Draco Malfoy shut off the taps and held still with an ear tilted towards the door, listening to the usual silence of his home being broken by the sound of cupboards being opened. His alarm hadn't rung to alert him of an intruder. He stepped out of the shower, taking care to make as little noise as possible as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. His fingers clutched his wand tight and he tiptoed through the carpeted corridor that was unlit. He dripped water along the way down the stairs, his grip doubling in strength as his muscles tensed, ready for a fight.

The only light shining in his home was the one from the kitchen, where the sounds arose. He paused with his back to the wall and took a deep, strangled breath while summoning up some courage. Then he peeked in to see what he would have to handle.

His gaze roved over the brown-clad figure standing over his sink, also dripping with water from a downpour; which was strange because it wasn't raining outside. The man stood casually enough with his slim shoulders relaxed and his head bent down. Draco held his breath and readied his wand while sidling over to stand squarely in the doorway.

The man froze as though sensing a presence.

Before Draco could utter the curse, the man spun around, his thick overcoat snapping harshly from the force.

"Oh." Harry Potter leaned against the counter. "It's you." He held a bitten apple in the other. He looked much less threatening when he was turned the right way. His black hair hung across his brow and stuck out every which way atop his head. He wasn't wearing any glasses, oddly enough. He seemed to be growing stubble too.

The overall presence of Potter was enough to render Draco speechless. His arm dropped to the side and he simply gawked. Harry Potter had just broken into his house.

"The lights weren't on, so I didn't think you were home," Harry mumbled before taking another bite of the apple. "I'm starving." He meandered forward with a hand in his pocket. Draco didn't move a muscle, not even when Harry walked right up to him. He gulped hard, loud enough for the sound to carry a bit.

Loud enough for Potter to hear.

"What?" he asked with a smile.

Draco had seen his fair share of frights in his life, but this… smile. It was, by far, the creepiest thing he had ever seen. In fact, his eyes squeezed shut on their own accord. Potter was going to kill him. Potter was going to pull out a dagger, slit his throat, and then watch him bleed to death. Just a matter of time. Any second now.

"Um..."

He scrambled away as a sudden rush of adrenaline shot through him. He fumbled with his wand while tripping over his feet and the rug.

But, before he could move too far, he was jerked forward by the arm and shoved against the wall. The wand was twisted out of his hand, leaving him defenseless and more than a little terrified. It would be months before anyone found his body. No one would miss him. This was such a pathetic way to die.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Calm down." Harry rushed as he restrained Draco. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Get out of my house," Draco finally managed to heave out. He didn't care why Potter was in there. He just wanted him gone. Now.

"Right, of course." Harry let go of Draco and stepped back. "Let's make sure you don't hex me," he muttered under his breath as he kicked Malfoy's wand away. It rolled off under the couch. "Sorry. Wrong house." He raised his hands in surrender although his lips were beginning to quirk up into that frightening smile again. He picked up the apple he had dropped during their struggle, brushing it free of dirt. "Thanks for the apple..." He slinked out of the foyer on light feet, disappearing into the deep night as mysteriously as he had appeared. The roar of a heavy motorcycle sounded from the street. A few seconds later, the bike had already moved far beyond earshot, leaving Draco truly alone.

He slid to the ground with his head in his hands. "What the hell?" he exhaled in disbelief.

After the war, he had all but faded into the background of everyone's lives. He was sentenced to many years of slaving for the Ministry, which included running errands, writing lengths of monotonous data on parchment rolls, and basically being a lackey. At least it was better than Azkaban. Debatably. So his life was void of all excitement. He worked and slept. He rarely spoke to anyone and simply nodded when spoken to. He had forgotten what it felt like to have blood pump into your heart forcefully.

The next morning, he caught just a glimpse of Potter and his team stalking down the hallway intensely. He kept his eyes down when they passed by the office he was hiding in. He had a feeling that he should be reporting the events of the night before. But he found no signs of forced entry. It was as though Potter had simply walked into his home.

The Potter he had seen in his house was starkly different from the Potter he saw at work. Auror Potter wore sharp, black-framed glasses, was always clean-shaven and gelled his hair away from his face. His mouth was set in a grim, thin line, as though he was sorely disappointed in everything that met his eye. The drenched Potter from last night had been more of a confusing caricature of Auror Potter. What was the man doing?

