Some shotouts are in order: First off, LightofEvolution deserves many thanks for alpha'ing this chapter for me. She is the queen of tossing ideas back and forth, and without her help, this chapter would be bleh. Secondly, let me take the time to thank Sam Wallflower, who always keeps me on my toes with my Spanish and is patient with me, even when I ask her all of the questions! And of course, beta love to the lovely LondonsLegend, who never stops encouraging me. Thanks to her, I talked to my doctor about my anxiety.

Small side note: I -am- working on chapter updates. The last two weeks have been full of doctor visits (not because of my anxiety, but something to do with my stomach that has been giving me chronic pain and nausea.) So updates WILL be around, but depending on what my results are, I might be slower on them. Hopefully not! I hope there's nothing super wrong and is easily fixable. And because I'm uber transparent, I'll keep y'all updated on the progress.

Love you all so much!

~A.

"I think there will be more smiles when the smoke clears."
~Shaun Alexander

Chapter 36: When The Smoke Clears

Center Stage: The crew
Setting: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

The orange glow of the flames flickered like candlelight, basking the streets of Diagon Alley in its hues. As a narrator, I find it prudent to note that the building on fire that fateful evening was not Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, thank the gods. It actually was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour lit up like an autumn bonfire just north of WWW. So now that your minds are at ease, I also find it imperative to remind you that this night was not in Draco or Hermione's favor.

Since a fire had broken out, the buildings left and right of the ice cream shop, including Hermione's favorite second hand bookshop, unfortunately were privy to the fire's unwanted advances. By the time the Auror department from the Ministry had arrived, there was little to be done in salvaging the buildings; they could only rescue and cast aguiamenti charms on the building's remains.

Flakes of ash rained down on the cobblestone steps at Draco's feet, dirtying his dragonhide shoes. Those bystanders that hadn't already fled or been floo'd to St. Mungo's were standing on the sidewalk, watching and crying and gaping like fools.

"Blimey," said George, standing next to him with his hands shoved into his pockets. "It's brighter than when Fred and I lit ol' Umbridge up at Hogwarts."

"It's not...fiendfyre, is it?" squeaked Ron.

"Of course not, Ronald," said Hermione. "They're putting it out with water - does that sound like fiendfyre to you?"

"No, 'suppose not…"

"Should we help?" asked Astoria, looking to the others.

"We'd only be in their way," said Blaise, who had showed up only an hour before. "Look's like Potter's got it." He hugged Daphne around the waist, drawing her closer to him.

From a ways off, Harry Potter could be seen holding back the press - it's what the Auror Department did best with him lately, throwing him to the wolves because of his fame. He was trying to navigate through their bombardment of questions as he stalled them, waiting for the Minister to arrive.

Draco knew he should say something - anything - but the words wouldn't come. No matter how hard he tried to open his mouth to speak, his thoughts fell short on his lips. How could he articulate the deep amount of shit they were all now in thanks to the damned fire forcing everyone's attention away from their opening night? Sure, sure, the people were a priority, but really, the whole thing was a major inconvenience.

"There's Kingsley," said Hermione, nudging him in the ribs and pointing as the swarm of press distilled away from Harry. Potter, his shoulders slumping in relief, jogged his way down the sidewalk until he made it to the group.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked.

"No one's injured, if that's what you mean," said Blaise. "But we're the furthest from alright."

"Potter!" another Auror called out. "Take this'n with ya' for questionin'! She was workin' in the shop whennit happened!"

Covered in soot from head to toe, the tips of her curls singed, was none other than their former classmate, Lavender Brown. Draco didn't wonder why someone like Brown worked in an ice cream shop - werewolves were hardly given respect. Remedial jobs were what she had to look forward to after Hogwarts, and the stress showed on her aged face. Of course, Draco had never found her pretty to begin with, but he could tell life had taken a toll on Brown, who wore thick claw scars down her cheek and teeth marks against her throat.

Lavender's eyes searched the group, acknowledging their familiarity, but a full smile broke out when her eyes rested on Ron. "Oh good. You're alright!" She caught herself, glancing at the others. "All of you are. I'm so very glad."

"Come on, Lav," said Potter, wrapping a comforting arm around her and gesturing her inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "Let's all go in for now." One by one, everyone trailed inside behind them - everyone, that was, aside from Draco and Hermione.

"Are you alright?" she asked him, squeezing his hand lightly.

"Would it be selfish of me if I was more upset at the fact that this messed with opening night over the fact that-" he waved his hand wildly at the still smoking buildings, "-this happened?"

"We've still time-" she tried, but she was cut off.

"That's just it, Hermione. We don't." Draco caught himself growling like a feral animal under his breath."The deal was we make quota of our projected sales for the end of the month. Which means, if we don't make our goal by Sunday, at the end of our opening weekend, the Weasleys lose this shop, Diggle loses his studio, and I…" He ran his fingers through his hair, exasperated.

