Thanks to Vittani, my wonderful beta, who always comes through for me when I need it most.

Disclaimer:

This story is loosely based on (admittedly two of the sappiest movies ever made) 'You've Got Mail' and 'The Lake House'. As well as my all time favourite books (other than the Harry Potter series, of course) 'Bridget Jones's Diary' and 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason', which were both based on Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Persuasion'.

This story also contains quotes and ideas from these movies and books.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

---

The rain fell in a steamy curtain. It blurred the windows and pounded on the roof of Grimmauld Place.

The noise had started off Mrs Black's portrait, but had also drowned out her horrible screeching.

Harry drew one of the large, dusty drapes open and peered outside.

As he bent forward, in an attempt to see the downpour through the water-streaked window, a flicker of lightening hollowed the sky and briefly lit-up the deserted street below.

An instant later a thunderclap followed, so loud that the old house seemed to shake. The echoes of it rolled over-head for long seconds and the rain beat harder.

"Great," Harry sighed. "Just great."

"It's only a storm," Hermione said to him, as several spiders scampered out from under the mouldy sofa she had just pointed her wand at and spelled clean.

"No, it's a warning sign. I shouldn't move in here." Harry closed the curtain, slumped away from the window and went back to the cardboard box he had been unpacking.

"I know you don't like it, Harry, but it's for your own good." Hermione tried to sound encouraging as she took his previous place at the window. After a small struggle she pushed it open and deposited the spiders outside as carefully as she could without getting wet.

"You sound just like Kingsley," Harry grumbled.

"Kingsley is right, you know, mate." Ron walked into the lounge room, levitating a box in front of him. "You're safe here."

"If you think Kingsley's idea is so great, why don't you move in here yourself?"

"Sorry, mate," Ron replied. He lowered his wand and sent the box tumbling onto the sofa. "Hermione and I have just found this really great apartment, so if she gets that job at St Mungo's we'll be able to--"

The rest of Ron's sentence was covered by another loud crash of thunder and Hermione yelling, "Ron! I just finished cleaning that!"

"Sorry," Ron said again, picking up the box and its spilled contents. "My hand slipped."

"Those are Harry's Auror training books, you have to be careful!" Hermione continued, beginning to smooth down the rumpled couch fabric with her hands.

"I'll just take those upstairs then." Harry announced, taking the box out of Ron's arms.

Harry wanted to have some time on his own to mope. He knew that she had that Healer job in the bag.

Hermione and Ron would be moving into a cosy London flat together and Harry would be stuck in the depressing Black family home, with its shadows and whispers and dark, mouldy walls that made his heart feel heavy.

Ron hadn't followed the Auror path like Harry. He had joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a Hit-Wizard instead. While his job was similar to Harry's, it wasn't nearly as dangerous or demanding.

Harry had just completed his Auror training, which had been his goal ever since fifth year when Umbridge told him that he couldn't. It had been a tough three years, but he had finally done it.

During his graduation ceremony, Kingsley Shaklebolt pulled him aside and suggested that he move out of his flat and into Grimmauld place that was still unplottable and protected by security charms. Apparently Harry was still a major target out on the field, even though he had learnt how to disguise his scar in his training.

Harry politely turned down the offer at first. Grimmauld place may be unplottable, but it certainly wasn't liveable, and even though Sirius had left it to him, he wasn't keen on returning anytime soon.

Harry also loved his Muggle flat. He had been living there ever since the war ended. It was just a couple of blocks away from the Ministry, so he could walk to work every morning before being cooped up in training all day. Harry would have gone insane if he couldn't have returned to his flat after a long day of gruelling aptitude tests and dodging various hexes.

Unfortunately for Harry, Kingsley was quite insistent that he move to more protected quarters. When he couldn't convince Harry on his own, he employed the help of Hermione Granger.

Together they conjured up more ways in which Harry could die or be seriously injured in one week than Professor Trelawney had done in his six years at Hogwarts.

Between the new Minister of Magic and the most determined witch in all of England, Harry had had one hell of a battle on his hands.

It was an argument that continued for several days and abruptly ended one afternoon when he came home to find his beloved flat stripped bare and all of his belongings packed into his old Hogwarts trunk and several cardboard boxes.

