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Draco

Chapter 3: Messages Sent.

"Enlighten me, mate, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Blaise asked as he sat down, fingers tapping on the table. Draco and him had been best of friends every since fourth year, he was the quiet one in their house, but whenever he spoke, everyone listened. It was probably why he was named as one of the best lawyers in their world. "Obviously you didn't invite me to your lovely home for small talk."

The former Slytherin Prince sighed and avoided his hard look. "The Ministry wants to send me in Azkaban for a month… I need two people to speak in my defense."

"Of course you do."

Draco's head snapped up to meet his calculating glare, but he wasn't really fazed by it. "I need two people, Blaise," he said, his voice cold and distinct. It was the complete opposite of what he was feeling now. To hell was he going to leave his mother alone, two weren't many.

"I'll be one of them, but finding the other one would be quite a search." the Italian said, mirroring the sound of his voice. The corners of his lips inched up into a small smile.

"It wouldn't be hard. I'll just call Nott—"

Blaise raised up a hand to stop him from saying anything more with a look that could be translated to 'you're hopeless'. "Think about it," he hissed, the frigidness of his tone wavered. "Do you really think you want a bunch of former death eaters defending you? From what you and I know, they probably also got a letter the same as yours. What you need is someone who's got a firm hand around the Ministry. You need someone who's got the every single wizard and witch by his back."

"You want me to ask Potter?" Draco scowled at the mention of the boy-who-lived. He could ask anyone whether it be Parkinson or Pucey, but he knew that Blaise was right. He didn't need someone who also had a past like his. That would mean nothing to them, bloody hell, it was like he was asking a quicker trip to Azkaban at that rate.

"Though Potter would be good, he probably already had requests flooding his place for people who wanted to be vouched by him. Too much of an obvious choice… You also wouldn't want to be with Weasley because Merlin knows he wouldn't do that," his eyes then lit up, and he smirked. "That leaves Granger."

The blond man slumped in his seat. Memories of the frizzy brunette raced into his mind, how he called her a mudblood, how she hit him, how she walked down the stairs during the Yule Ball…This was it. Zabini must be bloody mad if he thought that he could actually convince the Gryffindor Princess to take part in his problem and vouch for him. "Now that you said it, I prefer Potter."

The other gave him the same look he had just given a few minutes ago. "You don't get it do you?"

"If you don't start explaining, then maybe I wouldn't."

"Potter is easily influenced. With someone like Weasley by his side, it's unlikely that he'd choose to vouch for you," Blaise started to explain, his tongue curling out the words as if he was talking to a child. The spark in his dark eyes danced with amusement. "Then there's Granger, the lady who had just broken up with Weasley. If there's one thing she would like to do—it's to prove him wrong. And Merlin knows she has this weird pride going on with her. What better way to show it if she takes a certain Slytherin in her wing and vouch for him?"

Draco stared at the man in front of him. The way he said it sounded easy and all that, but he knew it was harder than it sounded. Fuck, didn't Blaise remember what their history was like with each other? "So you want me to convince Granger to take me in…"

"Convince her, and she'd never have a change of heart. Especially with the Weasley there with her, it would encourage her more to take you in," he chuckled. "'Sides mate, if you can't convince her, I'm sure you're cunning enough to charm her way in."

"If only it's as easy as it sounded."

That was when the Italian flashed him a whole-hearted grin. "Oh, but it is."

Blaise, then raised a glass of Firewhisky up in the air and Draco soon followed, "To getting my best mate out of Azkaban."

And they drank.

Okay.

All Draco Malfoy needed was to calm down and think as carefully as possible. Would he need to send an owl? Of course he needed. But where would they meet? He breathed and leaned back on the chair.

After they had drunk some more, Blaise left, saying that he needed to get to another appointment that was awaiting him. If the blond Slytherin didn't know any better, he would've thought that what he said was true. Ha! Zabini was probably having fun playing the 'Casanova' with different and hopeless women who could easily fall to his charm.

Concentrate!

He turned his head back to the parchment, scratching the back of his neck as he did so. So what in Merlin's pants would he write?

Dear

No, that was probably too informal.

Greetings

Too formal?

Hermione Granger

He may as well leave it at that. He scowled at the paper even more, and by the way he was staring at it, it was as if he was waiting for it to burst into flames. Did he really need to do this? Couldn't he just find another person to vouch for him, a person who could also have a firm hand around the Ministry?

His thoughts then went back to his mother—the reason to why he was trying as hard as he could to actually rid them from this torturous punishment. What would she think if she saw this? If she saw that he was going to see his father as sooner as they had all expected. She would be crying…

Draco needed to convince her; he was desperate.

Hermione Granger,

Though we may not be on our best terms, I would like to invite you to lunch. The reporters are probably still bombarding you, so it would be best if you choose the place we're going to dine in, and you could see me there.

Draco Malfoy

Yes, that was probably enough.

Yet Draco still wasn't satisfied with the letter. He continued to frown at his neat penmanship, hoping to point something out to himself. Was it too formal? Too desperate? Too friendly? He didn't know. Then another thought popped into his mind.

Would this make Granger say yes?

Damn it!

Why did he have to care about whatever she thought about it. Without another opinion springing back into his mind, he gave the letter to his owl, Hyperion. "'Perion," he said, and the owl chirped in response. "Give this to Hermione Granger."

He was a smart owl, he'd probably find her on his own.

Pushing his thoughts away, his lips were set in a thin line and he waited for the response.

Oh, the things he'd do for his mother…