63 months, 11 hours, and 5 minutes since the war ended.

Draco Malfoy found himself inevitably normal. Normal house, normal job, normal friends, everything was normal. But the thing is, Draco Malfoy doesn't do normal. Oh no, Draco Malfoy does snarky comments and messing around with the wrong kinds of people. Draco Malfoy does magic and diabolical plans. Draco Malfoy does not do Muggle.

At least that's what Draco thought before the court case that determined his fate forever. Potter had spoken at the hearing, of course he had, because Potter always found some way to prove to Draco that he was better than him no matter what he did. He found himself as a saint, returned from the dead just to bless all of the wizarding world with his grace. Draco found it disgusting.

The court had really chosen better than what Draco could have hoped, his mother was free to live in Malfoy Manor with a few house elves of her choosing along with all of her magic. His father was given life in Azkaban before anyone could ever argue, which changed the mood for Draco really. He loved his father, his father raised him, made him the man he is today. Second of his class, behind the Mudblood, and he taught Draco so many spells as well as protected his mother like she was his lifeline, and he was her's. Yes, Lucius made some mistakes, but didn't everyone?

Then finally, it was down to Draco Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater, killer, Azkaban. Potter had argued differently, that Draco was not a killer and most definitely did neither deserved the hell-prison nor the Kiss. He said how Draco saved his life in Malfoy Manor, how Draco had really changed for the good.

The jury found this reasonable, thankfully, before deciding on a final sentence on Draco.

"No magic, no Hogwarts, no wizarding world, nothing. Draco Lucius Malfoy is sentenced to life as a Muggle,"

And that's how Draco now found himself here, living life as Muggle, in a small coffee shop off a busy street in London.

•••

"Hello Genesis, new hairstyle?" Draco asked, grinning towards the lanky, yet busty, woman in front of the counter which Draco leaned against, the black granite countertop slightly digging into his stomach. She was dressed in a light grey pantsuit with a pair of bright red clogs that strapped around her ankles, a matching red ankle bracelet sat atop her right clog. Genesis' outfit choice wasn't the only eye-catching thing about her, it really went unnoticed compared to the hairstyle the woman was sporting. Her lengthy, curly locks were coloured a bright orange with hints of scarlet and yellow all the way down to the tips, which were dyed white. Her face was porcelain smooth and rather pale, similar to Draco's, but her nose was somewhat larger and slightly hooked.

"I'm really feeling it today, I had dyed it last night when I may have been maybe a little bit drunk with a few of my mates. Imagine how I woke up this morning, seeing my hair this colour, but it's not that bad, really, " Genesis twisted the pale end of one of her curls, smacking her gum loudly.

"I think it fits you nicely," Draco replied, already beginning to prepare her usual order, the one she never faltered from. Every day for months, at just around 7:35 A.M Genesis would order an iced chamomile tea with 'a bit' of honey.

'It's good for the soul' She would tell him as she waved her hand to have him put more honey into the drink.

"You wouldn't believe, Draco! You remember Mason, right, the bloke I told you about? He wrote me the other day claiming I was 'too clingy' and that I 'spoke too loud'. Can you believe that? The nerve!" She exclaimed, flinging her hands into the air, placing them back again on the counter before her, the stance was both intimidating as well as comfortable, just as Genesis was.

"I told you he was just trying to get you in his pants, I could see it from the moment you showed me his picture, Genesis," Draco said, shaking his head as he pushed the lid onto her chamomile tea.

"Here you go, that'll be £4.45," Genesis shifted through her bejeweled wallet, which she removed from her grey pants, placing the exact amount of change into Draco's outstretched hand.

"Well, off again to find someone better than Mason, tootles!" Genesis called, waving and walking out of the shop as the bell above the door jingled softly. Draco placed the money into the register, making sure each other slot was filled with the correct type of coin or piece of paper.

The café around Draco buzzed softly with conversation, and though it was not that busy, Draco found he preferred it over the constant clatter the Great Hall used to have. The floors were made of poplar wood, the hanging lights above reflecting off of it's glossy shine. The entire front of the shop was only glass, which currently looked upon a road full of pedestrians and cars who were currently getting rained upon.