Harry dumped the box of Auror books on the bed in the bedroom he and Ron had shared during the summer before fifth year and looked around.

The room hadn't changed much, only it was dustier and smelt strongly of mould.

A pine bureau still stood in the corner with Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait attached to the wall above it. In the other corner, there was an armchair with a tatty, moth-eaten slipcover and a set of bare shelves.

Harry moved slowly around the room. Lightly, with the tips of his fingers, he touched the metal curves of the bed head and the empty bookshelf, and then circled with his forefinger and his thumb the worn knob of the bureau drawers.

He didn't want to be in this dreadful place. Even with Ron and Hermione's help, there was not much he could do to make the house look welcoming.

The walls were too thick and mouldy. He wanted to be back in his Muggle flat, where he could hear his noisy neighbours and see the ugly wallpaper.

Here, he was disconnected from everything and everyone. The room seemed to enclose him, embedding him within itself in a way that was almost frightening.

He sank down onto the bed, sitting motionless with his arms hanging between his parted knees.

His thoughts were interrupted when Ron pushed the door open with the toe of his sneaker. He came in without waiting to be asked and sat on the edge of Harry's bed.

"Hermione's making dinner," he said. "You alright?"

Harry shrugged.

"Come on, Harry," Ron said in the cheeriest tone he could muster in the gloomy bedroom. "It's not all bad. At least you're not in any danger here."

"I'm still in danger." Harry muttered forlornly. "In danger of going insane."

He got up and went to the window. The storm was beginning to pass. Patches of night sky showed in places through the ragged masses of cloud.

Ron could tell that Harry was thinking about Sirius and how he too couldn't stand being locked up with nothing but a portrait of an old woman and a surly house-elf for company.

"You know, the apartment we're thinking of buying is really close by, just a couple of blocks away, and my office is going to be right down the hall from yours."

Harry could see Ron's blurred reflection through the window glass and forced his mouth into a small smile. He appreciated Ron and Hermione's efforts, but they really had no idea what it was like to be stuck all on your own.

Harry was about to respond, but became distracted by a distant, fluctuating, screeching sound, which he identified as Mrs Black's portrait, now audible as the rain slowly began to die down.

"Ron? Harry? Can you hear me?" Hermione's voice could barely be heard through the din.

Ron stood up and went to the door. "Yeah!"

"What's the matter with you? Will you get down here and quieten Mrs Black down? Dinner's nearly ready."

---

Draco dropped a fistful of cutlery on to the table.

"There must be some fucking glasses here somewhere." He began to open and bang shut cupboard doors as he searched for plates and glasses. A pizza box stood unopened on the kitchen bench.

He found the glasses in the last cupboard. He scrutinised the ugly cups for several seconds before grabbing what he deemed to be the cleanest one.

With the clockwork force of habit he opened the refrigerator and quickly closed it again.

"Buy groceries." Draco made a mental note to himself as he took the glass over to the sink and filled it with water before casting a cooling charm on it.

He went back to the fridge and retrieved the empty water jug that stood solitarily on the bare shelf.

He took the jug over to the sink and filled it as well before placing it back in the refrigerator. This time he noticed a folded piece of paper, labelled Dear New Tenant, pinned to the freezer door.

Draco carelessly ripped it out of its magnet hold, as he kicked the fridge door closed, and carried it over to the kitchen table with his dinner.

He sat down in one of the mismatched chairs, opened his pizza box and placed one of the doughy triangles onto the plate he had laid out.

He picked up his knife and fork and attempted to cut the pieces up small, so he could eat without getting his hands greasy, but the dough was too thick and the cheese was too stringy.

He ended up taking a second piece from the box and eating it with his hands. He then took a sip of water, unfolded the note and began to read.

Dear new tenant,

Welcome to your new home. As the previous tenant, let me say, I'm sure you'll love living here as much as I did.

I filed a change of address with the post office, but you know what a crapshoot that can be. So if anything slips through, would you do me a favour and forward my mail? I'd appreciate it. My new PO Box is below.

Thanks in advance.

P.S.

