Order From Chaos || Drarry

O N E

Warning: panic attack

June 9th 2001

There was something ever so comforting about routine.

The day began just as Harry knew it would: grabbing coffee from the nearby cafe, passing Luna on his way to work, getting a biscuit from the office break room, before making his way to his office. The office that he shared with Malfoy. Unfortunately.

Harry did all of this as routinely as he always did, even doing his routine tap on his hat as he passed the Weasley shop. He wasn't sure why he always did it; it gave him a sense of normalcy, he supposed, as if he were in control of what he did. It wasn't that he was into Trelawney's whole idea of fate and lucky signs and whatnot, but he just liked it. He could stop if he wanted. He could take a different route to work and not see Luna, he could go to another cafe, and he could firmly keep his hands by his side to keep himself from tapping his hat.

He supposed that the chaos of war had made him enjoy a quiet, organised life far more than he thought he would. He was fairly certain he wasn't OCD, though. He didn't hate it when he did something abnormal; he simply felt more comfortable in a routine.

In contrast, he suspected Malfoy was OCD. Everything was meticulously arranged on his desk, he had a detailed schedule above his work, which he always stuck to, and he never wore patterned clothing. He always fell quiet when Harry wore patterned clothing, which he often did after seeing that it bothered Malfoy. He had considered that perhaps Malfoy simply just didn't like patterned clothing rather than having a natural aversion to its design, but the outcome was still the same.

Malfoy hadn't actually given Harry any trouble in the whole year they'd been sharing an office as Aurors. He was mostly quiet, subdued and content to get on with his work. That didn't mean that Harry liked him. Harry rather enjoyed antagonising Malfoy, and was always disappointed when Malfoy didn't acknowledge his efforts. Call him childish, but he just wanted attention.

Seriously, though, he didn't understand how Malfoy had gone from obnoxious, superior and smug to downtrodden, disinterested and morose in the space of a few years. How did he not care about Harry anymore when he'd done his utter best to irritate him every minute of every day at Hogwarts? It didn't make sense.

On this particular morning, Harry grabbed a biscuit- custard cream- and strode to his office on the fourth floor, foregoing the Floo. He glanced into Ron's office to see if he'd arrived yet, but was greeted by an empty chair and piles of paperwork. Honestly, who knew being an Auror meant so much paperwork?

He went down the corridor- and paused.

From his position, steps away from his door, he could hear... sobbing? It was coming from inside.

Malfoy?

Feeling an odd sort of déjà vu, and a shameful reminder of what happened in that bathroom five years ago, Harry drew his wand and warily stepped inside. Whatever, Harry thought derisively, he's probably just noticed a grey hair. That was a funny thought. Malfoy losing his strikingly blonde hair at twenty-one.

He shut the door behind him, and was shocked to see both his and Malfoy's desk empty. But the sound of crying only grew. Well, perhaps crying wasn't the word- it was more like gasping. Harry glances around, so intent on finding Malfoy that he managed to completely miss what was right in front of him.

Then he saw it.

Someone had completely trashed his work space.

Malfoy's desk, Malfoy's perfectly and systematically organised desk, was a mess.