Or maybe Potter hadn't done anything after all. Maybe Draco had been dreaming something strange. He shook his head to himself. That must be it. He had begun to go mental from isolation. He juggled the bundles of papers in his arms as he made his way out the door.

He was in his own world for just a moment when he was struck from the side and sent careening into a marble pillar. Parchment fluttered around him in a heaping mess.

"For heaven's sake," Harry snapped under his breath as he righted himself against the wall.

Draco's eyes widened and he quickly dropped to one knee while keeping his head down, frantically pushing the papers into a pile in his shaking hands.

"At least apologize, you oaf," he heard Harry growl. Then he saw the Auror's shoes click once against the floor and tap away rapidly. Obviously he wasn't really expected to speak, the lowly peon that he was. He was left to deal with the chaos on his own. The handful of spectators was also leaving after making sure their precious Savior was unscathed. Draco pulled a face.

So why was Potter toying with him? The Auror had refused to acknowledge his existence for the past four years. Draco had felt nothing but envy and disgust for the Boy-Who-Lived who was living the high life with his fancy houses, fancy brooms and fancy girls. He was on a different playing field altogether. Not a day went by when Potter wasn't splashed all over the front page of the Prophet, the headlines always singing praises. Damn Potter.

When they met again a few weeks later, things were a bit… grisly.

Draco was huddled in a corner with his head tucked by his knees and fire licking the walls around him, ready to engulf him the moment a gust of wind blew the wrong way.

The fire had started just moments ago in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, ironically enough. The enforcers had brought in a strange artifact found in an abandoned and charred warehouse in rural Durham. Unfortunately, their readings had been wrong and the stark red gem was not inert after all. It had spontaneously combusted, causing the entire office to burst into flames. The fire was rampant too. It quickly spread from the East Wing and was eating its way through the entire fourth floor.

Draco's fear of fire had been a result of his brush with death during the Second War when he was nearly burned alive in the Room of Requirements. He had been unable to use the Floo or burn logs in his fireplace after that. So, watching panicked Ministry members run for their lives wasn't enough to get him to move.

Thankfully wizards are a bit hardy. It would be a pity if they burst into flames that easily. His magic was preventing the fire from coming too close. That was how he ended up pressed against the wall with fire around him, threatening to scorch him at the slightest provocation.

Amidst the roar of burning wood, he heard a rustle of cloth close to him. He jerked when he felt a cloak fluttering over his curled body. "Let's go," Harry said urgently. Draco shook his head. He couldn't talk because fear had taken his voice away. He knew he wouldn't be able to walk either. He'd rather just die there.

Harry wouldn't let him. "Don't be a child." He tugged Draco forcibly while swearing under his breath. The frightened man lurched in response, unable to counter brute strength with his own dwindling resolution to die. He staggered up to his feet with his eyes screwed shut. This was the second time Potter was saving him from a fire. He let himself be guided through the destroyed offices, his breath labored and his steps faltering from terror.

Harry dug his fingers into Draco's arm as he half-ran and half-tripped his way to safety. He didn't even stop at the stairs. He dragged Draco down it despite hearing his stumbling footsteps. He threw the door open and dashed into the third floor corridor before slamming the door shut and throwing spells at it to stop the fire from escaping.

Draco fell to the floor once again, this time in disbelief. He was still alive. His hand killed him, but he was still alive. He looked down at it, cringing when he saw that he had burned his fingers and half of his palm. He swiped at his cheeks with his singed sleeves to get rid of his insistent tears.

"Here. Put this on."

He looked up at Harry who was holding out a small copper container.

"For your burn." Harry knelt down when he received no response. He opened up the tin and swiped at the balm with two fingers. It was translucent and green. He took Draco's hand by the wrist and smoothed cooling paste on blistering skin. Draco glanced away while inhaling sharply. Pain was not his friend. "Just for a bit," Harry murmured, as though he had read Draco's mind. "It won't scar now that you have this on."

Draco didn't speak until his hand was coated with the balm. He could hear commotion upstairs and knew that the firefighters had arrived. He worked on calming his breath and resting his swimming head. He should be dead now.

"Good thing I came by, huh?"