Grinning, Draco wiped the counter before him with a white towel from his apron, the small amount of crumbs from customers as well as himself spilled into his hand which sat at the edge to catch these monstrosities that he threw into the sink.

That's when it happened.

A snap, similar to a whip, sounded from the storage room just feet away from the once-wizard boy. The familiar sound almost made Draco's ears perk up as his eyes grew wide, backing towards the room before entering it in one fluid motion.

Before him in the rather cramped room stood no wizard, but an elf. It was dressed in a burlap sack and it's ears were perked and curled in at the end. It's eyes were the size of saucers, gazing up at Draco with an intense stare. In the elf's long fingers held a letter, one most obviously from whoever this elf belonged to.

"Mr. Malfoy," The elf breathed, excitement appearing upon it's face, "Mr. Malfoy! Mitzi is proud to be in your presence, Mr. Malfoy. Mitzi has come here with a letter, Mr. Malfoy's letter from her master,"

"Who's your master, er, Mitzi?" Draco asked, unsure really of what to take of the elf before him. He had been banned from magic for so long, so much as Mitzi apparating here left him in awe.

"Mr. Malfoy addressed Mitzi! Oh Mitzi has heard so many things about Mr. Malfoy, especially when Mitzi's master is in his room. Oh he goes on about Mr. Malfoy, Mitzi hears him when Mitzi is doing her cleaning. Mitzi's master doesn't like Mitzi cleaning so much, but Mitzi insists! Mitzi tells master how she loves cleaning, but master never listens," Mitzi's ears drooped slightly before perking back up, shoving the letter in Draco's direction.

"Master wishes for Mr. Malfoy to have this. Mitzi delivered but really must be off, good bye, Mr. Malfoy!" And with a snap Mitzi was gone, as if she never were there in the first place. The only proof was the letter in his hand, on addressed to 'Draco Malfoy' in chicken scratch handwriting.

•••

Throughout the work day, Draco forgot about the mystery letter which now lay in his underneath his coat in his locker. Streams of customers flowed through the café, some new while others were quite frequent usuals, until finally they were closed and everyone was gone except Draco.

He walked into the rundown employee locker room, the dull light flickering above as it always did, the owners never finding it productive to improve the room in the past five years. There was a line of five lockers, each of which was a nasty colour that Draco could only describe as sludge. There was rust on most of them, and whenever Draco opened his, a metallic screech emitted from it. At first it made him visibly cringe, feeling as if bits of his life span were scrapping away along with it, but now he really didn't mind. His life span was already likely to be short, he could die tomorrow for all he knows, and his ears seemed to have adjusted just a tad.

This place was comfortable to Draco. Anything from the homeless guy who sits outside the shop to his own sludge locker, this was home.

Carefully, Draco unlocked the metal compartment with his pale fingers, his nails in desperate need of a manicure, which would eventually happen, he hoped. The boy removed his black jacket, the letter fluttering to the ground beneath it.

Sliding the material onto his arms, Draco bent to pick up the very obviously wizarding letter from the ground, brushing off the bits of dirt and dust from the surface of it. Draco gazed down at it before carefully placing it into his pocket, zipping up his jacket and heading through the front.

Before he left, Draco grabbed a hot tea with coffee cake from the counter, which he had lain out earlier. Pushing the door open with the final jingle of the bell of the night, Draco maneuvered the bagged cake as well as the drink into one hand as he locked the place up.

Outside of the shop, down the thin alley between the café and the clothing store next to it, sat a middle aged man wrapped in a thin blanket and a few large coats. His hair was a dark grey, along with his beard which was in desperate need of a shave. His jeans had a few holes in them and his shoes were obviously worn and old.

"Here," Draco said, walking over to the man who sat against the wall, a small smile playing over his lips as the man looked up at him questionably.

"Thank you, sir," The man responded, his front teeth missing as he smiled back up at Draco as he was handed the food and drink. He suddenly grabbed Draco's arm, yanking him down the eye level, the man's breath smelled of ale and death

"You wouldn't happen to know anyone by the name Amelia Banks, would you?" He grunted, his breath seeping into Draco's nostrils as he attempted yanking away.

"I do not," Draco firmly said, the man letting go of his arm with a sad look before stuffing the entire cake into his mouth, sucking the crumbs off of his fingers. With a shudder and a frantic wipe of his arm, Draco turned from the man and marched out of the alley.

