Disclaimer: I don't own anything. And I'm not making any money. Don't sue.

Pairing: Drarry

Warning: To anyone familiar with my work, updates are going to be slow, but are speeded up by reviews.

Notes: This is the first plot line I've thought of in well over five years, so go easy on me please. I'm excited to start writing again, but I'm playing around with a couple stories all at once, so please be patient with me.

Strike Back

Chapter One: The Potions Master

Sitting on the corner of Continental Avenue and Forest Park sat a ranch-style house, complete with an attached-garage. There was nothing unusual about this house at first glance; it matched all the other houses on the street. Even upon entering said house would leave you certain it belonged to some low-end muggle.

Inside the front room sat a mismatched couch and love-seat, a wooden rocking chair, and a small television set. There was a closet sitting to the right of the front door. The walls and carpet were both cream-colored. No pictures sat on the walls. It was a truly boring house.

It was passed this front room where the magic and grandeur started. The walls were covered in moving pictures: Severus Snape stood alone in one frame, the Malfoy family sat in another, Bellatrix, looking sane for once, stood in another, there was one of Vincent Crabbe, one of Gregory Goyle, another of Pansy Parkinson, and another of Blaise Zabini. The biggest picture was of Albus Dumbledore, smiling innocently and waving to no one in particular from his picture frame. The room was displayed in all greens and silvers. Two giant, leather sectionals sat facing the giant fireplace that stood in the middle of the room. The fireplace was probably one of the most comfortable entrances to the floo network known to wizarding kind.

The house was actually three stories full of luxury, complete with a basement, though you could never tell from looking outside. It also belonged to the wizard known as Draco Malfoy.

At this moment the owner was sitting in the attic. The attic was a single room, surrounded on all sides by books. The gap in books only opened up to let in room for a single, round window. In the center of the room was a giant desk. Beside this desk is where Draco Malfoy sat, looking much more rough looking than he had ever looked in school, most likely due to the fact that he had not left the attic for a shower in what was going on three days.

A radio off to the side played some muggle tune, but Draco wasn't paying much attention to it, too absorbed in his work.

You see, Draco Malfoy had made quite a name for himself as a potions master, even if it wasn't officially under his name, but a pen name. Three days ago he had gotten an offer to add some of his self-concocted potions into the Hogwarts potions textbooks. Since the letter he had worked like crazy to list all of the potions he had thought would be helpful to learn, any notes that might be useful, and what years he felt they should be taught in.

Ministry law dictated that every newly created potion had to be sent to them for testing, along with a detailed description of what it did and the ingredients used. Draco Malfoy had decided very early on that if he had to do all that, he might as well write a book and let the entire public know. And so he had hired Pansy Parkinson to be his editor and distributor, and he had been making quite a pretty penny on his potions and his books. He found that the two advertised each other well, and he had become quite the renowned potions master. He would often get owls asking for help with this or that tweaking, or asking his advice if the potion did that or this.

Draco Malfoy sat back for a minute, finished writing down the ingredients and notes to one potion and thinking about which potion he would want in the book next. He decided on the anti-flamnation potion, a potion that would render the drinker impervious to flames, both magical and nonmagical.

That particular potion always made him think of that night in the Room of Requirement, when he had lost Crabbe. True, they weren't exactly ever friends, but that didn't make Draco feel any better about the incident. That was the exact reason he had come up with the potion, after all. He had hoped it would make him feel better, but it seemed as if that wasn't the case..

It had been over a decade since Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort and ended the war. It had been over a decade since the Malfoy name had been truly smeared. Over a decade since his father had been sent to Azkaban and his mother had died. Over a decade since Malfoy Manor had burned to the ground. Over a decade since Draco had decided that moving to the muggle world and distancing himself from the wizarding world would be best for everyone.

He still had to go to Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley for potion ingredients, of course, but he always wore a hood. He thought it best that no one remembered the name Malfoy still existed.

He often wondered why he didn't die during the war. Why had he been left to pick up all the pieces that had been broken as soon as Potter had forced Voldemort to his knees. Left to refigure out everything he had been taught, with no one around to teach him. Forced to lie about what he believed in, because he no longer knew what he believed in.

Personally, he felt it would have been so much easier had he just died in that fire.

Wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend. You could, cut ties with all the lies that you've been living in. And if you do not want to see me again, I would understand.

Draco snapped out of his thoughts to look at the radio that was making all the racket. He glared at it. "That's a little too dramatic, don't you think?" he asked before turning it off. He rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired, indeed. He had been up for three days straight, after all, and stimulants could only help him so much (although the new stimulant potion he had created did do wonders).

