Author:

themostepotente
Title: The Pocketwatch Chronicles
Pairing: Harry/Draco, so brief you'll miss it if you blink Draco/OMC and Harry/OMC, mentions of Snape/Lily
Summary: When an antique pocketwatch sends Harry and Draco back in time, they must work together if they've any hope of returning home.
Rating: Hard R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: AU/AR, time-travel, steampunk genre, past established relationship, Veela!Draco, snarkery, humour, drinking, La Fée Verte, a wee bit of violence/blood, appearances by Snape, character death (canon and OC - definitely not Harry or Draco)
Word Count: ~25,000 words
Epilogue Compliant?: EWE
Author's Notes: Originally written for

raitala for the '09

hd_holidays exchange fest. Betaed by

blamebrampton,

bryoneybrynn and

venivincere.

Comments as well as concrit are certainly appreciated ♥

More notes at the bottom of the fic.

The Pocketwatch Chronicles

By The Moste Potente

Tick, tick tock
The apothecary's clock
It is measuring a time all its own

Tock, tock, tick
Can a man who heals the sick
Somehow use it as he searches for a home?

Nought to thirteen
What is now and what has been
Come together like the circle of the Fates.

Time turns back
As reality attacks
And the future is beset by the past

Then meets now
Will a stitch in time allow
The ending of the wandering, at last?

Severus Snape tossed in his sleep, the last vestiges of a prophetic warning lingering on his tongue as he drowsily spoke the words. He could taste their cloying bitterness, just as he could the tobacco from his pipe. Together, the tastes threatened to sour Severus's stomach, and he woke with a start, clapping a hand over his mouth.

A message, inked in scarlet and out of focus, was scrawled on the wall before him. Severus willed his churning insides quiet. A base instinct of fear grew. With lightning-quick reflexes, Severus grabbed for his wand and his monocle on the bedside table.

Placing the circular glass over his right eye, he read the message and nearly choked on a sharp intake of breath.

They are coming.

The stronger marked, a mix of bloods.

Our undoing draws nigh.

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus noticed movement. With a deft flick of his wrist, he hurtled the Killing Curse towards the window. The panes shattered and fell to the cobblestones. Laughter, not unlike a sidhe's shriek, rented the night air before disappearing on the wind.

Snape withdrew from under the duvet for a closer inspection. He nearly tripped on the gutted rat in his path. Picking it up by the scruff of its neck, Snape noticed the rat was missing a finger.

In its place, embedded in the soft grey pad, was a tiny clockwork hand.

Time Is On (Harry's Side)

There was love, there was hate, and then there was Draco Malfoy.

Harry observed the time on his alarm clock; 9:59 p.m. The inconsiderate arse was late, an hour to be exact. Harry was just about to close his textbook when Draco came strolling into the bedroom, a lop-sided grin on his face. One of these days, Harry would remember to have the locks and the wards changed.

"Ready to go, swotty? I believe there's a pint of bitter with my name on it. And I--"

Their eyes met only a moment before Harry returned to his studies.

"All right, so I'm a little late," Draco said, picking an infinitesimal piece of lint from his cashmere jumper. "I was delayed. Let's not make an issue of it."

The needle on Harry's phantom meter flickered. It was highly attuned to bullshit. "You're an hour late."

Draco pulled a watch from his trouser pocket and studied it a moment. "Fifty-nine minutes and fifty-eight point two seconds really. Since we're being precise."

Harry underlined an important passage in his text. The pressure with which he applied quill point to page made a scratchy sound. "You have a watch, and you're never on time. Why are you always late?"

Draco gave a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders, like being nonchalant was even too much work. "It makes the day go by faster."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Harry said, finally closing his book with a dramatic whoosh. His cat, Sir Reginald, took this as a sign his master wanted to play, depositing a toy mouse in Harry's lap.

"We going, then?" Draco asked with an exasperated sigh.

"I should study. Not all of us are at the top of our classes. Some of us actually open our books on occasion."

"I prefer the 'wing and a prayer' method to cramming myself." Draco straightened a cufflink. "Not even if I buy?"

Harry narrowed his gaze.

"Three rounds."

"Three rounds and…?"

Draco threw up his arms, exasperated. "Three rounds and a chip buttie. Happy, porky?"

Harry grinned. "Only if you choke yourself with that stupid, silver chain."

Draco rolled his eyes. "To the casual observer, it's silver. To the trained eye, it's electrum, and this was a gift from mother, so mind your attitude. Besides, how else am I going to show off my third-year Caduceus?" The twin snakes on Draco's charm hissed, darting their tongues out at one another. "Gets my dick sucked every time."

"That's just because they don't know you like I do," Harry said, tossing the toy mouse onto the floor. Sir Reginald padded after it, the bells under his chin tinkling. Harry picked up and smelt the first shirt in his path.

Draco followed, screwing up his face in disgust. "Hey, I took good care of you, Harry."

"Right, like you took really good care of Sir Reginald." He silently nodded his approval at the first shirt that didn't require a Freshening Charm. "You give up on anything that requires even a bit of work. That cat still hasn't forgiven you for dumping him on my doorstep."

Draco pulled the shirt from Harry's hands. "You're not wearing that. And rubbish, Reginald still loves me. Look-see."

The cat took a swipe at Draco when Draco came to pet him. "All right, so Reginald hates me. What's your point?"

"That it's nearly a quarter past ten, and we'll have a bit of a time finding a table?" When Harry held up another shirt, Draco stuck a finger down his throat and made a rude noise.

"Here," Draco said, removing his cashmere jumper. He tossed it to Harry. "I'll manage without it. You, on the other hand, need all the help you can get."

"Big prick."

Draco grinned. "Here's hoping."

And they Apparated out.

The Olive or Twist was always busy on Wednesday nights. The University's fresh-faced made it their haven.

They found a table somewhere in the middle of things, close enough to people watch but far enough away from the usual drunkards to enjoy themselves. The bitter poured from rusty taps, the food was questionable and the service was at best inhospitable. Harry wouldn't have traded his pub for anything.

Draco's eyes followed a willowy blond to the loo. "Been at the books much?"

"Too much," Harry said with a deflated sigh. "I'm not cut out for Field Mediwizardry, Draco. Why is this even a required course for Aurors?"

Draco's gaze drifted over to a table housing a party of handsome students. "Not so. All it takes is a little persistence and my help."

"Yeah, and together with a Knight Bus token, that will get me nowhere." Harry took a long pull from his pint, spilling sloppily onto Draco's jumper.

Draco took the glass from Harry. "Hey, easy there. We have all night."

"Not with your flirtatious behaviour. I'll be lucky to get two pints down."

