Chapter Text
The fire alarm went off for the fourth time that month and Harry was finding it increasingly more difficult to take it seriously as he stood there, with his two cats, in the rain. They were tucked under his sweater, squirming against his chest as he did his best to keep them from escaping.
The few other tenants in the apartment were looking just as put out, shielding their faces from the spitting mist coming down on them. Several of them had pets in respective carriers and Harry cursed himself for breaking his. Then again, it was half past three in the morning and it didn’t seem like many people were coherent enough to notice his bulging sweater.
The fire brigade arrived and went into the building to check each flat for signs of smoke or fire. Since their landlord lived all the way up in bloody Manchester, this was what they had to do every time the alarm went off—even if they were certain that there wasn’t a fire. Anyone who remained in their flat during the check would be fined, so they all stood staring at their boring, absolutely-not-on-fire building as they waited to crawl back into their warm beds.
The rain was collecting on his glasses, but he couldn’t take them off for fear one of his cats would escape. It was raining properly now and he groaned, his sweater clinging to his arms uncomfortably as his cats scratched against his chest in a meager attempt at freedom.
Suddenly the rain stopped and he heard pattering against an umbrella.
“I brought an extra,” a man said nearby.
Harry turned in their general direction, surely looking a fool with his sodden hair and fogged glasses.
“Thanks,” Harry gasped.
“I’m sure they’re almost done,” the man said, and Harry desperately wished he could see.
There was something familiar about his voice and he dreaded to think that it was someone from the Wizarding world. He swallowed and turned his face away, hoping that his absurd appearance would make him unrecognizable. And anyways—what would a wizard be doing here at this run-down apartment building on the outskirts of London?
He licked his lips and tasted the rain, getting a better grasp of his cats now that they were settling against him a little more. He looked ahead at the building, thinking they were likely on the top floor—a light had just gone on and off in one of the windows. He realized that this man was still holding the umbrella for him and felt like an arse.
“Sorry—I have my cats—I can’t take the umbrella. You can just let me drown,” Harry said pathetically and the man laughed a bit.
“That’s alright. I don’t mind,” he said, but suddenly the rain was pouring on Harry’s head again and he thought the man had left.
There was a sound of an umbrella closing and then he felt the man come closer, the rain halting in its persistent pursuit of Harry’s face. They were touching arms and Harry could smell his cologne—it was sweet and fresh like laundry detergent and Harry thought that—if he could see—the man would likely be very handsome.
“Thanks,” Harry said.
“No worries,” he said, and then they stood there in silence as the sky opened up and poured down on them.
People were starting to grumble now and Harry thought his cats were asleep so he reached a hand up and wiped at his glasses, but it didn’t make things any better. He saw a blob of yellow near the door and exhaled in relief as the firemen cleared them to go back inside. Harry immediately started walking forward, but tripped and almost fell. A strong hand gripped his upper arm and he dropped one of his cats.
“Fuck—Tuna!” Harry clung onto his other cat and ripped his glasses from his face, searching for a fuzzy blob in the downpour.
“I’ve got him,” the man said assuringly, and Harry vaguely saw a gingery mass in the man’s arms. Harry looked up at his face, but his blurred features were hidden behind a hat and scarf and Harry couldn’t tell if they knew each other. “Come on, I’ll bring him in. Don’t trip—I can only hold one cat at a time.”
“Sorry,” Harry murmured, but felt relieved as he tentatively walked forward and up the stairs.
They walked into the hallway and the heavy door slammed shut. Harry heard the distinct thump of Tuna leaping to the floor and let the other one out of his sweater. He sighed and turned to the man gratefully as he wiped his glasses on his wet shirt.
“Thanks for your help—I owe you one,” Harry said exasperatedly and he heard the man laugh. “I’d offer you a cuppa, but I think it’s almost four,” he put his glasses back on but still couldn’t see any better than he could without them. “I’m sorry—I can’t see,” Harry explained, opening the door to his flat so that his cats could run in.
