After quitting the Auror department at the ripe old age of twenty two, Harry Potter finds a nice, uneventful job in an apothecary. At least, it's uneventful until his old rival Draco Malfoy comes into the shop.
They strike up an unlikely friendship...
Harry was, for perhaps the first time in his life, pleased to have woken up terribly early. A glance at the pocket watch on Draco's chest (and Herbert the dragon adorably fast asleep and snoring beneath it) told him it was only just past six, which would give him plenty of time to firecall Ron and Hermione (if they'd finally unlocked their damned Floo) before work.
Of course, they probably wouldn't be awake for a bit, but if Harry was quiet, Draco wouldn't be up for a while either.
He slid carefully out of bed, shoved his glasses onto his face, and gave an almighty stretch, which produced several rather alarming popping sounds from his joints.
That didn't bode particularly well for the next few decades, he thought, but at least he felt more awake now.
He wandered over to Bartholomew's cage, where the owl was roosting, with one eye open, watching Harry shrewdly.
"You wouldn't tattle on me, would you?" He whispered, grabbing the bag of treats from the desk drawer. "No, of course you wouldn't."
Probably a month ago Bartholomew would've screeched as soon as he got out of bed, but Harry liked to think they had bonded. Perhaps mostly through copious amounts of treats, but it was bonding nonetheless.
Harry offered a couple treats, and Bartholomew gobbled them down agreeably silently. "You are very handsome, aren't you," Harry murmured, stroking the side of his face with a fingertip, and Bartholomew preened. He was beginning to think maybe Draco was right about how much the bird understood sometimes.
Bird properly placated, he turned away to put the treat bag back, and caught sight of a very ornate-looking letter on top of one of the neat stacks on the desk.
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Harry smiled at the initials — he just knew Ron had bargained Hermione down from using full names to avoid having 'Bilius' on the invitation. The letter itself was beautiful, as he was sure the wedding would be, but it was also terribly presumptuous.
This was exactly why Harry still needed to finish having that conversation with them. They had just assumed that Draco would still be around come time for the wedding, and that he would still want to go — nevermind still wanting to go with Harry.
He turned away from the stacks of papers on the desk, and decided to take a shower and think through what exactly he needed to say.
Of course, after the shower, he found himself stalling once again, though he wasn't quite sure why. He ended up making an unnecessarily fancy omelette with cheese, tomato, capsicum, spinach, mushrooms, and basil; and he came to the conclusion (as he was adding the sixth ingredient) that perhaps he really needed to do something about this procrastinating problem of his.
He set a plate on the table under a warming charm for Draco, and brought his with him to sit in front of the fire. All he needed to do was call. And hope that their Floo wasn't locked, of course.