"Jealous much, Harry? I'm just looking. Besides, you were the one who dumped me. I believe that reinstates my shagging other men privileges."

"S'ppose, you're right," Harry said, waving the barmaid over. "What's going on with whatshername?"

Draco gave Harry a funny look. "Astoria. And nothing. Pans has had the sit-down with her, too. Told her I was so far in the back of the closet that I was with the Christmas presents."

Harry snorted. "Bit much, don't you think?"

"Not if it shuts her up about us getting married. Be nice if Pansy took her off my hands for the moment. That way I'd have one off my back and the other out of my hair. Besides, the only way I could get hard for Astoria would be with you standing behind her."

A warm, alcohol-induced tingle trickled up Harry's spine. "Is it any wonder I keep you about?"

Draco preened imaginary feathers. "What about the Weaselette? Who's she slumming with?" Draco's eyes flashed suggestively at the dark-haired bloke with the dick-sucking lips. As was Draco's luck, the student replied in kind.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "We parted on amicable terms. There's no need to be nasty on my behalf."

Draco stood, smoothing the creases of his button-down. "That's nice, Harry. Excuse me a moment, won't you."

"Fine, you shirt-lifting tosser, leave me to my misery. You could at least leave--"

Draco turned a moment and tossed two twenty quid notes on the table. "Don't wait up."

Harry exhaled noisily, blowing the overgrown fringe into his eyes. At least now, Draco wouldn't supervise his drinking. And just what did Draco think he was accomplishing? He couldn't pull better than Harry.

An hour later, Harry was barely cognizant, facedown in his food basket.

Draco lifted Harry's head by the longish ends of his hair. "Salazar's Scrote, I leave you for a short while--" Draco made a noise of disgust as he picked a chip off Harry's cheek stuck there with a smear of butter grease.

"Told you I was having a chip buttie," Harry said with an obnoxious burp. "I had a chip buttie, and you had a chipper butt." He snorted loudly which made the burp seem charming in comparison.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're completely pissed, Potter." He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder and carried him out. "You owe me, you drunken sod."

Harry moaned at the feel of the chill breeze. "How was your blow job?"

Draco readied his wand and held onto Harry tightly for a Side-Along-Apparition. "He scraped if you must know. And he was a sloppy shoot. You'll have to polish my boots now."

"Like hell," Harry smirked. The cool air was somewhat sobering. "You really can't pull better than me, y'know."

"No, it would seem I can't." Draco said with a scowl and a flourish of his wand.

And they Apparated out.

Harry woke with a groan. His mouth was dry as if it was lined with cotton, and his temples were throbbing from an oncoming headache. It didn't help matters that his breathing felt constricted, Sir Reginald perched on his chest.

"What time is it?" Harry croaked, feeling blindly for his glasses. When he found them, he put them on hastily, reaching for the alarm clock. It fell with a thud at his clumsy grab.

Harry shooed Reginald away before reaching for the fallen clock. He felt an overwhelming draught when the coverlet slipped. Last night was a blur. How had he made it home in one piece? Why did he smell like chips and…

Why the fuck was he naked?

Draco was asleep in the bed next to him, facedown in the pillows and sighing softly. A peek under the coverlet confirmed Harry's suspicion. Draco was naked, too, damn him. In that legs akimbo, arse-up way he slept naked after an agreeable shag. Fuck.

Harry had vowed never to sleep with Draco again, and in a moment of drunken weakness, he had managed to further complicate their already complicated relationship. Harry was fuming. He found himself wishing for something to shove up Draco's perfect arse.

As if reading his thoughts, Sir Reginald came padding over to him, dragging Draco's pocketwatch with him by the chain. He dropped it in Harry's lap and proceeded to bathe himself noisily.

Draco opened an eye. "You needn't worry. I was a gentleman."

"Gentleman, eh?" Harry asked. "Then why am I naked?"

"I told you I was a gentleman," Draco said, rolling onto his side. "I didn't say what kind. What time is it?"

Thumbing the clasp open irritably, Harry replied. "It's after eleven. I have things to do. You can't sleep here--" Harry did a double take. "Hang on, why's this watch have a nought and a thirteen on its face?"

Draco tugged the chain through Harry's fingers. Inspecting it, he furrowed his brows at the discovery. "No idea. Nicked it from my old man. It's been in my family a while, though." Bored with the thought, Draco tossed it back to Harry. "What's for breakfast?"

Harry's stomach flip-flopped at the mention of breakfast, but he reasoned that some tea and dry toast might make him feel better. Harry was about to fling the coverlet aside when he noticed Draco was watching him. "Whatever's left in the kitchen," he said with a dramatic twirl of his finger.

"Oh, for Salazar's sake," Draco huffed. "It's not like I haven't seen your bits before."

"My bits are none of your concern now."

Draco's only response was to smile. And wickedly at that.

Annoyed, Harry rummaged through his tallboy for some clean clothes. He paused mid-dress to peer over his shoulder to see if Draco was still watching him. Much to Harry's surprise, Draco was busy threading a leg through his stylish underpants, unconcerned for anyone but himself. Harry was absolutely not admiring the curve of Draco's arse. Nor was Harry noticing the dimple winking at him from Draco's left buttock. Shit. He grabbed his wand and nearly skewered himself, distracted.

Harry's cupboards were mostly bare. He did manage to find four pieces of bread unscathed by mould and some leaves in the bottom of the tea tin. During the preparations, there were hardly ten words between them.

Unease settled in the pit of Harry's stomach. "We should talk…about last night." He sat across from Draco and stared sullenly, scraping the char from his toast. He wanted to clarify things, but he was silenced with a paper wall when Draco chose The Daily Prophet over conversation.

"Nothing to talk about. You needed my assistance last night. I gave it. Simple as that."

"It's just that," Harry began, fidgeting with the pocketwatch. "I don't want us to slip into our old routine."

"Won't happen." Draco turned to the Quidditch scores. The obits followed, as if to symbolise the death of their relationship. "I've moved on."

There was a hint of regret in Harry's voice. "Have you?"

A pregnant pause followed as Draco brushed the crumbs from his sweater. "It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe." Harry thumbed the glass encasing open, unable to settle on an answer.

"You've said it many times over. We're better off as friends. Shagging just gets in the way."

"Still want you," Harry said, barely above a whisper. His thumb came to rest on the zero as he closed his eyes. "Nought to thirteen. What is now and what has been--"

Draco dropped his paper. "What did you just say?"

"That I still wa--"

Draco gave Harry a funny look. "No, no, the other thing."

Harry depressed the zero angrily. "What 'other' thing? That you're a puffed-up, self-centred wankstain?" There was a click and a hatch opened up in the back of the watch.

"That's not what you said."

