For What Is Broken | Drarry

Chapter 2

The woman turned at the sound, squeaking in surprise when she saw who it was. Her eyes were wide when she turned back to Draco. She leaned halfway over the counter as she said in a rather carrying whisper, utterly starstruck, "That's Harry Potter."

The shop was not large, and Draco knew that in all likelihood Potter could hear them just fine, whispered or not.

"Is it?" Draco said blithely, busying himself with counting out the woman's change. "I could've sworn Harry Potter was taller than that."

He didn't have to look up to see the flash of irritation on Potter's face. He knew it was there, and that was enough.

Potter hung back while Draco finished up with the customer, who was so flustered by Potter's presence that she dropped the coins Draco handed her not once, but twice. When she finally managed to stow them away in her purse, she nearly forgot her purchase on the counter, and Draco had to call out a reminder to her before she left without it.

As she passed by Potter on the way out the door, Draco saw her lean towards him and murmur something hurried and breathless. It sounded a bit like a thank you. Potter only nodded in reply, his smile tired.

"So," Draco said once the woman had departed, the soft hush of the shop settling back around them. "Here you are again."

"I told you I'd be back." The carpet under Potter's feet was a faded blush colour, an odd contrast to the severity of his crimson robes and the dark leather of his boots. Just like yesterday, he maintained a measured distance from the counter, as if Draco's very existence was contagious. The unspoken insult of it provoked a sneer from Draco.

"Ever the good Gryffindor, keeping your promises."

"And following through on my threats." Potter gazed unflinchingly back at him. Somehow, Draco thought, he looked even more exhausted than the day before. "Is your boss here this time?"

"Eagerly awaiting your arrival." Draco glanced over his shoulder, wondering if he would have to drag Malcolm out here. But fortunately, no such manhandling was necessary. Perhaps sensing he was being spoken about, or perhaps hearing their voices, Malcolm emerged from the back room, sweeping over to grab Potter's hand in a warm greeting. Potter seemed thrown off by the friendliness, but his surprise was quickly concealed.

"Mr. McRae," Potter said, a bit stiff as he shook Malcolm's hand. "I appreciate you finding the time today for me."

"Nonsense! It's an honour to meet the inimitable Harry Potter." Malcolm beamed at him, making Potter look even more uncomfortable. "Shall we speak in private?"

Potter glanced over at Draco, who was still hovering nearby, watching their exchange. "Yes, I think that would be best."

Draco took the hint, though he was reluctant to do so. Malcolm was imprudent at best, and Draco worried what he might say to Potter. Not that he believed Malcolm to be guilty of anything—that was quite impossible. Malcolm may have been too incautious for Draco's taste, but he was no criminal, and certainly not the kind of person who would be involved with the Dark Arts. No matter what Pansy said, Draco had enough experience with Dark wizards to know that much about Malcolm, at the very least.

Draco met Malcolm's gaze. "I suppose I'll pop over to the magical supply shop," Draco said slowly, giving Malcolm a significant look. "We're running low on self-turning cogs. Is there anything you need?"

He knew Malcolm understood what he was really asking. But Malcolm just smiled at him, blasé as ever. "No, nothing else," Malcolm said. "Thank you, Draco."

On his way out, Draco brushed past Potter, green and grey eyes locking for a singular moment as their paths crossed. Then Draco was out on the street, enveloped in the bustle of an average day in Diagon Alley. He was unable to help his instinctive, useless urge to look back at the shop, one last lingering glance at the hazy silhouettes beyond the windows before he turned his attention to the errand now at hand.