Sorry about the ugly wall paper. I wanted to strip it down, but it would have brought me another layer closer to Mr McAlister next door, who, by the way, always plays his bagpipes at five o'clock every evening.

I suggest that you either leave the building at that time or buy yourself a pair of earplugs, because everything gets thorough those paper-thin walls.

A thread of cheese looped out of Draco's mouth and he caught it with his fingers and pushed it between his pursed-up lips.

He wiped his greasy fingers on the letter, scrunched it up and threw it in the direction of the rubbish bin that he had briefly taken notice of in his search for the glasses.

He left the other two-thirds of his dinner. The mozzarella was beginning to solidify into an oily waxen mass around the chucks of mushroom and pepperoni. He eyed it distastefully. If there was one thing that he hated more than the Muggles themselves, it was Muggle food.

He tipped the leftovers into the bin, stepping over the crumpled up letter on his way.

Draco couldn't care less about the stupid Muggle and their mail. He had his own problems to deal with right now, like his new job for a start.

Draco had been living in Muggle London ever since the end of the war. It wasn't his ideal choice of residence, but post-war life in the wizarding world was difficult for him.

The war was over, but people still had trouble trusting him. With his family's Death Eater past, getting a job was a struggle. After countless, degrading (in his opinion) Muggle jobs, he had finally been given a position at the Ministry of Magic due to three years of what the Ministry deemed to be 'good behaviour'.

While Draco hated living and working as a Muggle, even Draco had to admit that there were certain positives to his new lifestyle. He learnt that while the Muggle world was inferior, at times it could be almost companionable and easy-going. Being there mostly meant that you just went quietly about your business. The younger Draco Malfoy would have dismissed this certain quality. After the fall of Voldemort, however, not having anybody glare at Draco or make him feel like an outcast or criminal was quite a novelty.

Draco even found without his parents' constant interfering presence life was even more straightforward. Doing things his own way, he began to unload his belongings from his luggage.

He had barely finished unpacking the first box, when there was a knock at the door.

"Sorry, I'm late." Pansy burst in, bringing more of the outside world into the receptive room. She strode past him, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek, and put a stack of paperback novels and a liquor store brown bag on the scarred coffee table.

"Finally! I was starting to think that I would be unpacking all of these by myself," Draco said, but he quickly forgot about the boxes and gestured towards the wine she had brought. "Shall I?"

Pansy appeared not to have heard him. She stopped in the middle of the lounge room, looking at the mismatched chairs and the ugly wallpaper. "What are you doing in this place?" she asked in clear bewilderment.

Draco shrugged. "I didn't have much choice. This was the only place that I could find on such short notice."

"You didn't have another fight with the landlord, did you?" Pansy asked, dusting off one of the chairs before sitting down.

"No. The idiot next door."

"Draco--"

"It's not my fault that all Muggles are difficult to deal with."

"We've been living here for three years now. When are you going to learn how to get along with Muggles?"

"When they learn not to blast their horrible music while I'm trying to read. Besides, I didn't leave because of the disagreement. My lease expired."

"Why didn't you just renew it?"

Draco shrugged again. "I felt like a change."

"To this horrible little place?"

"Well, maybe if a certain someone would let me move in with them, we wouldn't be here right now."

Pansy turned slightly pink and began to pick at the torn fabric on the arm of her chair. "I haven't got room for you," she said, before mumbling. "Daniel finally agreed to move in with me."

"Vile Daniel gets to move in with you and I'm stuck in this place!" Draco yelled incredulously, flopping unceremoniously onto the chair next to her.

"Don't call him that, Draco." Pansy warned.

Sure, she was defending him now, but just last week she had called Draco, in tears, because Vile Daniel had chucked her for making some room for his overnight things in her sock drawer and suggesting that he keep a spare change of clothes at her flat.

Draco could think of plenty more appropriate words for the man other than 'vile', but he settled for his usual, "I can't believe you're dating a Muggle."

"I live in a muggle flat. I work in a muggle job. Why shouldn't I have a Muggle boyfriend?"

"The man's a lunatic. One minute he says that you're getting too serious by giving him some of your wardrobe space, the next he's packing his bags and moving in."