"It's what I was thinking."

"Right. More like you were wishing me flat on my back. My cock in your mouth. And be careful with that. It's an heirloom."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry said, lobbing it across the room. "Fetch."

They both looked at one another before going after it like they were vying for possession of the Snitch. Draco found the shell, but parts of its innards were missing. Harry held the small device in his hand triumphantly. Only when he realised what it was, did he blink in utter disbelief.

"Give it here, Harry. It's not to be trifled with."

"You knew all along, didn't you?"

"Yes. I wanted to fix things between us. At least, that was my original intention. But then-- You had the right of it, breaking things off."

"They were destroyed by the Ministry. All of them. Where did you get this?"

"I told you. It belongs to my father. Beyond that, I have no idea." Draco held out a hand. "Harry."

"It has three axes like a normal Time-Turner, but why does it have two hourglasses that crisscross?"

"I told you I don't know. Now give that device to me!"

"No," Harry taunted. "You give me the watch, or I'll chuck them both out the window." He dashed to the window as if to make good on his threat.

"Stupid, four-eyed arsewipe! You had to go asking questions about it."

"Well, you brought it."

Harry clicked the device back into place. "You wanted to change things between us?"

Draco nodded. "A month. A week. Fuck, even last night."

"So you could break my heart a second time?"

"It's not like that, Harry, I--"

"I wish we'd never agreed to a relationship."

The pocketwatch's hands began to rotate widdershins.

"Harry." There was a soft pleading to Draco's voice.

"I wish we'd never become friends."

The watch hands spun faster, continuing their backward rotation.

"Harry, please." The apple at Draco's throat bobbed.

"I wish we'd just gone our separate ways after Hogwarts."

Faster still, the hands counted back the hours.

"You don't mean that." Draco's voice trembled, teetering on the edges of grief and fury.

"Don't I? Truth be told, I wish we'd never met."

The watch hands blurred, moving faster than sight or magic could detect.

Draco's eyes widened, and the anger inside him swelled. "Fine then. I wish we never existed."

A flicker of light popped above Harry's head. Then another. Still another. A shiver ran the length of Harry's spine. Draco's face went ashen.

Sensing danger, Sir Reginald hopped into Harry's arms just as Draco latched onto Harry. The world around them was breaking apart, shapes and shadows appearing then disappearing.

Time whirred around them, faster and faster, busying itself with everyone but them. There seemed to be no end to the shifts as they travelled back through the years. The colours around them faded to grey, and one by one, their senses deadened.

A dizzying burst of speed preceded a sickening jolt. And when all fell still and silent, they were left standing on a deserted street lit by gaslights.

In a world that appeared far more wicked than their own.

The piercing blow of a whistle shattered their calm and seemed to bring the night to life around them. Sight, touch, taste, smell and hearing came flooding back, and the sensory overload was too much for Draco. He leant over some potted conifers and emptied the contents of his stomach, retching horribly.

Rustling noises caught Sir Reginald's attention, and he bolted from Harry's arms into an alleyway, jostling the pocketwatch from Harry's fingers. It rolled into the cobblestone street and lay there, sparking magic. Harry forwent its rescue and rushed to Draco's side.

"The watch, you idiot," Draco managed between retches. "Before it's--"

The whir of a motorbike engine caught their notice as it roared past. There was an awful crunch, and Draco groaned, triggering another bout of sickness.

"You were saying?" Harry winced.

Draco wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Brilliant. Just brilliant."

Harry picked up the injured timepiece and cradled it in his palms, delicately poking at its jutting innards. "So much for the indestructibility of Wizarding devices. What's it going to take to fix this?"

"Nothing short of a fucking miracle," Draco snapped. He took a nervous look around. "Where are we?" He persuaded the watch from Harry's hands and wrapped it gently into his handkerchief, pocketing it.

"No idea. Can't be too far from home, though. Look." Harry pointed to the sky. Big Ben loomed in the moonlight.

"That merely confirms we're still in London. We might be years from home. Nothing looks familiar to me."

Harry glanced from one end of the street to the other. "Nothing looks familiar to me either," he confirmed.

Down the darkened corridor, Sir Reginald meowed, chasing after his prey. "Let's just collect that stupid cat of yours and get out of here." Draco delicately wrinkled his nose. "There's a stench to the air that's not quite safe."

They started down the alley towards Reginald when they heard a set of voices. The first was female, soft and pleading, followed by a series of Sectumsempras. Red light flooded the passageway. Harry was the first to draw his wand. He tensed visibly when a sickly green light followed.

"Filthy Muggle whore," came the highborn voice. "Spread your diseases in Hell." The stranger bent down and did something Harry could not make out from so far down. The man stood up and seemed to inspect his handiwork. He was just about to depart from the other end of the alley when Draco sneezed. Fearful, Harry fell flush against the brick of a nearby building, pushing Draco back with him.

"What are you doing?" Draco whispered, patting himself down for his wand. "There's two of us and only one of him. We can overpower him, and-- Shit."

"Shh," Harry whispered back. He placed a Disillusionment Charm on them.

The man walked towards them, his face hidden behind a steel mask. When he was just in front of them, he checked the time on his watch. His sleeve, ruddy with gore, fell back and the bottom edge of a skull burned with residual magic. With a loud crack, he Apparated away, and Harry dispelled his charm.

"Did you get a look at the Dark Mark? Death Eaters."

"No, not Death Eaters. Knights. Knights of Walpurgis. The predecessors of Death Eaters. Their Marks are only slightly different." Draco patted himself down again for effect. "I've left my wand back home. We've one wand between us. We'll have to stick close."

"Well, then I guess that leaves me in charge." Harry wanted to smile at that, but their situation was too grave for one-upmanship. "Death Eaters…Knights of Walpurgis. Makes no difference. They're all like cockroaches. Where there's one, there's sure to be a horde close by."

"Right, let's get out of here. We still need to figure out when we are."

"Hang on," Harry said, edging down the alley. "The woman."

"She's dead. You know as well as I do what that green light means."

The harsh tweet of the whistle was getting closer.

"Harry, you stupid fool. Come on."

Harry stood over the woman's body, horrified. She had been cut from stem to stern, some of her organs removed. Harry put a hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting.

Draco called after him again. "Harry."

Harry held up a finger to indicate he needed another moment. Slipping his wand through a belt loop, he knelt before the woman and closed her eyes. It was the least he felt he could do as she was beyond saving.

"Harry!"

He stood and said a silent prayer, bidding her soul safe travels.

"Harry!"

Harry whirled around impatiently, his wand falling with a clatter. "A little louder so the whole of Britain can hear you. What already?"

"We have company." Four constables held him at bay.

