimlessly through the waking city, one step after the other without a proper direction, but nonetheless the right one. His thoughts just the same, intertwining in a flutter of broken paths, never focusing on anything in particular. For the first time in over a year his mind felt light, careless.

There weren't many people on the roads, and none paid him any attention. It wasn't like Draco expected Potter to bump into him in the middle of Chestnut Avenue, so he just kept walking until his shirt was plastered against his warming skin and he was suddenly very thirsty.

His initial plan had been to reach the sea and he stood, conflicted, looking at a tall sign stating he was just half a mile away from his destination. But the sea could wait, a little voice said from inside his head. It sounded very reasonable, his throat was dry and it was getting extremely hot. He looked around for a small shop or anywhere he could buy some water and it was then that he noticed it.

Not that it was hard to, his distracted wandering the only thing that had allowed him to overlook the quirky cafe before. It stood at the corner of an intersection, dwarfed by the sleek and modern buildings surrounding it. It was oddly familiar, like it could have belonged among the outdated architecture of Diagon Alley, with its wooden frame painted sage green and two handfuls of bright windsor style chairs dotting the pavement in front of the entrance. The mustard sign above his head read "The Mad Hatter" and each one of the little tables outside held a dainty teapot bursting with flowers as a centerpiece.

Draco, before, would have never given it the time of day. As it was, Draco now barely spared the chalkboard that inanely proclaimed "Come to the Math side, we have Pi" a glance and pushed the door open with a thrilling sense of anticipation.

The bell above the door jingled.

The interior was, if possible, even madder. A huge clock with the hands seemingly stuck on "Tea" hung from the central column and a mismatched assortment of armchairs and stools, with the most outrageous upholstery, filled a room that was otherwise larger than expected. Draco thought that neither Trewlaney nor Dumbledore would have looked out of place in there and his chest tightened uncomfortably.

He quickly scanned the room, his eyes automatically searching for a familiar mop of black hair, but the voice that piped up from somewhere at the back was definitely feminine. "Scott? Is that you? Gimme a minute, kid, just leave the - Oh."

A woman around his mother's age had emerged from behind a set of double doors, probably leading into the kitchen, and had now stopped midway, regarding him with curiosity.

"I'd say not Scott, but you already know that. Unless that happens to be your name, too."

"Uh? Ah, no, definitely not Scott". Draco confirmed awkwardly.

She shifted her weight, leaning her shoulder against the door to keep it open and re-adjusting the enormous pile of green menus balanced in her arms, before giving him a welcoming smile.

"Technically we are not open until 7." She told him, glancing at the huge clock with no numbers as if it would confirm that it wasn't 7 yet. Draco had no idea of the time, but his stomach rumbled quietly and she chuckled. "Nevermind, what can I getcha? I was just whipping the first batch of pancakes batter back there, or you can wait for Scott with the deliveries. Still warm from the oven, I'd bet."

Draco was starting to feel overwhelmed and a bit confused. He hadn't expected the felix felicis to immediately drop Potter into his lap but, with an hour gone and no signs of the other boy, he couldn't help thinking he was wasting his time. As soon as he thought that, the potion in his blood hummed and he was once again pervaded by a calming sense of reassurance. He was thirsty, after all, and the cool temperature in the little cafe was a pleasant break from the heath outside.

"Water. Yeah, water would do." He replied, wishing his stomach to stop growling so that he could get going.

She eyed him skeptically, dropping the menus on the nearest table. "Nonsense. I'm a man down but, seeing as we are not open yet, I think I can manage a full breakfast on my own. Mornings are never busy anyway, not this early at least. Orange juice or Coffee? You'd think tea, but in this heat. . ." Without waiting for a reply she pushed him towards one of the armchairs "Now, sit down, will ya? Allergies?"

Draco managed a weak "No.", before she was gone.

She came back about ten minutes later, carrying a tray and a jug of water. He watched avidly as she lowered a plate stacked with pancakes and strawberries in front of him, the delicious smell of warm food filling his nostrils.

"You look a bit young for coffee." She commented, before placing a tall mug next to the plate anyway. It was followed by a glass of orange juice and a little bowl of fruit salad.

Draco thanked her politely, expecting her to go. He was starving and the food looked the most tempting he had seen in ages. Despite his expectations, the woman stayed, hovering by the table and observing him with blatant curiosity.

He stared back.

