Author's Note

WOW. It's been a LONG time. I can't entirely believe I'm actually on this website again.

Long story short, life caught up to me while I was writing this story; I got busy with school, jobs, family, etc. I've no "excuse." I just grew up some and stopped writing/reading fan fiction.

But this week I was moving and cleaning stuff out, and I found an old USB on which I had saved this story. A lot more of it was written/planned out than ever got uploaded. I read it and was basically hit with a wave of overwhelming nostalgia. I remember being very fond of this story and really enjoyed writing it, so I figured I might as well go over it, rewrite, revise (make it older and better written), and finally put up what I'd written, because why not. Maybe someone will enjoy it, and I can't bring myself to just throw it away.

Within the next few days, I'll actually publish the next chapter. I wanted to get an author's note out there so this story might be pushed back to the front of the listings and so that maybe more people can read what was already published (although some of the dialogue feels so cringeworthy now - oh foolish youth.)

Oh and in case anyone is curious/remembers my old stories, I have no idea where my copy of the old Draco/Hermione story I had written is. I don't even really remember how it ends. Sorry!

Update: Thought I'd give a preview of the next chapter!

"Sit," Draco motioned, the annoyance in his voice subsiding a little. "What do you want? Wine? Brandy? Spiced rum?"

"Scotch," Blaise said, as he dropped slowly into an armchair next to the fireplace, still rubbing his neck.

"Scotch it is." Draco grabbed a bottle and two crystal glasses. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I was coming back eventually you know," Blaise sniggered.

"I meant I thought you and your psychic brat friends weren't leaving Italy until tomorrow, at least."

Blaise glared at him. "Decided to take an earlier train."

Draco laughed as he joined his friend by the fireplace, handed him a glass, and slammed the bottle on a table between them. "Bet your mother loved that: your traveling around Europe all by your lonesome."

"She'll get over it," Blaise snorted, "And even if I did die, I think she's offed enough husbands to be just fine without my inheritance." He leaned back and took a long, deep sip of scotch, "Ahhhh…Now this, this I've missed."

"I bet. Don't imagine that your uncle approves of the great Seers of the future clouding their Inner Eye with alcohol."

"Nothing but water, bread, porridge, and the occasional cold chicken all summer. I'm surprised I didn't fucking starve you know."

"You should have asked my mother where I was. I'm sure Mrs. Greengrass would have been ecstatic to feed you."

Blaise rolled his eyes, "Wasn't really in the mood. It's been a long summer. Plus I didn't think walking around this place alone hoping to find your mother without running into anyone else was the world's best idea."

"Wise."

"Speaking of, I think your uncle has a drinking problem."

"Uncle's brother," Draco corrected. "And in his defense, it runs in the family."

"I've noticed." Blaise sniggered as Draco raised his glass in a mock toast and began telling a family story about an adolescent Rabastan Lestrange drunkenly running through the gardens of the family's vacation home in Santorini without any clothes on, screaming about Cornish pixies. His mind, however, began to wander almost immediately. He tried to focus and keep his eyes fixed on the glass in front of him, but he couldn't dismiss his restlessness. Draco's words seemed to be coming from far away, and Blaise began fidgeting in his seat. Almost involuntarily, he turned to look behind him, through Draco's other sitting room to the door on the other side of the foyer. The third time he did it, he twisted back around quickly, downed the rest of his drink, and reached out for the bottle to refill.

"You alright there Zabini?" Draco asked cooly. He must have stopped talking a while ago. He was leaning back, one hand tapping his fingers on the arm of the seat, the other languidly holding his glass in the air, his eyes fixed on Blaise with a mixture of concern and suspicion.

Blaise avoided his glance for a moment. Then he clenched his jaw tightly and nodded toward the door.

Draco groaned, "You came back early because you needed to have one of those conversations didn't you?"

"Draco…"

Draco groaned again and took out his wand. Blaise flinched as the heavy doors in the suite all slammed shut. "Imperturbatus," Draco muttered. He paused for the charm to set in place, then leaned forward and liberally filled his glass again. "Alright," he began brusquely, "what's on your mind?"

Blaise swallowed heavily. "Draco, I've - I've spent the past couple of weeks completely disconnected from the rest of the world. No letters, no papers, no radio - not even a postcard. I didn't leave the Academy grounds all summer."

"Great men suffer for their art," Draco said snidely.

Blaise ignored him, "I finally get back to the normal world of normal humans, and the first thing I see when I pick up a newspaper is an article on Albus Dumbledore's legacy coupled with photographs from his funeral."

"Not this again," Draco muttered.