"All right, lads. Your story, one more time, from the top."

Harry regarded the Chief Inspector over the tops of his glasses. "Well, sir, we were on our way to uh, er--"

"To the pub," Draco concluded. "Rough day, you see. But we had to make a detour."

"Into an alleyway?" The Chief Inspector arched a brow in question.

"Well, you see," Harry began. "I had to uh--"

"Relieve himself," Draco said, wrinkling his nose a bit. "Whereupon we overheard a conversation. At first we thought it was just a couple having a knee-trembler. But then we heard her plead for her life. She was dead before we had a chance to intervene. Her killer ran off."

The Inspector's moustache twitched in disbelief. "And did you get a look at this killer?"

"No."

"Yes."

The two of them glowered at one another.

"Well, lads, which is it?"

"It was dark, sir. The man wore all black."

"And a steel mask," Harry added.

"Inspector Bell discovered no evidence of a third man on the scene. Mr James was found hovering over the body. Dumbstruck, I might add. Still consumed in the throes of rage?"

Harry stood, his chair scraping the floor with the force of his sudden movement. "THAT'S A LIE!"

"Inspector," Draco began. He gently laid a hand on Harry's arm and eased him back into his seat. "You recall the state of the body. Wouldn't his clothes be terribly soiled? Why, my friend here can't even have his tea without spilling."

Harry kicked Draco in the shin. The little prick had made him out to be a slob who couldn't control his bladder.

"True enough, I suppose," the Chief Inspector said. Though, he still didn't look convinced. "Might I add, your clothing style is unusual. Like nothing I've seen before, Mr Morehead."

A proud smile tugged at the corners of Draco's mouth. "Paris fashion. Hasn't quite made it here yet. Are we free to go?"

One of the four constables interrupted the Chief Inspector before he could answer. He stood and excused himself without warning.

Draco eyed the room inconspicuously to make certain no one was listening. "I can't believe you left your wand in the alley."

"I can't believe you didn't grab Sir Reginald," Harry said, gnashing his teeth.

"It's a cat, Harry. We're talking about your wand. What if it's not there when we go back?"

"It'll be there. Besides, I couldn't risk having it confiscated. Contrary to what you might think, not all of these policemen are Muggle-borns."

Draco looked bored. "And how do you know that?"

"When Constable Kensington fingerprinted us, I noticed his hands. Swelling of the digits. A green tinge to the nails. Pronounced veins. He abuses Polyjuice."

Draco tried not to appear impressed. "That a fact, Mr James?"

"Yes, it is, Mr Morehead." Now, it was Harry's turn to look unimpressed. "'Standard Book of Potions and Their Misuse,' page three-hundred and twelve."

"Christ, if you had breasts, I'd swear I was standing next to Granger. And they say I'm a shit influence?"

"Mr Morehead?" Harry repeated.

"What? It was the first name that crossed my mind. What every bloke needs; more head."

Harry was just about to speak, just about to protest that fact, when the Chief Inspector returned with the Superintendent.

"Evening boys, I'm Superintendent Smythe. You're free to go."

Draco folded his arms across his chest. "What? No apology?"

The Chief Inspector glared at Draco, pointedly eyeing the monogrammed 'M' on his cufflinks.

"I think that's fair," Harry said, taking Draco by the arm. "I seem to have dropped something in the alleyway, might we trouble you for an escort back and to an affordable inn?"

The Superintendent and the Chief Inspector exchanged glances before he agreed begrudgingly. His look indicated that he wanted to accomplish this quickly and quietly.

On the way out, something elementary suddenly occurred to Harry. They still had no idea when they were. Harry needed to know the date.

As if in response to his silent wish, Draco snatched a paper and a half-eaten sticky bun from the hands of a fresh-faced constable. "Need some real food," Draco said before tearing off the bitten end and taking a delicate bite.

As punishment for being an insensitive ponce, Harry made Draco carry Sir Reginald to the inn. The cat protested most of the way, and Harry knew that Draco's skin would suffer as a scratching post.

The walk to the Ten Bells was a relatively short one, and Harry was thankful for the prospects of a cold pint, a hot meal and a warm bath. He didn't know exactly how they were going to pay for the lodgings, but he was sure his agile brain could conjure up some idea by the time they made it there. There was no possible way to pass modern Muggle monies, and the laws of magic prevented its Transfiguration. Perhaps, Draco would have a solution.

They were gawked at, two strangely dressed boys and their cat. Quite a bit, in fact. And while it embarrassed Harry, Draco was pleased by the extra attention.

When they approached the bar, Draco handed Sir Reginald over to Harry, melodramatically brushing the hair from his clothes. Harry peered nervously over the tops of his glasses as the barkeep and the Chief Inspector whispered to one another. When they finished their conversation, they were both smiling. Neither of their smiles was inviting.

Harry stepped forward. He knew his offer of a promissory note was suspect, but in his defence, he had an honest look about him. Fuck's sake, he wore glasses and was carrying a large feline. "I'm told you can accommodate us, sir."

The barkeep spat into his towel to remove a stain from the glass he was drying. "As luck would have it laddie, I've a room to rent above the bar. Price is six shillings for the week."

"That sounds reasonable. I don't suppose we could leave with a promissory note until we're, uh…paid." Draco was quiet up to that point, finally whispering something into Harry's ear. "We're gentlemen, you see. I know it's customary."

The barkeep's moustache twitched. "Of course you are. Nigel?"

At the barkeep's calling, a burly giant of a man stood up from behind the bar. He had more muscles on his arms than he had teeth in his mouth.

"You have until tomorrow evening to get me my money, or Nigel here's going to hurt you." And if the barkeep's words weren't enough, Nigel smashed the freshly dried glass against his head, grinning like a madman. "I'll need some collateral, and don't even think to offer up that bloody cat, boy."

"Here," Draco said, unclasping his necklace and setting it down on the bar. "It's more than enough to cover a night's stay, a few pints and dinner. You'll have your money by tomorrow afternoon."

The barkeep picked up the necklace and inspected it. Satisfied, he motioned for Nigel to show them the room.

Draco had given Harry very implicit instructions not to disturb him for a few hours so he could try and fix the pocketwatch. When two hours had elapsed, Harry returned with dinner and two pints. His brow crept up into his fringe at the sight of Draco's cool analysis. He was staring at the pocketwatch, just inches away, as if willing the damn thing to fix itself.

"I'm here with dinner, and I've some ne--"

Harry was met with an irritated shush. "It's alive. I can hear its thoughts."

Harry flopped on the bed and kicked off his shoes. He was exhausted. "Fuck's sake, Draco, it's a pocketwatch. It's not alive."

"It is, I tell you. And it doesn't want to be put back together."