He was seriously thinking about retiring to bed when he felt someone step out of his fireplace downstairs.

Harry had agreed to meet his friends for some coffee in Diagon Alley, and he was trying very hard to be excited about it.

It had been over a decade since he had defeated Voldemort and started trying to have a normal life. He had hoped that people would stop staring at him, but if it was going to happen, it hadn't happened yet. It'd been over a decade since he had started training to become an Auror, a job that was actually pretty boring now that they had successfully locked up all the known Death Eaters. Now his job was filled with busy work and checking to make sure all magic outbursts were actually just magical children too young for Hogwarts (which was almost always the case).

It had been over a decade since he married Ginny Weasley. And over five years since she had decided that he couldn't give her what she needed and left him. Harry had felt numb during that moment, but he had also felt numb before and after that moment. He hadn't been the same since the war, and everybody knew it.

It had been almost a decade since Ron and Hermione married each other and started raising a child together. Her name was Penny and she was absolutely adorable: eight years old and all ready to go to Hogwarts, even though she was three years too early. She was a small thing with brown hair and brown eyes, her father's skill at chess, and her mother's penchant for reading. She had already set their house on fire twice with accidental magic.

It'd been over a decade since Hermione had accepted a job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And it only took her a few days for everyone in the department to realize that controlling magical creatures was not on Hermione Granger's agenda. She was now a liaison for almost all magical creatures, frequently taking trips to meet with werewolves, veela, vampires, centaurs, and mermaids, among others. She even met with house elves, who, thanks to Hermione, now had a voice, albeit one that had yet to actually use.

It'd been over a decade since Ronald Weasly had applied for a job in the Department of Improper Use of Magic Office. He had wanted to be close to Harry, who had already signed up to be an auror, but had decided that he needed a break from the excitement. And since most of Harry's assignments were dealing with child magic he saw Ron a lot at work.

Harry sighed to himself in the mirror. Ever since his divorce with Ginny he felt like a third wheel around his two friends. Ron and Hermione were so happy together, and he was pretty certain he would never find that level of happiness. They were in their own world: talking through looks and finishing each other's sentences.

It was hard for Harry to stomach sometimes, as hard as it was to admit. He was jealous. Hermione and Ron seemed to be living the normal, happy life he had always wanted, but had yet to be able to achieve. Seeing his two friends together was a painful reminder that he probably never would. But still, a promise was a promise, and they were still his friends.

"Parkinson," Draco said. As soon as his editor stepped out of the fireplace he was there to greet her. "I thought I told you that I was going to have to put a hold on my next book."

"Right, right," Pansy replied. She cast a quick scourgify to get rid of all the offending soot on her robes. "But this isn't about that, my darling Draco." She flopped gracefully in a leather sectional before clapping her hands.

A house elf came immediately to her aid and bowed. "Good evening, Miss Pansy. I is Milford. How may Milford make your stay more comfortable?"

"It's 'I am Milford', for heaven's sake. Would it kill you to learn some proper grammar?" Pansy snapped. She had always been a bit of a grammar nazi; it was the biggest reason she had never kept house elves in her own home.

"I is sorry, my lady," Milford said. "Milford is a bad house elf, very bad." He looked truly sad as he stared at his feet. Or maybe he was a female. Draco had never been able to tell the difference, and he never had enough interest to ask.

Pansy rolled her eyes at the continuous errors in grammar. "Never mind, never mind. Just get us some tea and talk less when you bring it."

Milford nodded before disappearing.

Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose. It always annoyed him how at home Pansy made herself. "Exactly what is this about then?" he asked, continuing their earlier conversation. "You know I don't give away potions, not even to editors."

"You're so cold, Draco," Pansy whined. She took her tea from the house elf that had reappeared before motioning to Draco to take his. She sipped on it for a minute before continuing. "And it has nothing to do with potions. Well, it does, somewhat, but not about me getting any free ones."

Draco sipped at his own tea, trying to will his head not to explode. Pansy could never get to the point of anything, and it drove him absolutely mad. "I have not had any sleep in three days, Parkinson. Perhaps it would be best if you simply got to the bloody point."

Pansy sniffed and sipped more at her tea. "I gathered as much, Draco. You always result to calling me by my last name when you're in a foul mood. Which is almost always, might I add."

Draco clenched his teeth.

"Right! Anyway," Pansy stated, deciding it was time to whip her delightful and ingenious plan into action. She placed her tea cup onto its saucer which sat on the glass coffee table in front of her and stood up, now starting to pace the room. "Everyone is eager to see you, Draco," she explained. "Or, at any rate, everyone is eager to meet the great potions master, Seth Snape."

