Out of all the places in the world he expected to see Draco Malfoy after the war, this would have to be the last. He thought he’d find him in some fancy restaurant, screaming some gormless waiter’s head off; or in an ice palace, sprawled across the throne, drawling orders. Or maybe in Azkaban, if Harry went wild with it, long haired, tormented and wide-eyed; maybe even back at Hogwarts, sixteen years old again, lost and confused. But not this. Not here. Not on some random New York street, selling illegal goods out the back of his truck.
If it even was his truck. If it even was him. But it had to be—Harry’s spent enough time studying those cheekbones, staring at that jaw line. It had to be Malfoy. And when he caught Harry staring, the way the edge of his lips twisted just that tiny bit... yeah, had to be him.
“Malfoy.” Harry felt he had to say something, or risk being stunned into perpetual silence.
“Look who it is, ickle Potter. I’ve been waiting for you, you know.”
“You—have?”
Malfoy toyed with the hem of his shirt, rolling his eyes. “Of course I have. Who else would they send to snag me?”
“…Snag?” Harry didn’t know why he couldn’t put more than two words together. Yes, the fact it was really Malfoy, really here, took him slightly by surprise, sure. And he did look—how to call it. Older. More mature. Better, with his hair loose, and those little freckles scattered across his nose, like he’s finally seen some sun. Okay, he looked fucking fit, all right? But he was still selling illegal goods out of the back of a truck. Harry cleared his throat. “So it’s true? You’re really selling enchanted—what is this, T-shirts and hats?” he gave the contents of the truck a wary look. Malfoy was selling those “I heart NY” tees. It made no fucking sense.
“Moi? Never!” he threw his head back, laughing, a little terrifying. “I just say they’re enchanted. Makes people buy them faster. Come on, Potter, you know me; surely I would never break the law in such a defiant manner.”
If it was a joke, Harry wasn’t getting it. Wasn’t getting any of it, as a matter of fact. “Malfoy… will you tell me what the hell is going on? What are you even doing here? You’re loaded.”
“A little side business never hurt anybody.”
“I’m willing to bet that’s not true,” Harry found himself chortling, stunned with himself. “Still. Why America?”
“Why not?” his head was bent down, eyes looking up through a million and one lashes, and the sight was confusingly charming. “What’s all that rubbish they say about fresh starts? Isn’t that why you moved here?”
“Right. Fresh start. That why you sent the Ministry a note saying I’m breaking the law and there’s nothing you can do to stop me?”
Malfoy did the least probable thing in the world just then and started to laugh—proper belly laughter, hands on his hips, shrieking with mirth. “Merlin,” he sighed, wiping his eyes from actual tears, “oh, that was a really good one, wasn’t it? And you sounded so serious, too. I’m breaking the law. Gods, Potter, you’re a natural.”
“I…” to say he was confused wouldn’t scratch anywhere near the surface. “So, wait, are you not actually doing anything illegal?”
“Gods!” he doubled down on himself again, hitting his thighs with his fists. “Oh, gods, Potter, please! You’re killing me here!”
Harry was getting rather sure this was a joke, and what was more, that he was the butt of it. Annoyed and frustratingly intrigued, he decided the best course of action would be to remove himself from the situation. But when he turned to go, Malfoy grabbed him by the wrist.
“Wait—Potter, you’re not just leaving, are you?”
He couldn’t even tell why he was so angry. “What do you want me to do, Malfoy? Arrest you?” Although he could, probably, for wasting his time, obstructing justice, something, anything. For a moment, looking at that infuriatingly handsome face, Harry felt vicious enough to go through with it. Then he sighed and shook his head.
Malfoy, though, god. He flashed Harry a smile, then extended his arms forward, wrists together. “I’m willing, if you are.”
“What—”  it felt like talking to a brick wall, which instead of shutting up was giving you riddles on top of everything. “What the fuck do you want from me? Why did you trick me into coming here? What do you want?”
“What I’ve always wanted, I think,” Malfoy said, cool as a fucking cucumber. “A bit of your attention. Of your time.” He smiled again, and it shouldn’t have been so alluring, but damn it, it was. “Maybe a coffee? I know a place.”
Harry spluttered with rabid indignation. “Coffee?”
“Yes, Potter, coffee. It took three years and fifteen letters to the Ministry for you to finally find me, did you know that? Have you even been looking?” Â
Stumped, confused, annoyed, oddly breathless, Harry swallowed hard. “Was I fucking meant to?”
“Of course you were. Don’t tell me you hate another guy now? I’ll kill him, whoever he is. I’m supposed to be your nemesis. Let me remind you that. Perhaps over coffee?”
Now that was a joke, Harry was rather sure. He didn’t think he found it very funny. He had no idea why his lips moved the way they did. “Fine, then, I guess. For the sake of society, and to prevent you from murder. Coffee.”
Malfoy’s smile was mesmerising, sharp and a little wicked. “Fantastic. Maybe you could get all angry and handsy with me, slap me around a little. Go all, “Shut up, pretty boy” on me. You know, nemesis style. I think then I would truly get what I’ve always wanted. Unless... I mean, there’s maybe a couple more things.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Harry found himself saying, and why did it come out fond?
Also, more importantly, why did it make Malfoy smile like that? “Well, now that you have fucking in mind… no, coffee first. I could really do with a hot drink.” He winked at Harry, then hastily charmed the back of the truck closed. “Come on, Potter. Now that you finally found me.”
This was absolutely the last place Harry expected to see Malfoy in; leading the way on some random New York street, glancing back every few seconds with a devious smile. For some reason—please don’t ask him what, he suspected he knew the answer—Harry came to the conclusion he really didn’t mind it, after all.
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