"Rubbish," Harry said, helping himself to a meat pie. "Did you get it back together or not?"

Draco stood, stretching. "Mostly."

"Mostly?" Harry peered over at the makeshift worktable. "Then why are there parts leftover?"

"Sod you sideways. I'm not a fucking horologist. There just are." Draco's stomach made a rude noise. "Meat pies?" he asked. His nose twitched hare-like in disgust. "This is the best you could do? I can't eat this. Transfigure it into capon or something edible."

"Capon? Just eat it, Draco. You're not going to die if you eat commoner's food."

Draco eyed the meat pie suspiciously before taking a bite. He made the weirdest expressions Harry had ever seen. Incredibly, one of them actually resembled Draco's orgasm face. The thought made Harry's stomach flip-flop.

Harry blanched a little. "We should, uh, discuss a plan of action."

"There's not much to discuss. Tomorrow, we'll find a buyer for these cufflinks, shop for new clothes, pay the barkeep and find this clockmaker." Draco held up the pocketwatch and snapped the lid closed.

"This clockmaker?" Harry asked. "You know who made it?"

"Well," Draco began. "Clock making is considered an art form, therefore--" Draco eyed Harry's half-eaten meat pie. "Are you going to eat that?"

Harry laid a hand over his stomach. "Ugh, help yourself."

Draco shoved the rest of the meat pie into his mouth with the heel of his hand. "Therefore, most horologists engrave their initials somewhere. There's an S on the back. I can't make out the first initial, though. Watch took quite a beating. Could be an R, or maybe another S. Hard to tell." He smiled. There was meat pie stuck to the fronts of his teeth.

"How do you ever manage to get laid?"

"You can't possibly think I'd behave this way in public. It's all for you, Harry."

"Lucky me," he grumbled, feeding Sir Reginald the scraps. Harry stifled a yawn. "Time for bed."

"Too right," Draco agreed, shedding his clothes. He slipped into the smallish bed starkers.

Harry shook his head. He carried the paper to bed and slipped under the duvet clothed. Unsurprisingly, Draco's arse made contact with Harry's hip.

"You never did tell me the date, Harry. Though, I'd estimate sometime between 1875 and 1890. Style is unmistakably Victorian." Draco rolled over onto his side at the rustle of the newspaper. He nudged Harry's thigh with his prick.

Harry lowered his gaze, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. "16th November 1888. And don't get any ideas. If I have to draw an enchanted line down this bed, so help me Merlin--"

With an exasperated sigh, Draco flipped back over. "Can't blame a bloke for trying. Salazar's scrote, that's over ninety years before we were born. Anyway, couldn't we make our way to Hogwarts or something? There has to be someone who can help us on the odd chance that watch can't be fixed. We can't be stuck here forever."

"I've thought about that. But until we know more about where we're at and what we're up against, we're better off on own. Besides, we can use the time difference to our advantage."

"Suppose you're right," Draco said, batting the shabby pillow for comfort. "Don't forget to extinguish the light."

"I won't," Harry sighed. He read the paper until his eyelids grew heavy.

Sometime during the middle of the night, Harry was awoken by Draco's fearful whimpers. Reaching over, he took Draco's hand and drew tiny circles in the palm to soothe him.

Sir Reginald nestled between the two of them, curling up on the grisly front page of the daily. The cat nudged Harry's hand for attention.

Conditioned to oblige, Harry scratched underneath the cat's chin and whispered, "I'm scared, too."

Sebastian and Spencer Clothiers were reputed to have the latest fashions. Giving it a second thought, Harry thought it might be easier to Transfigure their old clothing, but Draco insisted that Harry allow him his indulgence.

"Sucks you had to sell your cufflinks," Harry said, kicking a stone. He felt guilty he had nothing of value to pawn. "Weren't they a birthday gift?"

"Were and will be again. I'll try and act surprised this time." The smile on Draco's face betrayed nothing.

"New clothes should lighten our moods."

"Merlin, yes. I feel positively grotty. Like I haven't bathed in a day."

"You haven't exactly," Harry chuckled.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well stated, Captain Obvious." He held open the shop door. "Shall we?"

Two hours later, Harry and Draco emerged, looking quite unlike themselves. Smartly, yet conservatively dressed, they both wore fustian and corduroy waistcoats with corduroy trousers. Harry sported a four-in-hand necktie while Draco chose a more style-conscious Ascot. Unable to tame his wild locks, Harry wore a bowler hat. Draco, on the other hand, opted for no hat. It was something, Harry had overheard, about hats being responsible for premature balding that prompted his refusal. In charge of their monies, Harry counted the coins in his palm.

"That was a little pricey. We have a debt to pay, y'know."

"I'm well aware," Draco said, straightening his Ascot in a storefront window. "It was the best I could do. He wouldn't come down much. And you see, someone's being quite selfish with their wand."

Harry smirked. "Not my fault. So much for your superior Veela influence. What was it you said you were? One-sixteenth?"

"One-eighth. And if you persist in making fun of my Veela heritage, I will pee in that stupid hat of yours."

"You wouldn't?"

Draco steered Harry down Baker Street. "Not now, no. My bladder's not nearly as full as I'd like it to be." The dazzling smile that followed rivalled that of Gilderoy Lockhart's.

Harry quit while he was ahead.

They were about four blocks down Baker Street when Harry spied the Clocksmith's. "The Face and Hands Clockworks. Think that's the one?"

"Mr Sebastian did say this was the best place for watch repair. I suppose there's only one way to find out," Draco said, pushing open the door. The shop bell chimed their arrival.

A handsome man in his early twenties emerged from the back room. His smile was charming, if a bit toadying. "May I help you gentlemen?"

Harry started to speak, but Draco laid a hand on Harry's chest and pushed right past. "We are looking for the Clocksmith. Might that be you?"

"Who me?" the man laughed. False modesty poorly masked his arrogance. "Goodness no. I am his assistant. He is quite busy now. Is there something I can help you with?"

Draco smiled in that predatory way he did when he thought to exercise his Veela charms. "Maybe later. But it's imperative I speak with him."

Harry rolled his eyes and made to tinker with a mantel clock.

"That won't be possible, I'm afraid. Perhaps, if I knew more about the nature of your business?"

Draco took a few steps forward, leaning against the counter. "I really need to speak with the Clocksmith."

The man swallowed nervously, the apple bobbing at his throat. "I'll see what I can do." He excused himself and slipped through the door to the back, leaving it slightly ajar.

A sharp slap resonated from the opening followed by a succession of strident footsteps. Wiping his hands on his apron and looking quite homicidal was Severus Snape. The monocle fell from his right eye, and he bared a row of uneven teeth the colour of buttermellows. Spittle was hanging from Snape's jowls in rabid irritation.

