Cars blared as the sun steadily rose over London, the air muggy and chilled. All across the city people were slowly waking, eyes just cracking open as the day began.

Bikers and joggers made their way through the city as windows were thrown open to let in fresh air and all over, the day began for thousands of people.

On one side of the city, cross a small green park, a little apartment building stood. Old and worn red bricks made up its walls, ivy slowly creeping up the sides. Although faded and a bit rough around the edges, the building seemed to be well cared for. The small wooden porch was swept, every window had a pretty planter, and the blue door had been given a fresh coat of paint.

To walkers by, it would have looked like just a regular flat. But were they made aware it was home to a rather famous young man, I doubt they'd believe it. They probably wouldn't even know his name.

But on the tippy top floor, through an open window they may occasionally hear him chatting, or humming along to a tune. At this moment, he was sweeping his floors, trying to clean up for a guest as some light music floated in the background.

He had shaggy black hair, slightly unkempt and forever sticking up at the back, accompanied by vivid green eyes, always searching for someone behind a pair of round lopsided glasses. His warm expression was kindly, and inviting a smile from anyone he passed, but what most would consider his most striking feature was the peculiar lightning shaped scar on his forehead. It had faded a bit, not nearly as bright as it was in his youth, and now a days was nearly always hidden beneath his long hair. And most surprising of all, hidden in his pocket was a long wooden wand.

As he finished sweeping, a very fluffy gray cat rubbed against his ankle, mewling for attention.

"Not now Orpheus" Harry Potter chided the feline, "I'm expecting company."

The cat gave an unamused look as he hopped onto the small dining table beside him. The flat in which they were in was small, but friendly. The door led straight into a seating area with a large comfortable and plush sofa, and a neat little coffee table. Every window sill was home to at least a few plants, each a different variety, but thriving. The kitchen was tucked into a corner, but clearly very loved. Every counter covered in flour or other baking materials. A small dining table sat beside it, a simple photograph and succulent sat atop it.

A doorbell rang as Harry brushed the dirt off his jumper and made his way towards the entry. Before he could get there the door swung in and a little old woman stepped through the threshold.

"Harry dear!" She cried happily, setting what appeared to be a basket full of sweets on the coffee table.

"Hello Margaret." Harry smiled and embraced her, "I see you've stocked up again."

The stout woman wore a blindingly bright pink gingham dress, accessorized by an equally blinding bow atop the back of a braid in her hair. Her shoes were orderly and outfit steamed, but her eyes glowed with mischief and hands fidgeted like that of a teenage hooligan.

Harry leaned over and picked a small scone out of the basket and took a bite. Flavors of blueberry and jams filled his mouth, greatly improving his mood.

"Just for you my dear." She winked, "Well now don't make an old woman stand for too long, let me sit down."

"If I recall, last time I saw you, we walked around the green for nearly 45 minutes before you'd let your claws out of me." Harry laughed sitting beside her.

"Oh what can I say, I'm a young soul at heart. Now tell me about your week."

It was then Orpheus the cat streaked into the room once more, alighting himself onto the sofa beside Margaret.

"Traitor." Harry smiled at him. Orpheus made himself comfortable as the doting old woman began to pet him.

"What can I say about this past week? I went for a couple walks around the city, wrote a few old friends, stopped by the outdoor market and got some really nice veggies." Harry shrugged, "Not much going on."

Margaret gave him a long glance, "And what about your appointment? How did that go?"

Harry looked away, "It was fine."

"Now now Harry," she chided him, "I'm serious. That therapist cost you a pretty penny, might as well make us of her."

"I am, I am." He assured her, "But you know how it is."

"Aye, I do." She sighed, "But we're survivors, and we make do with what we got."

"Not by choice." Harry snorted.

She cackled, "That's true yes. What about your friends, the redhead and the loud one?"

"Ron and Hermione" he smiled. They had visited his flat once, but Margaret wasn't their biggest fan.

"Too noisy and nosy." She had said. Ironic coming from her, Harry had thought.

"They are doing alright. Haven't seen them in a while, 'Mione's still trying to help her parents readjust, and Ron's been trying to stick by her through it. They'll be round to visit soon though, I'm sure." Harry said.

"I see." She gave him a look, "And the blond one?"

Draco. Harry still wasn't sure what to think after the letter he'd sent.

"I haven't heard from him." He said steadily.

"Right." Margaret stood, "Well no time to waste, I got milk and eggs under those goodies they're ready to be baked into something delicious."

Harry guided her to the kitchen, "Best get to it then."

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A few hours later, Harry sat at his dining table, thoughtlessly snacking on a slice of bread from the loaf he and Margaret had baked earlier.

A small meow awakened him from his thoughts, and reminded him he had not yet refilled Orpheus' bowl for dinner.

"Sorry mate, I'll get it." He glanced down at the small animal not so patiently waiting. He quickly refilled the bowl with some wet food and added a bit of Orpheus' antibiotics to the mix.