“It’s okay, I’m a right state anyways—I only went to sleep an hour ago,” the man said, and Harry could tell he had pulled his scarf away from his mouth. “I think I live above you.”
“Oh yeah?” Harry asked. “Well—er—you’re very light-footed.”
“Thank you…I guess,” he said breathily, and then he cleared his throat and stepped away. “I should go. Work—you know. See you around.”
“Yeah, alright,” Harry agreed and he watched the dark blur of the man walk down the hallway that led to the inner stairwell.
It was at least another two weeks before the fire alarm went off again. He had finally purchased a new cat carrier and both of his cats were shoved haphazardly in there and Harry sat down on it with his face in his hands as he waited for the fire brigade. He was thinking of how thankful he was that it wasn’t raining this time and remembered the man with the umbrella.
He quickly looked around but couldn’t see anyone who fit the few characteristics that Harry could be sure about—he was tall, thin, and white and that’s pretty much all Harry knew. Oh—and he lived upstairs which wasn't helpful because Harry never heard a peep from above him unless he were to listen very hard. He sighed and propped his chin on his hand, watching unenthusiastically as fire services pulled up and the firemen spilled out to begin checking the building.
Just as they entered the first floor, a door on the second-floor balcony opened and someone came running down the stairs, wrapping a robe around himself. It was the man—Harry knew for certain. This time he wasn’t covering his hair or face and Harry recognized him.
Not just his face, but his voice and the way he smelled—he just didn’t realize it until right then and there, and his legs felt numb. He would have stood, but he couldn’t, so he watched him from ten meters away with his mouth hanging open. It was a while before Harry felt capable of standing, and even longer still until he actually walked over to the man, but eventually he did. He set down his cat carrier and stood there with his arms folded and his face determinedly stoic.
The man noticed him, turned his head, and then looked down his nose at Harry’s face without surprise.
“Potter,” he said, ducking his head in greeting, the corner of his mouth lifting as he looked down at the cat carrier between them.
“Malfoy,” Harry answered flatly.
“How’s Tuna?” He asked, raising a brow.
“She’s fine,” Harry answered shortly and Draco looked back up at him, noticing his tone.
“Surprised to see me?” He looked back at the building with a sigh, like this was exactly how he had expected the conversation to go.
“Yes. Are you stalking me or something?”
Draco huffed and folded his arms. “I’ve lived here for years—if anything, you’re the one who’s following me.”
“I’ve lived here since the war—don’t pretend like I’m new here or something.”
Draco looked at him, seeming a little confused. “I’ve lived here since then, too.”
They both stood silently, arms folded and expressions suspicious. “Since 99?” Harry asked.
“February,” Draco confirmed.
“February,” Harry repeated, and Draco frowned.
“Apartment sixteen.”
“Twelve.”
“I know,” Draco said shortly, glancing at the cat carrier and then turning to glare at the building in front of them. “Cute cat.”
“Thanks,” Harry said it like an insult and continued staring at the side of Draco’s face. “I’m not moving house.”
Draco shrugged and shook his head bitterly. “I’m not moving either.”
“Malfoy—"
“This is muggle London, you can’t tell me what to do, Potter,” Draco said stubbornly and Harry gritted his teeth.
“I can call Magical Law Enforcement and say you’re breaking parole.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Draco said, and then looked at Harry with a sneer. “And besides, you’re the one who’s on the run here, not me. Wouldn’t want someone to figure out your hiding place, would you?”
Harry clenched his fists and glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Draco shrugged. “I don’t have anything to gain by exposing you, Potter. I’ve known you lived here for the last six months—if I wanted to tell someone where you were I would have done it by now.”
They stared each other down for a long moment and then Draco’s eyes dropped to the cat carrier again.
“What’s your other cat’s name?” He asked, sounding uninterested.
“Egg,” Harry muttered, feeling his cheeks burn under Draco’s gaze.