Draco let his mouth hang open a second longer than was gentlemanly, but he was quick to recover. Harry, on the other hand…

There was a discordant clatter as the mantel clock crashed to the floor. If there was any chance for reasoning with Snape, it was lost in Harry's clumsiness.

"GET OUT! OUT!" Snape spat, threatening Harry and Draco with an accusing finger.

They left without so much as a protest.

The fool assistant followed. Presumably without his pay…or his bits.

When Draco returned to the room, Harry was pacing like a caged beast. "Where have you been?"

Draco put on his necklace, tucking it inside his shirt for safekeeping. "I was settling our debt with the barkeep, or had you forgot?"

Harry seethed in silence.

"Right, and I've just spent the remainder of our money on tonight's dinner. Shall we go a round at that?"

"We are screwed, you realise?" Harry groaned. "Snape is the Clocksmith, though I don't see how that's possible." Harry's stomach made a loud noise at the sight of food.

Draco sat down on the bed, spreading Stilton on a heel of rye. "Let's sit down and think this through."

From out of Draco's outstretched hand, Harry stole the piece of bread and popped it into his mouth inelegantly. "Go ahead. I'm listening." He allowed Sir Reginald to lick his fingers clean.

There was a moment of quiet disgust before Draco greeted the Stilton again.

"I think it's safe to assume we travelled backwards and sideways in time. Rare, but obviously not unheard of. We're in an alternate universe."

"Any chance Snape faked his own death and hid here?"

"As a monocled Clocksmith? That's not my godfather. There wasn't a speck of recognition in his eyes. He has no idea who we are."

"We'll need his help, y'know? To get back."

"I'm well aware. When we return tomorrow, leave everything to me."

"Right then, I'm having a bath," Harry said, nicking a larger piece of bread on the way out.

Draco's smirk was ingratiating. "Don't forget to wash behind your balls."

Not a moment later, the cheese wheel hit Draco in the back of the head.

That would teach that impossible arse.

Harry was still half-asleep when Draco dragged him back to Snape's shop. He shuffled next to Draco like a drunken Inferius, occasionally groaning for coffee or the nearest bed. Whatever Draco had said about catching Snape before hours had went in one ear and out the other. Finding the door locked, they rang the bell.

The assistant from the previous day answered their call, though Harry swore the man looked a testicle lighter. A polite argument ensued, and the commotion they caused brought Snape forward. Instead of the workman's apron, Snape wore flowing black robes. His smile brought Harry to life quicker than the strongest cup of coffee. The assistant fled in terror.

Draco cleared his throat. That was Harry's cue to fall back.

"You two again?" Snape looked pointedly at Harry, unblinking. "Come to break another clock, have you?"

"If you please, sir, we've come to talk business."

The thought made Harry queasy. It was something in the way Draco's words were both sweet and sour. Like the sickening taste of a blood lolly.

"Not here," Snape said, with a wary glance at the doorstep. "Inside." He turned on his heel, locking the door behind them with nothing more than a glance over his shoulder. Harry hadn't even spied his wand.

When they were far enough out of earshot, Snape paused, fixing them both with an indignant stare. "Speak."

"Bold move there, using your wand in front of strangers. How did you know we were wizards?" Draco began.

Snape folded his arms across his chest, stroking the tip of his wand with a finger. "I penetrated your friend's mind. Nothing too deep. I just skimmed the surface. I'm cautious, not invasive. For now."

Harry's stomach lurched at the implications. He sat down on a crate and removed his hat, setting it on the counter. His brow was dampened with perspiration. Harry nervously wondered how much Snape had seen. Draco continued, seemingly unaffected.

"My friend here would like to make recompense for his clumsiness by perhaps, replacing your assistant. He'll work for free until his debt has been paid."

Snape smirked. "Replace one bumbling imbecile with another?"

Harry made sure to note that Draco did not object to Snape's calling him an imbecile. Cheese wheels be damned, Harry was going to find something larger to strike Draco with later.

"I'll make certain he stays in line," Draco promised. "By staying on as your apprentice."

Snape's laugh was deep, resonant. "You're a little old for indentured servitude. Apprentices serve for a period of no less than seven years usually at the age of thirteen. You look to be in your early to mid-twenties."

"I'm a fast learner. And I'm good."

"And, not least, modest," Snape said, arching a brow. "You remind me of someone I know."

Harry nearly choked on his laugh. Snape glared down the long slope of nose at him.

"Let me see your hands, Mr--?"

"Black." Draco offered his hands without hesitation. "Draco Black. And this is Harry James."

Snape took the hands in his own, studying them. "Manicured nails, unmarred skin, not a day's worth of hard labour in your life."

"I'm not afraid to get them dirty."

Another laugh rumbled in Harry's chest, and he tried like hell to push it away. Luckily, Snape ignored him.

"We shall see," Snape tutted. "Be here at eight a.m. sharp tomorrow. If you, or your counterpart, are even a moment later, do not bother knocking on this door."

Draco laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Understood."

"You will address me as Mr Snape."

"Not 'Master Snape', sir?"

"Titles are merely conceits for self-important fools. One cannot master what one cannot control. Mr Snape will suffice."

Draco's face twitched cat-like, phantom whiskers his feelers for bullshit. Harry thought bemusedly that Draco must've learnt that from Sir Reginald.

"As you wish," Draco said.

"Now then, I've more important matters to attend to. See yourselves out and do not forget to lock the door behind you." And with one last scrutinising look at the both of them, Snape turned on his heel with a dramatic flourish.

They headed for the door. When they were outside, Harry exhaled sharply.

"Are you mental? Giving Snape false names?"

"Relax, will you. Snape's not going to go snooping about unless we give him a reason." Draco's expression tightened. "So don't give him a fucking reason, all right?"

"Fine," Harry said with a laugh. "It's just that your ego needs deflating now and then."

Draco took Harry by the arm. "We need to get moving. We can't continue sharing one wand."

"We have no more money. Were you going to pull one out of your arse?"

"No," Draco huffed. "I suppose I'll have to pawn my necklace again, because you own nothing of value."

A smile spread across Harry's face. "I own you."

"Correction. You did. And I may have owned you as well. On the odd days of the week."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Just like he always did when Draco flustered him. He supposed he'd set himself up for that. "Fuck. Forgot my hat inside. I'll be right back."

"Hurry up, would you," Draco sighed. "We've a schedule to keep."

Harry treaded as light-footed as he could, assuming the quietness of a dormouse. He grabbed his hat, freezing in place when he heard voices. He cast a Sonorous and then lowered the volume with a Quietus Minima. For safe measure, he cast an Invisibility Charm.