"Took me all of ten minutes of throwing money at the Italians to let me on the next train home. What the fuck happened?"

Draco shrugged, "No idea."

Blaise snorted, "What do you mean, 'no idea'?"

"It's not exactly like anybody rushed to tell me Blaise."

"Please. No one ever needs to tell you anything; you just manage to find out. It's a terrifying talent."

"Oh you flatter me."

"Come on Malfoy, you spent the better part of last year sneaking around trying to find out everything you could about this war and everyone in it. Don't even try to te - "

"Perhaps, but I spent the better part of this summer doing the Ministry's paperwork and trust me, their breathtaking incompetence makes that job a lot more time-consuming than it sounds."

"Your house is Death Eater headquarters."

"Alas. I've been living in London."

"WELL YOU'RE LIVING HERE NOW!"

"Dammit Zabini!" Draco slammed his glass against the table. "I. Don't. Know. No one knows!"

Blaise's mouth froze open. "No one?"

Draco leaned forward. "The Ministry's an bureaucratic disaster that spends most of its time arresting petty burglars and shopwindow robbers to alleviate the public panic," he hissed. "Every member of the Order I've seen the past two weeks looks like they've been bludgeoned over the head with a broomstick. I may have had a decent opportunity to turn Harry Potter into an alcoholic - "

"What?"

"Long story," Draco shook his head. "And to top all that off…not a single Death Eater has claimed it. Not one."

Blaise shook his head, "Why?"

"I stayed in London when the news came out, didn't come home. I asked my mother and Rabastan about it. They said this place was in disarray for days. No one was bragging, no one said they'd done it…even the rejoicing was subdued because everyone was too confused and, you know what, they'd never admit it, but they were afraid too. Not one of them acted like they'd seen it coming. And the Dark Lord? He's been gone all summer, doing I'm-not-even-sure-Bella-or-Snape-know-quite-what. He came back for one day, the day before Dumbledore's funeral, to straighten everyone out. And even then, not a single Death Eater - not the Dark Lord himself - stepped up to claim that they'd killed him. Or that they knew who did. They just spent the day drinking and celebrating what looks to be a gigantic spot of luck."

"Albus Dumbledore didn't just drop dead," Blaise breathed.

"Well, I agree, it's a little unlikely," Draco spat. "But I can't tell you who or what killed him."

"Could - could it have been a secret assignment? The Dark Lord privately asking someone to assassinate him?"

"That's possible. That's logical. Who knows?" Draco shrugged again. He'd resumed his blasé, sarcastic manner and was sipping at his scotch again without looking at Blaise.

"Or an accident, but - but how - "

"You know, it could've been an army of flobberworms; they're pretty dangerous little bugger - "

"Draco."

"What?" Draco snapped. "How many times do I need to repeat it: I don't know. And quite frankly, I don't want to know. I haven't really been thinking about it, I don't have any burning desire to start, and I would suggest you do the same."

Blaise laughed incredulously, "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy? Albus Dumbledore himself is suddenly found dead and you, who if I recall loves almost nothing better than knowing everything about everyone's business, aren't the least bit curious about it?"

"No," Draco stressed between gritted teeth. "I'm not. Because the more curious you get and the more you know, the more dangerous people are going to be interested. And since when do you kiss Albus Dumbledore's ass?"

Blaise ignored the question, "Come on, you always want to know more."

"I want to live!" Draco smashed his glass down again and this time the alcohol rose up and splattered over the tabletop. "Wake up Zabini. You're not at your uncle's Academy anymore. All hell is about to break lose, and every single one of us is going be caught up in it. The only thing that interests me is making sure I'm left standing when it's over. I don't care that Albus Dumbledore's dead, and I don't care who's next, as long as it's not me. And I certainly don't have any intention of putting my neck on the line for the sake of 'curiosity.' If you're thinking of doing anything different then you're a bloody fool."

Blaise couldn't reply immediately. He stared at Draco in silence for a few minutes, his face frozen in disbelief. "Do you not want there to be a war?" he finally managed to ask.

Draco snorted, "That's a stupid question."

"Why, because I should already know the answer?"

"Because it's irrelevant. There's going to be a war, whether I or you or anyone else wants there to be or not."

Blaise decided there was no point in arguing. He shot Draco a frustrated glare and slumped low in his seat.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" Draco asked.

Blaise shook his head, "I don't know. It's - it's Dumbledore."

"I reiterate, since when do you kiss Albus Dumbledore's ass?"

"I'm not," Blaise protested. "I know the fawning over him is unwarrented. I know they've whitewashed his past."