•••

Draco's flat wasn't really far from his work, only a few blocks away, which seemed to be miles in the cold seeping into the city. Draco trudged on, his steps barely dodging a few puddles which had begun turning into miniature ice skating rinks. Finally, Draco entered his flat, the soft smell of french vanilla emitting into the air the moment he pulled open the door.

Breathing in deeply, Draco removed his jacket and placed it in the single hook which hung next to his door, which he kicked shut behind him. There wasn't much decor in the flat, the entryway being a small hallway which hooked into both the living room and a staircase which led to his bedroom. There were a few pictures as well as paintings upon the walls, all of his pictures from the wizarding world being stashed away in a shoebox in the top of his closet.

The walls of his home were painted white and grey, the entry way being a light grey which looked very comforting in the summer as well as very seasonal in the winter, Draco loved it. There was a small oak dresser which he sat a few feet from where the door swung open, a black and white photo of a beach with about a dozen birds flying across the frame sitting atop it along with a few candles and a hand sanitizer dispenser which was a dark brown, similar to the oak.

Draco removed the letter from his coat pocket, gazing upon it while he toed off his shoes and into his living room.

Personally, Draco thought of his living room as quite comfortable. A cappuccino coloured couch sat in it along with a glass coffee table, all of which faced a large fireplace embedded in white stone that correlated with the light grey walls around it. There was a large window on the right side of the room, a few shelves right in front of it with no less than twelve potted plants on it.

The tiete rosewood flooring was freezing beneath Draco's feet, even though he wore socks, as he moved to the couch and threw himself onto it comfortably. This was it, the letter, his first contact with the wizarding world since his probation officer left four years ago.

Roughly, Draco tore open the letter, pulling out two crisp parchments each with the same chicken scratch writing upon them. The letter was Muggle, makes since for Saint Potter to do such a thing like this, his own way of taking pity upon Draco's situation. He drug his eyes over the letter, taking in every word as if it would save his life, or maybe end it.

Malfoy-

See, well, Hermione said it would be a good idea to start writing directly to people to like, talk about things that had happened. Sort of like a diary, I guess, since it would be me pouring everything out on a piece of parchment that sat on my desk all day without having anywhere to go. So, I might as well start this rubbish.

I hate you. I really, really hate you. I despise you, to be exact, I can almost hear you making a smart comment to that very sentence.

"Despise, finally start reading some books, eh Potter?" and I would reply with some other remark about how you're a git and I hate you and it would lead into a fight. That's what it always led into.

I hate your stupid hair which you always had gelled back in an aristocratic manor that made it so really your hair didn't look natural in the least. You started to let it get more natural by third year, it got longer too, you look better like that, you know?

What happened in seventh year to you? What happened in your own home? Why did you get the mark?

I realize you would never tell me, just like I can't tell you really why I chose what I chose. Maybe you thought it was cool, or maybe you were pressured into it, or maybe you had no choice.

I hate how horrid you looked during your hearing. You looked horrible, worse than you did during the war. Your eyes were sunken in, your skin looked paler than normal, and you looked as if you hadn't eaten in weeks. It was horrible, I don't exactly like the fact you got condemned to life as a muggle, but I would rather have you healthy there then in Azkaban shriveled up.

I wish I could have just made it so you had to, I don't know, live with me possibly for a few months, lived with an officer, anything but get your magic taken away. I couldn't really argue with the Ministry, could I? Besides if I had you would only comment on how I had to always get what I want or how I never do as I'm told.

Sometimes I wonder really, if things would be different if I would have shaken your hand way back before our First Year at Hogwarts. Would you have chosen the Order instead of becoming a Death Eater to follow in Voldemort's path? Would I have defeated him earlier, having been able to read in your library as well as Hogwarts' on what to do and having access to people whom were close to him?

Would we have been close? Or were we just not meant to ever be close, always needing to be 20 feet away from each other unless we were bickering. Maybe it's different now, maybe as a muggle you've changed, become generous and more understanding.

Or maybe you're still the same. I almost hope you are still the same git from Hogwarts. That if I ever see you again we'll argue about quidditch and on who's house is the best and how I apparently know nothing about potions. Maybe if you hadn't become a Death Eater, that would have been possible.