"Do you think it's wise to trust them?"

"I don't, that's why they are in my employ. So I can keep an eye on them."

"But if they hadn't come back?"

"Then I would have tracked them down. The dark-haired one was fool enough to leave behind his magical signature on the clock he broke. A simple Scrying Charm would have sufficed."

Harry made a face at being called a fool.

"How much do you think they know? About the pocketwatches?"

"Nothing. For now. You'd do well to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut."

"But what of the prophecy? Shall we con--?"

"I will contact His Lordship when the time comes. Moreover, I have yet to see the telltale mark this prophecy speaks of."

Having eavesdropped longer than was safe, Harry turned to leave, the floorboard creaking noisily underfoot. He winced and took off at breakneck speed, practically crashing through the door. Wand hidden up his sleeve, he cast a hasty Locking Charm to reinforce the door. The adjoining alleyway provided ample cover to undo his Invisibility Charm.

Draco was across the street, fishing what looked like a discarded newspaper out of the rubbish bin.

"We need to get out of here now," Harry panted, grabbing onto Draco.

Draco was busily scanning the front page. "So let's go. We have lots to do."

Harry hurried them both along. "No, Draco, I mean now. As in today now. You need to fix that watch."

"You heard something, didn't you?"

"More than I should've."

"And they noticed you?"

"I was cloaked, so no. But they heard me, I'm certain. I cast a Sonorous and then counter-cast a Quietus to minimise the volume, but it must've echoed my movement."

Draco sighed. "Fucking brilliant, Potter. Have I told you lately that you are pants at stealth without that stupid Cloak of yours?"

"Just-- Let's get working faster."

"Right," Draco said with another sigh. He dropped the newspaper into the rubbish bin. The letters that made up several headlines rearranged themselves.

Harry and Draco continued arguing, too caught up in their own machinations.

Across the street, a paperboy sang out the day's headlines.

"Another woman found gutted in Whitechapel! Killer still at large!"

The rest of their day had gone by smoothly, Harry mused, as he glanced around the Bells. They'd taken a walk along the Thames to clear their heads. They'd procured a new wand for Draco. They'd splurged on shoeshines. They'd enjoyed six pints between them.

Only one thing was scratching at Harry's brain.

"So, um." Harry said, removing an undercooked carrot from his stew. "You just found the five pound note?"

Draco licked his lips. "Some luck, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah, that is some luck. Five pounds. That's, wow… That's like more than a month's salary for the working class."

Draco took a long pull from his pint. "About that."

Harry was definitely calling bullshit. He slingshotted the carrot at Draco with his fork. The carrot landed squarely in Draco's lap.

"Would you please stop throwing food at me?"

Harry watched with a smirk as Draco's nostrils flared and his cheeks pinked in annoyance. Draco's anger had the opposite effect on Harry. It made Draco a little less repugnant to see him knocked down a peg from Godlike to human.

"All right, so I may have come across it by means other than--," Draco paused, searching for the right word. When it didn't come, he shrugged.

"You lifted it, you prick." Harry drank deep from his pint, as if to drown the severity of his words.

Draco made a face at his bowl's watery contents. "Yeah, I did. Look, that smarmy bastard I lifted it from was probably going to spend it on a knee trembler with some cheap whore. He should be thanking me for saving his dick from certain death."

Harry drained the last of his pint, wiping the spill from his lips with the back of his hand. "That is the pure-blood way of thinking, isn't it? And no calling change of subject."

Draco nudged his stew at Harry and buttered a heel of bread. "You're going to need that to coat your stomach if you plan on drinking through the evening. And change of subject."

"Fine," Harry said, even though things between them were not fine. "Shall we talk about how we really shouldn't go back tomorrow?"

"We have to. We have no choice."

Harry tucked into his stew. "Why?"

"Because we have an arrangement with Snape. And because this," Draco said, setting the pocketwatch on the table a little too loudly. "Is irreversibly broken."

Harry waved the barmaid over for another round. "Wait a minute. A moment ago you confessed to lifting a fiver from some rich tosser. And now you're bent on honouring our agreement with Snape?" He hid the watch with his hand when the barmaid obliged them.

Draco ordered tea for a nightcap. "Yes. And?"

"That doesn't make sense. And please, Draco, spare me the 'you wouldn't understand' shit."

"Well, you wouldn't and besides, we need Snape for the parts and the blueprints. I'm building another pocketwatch."

"Oho? Since when?"

"Since he's not going to just give us one."

Full, Harry shoved the bowl aside and went back to enjoying his new pint. "And you think this is going to be easy building such a device, do you? I'd imagine there are complicated Tempus Charms involved layered with more Tempus Charms interwoven with still more Tempus Charms. And his notes are not just going to be lying about. Provided he even has any."

"Need I remind you, Mr Sectumsempra, that Snape's not as secretive with his inventions as he is with his loyalties. If he has notes, I will find them, and I will decipher them." Draco stood. "Come on, we should get a decent night's rest. We have a long day ahead of us." Draco contemplated the dregs in his cup and arched a pale brow.

"What?" Harry asked. He finished his pint in three swift gulps. He stood with a slight wobble.

"Nothing, I just thought I saw-- Never mind. Salazar's sake, Potter, are you drunk?"

"I might be." A hiccough followed. "A bit."

"So help me, if I have to carry you."

Harry's brain felt waterlogged, and his back teeth were practically floating. "No, but I could do with a bit of a lean on."

"All right," Draco huffed. He helped escort Harry out to the jeers of some of the patrons. When Harry flipped them two fingers, some of the older men blew them congratulatory kisses.

Once inside their room, Harry fell slack against Draco. Harry inched his way up Draco's body and dug his fingertips into Draco's shoulders for support. He held Draco's gaze for a moment before Harry leant in for a kiss. Draco turned his head.

"Your breath smells like an arse and cheese sandwich, and you're drunk."

"Fine. Whatever," Harry sulked. He slid down Draco's legs and landed in a heap on the floor. "I'll just suck you off, then."

Harry fumbled with Draco's flies. He curled warm fingers about the soft flesh of Draco's foreskin.

Draco shifted his weight to his knees, resting his hands on his buttocks. He pushed his groin forward.

Harry pleaded. "Hands. Hair." His stomach tightened in anticipation.

Draco's hands hovered above Harry's head. He moaned in approval at the tentative arch of Draco's fingers.

A tiny voice inside Harry's head was screaming you're a drunken cockslut. A tentative tongue snaked between red, swollen lips.

Draco pushed Harry away with a growl. "Fuck, I can't do this. Fuckfuckfuck!"

"Oh, God," Harry whimpered. He clung to Draco's ankles.

"Christ. Don't tell me."

