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Summary
Draco loved his job as a professional clockmaker. He loved the smell of it, the feel of it, the sound of it. But most of all he loved the solitude it afforded him. In his little workshop he didn't have to listen to all of the inane chatter that simply would not stop - his work providing the perfect barrier against not only the masses of dimwitted twits and their slacked mouthed jowls but it also kept him from having to run across the ever growing Potter fan club that had only seemed to increase and intensify since his defeat of the Dark Lord ten years ago.
Its was the perfect situation.
Or at least it was until Potter started taking it upon himself to show up at Draco's door, mangled clocks that needed fixing in hand and an annoying habit of pushing his way not only into Draco's workshop but into every inch of the blondes thoughts as well.