She must have been pushing fifty, he guessed, but her skin was smooth and tanned, taking years away from her appearance. Her outfit echoed the colours of the shop entrance, deep green summer dress, ending in a turquoise bow around her collarbone, and a lightweight mustard cardigan. Two top-hat shaped pendants sparkled at her ears. Again, Draco was brought back to Hogwarts and left wondering if this was what Potter's loony friend Lovegood would look like in 30 or so years. Maybe it was this aching familiarity with the world he left behind, so different from the concrete and plain angles of the Muggle one, that had pushed him to enter the little shop in the first place, and nothing to do with Potter at all.

He was homesick.

Out of depth and time in between the tees and shorts clad youths of the Californian coast. Maybe the potion had wanted to give him just that, a private corner of "different" where he could feel the most like himself, as much as he himself would never have dared to associate with such an establishment before. As it was, he felt quite at ease in the presence of the stranger in front of him and her odd taste in furnishing.

"British, uh?" She observed breezily. "What brings you - oh, do go on!".

Draco startled, eyes jumping back to attention from where they had once again strayed towards the food. He flushed and she smiled knowingly.

"Just eat, kiddo. I see people eating all day! . . . Honestly." She prompted, when it looked like he was still hesitant to pick up his fork. Draco half expected her to start scolding him for how thin he was and decided he was actually too hungry to care about any lingering awkwardness.

The pancakes tasted divine and he found that, when she asked again what had brought him into town, the answer coming out of his mouth was at least partially honest "I've arrived yesterday, but uh - yeah, not on holiday, precisely. Truthfully, life at- back home was getting out of hand and I. . ." He trailed off, feeling extremely inarticulate. How very Potter-esque of him, to forget the basic rules of speech, but his life was such a mess and there was just so much he could not explain to a Muggle.

"Needed a fresh start?" The woman filled in the blanks for him, and he nodded.

"Yes. And I was hoping to stay. . . A while." He shrugged, unable to elucidate further.

"Mhmm, I've heard this story before." She said criptically. "Well then -"

"Dean." Draco said.

"Dean. I'm Ellen. I'll leave you to your breakfast. And don't be a stranger, you'll always be welcome here in Wonderland." She winked at him and disappeared back behind the kitchen's doors, leaving Draco with the feeling he had somehow missed a reference in there.

He quietly finished his breakfast and dabbed the lingering syrup from his lips with a tissue. He decided he would make a quick trip to the toilet to cast a "tempus" and freshen up before paying and get moving. The effect of the felix felicis would last him around 8 hours, but he was starting to doubt the potion believed he truly wanted to find Potter and was instead catering to his subconscious need for normalcy.

The charm told him it was just a handful of minutes to seven and he had lost over an hour of his lucky day wandering around and eating. Time to go. On his way to the counter he tried fishing his wallet out of his too-tight jeans pocket, hopping a little like an idiot. He was so focused on his task that he missed the column in front of him and crashed into it with a huff.

Thank Merlin the cafe was empty. He looked up and noticed that that side of the column, the one he couldn't see from the entrance, was covered in pictures, interlacing on top of one another to create a huge canvas of smiling faces. One picture, possibly the one that had collided with his shoulder, was crooked and hanging halfway off the wall. He reached to readjust it and. Oh.

He knew that mouth.

The picture portrayed a boy that was most definitely Potter, standing under a banner proclaiming "Employee Of The Month". A paper crown adorned with big, red hearts was pushed down over his hair and covered most of his eyes, balancing on the tip of his nose.

Draco peeled it the rest of the way off the wall. Even with half of his face hidden, he could recognise the other boy clearly. Potter's mouth was pulled into an embarrassed grin, his cheeks flushed pink and, although the picture was cut at bust level, from the hunch of his shoulder he was obviously standing with his hands in his pockets.

Potter never did well in front of a camera, and Draco almost smiled before realising that this assessment was not in line with what he had always believed about the other boy. It didn't ring any less true. He frowned. Despite Potter being a huge attention seeker, Draco had noticed more than once before how the other wizard often looked flustered and uncomfortable under the spotlight.

He observed the photo again, a bit unsettled in its stillness. Half of him expected picture-Potter to lift the paper crown any moment and reveal his green eyes. Maybe do something completely insane, like wink at him. He was about to stick it back and search if he could find the other boy's face in any of the other images when a voice from behind made him jump.

"That's Evan. Kid's like a son to me." Ellen revealed fondly. "Poor thing was so embarrassed that day. He is English as well. Too bad he is not in today, gave him two weeks off. Forced him to take 'em, more like it. He gets those terrible headaches. . ." She broke off, realising she was possibly saying too much. So Potter worked at the cafe. Draco briefly wondered if it had been the same sense of familiarity he was feeling that had first attracted Potter to this place, as well. "Anyway, if you come back next week I'll introduce you two."