The corner of his mouth lifted and his eyes shone amusedly. “Tuna… and Egg,” he repeated and Harry stood his ground as firmly as he could, wishing that he hadn’t picked such dumb names for his cats. “Funny,” he muttered and then looked away again, sighing. “I preferred talking to you when you didn’t know who I was,” Draco said, and Harry looked at his profile to see that his expression had softened. “You were… nice.”
Harry was taken so off guard by this change in attitude that he simply kept standing there, his arms dangling by his sides. Draco glanced at him briefly and then looked away, his ears reddening.
The firemen came stomping down the stairs and their attention was drawn. Harry picked up his cat carrier and Draco was already on the stairs by the time Harry looked up.
Harry assumed that the landlord had the fire alarm fixed—but three weeks later he was woken up by shrill beeping and went through the old routine of gathering his cats and traipsing outside with the rest of the building. It was cold. Snow was sticking to the ground and Draco wasn’t anywhere in sight. Harry couldn’t tell if he wanted to see him or not, and he stood there in a temper as the rest of the tenants filed out.
Not long after the fire brigade showed up, he heard someone nearby clear their throat and turned, seeing Draco standing a little bit away to his right. Immediately Harry felt relieved and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.
“I thought this was fixed,” he said, seeing Harry’s gaze and stepping a little closer.
“Guess not,” Harry shrugged, and Draco sighed, but didn’t walk away as Harry had expected.
Instead, Draco knelt and peered into Harry’s cat carrier, reaching forward when Tuna stuck her paw out to him.
“Hi there,” He said gently, and Harry swallowed, looking down at him uneasily as he remembered back to the night Draco first approached him, playing it over in his head for the millionth time.
He simply couldn’t figure it out. Why had he been so nice? Offered him an umbrella, laughing kindly when Harry appeared embarrassed. Catching him when he tripped—saving his cat. What was all of that about? Clearly he had known who Harry was the entire time—and for months before that, even. They had both been living here for four—almost five years at this point, and Harry couldn’t figure it out.
He knew that Draco had been sent to trial and that his wand was confiscated, but he was sure he would have stayed with his parents and probably still do illegal magic. So what the hell was he doing here at this dump in London?
“I’ve always liked cats,” Draco said with a sigh, standing up.
“Why don’t you get one?”
“Not allowed,” he shrugged, and looked at Harry’s inquisitive expression. “My flat is smaller than yours. Probably half the size or less.”
Harry nodded. “Right—I used to live on the second floor, too, actually,” Harry explained, and Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “Apartment fourteen.”
Draco flat-out grinned and turned to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Harry was taken aback and was deciding whether or not to hit him.
“Hold on—you were the guy who sang Britney Spears at the top of his lungs every night?”
Harry winced and put a hand over his face, giving Draco his answer.
“You’re fucking joking,” he laughed, pushing against Harry’s shoulder.
Harry groaned, shielding his burning cheeks. He could barely remember that period of his life because of how plastered he was all the time—but he did remember a specific obsession with Britney.
“I can’t believe this,” Draco gasped, and Harry dared to peek at him. “I finally have some solid dirt on The Golden Boy and I don’t have a single person to tell.”
He was still smiling but it looked surprisingly kind and Harry turned to look at him straight on. It seemed like he could tell that Harry was embarrassed and he bit his lip, appearing to hold back his laughter. The corner of his mouth pulled threateningly and he took a deep breath, straightening out his face.
“You’re good. You should try out for Britain’s Got Talent,” he snorted and Harry couldn’t help smiling as Draco held his stomach and laughed.
“Shut up,” Harry said, but he laughed a little, too, shoving Draco so hard that he almost fell over.
“I’m sorry—” Draco sighed, standing up straight and looking at Harry with a gleam in his eye that Harry might have once found threatening. “I’m done.”
Harry rolled his eyes and looked away, shaking his head. The firemen were coming downstairs and Harry grabbed his cat carrier. He realized Draco was carrying a bag and only then realized that he must have come from work.
“Late shift?” Harry asked, and Draco shrugged.
“Just catching up on some stuff,” he answered as they approached the stairs. “Goodnight, Britney,” Draco said, and Harry shot him a glare as he went to unlock the door to the first floor.