Snape was his pen name, of course. Seth from the Hebrew meaning 'appointed one': appointed by Snape. It may have never been officially declared, but Draco felt justified in claiming the title.

It was Draco's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm not meeting anyone, Parkinson. I'm perfectly happy to stay right here. I've told you that enough times I thought you'd take the hint by now."

"Right, right," Pansy replied, waving him off. "But this is a big opportunity, Draco. And, may I remind you, sales on the last book weren't up to your standards. You're losing your audience, my darling Draco. People are forgetting about you."

"That's exactly what they should do," Draco replied, also standing. "Look at me, you idiot," he spoke calmly, but made sure to glare hard at his editor as he gestured to himself. "Look at this hair and these eyes. To anyone they scream 'Malfoy'. If you think people knowing it's me will help distribution then you're more dense than a Hufflepuff."

Pansy did not seem put off by anything her friend was telling her. "My dearest Draco, are you too busy making new potions to remember the old ones you've concocted? You can make yourself a trait modifier," she declared, naming off a potion Draco had invented almost a decade ago. "You turn your eyes and hair brown, and no one will think twice; no one's looking for any Malfoy's anymore, after all."

"And you expect me to go to this party alone? Throw me to the wolves?" Draco asked, knowing full well that anyone attending a big party alone was more than likely to be completely hounded by everyone in attendance. "Or is my editor going to be my date? I'm sure that will look absolutely beautiful on me." There was a time, too long ago, that Draco loved those parties, and loved the attention of going alone. But that was lifetime ago, and Draco no longer appreciated attention as he once had.

Pansy sighed at him; getting him to even listen to her was such a challenge. Still, this was an absolutely brilliant plan, and she was determined to see it through. "Who do you think I am, Draco? You think, after all the parties I've attended, I'd send you out on your own? The number of times you've spoken for longer than a minute can be counted on one hand, after all. If I sent you into a party alone I'd just make a fool out of both of us." Pansy walked over to the fireplace and stuck her head and arm in.

When she came back out she was pulling Blaise Zabini.

"You've got to be kidding me," Draco muttered, mostly to himself. "So I'm gay now, is that what you're telling me?" he asked Pansy.

Pansy flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Gay is all the rage right now, Draco, and it'll separate you from the rest of the crowd. Bringing attention to yourself isn't a bad thing, remember, especially since you've skipped every single one of these things. Plus, Blaise is very well-known now, and he's gorgeous to boot."

Blaise grinned at Pansy before placing a kiss on her cheek. "You always know how to get me," he replied. "Compliment me again. Go on."

"And exactly what is it that I've always skipped?" Draco interrupted before Parkinson could blush more and Zabini could grow a bigger head. He crossed his arms and glared at both of them, already trying to find an excuse in his head to not go.

"It's a congratulations ceremony for your book," Pansy replied. "They get less and less thrilled the more and more you aren't there. They threatened that if you didn't feel like showing up this time they'd stop even putting your book up for nomination, and you know how bad that would be for sales."

Draco's shoulders sagged; he did know how bad that would be for sales.

"So," Pansy continued, feeling confident she finally had him. "We change your hair and eyes, we get you nice and dressed up for your first ball in over ten years, we put Blaise on your arm, and you'll be the talk of the town in no time."

Draco turned to Blaise this time. "And, exactly, what, pray tell, are you so famous for?"

Blaise grinned, showing off some of his teeth. "I'm an Unspeakable now."

Draco's eyes widened, because, Blaise, who was never a Death Eater, but certainly thought of as one, should have never been able to join the Ministry of Magic, let alone the Department of Mysteries. Draco fell back into a sectional and ran a hand through his hair. "Things really have changed," he muttered.

Blaise flopped down right next to him on the couch, content to continue bragging. "Oh, it wasn't easy," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "But I am looked upon like a model citizen now. I'm even a part of the Wizengamot. And, I assure you, any party I show up to turns into quite the shindig."

Draco rubbed his head. "I don't even know what that means," he admitted. Did he even want to know what a 'shindig' was?

"Blaise is quite the playboy," Pansy said, stooping to be more on Draco's level since he was on the couch and she was still standing. She gave him a copy of Witch Weekly with Blaise Zabini's face on the cover. "Just the fact that he's attending this thing with another male is going to cause an uproar. Then, he'll actually leave with you, and that'll cause another one."

"Why the hell would I want to cause uproar?" Draco asked. He may have been resigned to the fate of having to go, but that didn't mean he had to strive to attract every single eye of the wizarding world. The Draco Malfoy in his Hogwarts days would have loved to do just that, but he wasn't that Draco Malfoy anymore. Nowadays he wasn't quite sure if he was even a whole person.