Fuck you and what your parents say. I'm sorry that I doubted when you said that they're insane. Well I guess they're not really insane, it was mostly Voldemort. Your mother, she saved me during the war, you know. I hadn't mentioned it during the hearing, but she saved me because she loved you so much. She asked me if you were still alive, and of course I had only slightly nodded since Voldemort was only feet away. She stood up, claiming me as dead, I will be forever grateful for that.

Mentioning Hogwarts, funny thing, Hogwarts is. Well, we were in it just five years ago, terrible things really putting children in the face of a mass murderer. But, figured I might as well say it.

I miss you. I really, really miss you. I miss your comments, I miss your smile, I miss your just utter git vibe. I guess I just miss you all together. I've tried to find you, maybe see if we can convince the Winzengamont about getting you your magic back, anything really. I just really, really want to see you again.

Harry J. Potter

Draco gaped down at the letter before him, his widened eyes scanning over the letter again and again. It seemed utterly impossible that Potter would have any interest in Draco in any way, probably grateful for him to be gone in the first place.

Clearing his throat, Draco set down the parchment as well as the envelope it had arrived in onto the glass table before him. Silently, he stood up, the initial shock beginning to set in.

I must be dreaming, there is no Potter on Earth who would write such a thing, much less Harry Potter.

Draco thought as he walked into the kitchen to get himself a drink, maybe a strong whiskey, or possibly just some wine, would help the tenseness in his shoulders cease as it had before Harry James Potter bombarded Draco's life.

•••

That Sunday, Draco set off to find Harry Potter.

He marched his way down the streets of London, the café was closed on Sundays which gave Draco the wonderful start of waking up at 9 and walking to the ever famous, 12 Grimmauld Place.

The crisp morning air stung at Draco's skin as he walked, narrowly avoiding getting run over by no less than 4 vehicles and one bicycle. Without a driver's license, much less a car, the walk would take longer than Draco had hoped, much to his disappointment.

Well, Draco supposed, this could give him a chance to think about all that's happened. He, Draco Malfoy, is currently walking to the Savior, Harry Potter's, house to consult him about a letter saying he missed him. This must be a dream, obviously, why else would such a thing be happening?

Draco suddenly stopped in his tracks, Potter might not live here anymore.

But he had to, didn't he? After all Potter couldn't leave the Weasleys, yes of course, the Weasleys. If Potter wasn't at Grimmauld Place he would be at the Weasley's. Draco shook his head, his platinum hair hanging around his face in slight curls as he continued walking forward.

The Muggle world seemed different that day, happier almost, it seemed everyone adorned a smile as he passed them. 12 Grimmauld Place wasn't far, Draco knew that much. His mother had never taken him to the house, his old owner, Sirius Black, being her cousin didn't mean she had anything there worth showing Draco, apparently. But occasionally she would tell him stories of it, or how happy and bright it had been before they had been shown the evils that lay in the world.

Draco had been shown those evils too, so had Potter.

...

Taking a deep breath, Draco knocked upon the rather rundown door in front of him, dust emitting from it with each tap. A muffled "One second!" yelled from inside, followed by rather loud footsteps pounding down what seemed to be stairs.

Suddenly the door in front of him swung open, a rather disheveled and out of breath Harry Potter stood in front of him. He wore a pair of tattered jeans that had obvious grass stains, they hung low on his waist and the stains were accompanied by a large tear in his left knee. As for his shirt, he wore an equally dirty top that had a dark, worn flannel atop it.

Besides his atrocity of an outfit, Potter's feet adorned a pair of snitch slippers, two wings sprouting out of the back of them. The whole shoe was a bright gold that did not match the rest of his outfit, it was so utterly Potter looking it made Draco want to pass out. His hair had grown longer over the five years, his dark locks being capable of tied back, as it was now. He wore it so the top was tied up, leaving them bottom to be in some sort of controlled chaos. The look would usually be seem as feminine, but on someone with Potter's bulk it seemed mouth-wateringly intimidating.

"Oh! Uh, hi Malfoy," Potter said, his body taking up most of the door frame.

