Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All character references belong to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing. I am simply putting her characters into different situations than what the books call for.

Tuesday, September 8, 1998, 7:00AM

"Draco, you simply have to get up and do something with your life," Draco was awoken from his slumber to hear his mother's daily rant. "You cannot just lay there day after day mooning over Potter. Either you go find him or you stop moping. Fail to pursue one of your options and I will no longer allow you the luxury of staying in Malfoy Manor."

So his mother meant business this time, it seemed, if she was threatening to kick him out of his house and home. That was a first. Usually she just scolded his laziness and droned on and on about how he could have become Minister of Magic of some other bollocks of the like. Both Draco and Narcissa knew that would never happen. In what twisted dimension would it be acceptable for an ex-Death Eater to be allowed such a prestigious office as Minister of Magic? Not the world he lived in, that was for certain.

Maybe he should have gone to school after Hogwarts and opened an apothecary or a potions shop of his own. Or maybe he should have accepted that one Quidditch team in Nottingham's offer as seeker. But then again, Draco was good with money. He could have easily wormed his way into Gringotts and worked as a financial advisor or some other sort of galleon-including job. Or he could have taken that job as an interior designer that his mother's friend, Mrs. Worthington, had offered him at her firm.

Draco had thrown his future away on the small thread of hope that his mate would feel the pull to come back to him one day. Draco concluded that he was a bigger fool than he had originally thought for ever believing that Harry could ever love him, ever accept him.

A loud pop interrupted him from further self-loathing thoughts.

"Kipsy apologizes for intruding on Master Draco, sir, but Mistress Narcissa has ordered Kipsy to remind Master Draco of his agreement to go looking for a Master Potter this afternoon." Draco's house elf stood no less than five feet away from his bed, practically trembling in his presence.

As of lately, Draco had been known around the house to yell at anyone or anything that dared interrupt his moping. House elves were one of his favorite subjects to scream at… and then later apologize to.

Kipsy's large, ocean blue eyes seemed to want to look anywhere except him as they traced his walls, his furniture, and his floor. She futzed with the fraying bottom of her pink sheet dress and her few locks of golden hair seemed to tremble atop her almost bald head.

"Please inform Mother that I never agreed to do any such thing, Kipsy," Draco mumbled as he pulled the emerald sheets over his head and burrowed down beneath his cashmere comforter.

"Mistress Narcissa told Kipsy that she was to awaken Master Draco, should he try to go back to sleep. Kipsy is sorry," And with that, Draco's house elf popped atop his rather large bed and pulled the covers off his bed. "Mistress Narcissa told Kipsy that Master Draco must wake up and find Master Potter if he wants to stay in Malfoy Manor."

Draco groaned and rolled over onto his stomach. "Alright, alright. I'm up, I'm up. Bloody annoying bugger, you are."

Kipsy nodded and apparated out of his chambers.

He supposed that today he might be able to put his Veela instincts to good use; aside from the very good dreams they brought about a certain mop-headed, green-eyed git.

DMHPDMHPDMHP

1:00PM

This was the first time Draco Malfoy had stepped foot in Diagon Alley in over a year. Since the summer following sixth year. It had been exactly four months and six days since the war had ended, and exactly three months and seventeen days since Harry Potter had testified for Draco and his family at the Death Eater Trials. Three months and sixteen days since Draco had last seen his mate as they left the Ministry of Magic.

Three months and sixteen days later and Draco was about to literally go mad. Draco could feel the beating of his Veela's wings inside his head like a caged bird. And perhaps that was exactly what it was. Since he had last seen Potter, he had shoved down all his Veela instincts in a rather rash attempt to forget his mate. He had barred off all thoughts, except for those absolutely delicious dreams he had about him, of his mate. Draco had concluded that since his mate had no desire for him, then perhaps it was best that he had no desire for him as well. But his stupid little idea was no longer working and Draco knew that he was running out of time.

He only had until May 23, 1999 to make Harry Potter fall in love with him or else the Veelific Insanity would start to set in. Eight months and fifteen days to go. He could go eight months and fifteen more days without seeing his beautiful mate. Should be easy, right?

"Mr. Malfoy?" Great. Just what Draco needed. The bloody Daily Prophet paparazzi was here.

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Malfoy!"

"Mr. Malfoy what are you doing out and about on this fine day?"

"Goodness me!"

"Death Eater!"