"Because," Pansy replied, straightening back up and pacing between the two sectionals. "If we can cause a big enough uproar we probably won't have to worry about another one of these things for a couple of years. I know how you hate these things, Draco. I only have your best interests at heart."

Draco scoffed, he very much doubted that. Still, what she was saying did make sense to him. He turned to shoot a look at Blaise, and then looked back at Pansy. "I haven't danced in over a decade," he admitted quietly.

Harry waved as he saw his two friends already sitting at a table and drinking some coffee. "Hey guys," he greeted as he came closer. "Long time no see." He smiled and tried to act as happy as he could, but ever since Ginny had left him there had been a distance between them. It felt like they had sided with Ginny, but never had the courtesy to tell him.

"Hello, Harry!" Hermione greeted warmly, standing up in order to give him a hug. "It's been too long!"

"Harry, mate," Ron said, following Hermione's example and standing up to embrace Harry. "How've you been?"

"Good," Harry answered, still maintaining his smile as he sat down with his friends. They both looked well. They seemed happy and healthy, so that was good. It also seemed as if they were living a life Harry could not touch. Hermione and Ron were adults now, with a child together and adult jobs and responsibilities. Harry was still stuck; waiting for the next adventure that never came. He had no wife to come home to at night, no kids to take care of, and work every day was long and boring. Hadn't he been looking forward to a normal life? A life without Voldemort breathing down his neck? Yet here he was, wishing he had more excitement in his life.

Hermione cocked her head at him. "You are taking care of yourself, right, Harry? It looks like you haven't been getting much sleep lately."

Harry smiled and nodded. Her concern was touching, but Harry was used to getting woken up by nightmares by now. The war, even years later, was something he didn't think he would ever be able to get past. But that wasn't something to annoy his friends with. Not when they were so happy in the lives they had carved out for themselves. "I'm fine, Hermione. I guess I've just been up late reading more often this week."

Hermione smiled, seeming pleased with his answer. "I know exactly how that is." She sipped at the coffee in front of her before continuing. "Anyway, Harry, what have you been up to? It seems as if we haven't seen each other in forever. How's work? Has it gotten any busier for you?"

Harry shook his head. "It's the same old thing," he complained. "A nine year old blowing up a chair, a vanishing cabinet running away from home, an owl attacking a muggle that tried to swat him." Harry allowed himself a sigh. "Honestly, I could use some entertainment," he admitted. "So, how about you two?" he asked, turning his attention to his friends instead of his melancholy mood. "Hopefully your lives are a bit more exciting than mine."

"Well, to be honest, Penny's been a nightmare with September coming up," Hermione admitted.

"It's always Hogwarts this and Hogwarts that," Ron picked up. "Basilisks and trolls and hippogriffs. She thinks she'll be fighting all of them as soon as she gets in the door." Ron laughed. "Seriously, mate, you really have to lay off all those stories you tell her of our school years." He picked a biscuit out of the basket in the middle of the table and stuffed it in his mouth.

"We're actually going to be getting a break in a little less than a week," Hermione said. "We've been invited to the book ceremony honoring Seth Snape. Rumor is he may even be there this time!"

Harry's stomach dropped at the mention of Snape. "Snape? Like, Snape's son or something? I didn't think he had any relatives."

"Oh, you know authors, it's probably just a pen name," Hermione replied. "But he really is a brilliant Potions Master. And he's so descriptive! He's so clear and concise even Penny can make some of them with her Children's Brewing Kit. I heard he's even helping Hogwarts with their textbooks this year. And, admittedly, I am debating on the idea of getting Penny one early, so she can have a head start."

Harry didn't answer. His head was reeling from the last name. Pen name? If it was just a pen name, why wouldn't they pick something better? It's true everyone knew Snape was good with potions, but, despite his name being cleared, he still wasn't a favorite among the wizarding populace. So, why on earth choose that name? Unless they had some kind of tie to Snape? And if they had some kind of connection to Snape, there was a chance they had been on Voldemort's side during the war.

"Maybe you should come, Harry," Ron suggested, looking towards Hermione for support.

"Of course," Hermione replied, nodding enthusiastically. "You really should get out of the house more, after all. And a lot of teachers from Hogwarts are going to be there to show their support. I'm sure you would appreciate seeing them again."

Harry, nodded, still not listening all the way, but catching the gist. "Yeah, I'll go," he replied. He needed to know who this Snape was, and where his alliances lied. It wouldn't do to put the wizarding world in danger again.

TBC

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