A/N- Hi! Just a couple of things - This story is not completed (and I've got about 120982398 stories started) but I realized for all of them that I need feedback from people in order to decide where to go with it. I will post as often as I possibly can! Don't worry! I'll never leave a story abandoned, so have no fear! This story is not beta'd, as my beta has been deployed to Afghanistan and I don't feel right replacing her... so any and all mistakes are my own, and if you see anything major please feel free to point them out! I encourage constructive criticism, as I feel I still have a lot to learn, but please no flames. As of now I don't have any warnings for this story (which is a first), but that could change down the road. Enjoy!

Prologue

It all started extremely early on New Years' Day. Draco Malfoy was in dire search of a hangover potion after everything that happened the night before. He usually kept his flat nicely stocked, but he had been imbibing more often than not recently and was completely out.

He had woken up beside the blonde haired, green-eyed assistant who worked for a colleague in his office, realizing that he had shagged her in his own home after the New Years office party. He presently had absolutely no recollection of the act, and he stared at her with his silver eyes for one horrified moment before rolling from the bed slowly. He padded quietly across the room to his closet, where he grabbed the first clothes hanger his hand had come into contact with and fled to the bathroom.

When Draco was finished washing his misdeeds from his skin in the hottest shower he could handle, he made his way back into his bedroom on stealthy feet… only to find that his bed was empty.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one who immediately regretted the choices made the night before. He let out a breath, glad to at least be able to avoid the awkward situation of asking the witch to leave.

Draco swore as he tripped over an icy cobblestone while stumbling down the crooked streets of Diagon Alley, in search of an open apothecary. It was freezing outside, but the cold weather seemed to help his aching head and woozy stomach better than anything else had that morning. Since it was a holiday and the only other people on the street were doing their own versions of a 'walk of shame', all Draco could do was take deep breaths of icy air through his mouth and hope something would be open.

And then it showed itself, a port in the storm, so to speak. It wasn't a large shop, but it looked warm and inviting. A little gust of wind blew and the snow swirled around the sign like a beckoning hand, inviting him in.

"The Cure-A-Torium", Draco mumbled, squinting his eyes in order to read the name above the flashing open sign. He didn't recall seeing the store before but, then again, he didn't spend a whole lot of time in the public areas of the Wizarding World.

Even after four years he was still considered a villain, a death eater, even though he had been cleared of all charges. If he didn't have his father's companies to fall back on he really wasn't sure what he would have done for work, since obviously no one would hire him willingly. He didn't have to work, of course, regardless of the large reparations the Ministry demanded from the Malfoy family vaults, be he needed to work.

He needed to prove himself and he was fairly certain that sitting around doing nothing would make him feel crazy. Since the Ministry hadn't been able to seize any of the family businesses since they were all free of corruption, Draco did the only thing that made sense; worked there.

While the family had plenty of different businesses both in the magical and muggle world, Draco himself worked as potioneer for Concoctions & Consultations, ensuring the businesses that still sold their products were kept stocked. It was a good way for him to stay hidden and to himself while still being able to work and do something useful, but the company he owned itself was huge and much more than just a potion department.

That's why it was so ridiculous that he was currently stumbling through freezing air trying to find a hangover potion.

Draco was also on the board of Concoctions & Consultations, but he mostly left that to the men that had helped his father run the business when Draco was still a carefree boy. He would go to the odd meeting now, trying to learn, but was quite happy where he was at the moment.

Draco took over Concoctions & Consultations almost immediately after his father started his five-year stint in Azkaban. He was charged with a number of things, but Harry Potter – the young man that everyone would listen to without a second thought – admitted that he didn't really believe that Lucius was a willing participant in the second war.

Harry Potter figured if Lucius had been half as terrorized as his son had been then he wasn't there on his own accord, anyway, and Draco wasn't about to change those ideas publicly. His mother had been sentenced to three years of house arrest – again, after a testimony from Harry Potter – and already had her wand back, not that Draco saw her much.

Harry Potter and his friends could believe what they wanted, and if the Malfoy's weren't thrown into prison like the rest of the Death Eaters than even better, but Draco really wanted nothing to do with his parents. As far as he was concerned they'd condemned him to a life of hatred, bigotry, and servitude. That was hard to forgive.

Draco moved out of Malfoy Manor directly after he had been cleared of all charges by the Wizengamot, let go due to the fact that he was an underage wizard during his branding and initiation into the Dark Lord's ranks and the subsequent war.

It didn't stop the glares and hatred he received at the hands of others, though, which left him a little nervous to be tripping his way through Wizarding Britain's hotspot at the moment. That just proved how badly in need of the damn hangover potion he was.

The door chimed merrily as he staggered through, causing him to groan quietly. He really was sick, and there was never a time that he had shagged a witch and could not remember it the day after. Saying he had over imbibed the previous evening was clearly an understatement.

The Cure-A-Torium was bright, seemingly unnaturally so, causing him to squint as he made his way toward the counter. There was no way he was going to try and search through the store himself. Asking the owner seemed like his best bet.

Draco shaded his eyes with a hand as he shuffled forward, his head pounding brutally and his stomach roiling uncontrollably now that he was out of the cool, sharp, winter air.

"Can I help you?" A woman asked cheerily. Her voice was vaguely familiar and Draco squinted his eyes together even more in an attempt to make her out, but everything was blurry.

"Hangover potion, please," he managed to mumble, licking his lips numerous times to try and wet them.

"Two sickles," the woman answered. She sounded like she was getting a kick from his current state, but Draco dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out some loose change. He slapped it on the counter without even bothering to count and waited for the exchange. He needed that potion.

He felt a cool vial slip into his palm and uncorked it with shaking hands, downing it in one go.

It happened almost immediately. First his headache died down and mouth got noticeably less parched. His pupils dilated so the lights weren't so harsh and his stomach settled. His hands stopped shaking and he took a deep, steadying breath, letting out a sigh of satisfaction.

"Excellent potion," Draco said, glancing toward the proprietor of the shop for the first time with cleared vision.

"Why, Draco Malfoy, that almost sounded like a compliment!"

Draco almost choked, shocked to see the woman standing before him. He hadn't seen her since his trial in front of the Wizengamot, when she bravely told everyone how Draco had inadvertently saved her by not identifying her to his aunt. How Draco had begged her and her friends to save him from the fiendfyre – she seemed exceptionally skilled at glossing over the uglier parts.

She was grinning at him cheekily as her eyes danced. She looked about the same as always, and other than the fact that she seemed a little too tanned for the season and her freckles were standing out obviously, he could imagine her swinging a book-bag over her shoulder and lecturing everyone in sight.

And she was beautiful.

"I give credit where credit is due, Miss. Granger."