Once Upon An East End (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter One

   The rain was pounding against his cold skin. Draco Malfoy ran, panting, trying his best to hold onto his calm as he shot looks over his shoulder into the night. He was fine, he was fine now, he told himself. It was nothing, this was something that happened to all Londoners.

Still, he couldn't help but feel the thrill of relief as he cornered the edge of Victoria Park and saw the beginnings of a little village. A dozen or so establishments with darkened windows crowded the roundabout in the middle of the road; a fish and chip shop, a delicatessen, a couple of pubs, and a book store, all hidden partially behind trees that loomed over Draco as he slowed to a halt in the rain, and all, apparently, closed.

Only in East London could you turn a corner into a quaint suburb just moments after raving it up on a Saturday night.

Well, he wasn't sure losing at a pub quiz with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson quantified as 'raving it up', but the way his dignity currently stood, he was prepared to argue it did.

How long had he been running? Five minutes, ten? And so far, no sign of life. There was something to be said for going out in central; places like Soho never stopped. But in this little corner of the East End, everything wound down around eleven o'clock, more like a small town than a big city. Leaving Draco fat out of luck.

There! He realised with a jolt one of the buildings did have some lights still on. Was there anyone inside, would they maybe help him? There was only one way to find out.

The lights belonged to a little bistro and Draco pelted towards the front door, heart in his mouth as he slammed his fist against the wooden frame and hammered, rattling the glass as the rain lashed down. He was prepared to yell and cuss, but the door popped on its roller and swung inwards, unlocked despite the closed sign on the other side of the window. A bell tinkled somewhere from within.

Draco paused. "Hello?" he called against the mid-summer storm as water spattered on the wooden floorboards.

Harry Potter's head snapped up from where he was wiping down the last of the espresso cups behind the bar. "Who's there?" he snapped, pushing his glasses up his nose as he stood straight. Damn it, he cursed inwardly as he realised some bedraggled vagabond had just stumbled through his front door at gone midnight. This is why you don't close up alone.

He slammed the little cup down, still dripping, and flung his tea-towel over his shoulder as he rounded the bar. "We're closed-" he began to bark as the intruder took a step in, the door swinging shut behind him. He was sopping wet, in nothing much more than jeans and a t-shirt that clung to his frame like a work of art, and Harry stopped in his tracks. The guy was about his age, mid-twenties, with white blond hair and biceps that flexed rather unfairly as he held his arms up suddenly and palmed his hands forwards, eyebrows shooting skywards.

"Sorry," Draco stuttered. "I'm so sorry, I know you're probably closed." He eyed all the wooden chairs upended and perched on round tables with red and white chequered tablecloths. "But I just..." The rainwater was running in his face, so he huffed out, like a disgruntled horse, flicking his hair clear from his eyes and dropleting water all over the place. "I couldn't trouble you to-?"

Harry's eyes widened as he took in the other man. "Good lord, are you alright?" he asked.

Draco swallowed. "I got into a spot of bother." He admitted as thunder rumbled in the distance. "I was just hoping-" But the dark haired guy with the glasses didn't let him finish. The place had mood lighting, like you'd expect of a restaurant of an evening, so apparently he felt compelled to lurch forwards and inspect Draco closer in the mock candlelight.