"I know it sounds silly, but he really seems committed this time."

"Muggles." Draco grumbled.

"Besides, you should be grateful." Pansy continued. "He thinks he can get you a job at his office."

"I don't need his charity. I got a job at the Ministry today."

"Oh Draco! That's wonderful! Let's open the wine!"

"Don't get too exited. I'm to be an assistant to an assistant. It makes a Muggle job seem admirable."

"Which department will you be in?"

"I don't know yet. I find out Monday." Draco lied smoothly. He knew exactly what department he'd be working in. He just wasn't in the mood to put up with Pansy's reaction to it tonight.

"I'm so proud of you." She gushed happily. "You can even find a nicer place and move out of here once you start earning again."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, pouring the wine into the ugly glasses and handing one to Pansy. "Let's not even bother unpacking."

"We'll unpack your books at least and give the place a bit of a spruce. It doesn't look like the previous owner cleaned very much."

Draco nodded in agreement. "They left me a letter on the fridge."

"What did it say?"

"Nothing important. The bloke next door plays bagpipes. Nothing a little magic won't fix."

"Draco." Pansy looked at him sternly. "Don't. You've just moved in and you're already on your way to being kicked out."

"I only meant a silencing charm."

"Promise me."

"I promise." Draco waved his hand dismissively. He decided to change the subject. "What books did you bring for me?"

"'Crime and Punishment' by Dostoyevsky. It's about a guy who breaks the neck of a poor woman with an axe and, so far, keeps wondering around regretting it."

"What do you mean 'so far'?" Draco gaped at her in shock. "You've read it?"

Pansy worked at a Muggle book store, but never picked up the books to read for herself. Draco had been reading Muggle books and taking advantage of Pansy's employee discount ever since she had started working there three years ago. Reading was how he passed the time in between his hideous Muggle jobs.

"No. I glanced at the first couple of pages, but I lost interest."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? What else did you bring?"

"'Bridget Jones' Diary' by Helen Fielding. It's about a young woman who eats too much, drinks too much and smokes too much. She has a dead end job and is very unlucky in love."

"You mean it's a book about you!" Draco gasped dramatically, enjoying the angry glower that appeared on his friend's face.

"It is not." Pansy sniffed frigidly, swallowing the last of her wine and pulling a lighter out of her pocket and lighting a cigarette.

Draco just stared at her with his eyebrows raised.

"Okay, there may be some similarities." Pansy admitted, after taking a particularly hard puff of her cigarette and blowing the smoke angrily through her nose. "She has a gay friend who can't get over this particular guy…"

"I'm not like that!" Draco shouted defensively.

Pansy raised her eyebrows at him, mimicking his expression from before.

"You know, I heard Harry Potter has finished his Auror training." She smiled smugly.

"Really? I didn't know that." It was Draco's turn to realise an angry puff of air from his nostrils. Pansy could have sworn she saw smoke, even though he wasn't holding a cigarette.

"He'll be at The Ministry every day," she continued, even under Draco's death stare. "Just like you. How convenient."

Draco didn't reply. He just continued to glare at her over his glass as he took a particularly large gulp of wine.

Harry Potter was not the main reason why he had been so set on getting a job at the Ministry. Not at all…

---

This was not the way Harry had planned to start his first day as an Auror. Not at all.

"Hold the lift!" he called, sprinting through the golden Ministry gates.

He had tried his best not to be late, but his alarm clock had ended up in the trash, along with all of his other electronic possessions, after the move.

He was just about to give up and wait for the next lift when a long, pale hand appeared and slid the wrought iron grilles back open.

"Thanks." Harry panted, stepping into the lift and pushing his fringe out of his eyes.

"No problem, Potter." Came the cool, drawled reply.

Harry whipped his head in the direction of the familiar sound just as the lift grilles closed with a loud crash.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

It had been three years since Harry had last laid eyes on his school-yard nemesis. As far as he knew Malfoy hadn't stepped foot into the Ministry of Magic since then and had been living as a Muggle in London.

Malfoy seemed completely at ease, however. It was as if he had never left at all. He was leaning against the lift wall, his head bent, emersed in a book. He didn't jump like Harry did when the lift rattled abruptly and began to descend.

