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Draco Malfoy had been banished from the magical world two years ago for fighting on Voldemort’s side during the war. Of course, being a pureblood who had despised Muggles his entire life, living among people without magic was… complicated—especially since he was now one of them.
Luckily, he knew how to cook the basics after watching house-elves prepare food the Muggle way on several occasions.
He had no house, no money, nothing to survive on, really.
He started by cleaning other people’s houses. He was treated like trash—something that made him feel like it, at least at first, though over time he learned to endure it.
In the end, he managed to buy a small apartment with everything he needed to live. All the furniture already in place, a clean bathroom, a bedroom with a double bed, a kitchen, and a living room. The best of the best.
After that, he found a more decent job: a coffee shop.
It wasn’t anything spectacular, but at least it paid well.
The first few days were hard. Some people were cruel, but he managed to push through.
A smile for everyone, and people would come back.
Smile, more customers, more money. Perfect.
He worked from 5 p.m. to 2 a.m.—reasonable hours, if you asked him.
From there, life became routine: cleaning the apartment, working, sometimes going out partying. He was still young.
But everything changed when he met him.
His worst nightmare began the moment that young man walked into the café and approached the counter to order.
“Good afternoon, Michelle’s Café. Can I get you anything?” Draco asked politely, wearing his characteristic perfect, friendly smile.
The man looked at him and smiled faintly.
“A latte, please,” he said before going to sit at an empty table.
From that moment on, the guy never took his eyes off him, following Draco with his gaze constantly. Draco didn’t think much of it—maybe he just found him attractive. It wasn’t the first time that had happened. Usually, people just left their phone numbers and forgot about him the next day.
But from that day on, nothing felt the same. He felt like he was being watched.
No matter where he went, he felt a piercing stare following him.
He never felt that way with Potter—those green eyes looked at him with distrust, not with… desire.
One day, Draco stepped out onto his balcony to get some air, and there he saw him—the brown-haired man with honey-colored eyes, staring up at him obsessively from the street.
From that moment on, he saw him everywhere. No matter where he went, he was always there.
He was scared. Terrified. More than he’d ever thought possible. It seemed he would never have a peaceful day—not in the Muggle world, nor in the magical one.
And his fear grew worse when a letter slipped under the crack of his front door.
Fate wanted it this way:
You to be mine and me to be yours.
The smile you gave me wasn’t accidental—it was because you fell in love with me at first sight too.
I promise I’ll make you happy, bend you over in bed, and kiss you with love whenever you want.
Love me—though you already do.
He didn’t want to leave his apartment. A psychopath knew where he lived, where he worked, where he went to the doctor, where he bought his food.
He wanted to call the police, but he didn’t have a phone—he didn’t know how to use one—and on top of that, he had no proof.
His desperation grew so intense that one night he broke down crying. He didn’t want to live like this. He’d already suffered enough being close to Voldemort during the war—he didn’t want to suffer anymore.
He started checking every corner of his apartment, afraid that the lunatic had broken in.
His paranoia worsened when someone knocked on his door at 11:40 p.m. on a Sunday—a day he didn’t work.
He covered his mouth with his hands and hid behind the couch.
Please don’t let it be him.
The knocking continued, louder and more aggressive.
“Goddammit, Malfoy, open the fucking door already!” said a male voice he knew all too well.
He stood up, trembling, and slowly opened the door—only to find a young man with green eyes, jet-black hair, tanned skin, muscular arms (but not overly so), and that unmistakable lightning-shaped scar.
“P-Potter?” he asked, as if it were just an illusion.
“No, Dumbledore. Obviously it’s me, idiot,” the dark-haired man snapped, running a hand through his messy hair.
Draco would’ve laughed on any other day—but not today.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Come in before your ass freezes off,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
Potter complied, stepping inside with a quiet, “Excuse me.”
As Draco was closing the door, he saw his stalker stepping out of the elevator, watching him with a predator’s gaze.
He slammed the door shut and locked every bolt.
His hands and legs trembled. He was terrified.
But he was safe with Potter there… right?
“Merlin, Malfoy, are you trying to turn the door into a revolving one?” Potter joked.
Draco had forgotten that Potter visited every two months to make sure he wasn’t doing anything illegal—courtesy of the Ministry. He doubted the Auror would do much even if he told him what was happening.
“Shut it, scar-face. Want something to eat or drink?” Draco asked, automatically slipping into his customer-service posture.
“Some cookies and tea, please,” Potter replied politely.
Draco went to the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Potter examined the entryway, spotted a letter halfway through the door crack, and heard angry footsteps retreating.
He picked it up—and it opened, revealing its contents.
Are you cheating on me with another man, you miserable fucking whore?!
Next time I see you, you’d better give me a proper reward if you want forgiveness.
If you don’t come out, I’ll do everything I can to get into that tiny apartment of yours.
Kisses,
Love of your life.
“Surprised” didn’t even begin to cover it. Potter rushed into the kitchen, where Draco was standing on tiptoe trying to reach the cookies.
“Do you have a partner?” he asked.
Draco startled, freezing in place.
“N-no. W-why?” he replied nervously.
“A letter came in. Someone talking about rewards and forgiveness. You should break up with them—they sound like a psycho.”
“He’s not my partner,” Draco said, turning around with a defeated sigh. “He’s a stalker.”
“A stalker…?” Potter repeated, stunned.
“He’s a customer from my workplace. You can go to the balcony—you’ll see him.”
Potter did—and saw the man glaring at him, flashing a knife before hiding it when someone passed by.
By Morgana.
He turned back to Draco, who looked exhausted.
“That must be hell—having someone breathing down your neck like that,” Potter said softly, sitting on the couch and pulling Draco down with him.
“Yes. When I told my boss, he laughed and said I wasn’t hot enough to have a stalker.”
Potter clenched his jaw.
“I’m free these months. I can help—be your bodyguard or something,” he offered, rubbing Draco’s thigh.
Draco didn’t mind the touch. It was normal between them.
He refused, though. He didn’t want to be a burden.
Harry sighed but nodded.
They said goodbye hours later with a tight hug.
But we both know Harry Potter doesn’t sit still in situations like this—especially not after leaving Draco’s apartment and nearly being killed by the stalker.
The next day, Draco was working when he saw the brown-haired man sitting on a bench outside.
When Potter walked in, Draco’s eyes widened.
He cleared his throat.
“Good afternoon. What would you like to order today?” he asked politely.
“I want to eat you,” Harry blurted out, making Draco blush. “Kidding. Just a regular coffee.”
Draco made him a macchiato—because he knew Harry loved it.
When he brought it out, his stalker was waiting at the counter.
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” Draco said before heading to Harry’s table.
Harry smiled warmly. Draco sat beside him.
“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” Draco hissed.
Harry glanced at the stalker, then back at Draco—and kissed him deeply, grabbing his ass.
Draco gasped but didn’t pull away.
The stalker looked murderous.
“This won’t help,” Draco muttered later.
“It will,” Harry replied. “He’ll lose interest.”
“He won’t. He thinks he owns me. All because I smiled once.”
Later that night, as Draco left work, he saw the man waiting with a bat.
Terror paralyzed him.
And then—
Peach-flavored lips kissed him.
“Hi, love!” Harry shouted.
Draco clung to him, trembling.
“He’s gone,” Harry whispered.
At home, the stalker attacked.
Draco begged.
And then—
The door burst open.
Harry.
Strong arms around him.
“It’s over,” Harry whispered. “He’ll never hurt you again.”
“I’m scared, Harry…”
“I know, love. I know…”