Prompt: a snowy lane lined with shops, trees, and lights.
Author's Notes: I have no idea where I'm going with this. I decided to participate in this at the last minute (about two hours before the deadline on Dec. 1), so fingers crossed it makes sense in the end.

During a lull in the shopping frenzy that was the Christmas season, Harry ventured out to attempt some of it on his own. It was snowing although lightly and during supper time, so he had the street to himself. It was rare for him to shop on his own. He liked to consult with Hermione about what to get people he didn't know very well, and it was just nice to see her and Ron. After they had Rose, their free time disappeared.

Harry had just left the shops and was making his way down to the street when a lone car slipped down the road toward a man walking across the street.

The car slammed on it's brakes, but the snow kept it sliding down the road.

Harry reflexes acted before his brain could process the horror he was watching. The man the car headed toward was slammed back into a tree—by Harry's spell. Not by the car. Harry quickly hid his wand and ran to the man, who was then lying in the mud and snow at the base of the tree.

A Muggle street. Harry knew he'd have to obliviate them, but he wasn't looking forward to it. It was part of his job as an Auror, but he hated it. It felt like an invasion of privacy or as though he was stealing something from them. Harry supposed he was—their memories—a bit of their reality.

The car had finally come to a stop. It's tail lights shown on the prone man as Harry ran carefully across the street to revive him. The man in the car unsteadily got out. The look on his face suggested that was because of his own fear and not from him being intoxicated. His hand covered his mouth as he stared behind the car.

The man on the ground groaned. Harry sighed in relief and slowly turned him over to get him some air.

'Are you sure it's safe to move me?'

Harry could hear the sneer in the man voice, and knew the man's name before he'd had a chance to see his face: Draco Malfoy.

'I'm sorry, Healer Malfoy,' Harry said, sarcastically. 'Would you rather be breathing snow or air? I figured the snow was the more immediate danger, but you are the Healer after all.'

After a coughing fit, and Harry helping Malfoy to sit up, Malfoy said, 'I'm fine.'

It took Harry a moment to realise that he wasn't talking to Harry.

'Your car didn't touch me,' Malfoy continued. 'I slipped on a patch of ice just there and slid into this tree—I guess it's my lucky day.'

The older, Harry saw then, Muggle man just stared at them.

'It's fine, really,' Harry stood up and walked over to the man. 'He's a doctor, so he would know. Let me help you to your car.'

'Ice?' the man asked, clearly wanting to believe it, yet not sure it fit in with what he actually saw. If he could get the man to believe Malfoy's story, then he wouldn't have to fix his memory with a spell.

'Yes,' Harry said. 'I saw the whole thing. He tried to run to the side of the road when you hit your brakes, but he slid instead. Much quicker that way actually.' Harry laughed. 'Don't worry about it. He was meeting me here. I'll take care of him.'

'A friend of yours?'

Harry wondered how much of their conversation he had heard.

'Yes.'

That seemed to satisfy the man and he let Harry help him into his car. Once he was gone, Harry came back to Malfoy.

'Are you alright?'

Malfoy grimaced and Harry took that to mean he wasn't as fine as he had earlier let on.

'Give me your hand. I'll get you to St Mungo's.'

For some reason, Harry expected Malfoy to say something about Harry playing the hero, but he didn't. He grit his teeth and held his hand up. Harry took it and they Apparated away from the quiet snowy street.

St Mungo's was busy.

It took Harry pointing out to the staff three times that Malfoy needed attention and no he couldn't help them out before a Mediwizard took noticed and let Harry help him to a room. Of course, it also might have been because Malfoy had said:

'Fuck this, I'll do it myself!' And had pulled out his wand.

Malfoy was patched up and fine, so Harry had no reason to stay, but he did. He sat in the waiting room for hours, and then he began to worry. Harry had lost all the bones in his arm once and it hadn't taken so long before Ron and Hermione could see him. Afraid that he might have hurt Malfoy more than he'd intended, he began asking the Mediwizards what was going on.

'Healer Malfoy isn't on schedule tonight.'

'I know that,' Harry said, trying his best not to strangle or hex the young witch in front of him. 'I brought him in because he was hit by a car! I want to know if I can see him now.'

'Oh,' the witch paled. 'I'll check right away.'

Right away turned out to be another twenty minutes, but his anger left him as he saw the fear in her expression as she approached him. Whatever the news was, it wasn't good, and Harry's stomach dropped as he waited for her to get the words out—which seemed to be the most difficult task ever asked of her.

'He's. He's not. He's not—'

'It's okay—' Harry searched for her badge. 'It's alright, Mary, just tell me.'

'He's gone home,' she winced as though Harry would hex her for it. 'He was let go about an hour ago. Just a few bruises and cracked bones and a sprained ankle.'

'Oh,' Harry said. 'Thank you.' He forced a smile because she broke a few rules for him as it was none of his business what damage had been done to Malfoy. All she should have told him was that Malfoy wasn't there. Which looking back was what all the other Mediwizards told him. 'Thank you,' he repeated.

He left St Mungo's angry. Although, he realised he had no right to be. Malfoy owed him nothing. Harry had saved his life, but that was nothing new. He'd never thanked him before, and Harry had not expected him to thank him then.

All Harry had wanted to know was that he was alright, and he was. Malfoy was fine. Harry still had half a mind to give Malfoy a piece of his mind, except Harry didn't know where Malfoy lived. He might still live at the Manor. He might have grown up and cut the umbilical cord. Malfoy had been walking down a Muggle street. Maybe he lived in a Muggle neighborhood.

No, that wasn't possible. Harry laughed at his thoughts. This was Malfoy. He was a Healer at St Mungo's, which was most likely all his parents idea to make their name respectable after the war again.

They'd had a business, Harry had found out where their original fortune had come from centuries before, that sold medical potions. It was still St Mungo's largest supplier.

Malfoy being a Healer fit right into their plans for them.

That's why a few hours later Harry was drunk and knocking on the front door of Malfoy Manor. Because Malfoy lived there. It only made sense.

'Mr Potter,' Narcissa Malfoy said. 'Are you quite alright?'

She was wrapped in a silk robe, which was probably hiding bedclothes. Harry wondered how late it was. The house elf that answered the door was snippy with him, and then he brought Narcissa instead of Draco. Draco probably wasn't his "master" or some such nonsense. Hermione was right. They needed to be freed.

'I'm here to talk to our ungrateful prat of a son,' Harry slurred his words with purpose which made him almost fall over on to Narcissa. She backed up to give Harry more room to stumble around their entry way and if Harry saw that correctly, was smirking at him.

'Draco is not here.'

'Ah, so you know who I'm talking about.'

She was definitely smirking at him then. 'Well, I do only have the one son, and sadly he does tend to be ungrateful.'

'I saved his life!'

A pained look crossed her face.

'I mean tonight—last night,' Harry corrected himself. 'I stopped him from getting hit by a car.'

'Oh, dear.' Narcissa took Harry's hand. 'Draco is not here right now, but I can make sure he joins me for breakfast.' She slowly led him farther into the house. 'Would you care to lay down? Perhaps, sober up a bit?'

Harry was too tired to argue and soon was laying in a soft bed in a blue room.

'I'll see Malfoy in the morning.'

'I'll make sure of it,' Narcissa said. 'And I for one can't wait to see someone tell him he is an ungrateful prat.' It was quiet for a few moments while Harry allowed himself to fall closer to sleep. 'For what it's worth from me: thank you for saving my son's life . . . again.'