"I'm going to work." Malfoy eventually said, in the same cool tone as the female voice that was now also filling the lift.

"Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports…"

"You work here?" Harry almost shouted in disbelief over the rest of the announcement.

Malfoy simply shrugged, eyes not leaving his book.

Harry gaped at him. "Since when?"

"Since today."

The grilles opened and several memos swooped into the lift before they clanged shut again.

"But I thought that you were practically a Muggle now." The words had flown out of Harry's mouth before he knew it. Six years at Hogwarts had taught him to never mention the words Malfoy and Muggle in the same sentence.

Malfoy's eyes snapped up from his book and pinned Harry with a piercing gaze. He opened his mouth, a scathing retort undoubtedly on the tip of his tongue. "You--"

"Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparation Test Centre."

The lift opened once more and a large group of witches and wizards poured inside.

Harry lost sight of Malfoy and found himself jammed up against the back wall. He settled for staring up at the memos flapping around above his head as the lift continued its journey downwards.

By the time "Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee" was announced almost all of the memos had zoomed out and everybody had exited the lift except for Harry and Malfoy.

Harry was surprised when the lift stopped on Level Two and Malfoy snapped his book shut and slipped it into his robe pocket.

"You're getting out on this level too?" Harry asked incredulously, as he followed Malfoy out of the lift and into a corridor lined with doors.

Malfoy didn't turn around to answer him. "Looks like it," he said, continuing down the corridor, around the corner, through a pair of heavy oak doors and past a lopsided sign that read: Auror Headquarters.

"You work here? You're an Auror?" Harry's shock was so loud that all of the talk and laughter of the Auror Headquarters ceased. Even the memos that were zooming in and out of the cubicles seemed to pause in mid-air.

The silence didn't last for long. A scarlet-robed man with a long pony-tail who had been talking to a witch with a patch over one eye began to chuckle. "Of course not, Potter."

Richard Finch, Head of the Auror Department made has way over to them as the buzzing talk of the office began once again.

"Malfoy's going to be assisting Perpetua with the filing. Here," he said brusquely, shoving a sheaf of parchment into Malfoy's hand. "Perpetua will take you through it all." He pointed over to where a small, strict-looking witch was sitting, dictating something to a quill.

After Malfoy departed, uncharacteristically without arguing or using the words 'my father will hear about this', Finch beckoned Harry along the row of cubicles and into the one on the end.

Upon stepping inside Harry received a slight shock; blinking down at him from every direction were the faces of many wanted wizards. He instantly found Sirius amongst them.

"Your desk," Finch said unenthusiastically. "The worst part of the job. He's where you'll get all of your paperwork done."

Harry barely had a minute to register it all before he was being steered back down the corridor again. "Time to meet the rest of the team."

Harry mechanically followed Finch, silently wandering what the worst part of his job would really be. Doing paperwork under the intense gaze of two dozen criminals or being in the same room as Draco Malfoy.

---

All day, Draco could feel Perpetua's gaze boring into him so intently he was surprised it hadn't left holes in his back.

Perpetua was small and bent-backed, dressed in layers of nondescript brown and grey clothes. She was sharp-eyed and inquisitive-looking, rather like a small busy bird. She was always watching him or walking past his desk to read over his shoulder.

Luckily, Draco was very good at pretending to do his work, just as he was very good at pretending Harry Potter's presence didn't faze him in the lift. He'd gotten so used to only seeing Harry when he interrupted his dreams at night, that finally seeing him in the flesh was quite a shock. Even after three years, the sight of the man still did things to him.

Somehow, he had gotten through the rest of the day. Perpetua had given him enough filing to distract him from his thoughts of Potter.

The work had been so intense that the sight of the small stack of letters that were waiting for him when he got home made him shiver with dislike.

Not being in the mood to organise any more paper, Draco discarded them on the coffee table next to the novels Pansy had bought him last night.

He was just about to pick up 'Bridget Jones' and start reading when the script on the top letter caught his eye.

Mr Harry Potter

24 Darcy Street

London

---

Author's Notes: Please review!