He was trying to contain the enthusiasm of the thank Merlin! threatening to spill from his lips when she suddenly looked at something behind him.

The bell jingled again.

"Speaking of which. . ."

Draco spun around so quickly that he almost lost his balance again, but the boy that had entered the shop, half buried under a stack of crates, was not Potter.

"Talk of the devil!" She reiterated and Draco stared uncomprehendingly, a growing suspicion he had gotten it all wrong. The boy lowered the crates on the counter, but even before seeing his face Draco had known those tight brown ringlets did not belong to the one he was looking for.

"Uh?" the newcomer asked with a confused frown.

"Scott!" Ellen said, and Draco exhaled. "We were just discussing your bedmate." She teased with a wink.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the odd choice of words, but at least they explained the connection between the guy and Potter. The two must be living together.

The boy, Scott, rolled his eyes "My - Whatever. What about him?"

She suddenly turned serious "How is he?"

"Allright, you know how he gets when he is inactive for too long. He was ready to bounce off the walls. I come from there actually, that's why I'm a little late. Brought him breakfast, he was up at 5:30 if you believe it." He told her, lifting tray after tray full of pastries from inside the crates.

Draco's mouth watered, despite his stomach's protest that he should be taking it easy, after a year of forgotten meals.

"Boy never sleeps, I swear. Isn't the new guy for Allie's room coming today? How is it handling it?"

"Just about as well as a mourning widower. You'd think she is going to war and not just enrolling in the summer program and moving a few hours away."

The woman laughed and Draco was starting to lose the thread of the conversation, growing more nervous by the minute. Every little revelation about Potter's new life made it obvious how he himself was no longer part of it. The boy that had been such a constant during the most part of his formative years was now as good as a stranger. The realisation left him feeling surprisingly lonely.

"Give him some credit, it was a last minute decision. Finding a new roommate for just the summer is always stressful."

"Oh, yeah. The guy actually cancelled 'bout an hour ago, just like that. Said he had some family issues, or something. Evan was blabbering about covering the rent himself, that it'd certainly give him less grief." Scott said, clearly not agreeing with that determinate plan of action.

Draco was wondering if he could just leave some money on the counter and quietly slip away to plot his next move, when he felt Ellen's gaze directed at him. The Muggle looked pensive for a moment before asking "Have you got a place to stay, boy?"

"I have two nights paid in a Motel." He replied awkwardly, not sure of where this was going.

"Mhmm." She hummed, her focus shifting back to Scott "This is Dean, by the way. Scott, Dean. Dean, Scott."

The boys exchanged a quick handshake. Scott's grasp was strong and he offered a genuine "Nice to meet ya.", to which Draco responded with what he hoped was a friendly nod. If only his father could seem him now, shaking hands with Muggles like he was one of them. Shockingly, as Lupin'a voice quipped in his head, they didn't look any different after all.

"Would you be interested in renting a room for a couple of months? No obligations if you'd rather travel the country." She queried, eyes back on him with the same contemplative twinkle.

Was she suggesting. . ? The opportunity of being in close quarters with Potter during the month he needed for the other boy to turn of age was just too good to miss. It would give him the time to build his trust so that the blow of the eventual lash out, once the Gryffindor had regained all his memories and temper, could be significantly lessen. Hopefully this way Potter would give him the time to explain, before hexing him.

"Uhm, no, I was thinking to stop here for a while." He stammered, trying not to sound too eager. "I mean, yes, I would be. I am. Definitely." He nodded, feeling his cheeks warm at his poor attempt to keep it together.

She smiled, amused. "Good, good. Dean, here, has just arrived in the country. From England, of all places. Fresh start and all that, sound familiar? I think he could be the perfect candidate." She addressed Scott expectantly.

Scott blinked a couple of times before his eyes cleared in understanding. "Oh, right. Yeah, sounds cool. Lemme give my uncle a quick call to say I'm done with deliveries and will get back a bit late and then I could drop you off at the apartment, if that works for you? So you get to meet Evan and see if you guys are on the same page."

Draco nodded, trying to contain his nerves. He barely registered as the other boy moved a little further to have a private conversation into one of those cello-phones things. In just a little while he would see Potter again.

When Scott came back to his side and asked with a smile "Ready?", Draco wasn't sure he was ready at all.