"Listen, Potter, I'm not here for discussions. I got your letter," Draco said, crossing his arms in front of him in hope to show his demeanor as a more powerful man, but all he really had on him was height.

"What letter?" Potter asked, a rather puzzled look sliding across his face.

It was then that Draco realized how green Potter's eyes are, his usual spectacles not where they usually sit in front of his face. His eyelashes were excruciatingly dark, as well as long, the bright green of his irises contrasting against his own tanned skin.

Mitzi, along with her happy attitude, appeared next to Potter with a loud crack. Before the elf began to speak, she looked over at Draco in glee.

"Mr. Malfoy! What an honor it is to see you again!" Mitzi exclaimed, her large eyes gleaming.

"Again?" Potter asked, utterly confused.

"Mitzi does hope Mr. Malfoy stays for lunch, Mitzi prepared the best sandwiches!" She said, visibly shaking from excitement.

"I don't think that's-" Potter began.

"Mr. Malfoy can speak with Master Harry inside too! Mitzi thinks it's much too cold to be standing outside," Mitzi said.

"Mitzi don't call me Master Harry, I've told you this before," Potter said, his brow creasing.

"Mitzi's sorry, Master Harry!" And with that, Mitzi snapped out of the room.

Harry opened the door, his right hand splayed across the frame as Draco stepped inside. The house itself could have been very nice, if it wasn't for the large amount of dust on most objects which was accompanied by peeling wallpaper and creaky floor boards. Near the stairs, Draco could hear a faint yelling, an occasional 'disgrace' or 'bloodtraitor!' reaching his ears.

"Ignore Aunt Walburga, she came with the house, I didn't ask for a life sized painting of pure hate," Potter said, glaring down the hall before resuming his eye contact with Draco.

"What had you meant by letter? I never sent you anything of the sort," Potter said, watching as Draco's face turned confused.

"That's strange, I have it here," Draco replied, shuffling around in his pockets before removing the pieces are parchment, still in perfect condition besides the rip from which he had opened it. He handed it to Harry, who's eyes scanned the paper before his whole face turned a shade of dark red.

"You-you weren't supposed to really get this," Potter stuttered, his eyes still glued on the parchment.

"Potter, I'm touched you actually care," Draco sneered, bringing his hand to his chest in a sort of amazed form.

"I do not," Potter retorted.

"You wrote it, Potter, along with your other angsty comments about my family and The Dark Lord," Draco snapped.

"I-"

"Shush, Potter. Weren't we going to eat? It is lunch hour," Draco changed the subject abruptly, gesturing down the darkened hall.

"Oh, yeah, this way," Potter walked past Draco, his shoulder only centimeter's from hitting his own. Draco followed the shorter boy into and through what seemed to be a living room, equipped with a few other moving pictures and paintings which didn't seem keen on speaking. As they continued walking deeper, they finally made it to what looked as if to be some sort of garden room, each wall beside the one closest to a the two was made of glass which looked out to a backyard. There were plants, both Muggle and magical, throughout the room. They were everywhere, hanging from the ceiling, even a few had snaked in from outside. Draco gazed in awe at his surroundings, each plant making this situation almost less awkward, key word almost.

"Luna and Neville made it,"

"Pardon?" Draco snapped back, his guard coming back up as he remembered where he was and who he was with.

"Luna and Neville made this room a couple years ago, I never really knew anyone besides them who viewed plants that way," Harry said, his overly-green eyes glancing around the room, then back at Draco as he spoke.

"What way?"

"Just viewed them like it was only you and them in the world,"

"I grew to love plants, in the Muggle world, they're all so delicate and pretty, even the ones with pricks and bites. Each one is like it's own person, of course it is only me and them in the world they depend on me to survive."

Potter nodded in response, showing Draco to a table with four chairs around it and pulling out a chair to sit in. He didn't say anything in thanks, simply sitting down with his pale hands in his lap as Potter sat across from him. The two didn't say much, the silence between them practically unbearable. Every once in a while Potter would clear his throat, or one of the two would open their mouth to say something before closing it again quickly.

"Can you still do it?"

"Do what?" Draco snapped, rather startled by the sudden question.

"Magic."

"No, Potter, of course not. I got sentenced to live as a Muggle and that's what I have been doing."