"Who said you could come out in public?"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself"

"You're nothing but an evil prick!"

"Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy?"

"Get out!"

Draco could no longer tell the difference between the shouts. He could no longer decipher a single spoken word. All he heard was a rather unpleasant buzzing and quite a few snaps of cameras. Without a word and without a single thought otherwise, he ducked into Madam Malkin's.

"Fuck," Draco whispered when he realized exactly which shop he had stepped foot into. Spinning around and taking in the store, he came to the ultimate, and clearly horrifying, conclusion, that his stupid Veela instincts had taken him to the first place he had ever seen Harry Potter. The bloody bird in the back of his mind was out to get him.

"Mr. Malfoy? To what to I owe the pleasure?" Madam Malkin gushed out as she stepped out from behind a rack of rather beautiful dress robes.

Still dressed in her preferred shade of mauve, the squat witch waddled her way out between racks of Egyptian cotton and velvet. Her glasses were on a chain around her neck and her sapphire eyes seemed to be even brighter than Draco remembered.

"I was just in the neighborhood, Madam," Draco drawled innocently as he strode about the store, casually touching articles of clothing as he passed by. "Thought I'd take a peek at the latest in Fall Fashion. I presume you're still the number one go-to person on that very pressing topic?"

"Yes, of course I am," Madam Malkin replied, drawing herself up to her full, four foot-five statue. "And I just received a new design in this morning, all the way from Paris. I've been working on it all morning but I've yet to find a willing body to model it for me so I can make sure it's completely functional. Mr. Malfoy, if you're a dear for me and model it, I'll sell it to you for half off its worth."

Deciding that he really didn't have anything to lose, Draco agreed and set to work trying on the beautiful creation of black and silver threads that Madam Malkin had put together. He found that as he stood atop the platform that Potter himself had stood seven years ago that he wished nothing more than for his mate to see him looking so handsome. Trivial desires, surely.

"Perfect," Madam Malkin finally concluded after an hour of clucking about and making small adjustments here and then. "It looks absolutely marvelous on you."

Draco found himself nodding in agreement. The dark black colour of the fabric made a sharp contrast against his pale blond hair and the silver embroidering along the collar and trim of the robe simply made his mercury eyes pop.

"And just how much, did you say, you wanted for this lovely creation?" He inquired as he inspected himself from every angle in the mirror.

"Half off. I'm planning on commissioning it for 600 galleons, but for you, Draco, dear, I'll sell it to you for 300 galleons. "

Huffing and straightening out the collar, Draco nodded and went to change into the grey robes he was previously wearing.

He handed over the money without as much as a flinch and told Madam Malkin to ship it to the usual address. He bid her adieu and braced himself before stepping out into the mass of hungry reporters.

DMHPDMHPDMHP

4:42PM

Draco was having a hard time believing that he was standing in front of Weasley's' Wizard Wheezes at 93 Diagon Alley, but that was exactly what he was doing, and had been doing for nearly fifteen minutes because this was the most probable place for him begin his search for Harry Potter and his friends.

As he stepped into the shop, Draco found himself submerged in a whirlwind of pranks and a rather loud clatter of noise. Children laughing and adults clucking over the practicality of certain toys. Buzzes, clinks, bangs, and springs. Loud. The shop was thunderous in the noise it produced and Draco wondered if the twins had used Muffliato in order to keep the racket heard out on Diagon Alley.

"Merlin's beard! Is that you Malfoy?" Draco heard a rather surprised Dean Thomas shout from behind a shelf of caged and rather ornery looking Pygmy Puffs.

Rolling his eyes Draco drawled, "Well, Thomas, it looks like Potter might not be the only one of you lot that needs an assist in his vision."

"You don't need to be such a git about it, Malfoy," Dean growled as he shoved off the post he was leaning against and proceeded to walk right up to Draco. "What do you want? Looking for some sort of prank to use against Harry?"

"As much as you do amuse me, Thomas, with your trivial thoughts of me using a Weasley's product against the great and powerful Savior of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, that is not the reason behind me gifting you with my rather handsome presence. I was actually wondering if you, or anyone else in this shop for that matter, had seen or been in contact with his Royal Highness, Saint Potter since the Death Eater Trials." Attempting to feign interest, Draco began inspecting his impeccable nails as Dean stared him down.

Do stare just a little bit harder at me, Thomas, Draco thought. Perhaps you'll set me on fire with your mind or maybe you really will drill a hole through my head with your eyes after all.

