The Potion Master and the Portrait

Unequivocally no!

'Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!' Harry swore under his breath as he ducked into the dark shop, its bell tinkling softly above him.

He was grateful for the darkness and hoped the shadows would hide him from the invariable shit-show that the blonde woman would undoubtedly hail down on him. And simply because he'd dared to step out of his latest flat to buy a pint of milk like any other ordinary denizen of the Magical community.

As he spotted the vision in lime green through the grimy window, he muttered to himself, 'how dare the fucking Chosen One think he could live a normal and peaceful life like any other person? How dare he try to be perfectly mundane after all this time?'

Harry sighed. He watched her scan the main street, trying to work out where he'd disappeared to.

'Bloody bitch. Merlin, I hate women,' he mumbled.

And he checked his Glamours, wondering what it was that he'd forgotten today. Mione would undoubtedly lecture him for not being thorough. And he knew he should have learnt by now but he was still his usual disorganised self and generally just crap at life. Mione had even pinned up a checklist beside his front door, 'hair... eyebrows... jaw... skin-tone... glasses... scar...' he liked to think knew it off by heart, though he knew he was missing something. And, he knew he'd rushed the whole bloody rigmarole because he thought, this time, for once, he'd be fine. All he wanted was a pint of milk and now his cup of tea and breakfast were going cold on the side in his flat and he was sheltering in some unknown shop in one of the narrow alleyways just off Diagon, quaking in his boots because of her.

He sighed heavily again. This undoubtedly meant she'd found out where his latest flat was and he'd have to move again. He'd wondered if the moon would be suitable for relocation. Perhaps the bloody woman wouldn't be able to follow him there. Mind you, it would be distinctly more difficult to nip out for a pint of milk. He vaguely wondered why his milk always seemed to go off so quickly. No doubt that was his fault too.

'Bugger!' he muttered again. He'd barely finished unpacking from the last move. He'd have to talk to the Ministry too; the restraining order clearly wasn't working.

He shrunk further into the shadows and turned to scan the shop for a hopeful alternative way out that wasn't straight into the arms of the parasitic whore outside.

It was with a certain amount of shock when he finally looked at the figure standing rigidly still behind the shop counter. And he dropped his pint of milk in surprise causing it to explode across the floor, over his tatty trainers, and up the scruffy joggers he'd thrown on in his haste. Well, he was certainly the last person Harry expected to see after all this time.

'Potter?' came a distinctly familiar and slightly questioning drawl that he hadn't heard for quite a few years.

His also distinctly familiar white-blond hair seemed to almost glow in the dim glow of light emitted by the candles and lanterns.

Harry ignored the way his stomach did a pleasant sort of jolt.

A pair of steel-grey eyes watched him warily through the gloom.

'Eyes!' Harry exclaimed, realising the last thing on the list. 'I always forget my bloody eyes!'

He withdrew his wand and waved it vaguely at the spilt milk to vanish it.

'I don't suppose there's a back way out of here, Malfoy?' he asked, still keeping an eye on the street outside.

'Hello to you too,' Malfoy drawled sarcastically. 'How are you too? Yes, it's been a long time, how have you been keeping? How's life in the gutter, Malfoy?'