It wasn’t long before they saw each other again. Harry was carrying groceries and struggling to open his door and suddenly Draco was there, helping him.
“I’ve got it,” he said, taking two bags from Harry’s over-full arms.
Harry sighed in relief, shifting the other two bags he was holding as he pushed the door open.
“Merlin, Potter, are you hosting a party or something?”
Harry smirked as they walked down the hall, pausing to unlock his apartment. “No, I just eat a lot.”
Draco chuckled and set down his bags on the table just inside the door.
“Thanks,” Harry said, holding the door open with his foot. “Can I get you that cuppa? I still owe you for the night you rescued Tuna.”
Draco looked surprised and took a step back. “What?” He asked and Harry’s neck prickled at his change in demeanor.
“You know—tea?” Harry said again, gesturing to his kettle with his keys.
Draco still looked a little alarmed as he peered into Harry’s kitchen and then looked down the hall like a mouse who was trying to escape.
“It’s okay, I was just offering. No big deal,” Harry said quickly and Draco wrung his hands together nervously.
Tuna walked out and rubbed against Draco’s stiff legs and he jumped as he looked down and then promptly relaxed when he saw Tuna. Harry saw his hand shake as he reached down to pet her.
“Draco—I’m not trying to trick you or anything. Genuinely, it’s just a cup of tea,” Harry said.
Draco adjusted his jacket and swallowed hard, looking at Harry and then down the hall at the door again. His lips twitched like he might smile but then he didn’t.
“Tuna, come here,” Harry clicked his tongue and she pranced inside. “Maybe next time?” He asked and Draco let out a barely audible sigh of relief. He nodded and Harry shut the door, listening to Draco’s quick footsteps as he escaped down the hall.
Harry couldn’t make any sense of Draco’s reaction. He worried that Draco might do something drastic like move or something, and then he wondered to himself why that concerned him at all. Wouldn’t things be better without him? Back to normal? Back to this run-down, hole-in-the-wall flat where nobody knows his name?
He was chewing on the inside of his lip, lying in bed, and staring at his ceiling. No matter what time of day—no matter how hard he strained his ears—he could never hear any signs of life coming from Draco’s apartment. Even when he lived upstairs, he couldn’t remember ever hearing someone in the apartment next to his. Only the occasional flush of a toilet and once he heard a shower running. Then again—his memory from that time in his life wasn’t that great.
He got up to feed himself and the cats, feeling like he was back in the sixth year again. He wished that he knew how to make a Marauders Map so that he could see when and if Draco was up in his apartment. He could hear Hermione’s voice in his mind, calling him obsessed and he shook his head to clear it, pushing Draco Malfoy from his thoughts as best he could.
It worked for a while—weeks, maybe—but then Harry saw him on the train and tried to mind his own business, but Draco came and sat next to him.
“Following me?” He asked, and Harry opened his mouth to defend himself but saw the amused smirk on Draco’s lips and the words died in his throat.
“Going home?” Harry said after a moment and Draco nodded, crossing his legs. “You work in London?” Another nod. “What do you do?”
Draco raised an eyebrow and Harry swallowed. “Don’t want to share?” Draco nodded again and Harry turned his face and looked out the window across from them—seeing their reflection in the glass. Draco was still looking at his profile.
“I’m sorry about the other day when you asked me to come for tea,” Draco said, and Harry looked at him again. “I have trust issues, believe it or not.”
Harry snorted and then hung his head, grinning. “Same.”
He heard Draco chuckle and looked at him again. Draco glanced at his watch and chewed the inside of his cheek looking nervously around the train and then over at Harry again.
“Maybe I could buy you a drink. Make it up to you?” He said, rubbing the watch on his wrist.
“Oh—I don’t drink. Sorry,” Harry said, and Draco looked away, his ears reddening.
Harry looked away, too, and watched Draco’s face in the glass. He realized too late that this was simply a kind gesture and kicked himself for turning him down so quickly. Also, he was genuinely interested in talking to him to find out how he ended up living in the same building as Harry.