Draco turned to glare at Harry through watery eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. I know." He wiped his hand on his jeans and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak that lay discarded on the floor. "No need to thank me or anything."

At that moment, Draco could think of nothing else but pure agony, so he didn't feel all that bad about not thanking that idiot Potter. Before he could take another rattling breath, sounds of running footsteps echoed from around the corner.

"Sorry. Gotta go." Harry struggled up to his feet. "Stay out of trouble." He threw the cloak over himself, disappearing instantly.

"Over there! Someone's over there!"

Draco felt hands on him a moment later and he struggled a little to keep up with appearances. He was being pulled up to his feet and then made to lie down on a soft stretcher. He was still disoriented, so he couldn't even tell top from bottom. He had gone insane. He must have gone insane if he was seeing Potter lean over him, asking him short, clipped questions without a trace of that smile or stubble or sooty cheeks. This Potter was Auror Potter. And this Potter sounded very angry with him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hold in his bewildered sobs, but he wasn't doing such a good job of it. He heard a vague charm beside him and he started breathing in pure air. He drifted off to sleep that way, unaware of the commotion around him.

He stirred in a hospital bed in an exhausted state. He had been sedated and Merlin knew how long he had been out for. But he did know that he wouldn't be able to afford the visit. He forced himself to stay awake despite the potion prompting him to keep sleeping. He felt bandages around his hand, bringing him back to the present. He had nearly died in that fire. He struggled to sit up before panic could set in again. He had nearly been burned to a crisp. He'd be damned if he wouldn't suffer an anxiety attack at the mere sight of a picture of an alit fireplace. He was most likely scarred for life. He shuddered at his morbid thoughts. Right now, he had to figure out how he could get himself discharged so he wouldn't have to keep paying for the bed.

"You haven't recovered yet."

Draco whipped his head to the side, cracking his neck in the process. He winced at the sight of Potter and the strumming pain on his back. The Auror was sitting on a straight-backed chair that stood against the hospital-green curtain that separated them from the patient in the bed next to them. He held a magazine in one hand. He must have been sitting there for a while. Draco didn't care to know why. "What are you doing here?" he murmured as he pushed away the sheets.

"Where are you going?" Harry's voice had turned hard. It was the tone he often took while interrogating suspects.

"I can't go anywhere but home," Draco snapped back as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Did Potter think that he was trying to flee the country or something? He was glad to see that he still wore the clothes he owned, despite it being charred. Perhaps his case had been mild enough that he didn't require further examination. That definitely brought the costs down. He waited a few moments to still his spinning head.

"The Mediwizard wants you to stay for at least five more hours."

"I've got better things to do," he muttered under his breath. His back was turned to Harry and he tried his feet on the cold floor. He felt healthy enough except for his sore throat and heavy lungs. He must have inhaled quite a lot of smoke.

"You aren't paying for this."

He stilled.

"It's workplace compensation. It's not money out of your pocket," Harry explained. "So stay, alright?"

Draco exhaled in defeat and looked down at his hand that was wrapped in white gauze.

"Someone helped you out of there, right? Do you know who it was?"

"I don't know," he said between clenched teeth. "Why are you here?"

That question was received with silence. Then he heard the chair scrape against the tiled floors and soft footsteps fading away until he was alone in his little partition. He relaxed. He didn't particularly fancy being watched. He lay back on the pillow and pulled the covers over up to his waist. Then he stared up at the white ceiling while attempting to recall every detail of his encounter with Potter in the fire.

After that day, he tracked Potter whenever he caught a glimpse of him. He watched the man in the lobby, striding into his office, yelling at his team, glowering at criminals and being just plain unpleasant. Apparently the aftermath of the war hadn't been kind to him either. He was revered and feared by everyone around him. He just held so much power in his hands. He had become Head Auror nine short years after training due to his ambition and drive. He had caught more criminals in his short service than many Aurors had caught in their lifetimes. He rarely went home. Rumor had it that his expansive office was fitted with a bed and all amenities required for him to stay remotely civilized. He was so unlike the Potter Draco had known in school.

So he started wondering if that was even the real Potter. Perhaps this Potter was a conspiracy. The Potter that had saved him from the fire seemed more or less 'normal'. He blanched. Well, not normal. Just… more like the Potter from school – careless and reckless. Maybe Auror Potter was an imposter.