He placed it down and made his way to the bedroom. Just down the hall from the living area a door with a small poster on it stood. He stopped for a moment to look at the poster, watching the zipping Quidditch players (Of the Chudley Cannons of course) zoom back and forth. Ron had got it for him, thinking it would help cheer up the place when he had first moved in.

Opening the door, a small bed and bookshelf sat on one side of the room, across from an older wooden desk. On top of its crowded surface was a stack of letters, each handwritten. He picked it up and flopped onto the bed, shoes and all.

Slowly he began rereading the one on top:

Dear Harry,

How are you? I hope you are doing well, it's been so long since we've seen you! Things have been progressing well with Mum and Dad here, they've made such progress lately. Dad finally remembered my birthday today, and Mum managed to recall my favorite sweets growing up. It's been such a weight off my shoulders.

Ron's been a big help too. I don't know what I would do without him. He just got back from Australia with me as we rounded up the last of my parents paperwork. The mess it is just trying to get them back into the UK is awful. He says to tell you hello and not to miss him too much. We should be coming to visit soon, just need to take care of a few things. How does June 16th sound? We could get tea and catch up!

Unfortunately I have to cut this letter short, Ron just caught the letterbox on fire again. We'll see you soon!

With lots of love,
Hermione

Harry moved on to the next one.

Hey Mate,

How you been? Hermione and I have been doing well, things been going great with her parents. Not sure how they feel about me though, I've managed to set the letterbox on fire TWICE! Twice mate! That's more than Fred and George... Well, it's been a long week. 'Mione says we'll be coming to see you soon, can't wait. Hang in there mate.

Ron

Underneath that lay a few more letters from varying correspondents; Mrs. Weasley inviting him to dinner, interview invites from the Daily Prophet, the occasional letter from Luna, and underneath it all a letter from one Draco Malfoy. Harry's eyes skimmed over it, the edges worm from someone holding it so firmly it began to crease.

Hello Harry,

I'm not quite sure how to start this letter. Well, I suppose I just did. There are a million things I could say here, but most of them are pointless. I've written and rewritten this so many times I've lost count. I might not even send this one.

The truth is I would like to apologize. I was on the wrong side of things, though I hope my involvement at the Battle of Hogwarts- as they are calling- it made things more clear. It did for me. My parents were involved in all sorts of nasty things and are paying for it now, as I'm sure you've seen in the Prophet. I didn't even know the half of it until recently.

I know that doesn't excuse everything I did. The relentless nagging and bullying in school cannot be made up for, and it's not just you I owe an apology, thought rest assured I've sent letters to Granger and Weasley too. Wouldn't feel right if I didn't.

I was a right little arrogant toe-rag. A complete shithole. And like I said, there's no excuse. I see that now I was wrong. I don't expect a reply back or for you to forgive me; I wouldn't. But I had to say something or it would eat at me alive. I can only hope to see you in person eventually to say this face to face.

Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy of Malfoy Manor.

An apology. Out of everything Harry expected from Draco, an apology was not one of them. He had mulled it over for days before sending a response.

Draco,

Thanks. I'm not sure I can forgive you yet, but it's a start. Want to talk about it over tea sometime?

Harry

He wasn't entirely certain he'd said the right thing, but Draco's response was positive and he was interested in meeting.

They'd decided to stay away from Diagon Alley and Hogsmede, as both of them were far too recognizable, and agreed on a small tea shop in wizard London far from the crowds. They had yet to meet, but come this Sunday Harry would be face to face with the last person he thought he'd make plans with this summer. He was tentative, but curious.

And it wasn't just that, something he'd mentioned in his letter caught Harry's eye the first time he'd read it.

"-paying for it now, as I'm sure you've seen in the Prophet-"

Harry was no stranger to unwanted publicity, but this was something else. He'd bought a couple of issues of the paper soon after Draco's letter had arrived and his disgust grew with every word.

Lucius Malfoy under Trial for misuse of magical items, dark magic, Death Eater leadership and More!

Malfoy Manor under heat after trial deems Lucius guilty! Will Narcissa be let go, or will she join her husband in lifelong confinement?

Malfoy's, a dark family driven apart!

Heading upon heading, every article spewing forth more dark stories about the Malfoys and their involvement in Voldemorts uprising. Disgusting things that made Harry a bit queasy.

The Prophet clearly had no love for them like they had years prior, but this was outright slander and public shaming. While Harry had no love for Lucius, this was a tad too far.

He'd stopped reading the paper after the Battle of Hogwarts. Too much hurt and anger, and misplaced confidence. Right after the battle, every paper in the wizarding world proclaimed his name and praised his heroics, claiming he alone had saved the day. It was enough to make him sick.

He'd stopped reading after a particularly memorable arrival...

Dumbledore's Hero Saves the Day, but What Did the Old Man Really Want?

Shaking his head, Harry pulled himself out of the past. A single glance out the window showed him it had grown late and he sighed, climbed into bed and uselessly tried to sleep.

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