"How are you not dead? Do you have a job? A home?" Potter's brow furrowed again in worry, a few creases appearing upon his tanned forehead.

"Of course I have a home and a job, Potter! I'm not helpless. I work at a nice Muggle coffee shop and I have a flat a few blocks from it, I'll have you know," Draco said, his voice developing more of an edge the more he spoke.

"Well that's good, I just, I didn't want you to-" Potter began, his eyes cast down at a small caterpillar beginning to make it's way across the light grey cement flooring.

"I don't need your pity, Potter," Draco interrupted, his jaw set and his voice sharp.

"I wasn't pitying you!" Potter's eyes flashed, rage visibly bubbling inside of the man, but the same rage was developing in Draco as well.

"What then? Checking up to make sure the Death Eater wasn't off conspiring again. I live as a Muggle, Potter! I can't even cast a simple levitating spell much less an unforgivable! I can't visit my mother for more than two hours a week and lately they won't even let me in the home at all! Meanwhile you, Saint Potter, get everything handed to you hand and feet. Well guess what, no. I will not hand you my thankfulness for anything, you already get everything you deserve," He hissed, his slate eyes piercing into Potter's own too-green ones.

"Malfoy."

"If you would just shut your damned mouth every once in a while, maybe you could have defeated The Dark Lord the first time, and I wouldn't have had to be here, now! I could be the Minister by now, who knows, but since I'm not even allowed in the Wizarding World, I can't do anything like that," Draco continued, leaning forward towards the table, his breath becoming deep and ragged as he spoke.

"Malfoy-"

"I had to live on the streets, Potter! Sell myself like a whore for months before I could so much as afford a small flat with broken needles stuck in the floor and graffiti on the walls! You get everything handed to you like some damned prince, you don't know what it's like and you don't know me," He spat, his body trembling with his rage.

"Draco!"

"Shut. Up. Be quiet, close your mouth, Potter, I don't need your pity. I never needed your pity, just because you condemned me to live in such a way that I would rather die without any contact with anyone, I know doesn't mean I should fall to your feet and start to bow before the savior,"

Potter grabbed Draco by the collar of the grey jumper which he had chosen to wear earlier that day yanking Draco up to eye level with him. His own slate eyes softened at the sight of the amount of rage piled within the green ones before him, though they weren't only filled with rage, there was more. Regret, sorrow, and something else.

"I never pitied you. I don't want you, or anyone, to bow at my feet. Do you think I wanted my parents to die? To suddenly go from living under bloody stairs in a cupboard to being praised as some one who conquered some Dark Lord that isn't even dead? I didn't! I don't want any of this! I woke up one morning and was told I was a wizard by some man who acknowledged it was my birthday and gave me a cake, the first cake I had ever gotten at eleven! I hate how people bask at me like I'm some God, I'm not! I don't want to be! I-"

Draco pushed himself forward, his own lips hitting the boy's in front of him. At first there was nothing but a gasp that emitted from the other boy, Potter let him stay, not pushing him back. His lips parted, and Draco barely slipped his tongue between, just enough to find Harry's tongue and touch it.

Something extraordinary happened then. Like some wild beast set loose after a long, lonely time in captivity.

Potter let slip a choked whine at the touch of Draco's tongue.

And suddenly, the two were kissing, really kissing. It was exhilarating. Not any kind of exhilarating, it was like when you jump into a pool for the first time, or when you are on the tallest part of a roller coaster right before it drops. It was like the two were fighting again. Draco leaned into Potter, moving around the table to gain better access to the boy.

Potter's hands gripping onto Draco's shirt for dear life, Draco's own hands placed both on Potter's back as well as the nape of his neck. Harry's mouth was open for Draco to explore, mapping out every last crevess and bump while Potter leaned into the taller boy better access.

Draco was aroused, he was painfully and undeniably aroused. His own hands made their way downward, latching onto Potter's arse. It was an amazing arse, Draco had to admit, it was perfect really. If he could he would spend all day simply treasuring that arse.

Suddenly a large crash of glass breaking broke the two boys from their dazed sort of snogging, Draaco's face becoming a blistering red at the house elf who now stood with the food at her feet.

"Mr. Malfoy and Master Potter are kissing!"