Draco redoubled his efforts by squinting every time the Auror passed by. He didn't dare talk to the man, of course. Squinting was the best he could do. He squinted really hard too. But he got no evidence from all his days of squinting to prove that Potter wasn't who he said he was.

"You are being very distracting, Malfoy."

Draco was startled out of his wits.

He had been minding his own business, pushing papers together and flicking them off to the designated offices when Potter snuck up behind him, quiet as ever. He whipped around and pressed against the table as his chest clenched. But Harry didn't seem threatening. He just looked a bit confused. "Why have you been glaring at me?" he asked. His voice was low and discrete.

"I haven't," Draco lied point-blank.

"I've noticed."

"… I'm allowed to glare."

"No, you are not. Not at me."

Draco didn't speak, but his nostrils flared angrily and he was very evidently biting back his fierce retort.

"I mean, you've never glared at me before," Harry clarified. "Not since the war."

"What do you want?"

"What do you want?"

They each stood their ground for a while.

They could only do that for so long before becoming uncomfortable and feeling a little silly.

Harry stepped back. "Keep glaring." He was flippant. "I don't care." He walked away with his hands in his pockets.

Draco wanted nothing more than to smash that smug face against the wall. He wrung his wand between his hands while baring his teeth at the back of Potter's head instead.

He made sure to keep glaring and squinting at Potter, just to spite him. He didn't even try to hide it anymore. If Potter glanced up at him after sensing the obvious stare, Draco simply intensified his glare. Sometimes he was tempted to shake his fists at the Auror too, but he was much too dignified to do something so juvenile.

Potter, to his credit, never acknowledged the dirty looks after that confrontation.

Draco hated that even more.

It felt so good to start hating again.

Harry shook the rain from his hair as he walked into his house. He kicked off his shoes in the foyer and felt his way through the dark hallway, flicking on the lights when he got to the dining room. He threw his wet coat onto the chair before entering the kitchen. "Smells good," he hummed.

"I know…" Draco trailed off, roving his eyes over Harry's appearance. His gaze stopped short when he got to the half-eaten apple in his hand.

Harry curled into himself and raised his arms to shield himself from the onslaught of vegetables that were hurled his way. "Wait, wait! Whoa!" Tomatoes and carrots hit him hard. "Honest mistake!"

"You scared the piss out of me, you bastard!" Draco raged. "You bloody idiot!" He soon ran out of vegetables to throw, so he whipped around to look for something better.

Harry got to him before he could find the knife drawer. "It was an accident."

"Damn it," Draco swore. "I couldn't sleep all night. I thought you had gone mental. I thought I was going to die! Is this a joke to you?!"

"No, no," Harry insisted, looking as solemn as possible. "Of course it's not a joke. It's very serious."

Draco clenched his fists and set his jaw. "That's it," he said in a deceptively calm voice. "You asked for it, Potter." He swept out of the kitchen with long, determined strides.

Harry needed an embarrassing few seconds to figure out what was happening. "What?" he gasped when he understood. "No!" He ran after Draco. "No way! It's an heirloom!"

"Then I really do hope you haven't gotten too attached to it."

"I saved your life! It saved your life!"

Draco jerked around to face Harry, pointing his wand menacingly. "It's a time traveling nightmare," he snarled. "An illegal time traveling nightmare."

"Why do you insist on ruining everything?" Harry lamented while trying to swipe the wand away. "It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't happen again." Draco was by the front gates in just a few more steps where the godforsaken motorcycle sat, a picture of innocence.

In an instant Harry had placed himself between Sirius' precious two-wheeler and the wrong end of Malfoy's wand. "You'll have to go through me," he said with a defiant growl.

Draco arched a brow. "And that is most definitely fine by me…"

"You are so emotionally dead inside!"

"Flattery gets you nowhere."

"This was my godfather's." Harry backed up and rested one hand on cold metal and the other on worn leather. "You have no right to touch her."

"Well, if you love her so much, why don't you just marry her?"

"Fine!"

"Good."

"Great."

"…"

"…"

"You aren't getting any food."

"What?!"

"You should've thought of that before you decided to get engaged to that pile of rubbish." Draco stomped back into his house.

"Oh come on," Harry groaned as he followed close. Why did dinner always turn out this way?