Harry retched. A warm splash wet the tops of Draco's shoes. Harry collapsed there with a groan.

It was, perhaps, the devil-come-lately in Harry that permitted Draco to attend to him. But the pointy bastard took great care in cleaning Harry up and seeing him to bed. Harry wasn't for certain, but as Draco spooned against him and closed a hand about his, Harry thought he heard Draco mumble; "You're an arsehole. Except for the times when you're not an arsehole."

Harry woke with a groan. His temples throbbed when he moved his head, and the bright flash of the morning sun made him about as light sensitive as a vampire. He, in fact, hissed and bared his teeth when Draco opened the curtains. "What time is it?"

"Seven a.m. Time for you to get your arse up."

Harry threw the duvet over his head. "Twenty more minutes."

"No, now," Draco said, dripping shaving cream on Harry's face.

Harry sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why did you let me drink so much last night?" He fumbled on the bedside table for his glasses.

"Shut up and get dressed. If you hurry, we can make a stop at Slug and Jiggers. Though, it's only fair I should make you suffer for vomiting on my shoes last night."

Harry stumbled out of bed, searching for his clothes. He needed to Transfigure them; a different style, fabric and colour. It was an easy alternative to wearing the same clothing every day without the unnecessary spending. "I made myself sick? Christ, tell me that's the worst of it?"

Draco's smile was that much more sinister in the cracked cheval glass. "I'd just be lying."

Harry stepped into his trousers. "Listen, Draco, it didn't--"

The straight razor scraped alongside Draco's cheek. "Mean anything? Yes, I know. Consider it forgotten." He finished up in a few more strokes and wiped the excess cream from his face. Stroking his chin, Draco smiled at his reflection in admiration. "What do you think?" he asked, turning around.

"Sideburns?"

"My grandfather Abraxas wore sideburns. I think they make me look distinguished."

Harry did a quick comb-through with his fingers before putting on his hat. "If you say so."

"I know so. And at least I don't wear a hat to hide a flock of nesting sparrows. When was the last time you properly tamed that mess?"

Harry patted Draco's shoulder. "I've never seen someone so fond of hair growth. Did mummy bronze your first pube?"

Draco did a little patting of his own, caressing his Mokeskin pouch. "Just for that, no hangover potion."

Two fingers preceded a tongue-out. Harry made a face. His mouth felt as though Sir Reginald had used it for a litter box. He'd make do with a Breath-Freshening Charm, but not before he kissed Draco. Full on the lips.

Along the way, they stopped at Bartlett and Bartleby Silversmiths and did a bit of window-shopping. Harry watched as Draco stared wistfully at a dragonhead walking stick.

"I could get used to this, you know. The style, the sense, the era. Frock coats were made with Malfoys in mind."

"You mean you'd stay if you could?"

"I'd consider it. You wouldn't?"

"Draco, I have a life back home. Friends, family. And so do you for that matter."

"I know. I just--" The second look was just as longing.

"Yes?"

"Never mind," Draco said. He delicately dotted the tips of his fingers with saliva to smooth a sideburn. "Snape's expecting us."

Not ten minutes later, they found themselves under the scrutinising gaze of the hook-nosed bastard. Per usual, he was dressed all in black. And so he would remain, until they invented a darker colour.

"Well, well, look what the Hippogriff's dragged in." Snape mocked. "And on time. Come, we haven't a moment to spare. There are papers to sign and wages to discuss. Follow me."

Harry and Draco followed Snape to a small antechamber off the back room. There wasn't a chair to be found, and by the looks of things, Snape was going to make them stand for his hour-long diatribe. It was unbearably stuffy in the back, and after thirty minutes, Harry found himself yawning. It was only after Draco had discreetly heeled Harry's instep that he snapped to.

Snape, of course, did not miss a trick. He leant in close and burst Harry's bubble of personal space. The breath under Harry's nose was warm and stale. He coughed in spite of himself.

"Mr James, you will work for free until your obligation to me has been satisfactorily met. After which you will earn one pound per week. Both your dues will be paid in Muggle monies, and any business you wish transacted at Gringott's will be on your own time. Room and board will be included in your salary. I highly suggest you make use of the flat upstairs. There's a slight roach problem, but the doxy infestation should take your minds off that. Questions?"

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but was cut short by Snape's withering look. The telescopic view into Snape's soul blurred when the greasy bastard let the monocle slip from his eye. Harry gave a slight shiver as Snape handed him a special quill to sign the work papers.

"No questions?" Snape drawled, passing the quill to Draco. "Excellent."

Snape took Draco by the arm and departed with a sickening smile, leaving Harry alone with Snape's assistant. The hard, flat t of Snape's disapproving excellent could still be heard long after they'd vanished from sight. A hand curled around Harry's shoulder, the fingers tightening in mock concern.

Now that Harry was faced with the prospect of spending some quality time in the man's company, Harry gave him a stern reassessment and decided that Snape's assistant was what Harry would best describe as a smarmy twat. Nicholas Darling had eyelashes longer than any bloke had a right to and cheekbones so sharp they might be classified as lethal weapons. But that wasn't the worst of it. Darling had a 'to do' list so long it hit the floor and rolled away for parts unknown.

Darling ran Harry ragged, up to and straight through a lunch break Harry had hoped he might share with Draco. But there were invoices to be stamped and sorted, customers to be helped and communications to be answered. Muggle parcels were hand delivered while Wizarding posts were sent by mechanical owl. There was even a small rookery up top to house them, obscured with a brick chimney Glamour.

After what seemed like forever, the corner longcase chimed seven times. The day was at a close, and Harry could scarcely think of anything beyond relocating from the Bells and tucking into some dinner. He wondered how exhausted Draco would be having spent the day under Snape's tutelage. Harry thought for once he might have been the luckier sod until he saw Draco, looking just as fresh-faced and as wide-eyed as he did eleven hours ago. Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose angrily, using two fingers to emphasise his point.

"All right, then?" Harry asked.

Draco polished an apple on his coat lapel and smiled. "Fine, just fine. You've some blisters on your fingers."

The subsequent crunch made Harry's stomach rumble, and he imagined the juice on Draco's lips to be blood from a sucker punch. "Lookit, while you were somewhere schmoozing Snape, I was busting my arse out here on slave labour."

The look Draco gave Harry would've singed the whiskers off a Chinese Fireball "Schmoozing Snape? Don't make me laugh. And while you were doing nothing of importance, I was procuring this." A small key made of clock gears dangled from Draco's fingers

"That being?"

"Only the key to Snape's precious shop."

Harry took the apple from Draco's hand and made a glutton of himself. Well, he thought between inhales, Draco was apparently good for something, the rotten, pointy git.