“Dinner?” Harry suggested hopefully, and Draco looked at him.
“You want to take me to dinner?”
Harry felt his cheeks burn and he scrubbed a hand through his hair, turning his face in the complete opposite direction of Draco. He rubbed his neck again and sat there feeling awkward, wishing he hadn’t spoken at all. They sat silently and Harry stared at the tube map to figure out how many more stops they would have to sit through together.
“Dinner is fine,” Draco said after a while, and Harry looked at him to see an impassive expression on his face.
“Oh—okay,” Harry answered, sitting stiffly in his seat. “Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Harry shook his leg and wracked his brain for somewhere that might fit the situation—where do you take your ex-arch nemesis? Somewhere casual but not dingy—somewhere public, but not crowded—not expensive but not fast food.
“Nandos?” Harry offered eventually and Draco snorted.
“Fine,” he shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting. “We can get off here—there’s one on High Street.”
They waited for the train to slow and Harry followed Draco silently. It was still cold and he wasn’t dressed for the weather, so by the time they got to the restaurant his ears were numb. He rubbed them as they waited for a table, eventually getting seated in a back-corner booth. Harry stared down at his menu just for something to do, and he felt Draco’s eyes on him. They ordered and then Harry didn’t have anything left to distract himself, so he looked at Draco who was now determinedly staring out the window.
He still had the same sharp cheekbones and elongated nose, but he looked softer and his hair was chin-length and wavy, tucked behind his ear. His eyes shone in the light of the tea candle on their table, and Harry couldn’t help but think he looked rather beautiful.
“This is fun,” Draco said, his gaze landing on Harry as he smiled sarcastically.
“Oh—sorry,” Harry laughed breathily, looking down at the table. “I’m not very good at—I mean, I don’t really—" he sighed and rubbed his clammy palms against his thighs. Draco sat there, watching as Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, laughing nervously at himself. “I think I’ve forgotten how to socialize.”
Draco raised a brow but looked amused, taking in a deep breath. “That’s okay,” Draco said, glancing out the window as a couple passed by. “I’m a little out of practice myself.”
Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek as he tried to think of something to say. Draco looked at him and Harry looked back, suddenly feeling rather hot. He shed his jacket and took his time folding it and setting it beside him, sighing in relief when their drinks and appetizer arrived.
They ate in silence and every time Harry looked up, Draco was watching him. He didn’t know how to feel or what to do about this, so he simply ignored it until their entrees were nearly done and he couldn’t help himself.
“What?” He asked, his voice not nearly as sharp as he had wanted it to be. He cleared his throat.
Draco dropped his gaze and shrugged, the corners of his mouth tilting down. “You’re the one who invited me here. I’m just wondering why.”
“Well, you asked me to drinks,” Harry countered.
“Only because you offered to make me tea,” Draco replied, and Harry sighed defeatedly.
“Forgive me for being surprised to find out that you live in my apartment building,” Harry shrugged, poking around the last bits of his salad.
“Well, you didn’t have to ask me to dinner. You could have just ignored me as I ignored you when I found out,” Draco said, like this was obvious.
“Wouldn’t that be weird?”
“And this isn’t?” Draco said, but he was smiling a little.
Harry set down his fork and returned his smile shyly.
“That’s a fair point,” he muttered and Draco huffed. “So you want me to ignore you then?”
Draco looked away and swallowed, shrugging. “You can do whatever you want.”
Harry didn’t know how to take this so he stayed silent, watching Draco pick apart his pizza crust. The server came back with two cheques and they each handed her a card without a word. When they left, Harry turned to say goodbye but then he remembered that they were going to the same place.
“I’m walking home,” Draco said officially, and Harry swallowed, deciding if he wanted to go through the trouble of going to the tube just to take it one stop and get off again. “You should come… if you want,” Draco said noncommittally.
“Fine,” Harry agreed, and they fell into stride together, shoving their hands in their pockets and squinting in the wind.