After a very pregnant pause, Dean shook his head. "I haven't heard anything about Harry since the war. Ginny doesn't like to talk about him, which I guess is a fair bit understandable after what happened between the two of them," Dean said as he scratched the back of his neck. "If you're not here to try to track Harry down for some sort of Dark Arts form of an 'I'm-Going-To-Get-You-Back-For-All-Those-Years-Of- Bullying-One-Another' project, I'd say to go ask George for yourself. He might know."

Eyeing him up one last time, Dean shrugged and went back to work restocking the shelves of the shop.

Before he even had the chance to look about the blasted shop for the redhead in charge, the Weasley in question popped into view and greeted him with a very loud, very obnoxious, "By the great beard of Dumbledore himself, Draco Malfoy is that you?"

With an effective roll of his eyes and a shift in his weight, Draco drawled, "Perhaps everyone working in this establishment should get their eyes checked after all. Of course it's me, Weasley. Don't try to tell me that you've found another living soul with hair as perfect as mine, because you and I would know that to be a complete and total lie."

"Still a git, I see," George shrugged as he crossed his arms and leaned up against the same pillar that Dead had been occupying only minutes prior.

"Yes, well, time doesn't change everything. Your hair is as vibrant as ever."

"Did you ever find out if your animagus form is a ferret after all? Or, no, don't tell me—that's your patronus, isn't it?"

"I wonder, which is bigger—the total quantity of every single grain of sand in Egypt or the total number of freckles on your body?"

"Still having a fling with a girl with the last name of a disease?"

"I don't know, last I heard, you were shagging her."

"Touché, Malfoy. Touché," George smirked and extended his hand. "I see you haven't lost your quick wit. I think that might be the only thing I could ever respect about you, but it's good to know that you're not really in any position to go tell your father on me, are you?"

Narrowing his eyes at the low blow, Draco took the extended hand and gave it a quick, short pump.

"Normally I wouldn't be caught dead in an establishment of such low social standings, but I guess time changes us all, now, doesn't it?" Draco shifted his weight nonchalantly, "I was wondering if you had heard anything from Potter since the Trials? I never did get a chance to speak with him after that and I'm afraid it's imperative that I do so now."

George gave him a suspicious once-over before replying, "Maybe. Depends what you want to speak with him about. You're not plotting anything dark now, are you?"

"Why does everyone assume that I want to hurt the git? He stood up for me at the Trials now, didn't he? But as to the matters I wish to discuss with Potter, I'm afraid to tell you that it's a bit of a personal topic that I'd rather not go into with the likes of you." Draco squared his shoulders a tiny bit with his words.

For several moments, George didn't respond. Instead, he stared into Draco's mercury eyes. And Draco stared back into his bright blue pools. He wondered if Fred's eyes were the exact same shade of blue as George's. Draco never could tell them apart at Hogwarts; he doubted even their mother could tell them apart.

"Harry's traveling," George shrugged, breaking the eye contact.

"Traveling where?" Draco only had so much time left to make his mate fall in love with him. He couldn't spend his eight and a half months by desperately searching for him only to fall short and within the clutches of Veelific Insanity.

"He's with Charlie in Romania. Studying dragons last I heard," George shifted his position against the pillar. "I don't know what you're up to, Malfoy, but you better not hurt Potter. You've already messed with his head enough."

Draco started. Did Weasley here know? Did Harry tell him after that one night in sixth year?

Passing it off and playing the innocent schoolboy, Draco replied, "I haven't the foggiest of what you mean, Weasley."

"Don't play daft with me, Malfoy. I know. Harry might've never outright told anyone, but I always knew something was between you two. And then when he came back to the Burrow for the Hols, he seemed so beyond broken and then I knew for sure.

"Look, I don't know what you did or even if anything was between you two, but don't play any stupid mind games with him. He's been through enough in this last year. Don't hurt him." George's eyes were completely narrowed at that point. He almost seemed to be restraining himself from shouting.

"I won't," Draco whispered as he turned around and left the shop. "I could never hurt Harry."

A/N: Go ahead. Let me have it. I know. I'm one of those awful fanfiction authors that goes away for over a year only to come back with an almost half-assed sounding chapter and really no excuse for not writing anymore to a fanfic that I actually want to continue and finish. So go a head and heckle me. I deserve it. I'm so sorry for letting you guys down like this. I suck.