"Not to mention his family's," Draco quipped. "Murder, bestiality…"

Blaise ignored him, "But still. He - he defeated Grindelwald Draco. He did things that - that no one before him had even imagined could be done. All the hero worship aside, he was a massively powerful wizard."

Draco pursed his lips but didn't reply.

"And last time," Blaise continued, his voice strained. "Last time Hogwarts was the only place in England no one tried to touch. It was safe. They say - they say even he was afraid of Dumbledore." Blaise flinched as the words came out of his mouth and nervously turned to check behind him again. He waited for Draco to say something. When he didn't, Blaise looked up at him apprehensively. Draco was watching him closely, a harsh but inscrutable expression on his face. It was like those cold grey eyes were staring right through him, and Blaise flinched again.

"I don't know, it's just…" he continued. "Albus Dumbledore, he was calm and assured and - and in charge and powerful. And he didn't panic, and he never seemed to be seconds away from going mad. Unlike everyone else. I guess - I guess somewhere in my mind I just assumed he'd be at Hogwarts and that - that whatever insanity went on everywhere else, at least school would be stable. Or even, that regardless of everything, he - he at least would be able to keep the worst insanity at bay. And God, I - I didn't like the man or admire him or - or even respect him, but picking up that newspaper and finding out that he was dead was like hearing that some restraint's been torn off and that now there's no one's who can - I don't know, it's unsettling. It's - it - " Blaise's voice cracked. He stared intently down at the floor. He could feel Draco's gaze still boring into him, but he couldn't bring himself to look up again.

"What did you See this summer Blaise?" Draco finally asked.

Blaise grimaced as he turned to his friend, who was still looking at him with that same cold analytic composure. Until then, he hadn't really realized how much he'd been counting on Draco to simply laugh, scoff, yell…anything but give him that look. "I - it doesn't matter," he mumbled.

Draco raised an eyebrow knowingly and Blaise once again looked around in anxiety, before shaking his head, "You know what. Forget it." He jumped out of his seat and hurried across the room, slamming one of the sets of doors open as he walked out.

"Blaise! Come on mate! No more jokes." Draco shouted. He sighed, grabbed the bottle of scotch, and followed his friend through the game room, down a brief corridor, and through his own large, elaborate bedroom. Blaise was leaning against the railing outside on the terrace, the uncomfortable, pained expression still on his face.

"What's going on?" Draco asked as he walked up to him.

"Just wanted some air," Blaise muttered.

"Don't give me that." Draco grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him slightly. "What did you See?"

Blaise shook him off. "No one we know or care about. Nothing you'd find interesting," he mumbled again.

"Try me."

Blaise sighed.

"Blaise. Blaise, it's me."

"I SAW PEOPLE DYING ALRIGHT," Blaise shouted. He swallowed heavily and his voice kept breaking as he continued. "Hundreds of them, and not just Muggles or Mudbloods either. I saw things burning en masse. I saw blood running through the streets. Literally - literally small rivers of it. I saw whole villages being wiped out. The lucky ones pulled out of their houses and just Avada Kedavra'ed. The others tortured until they couldn't scream anymore. And not only Crucio'ed. I - I saw magic I hadn't even imagined existed. I saw a man getting his skin peeled straight off. I saw bands of werewolves tearing people to shreds, Dementors sucking souls left and right, people going mad, people killing themselves and their children just to get out of the way. Wastelands everywhere. Bodies lining the sidewalks; bodies being dragged through the streets. I - I - " Blaise spat angrily and grabbed the bottle from Draco, taking a large swig of it before he continued, talking quickly now that he had the chance to let it all out, "I saw piles of corpses being gathered together and set alight. Everywhere just death. And panic. And starvation. And screaming. Until I'd have left the vision and I could still smell it and still hear it. And close my eyes at night and still see it." By then Blaise's words were just hollow, "All across the country, rich and poor, men, women, children, cities, hovels…anywhere, everywhere deaths and mutilations and rapes and horrors that don't even have names. And the worst part wasn't viewing it in my head or being haunted by it afterwards. It was knowing without any doubt that those things would inevitably happen to all those people. It was knowing all along that every single event was going to happen exactly like I was Seeing it and that nothing and no one could change that, because if I was already Seeing it, that meant it was fate and you can't - you can't - " Blaise's voice broke again.

"You can't cheat fate," Draco whispered.

"Yeah. Yeah, you can't cheat fate." Blaise shook his head, "I - I guess I just want someone to snap me out of it and remind me that it's worth it."

"No you don't," Draco said. "You want someone who should be telling you that it's worth it to tell you that you're right."