It was a longer walk than Harry expected, and he eventually realized that he had no clue where they were going, surprised that he had so easily trusted Draco to take him home. He figured that they had already gone this far without any trouble and it was probably fine. Maybe.
“Okay, I just have to ask one thing,” Draco said at last, once Harry had started to recognize their surroundings a little and thought they might be close to home.
“Hm?” Harry asked, glancing at him curiously.
“Why didn’t you apparate or something?”
Harry swallowed and looked at the pavement, fisting his hands in his pockets.
“You asked me to walk.”
“As if that has anything to do with it,” Draco retorted doubtfully. “And besides, you were already on the train earlier—and that one time when you were carrying all your groceries? You’re acting like a muggle.”
Harry’s face felt hot and he didn’t answer, tucking his nose into the collar of his jacket. Draco didn’t press the subject but carried on walking beside him. Harry didn’t have a clue what he should say to that—should he tell the truth? Make up an excuse? Flat-out lie? He knew that Draco didn’t have the option to use magic because of his parole, but Harry figured that he’d at least have gotten himself a wand on the black market. He wanted to ask, but didn’t feel it would be fair to ask a question without giving an answer.
Harry could see their apartment building on the hill and his heart thudded uncomfortably, flipping through the options in his brain. He decided that in order to get Draco to trust him he would have to give a little, so he sighed and glanced at Draco’s contemplative profile.
“I kind of…Don’t use magic anymore,” Harry said hesitantly, eyeing him.
Draco’s head snapped up and he was frowning, his pace stuttering slightly before carrying on. “Why?”
Harry gritted his teeth and pushed his glasses up his nose.
“It’s a long story,” he said and Draco, surprisingly, smiled.
“Oh…if only we had been able to hang out and you had the time to tell me—oh, wait.” Harry tried to fight the smile pulling at his mouth, but couldn’t help but match Draco’s sarcastic grin. “So you wait until the last second to say anything interesting. Typical.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, fishing his keys from his pocket as they approached their building.
“Nothing!” Draco answered airily. “Just that it’s so like you to leave me on a cliffhanger.”
“I literally don’t know what you mean,” Draco scoffed and started up the stairs. “Hey!” Harry exclaimed, leaping to catch him by the elbow. When Draco turned he was still smiling a little and Harry relaxed a bit. “What, so you want me to just spill my guts out to you?”
Draco pursed his lips a little and tilted his head in consideration. “Yes. That’s actually exactly what I want.”
“What, right here on the stairs?” Harry asked and Draco nodded once, but even though his expression was challenging it was soft, too. “Fine. You get three questions.”
Draco smiled wider and Harry couldn’t help but smile back—seeing Draco Malfoy like this felt so bizarre, but somehow so fitting.
“Okay…” he rubbed his hands together, “question one; why don’t you drink?”
“Wow, you don’t pull your punches do you?” Harry scratched his ear and gripped the railing. “I developed a bit of a problem—after the war, you know. Hence the Britney Spears through all hours of the night.”
“Hm,” he grunted in response, a little line forming between his eyebrows. “Question two; why no magic? In two sentences or less.”
“Because… it reminds me of what I had—of what got taken from me in the end. I just wanted to get away from it all—from Hogwarts, and my friends, and anybody on the street who recognized me and—"
His heart was racing and he rubbed his chest where he felt the panic rising.
“Alright,” Draco said quickly, and his hand twitched like he might rest it on Harry’s shoulder, but he didn’t. “Third question…” he trailed off contemplatively, sighing again. Suddenly he looked up, a gleam in his eye. “Have dinner with me again? Or—hot chocolate or something? No alcohol or Britney,” he smirked and Harry tilted his head.
“I thought you wanted me to go on pretending you don’t exist.”
Draco shrugged. “Well, now I’m invested. I need to know more.”
Harry smiled a little and Draco smiled back.
“Fine—sure. Hot chocolate or something,” Harry agreed and Draco looked chuffed. “Goodnight then.”
Draco nodded, “Goodnight,” he said, turning to go up the stairs as Harry went down.