"...You what?" she asked carefully.

Draco inhaled through his nose and exhaled out his mouth, trying to calm himself. No, he had no intentions of going back to Astoria. But if he failed this, he'd lose Hermione. How in the world would she be able to stay with a man who brought misfortune on everyone she held dear? She might not at first, but she'd grow to resent him. He couldn't bear the thought. "...Nothing. It's nothing," he lied.

"Let's go inside," Hermione told him, tugging him gently by the wrist. He caved to her demands and followed her, taking in the site of a conjured table as an extension of the front counter, each of their companions seated at a stool beside it. Ron sat beside Lavender, who could be seen gripping his hand like a madwoman and blinking her eyelashes far too often to be natural.

"Uh, Lavender," said Potter, sitting just the other side of her with a notepad at the ready. "Can you tell me, in your own words, what happened?"

Lavender dabbed her eyes, stained with real tears, and scooted just a bit closer to Weasley. Draco scanned the room, finding Astoria exiting the loo and stopping mid stride when she spotted Ron's hand in Lavender's. Weasley, to his credit, looked flustered and confused, stealing a glance at Hermione or Potter every moment or so as if to ask for help. It was obvious Potter didn't want to upset Lavender further, or perhaps he just didn't care, and did not step in. Hermione rolled her eyes but said not a word, which in fact said a whole bunch of words, just unspoken. To sum it up: Ron Weasley, you are, in fact, the largest idiot I've ever met. I can't believe you would let yourself wind up in a situation like this, you dolt. Of course, in Draco's mind, he was paraphrasing.

In reality, Hermione asked, "Can I get you some hot cocoa, Lav?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

"As if it isn't already hot enough out there," scoffed Blaise indignantly.

The moment Hermione's touch left Draco's skin, he felt alone and helpless. Standing there, looking at all of his - well, some of his friends and some of his alliances - it felt as if he'd let them all down, even though he hadn't been the one to ruin their night.

Once Hermione came back with the cocoa from the break room, Lavender took a few hearty sips and sniffled into her cup. "It was awful, Harry. Just awful. I'd only just arrived on shift maybe twenty, thirty minutes before."

Draco couldn't take it. He stepped back and strolled over to the window, peering out as he recalled the moment everything went wrong.

"George, do we have any more of that bubbling talcum powder?" Hermione called out from the stairs leading to the second floor.

"The one that turns skin green? Or polka-dotted?"

"Green!"

"You're in luck!" George Weasley beamed, tossing a tiny bag from underneath the counter. "Only two left!"

"Two?" Draco popped his head out from around an aisle of gag gifts. "We had two hundred in stock!"

"I know! They're selling like Occamy eggs to a silversmith!"

"Wish we could say the same about these babble bees," Astoria sighed, leaning against the doorway as she waved people in. "Seriously, these little jibbering contraptions are giving me a migraine." She pointed to the barrel behind her, where tiny wooden toys in the shapes of bees muttered out one of ten pre-recorded phrases and insults. It had been Hermione's idea, hoping to shed light on the dwindling bee population in muggle and wizard communities alike, but really, they were more annoying than anything.

And it was just as Draco was about to open his mouth to agree with Astoria that they heard the canon-like BOOM echo from outside. Seconds later, a wind swept down the streets, vibrating the windows, shelves, and every person inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. A scream let out from a child next to Draco, and everyone within the establishment stood stark still.

"Fire...fire! There's a fire!" Astoria gasped, peeking her head out the door, fingers gripping into the wooden frame.

"An attack?"
"Is it a dark wizard?"
"What's going on?"

The crowd within WWW shoved past Astoria, nearly knocking her down in an attempt to get a good look outside. Draco immediately found his way to Hermione, who already had her wand drawn.

Neither of them had a clue what the evening would bring, but they certainly hadn't anticipated this. Soon, there wasn't a single customer left in the store.

"Can you tell me anything you remember before the explosion?" asked Harry, jotting down notes on his pad. "Anything at all?"

"It's all a blur, really," said Lavender, eyeing Astoria as she took a seat next to Ron. The crying witch kept Ron's hand in hers, muttering softly, "All I can remember is some man in a cape asking for raisins as a topping. Really, who likes raisins as a topping?"

"Wait…" Draco perked his head up. "Say that again."

"Raisins as a topping?"

"No, not that," he snapped. "The cape. Tell us about the cape."

"Oh." Lavender thought about it. "Showy, flowy, sort of like a muggle magician's. Completely impractical, and did not go well with the rest of his ensemble."

"Anything else about him?" asked Hermione, suddenly catching on.

"He had an accent, now that I think about it. And he kept calling me querida mía…"

"Did he have a mustache?"

"Yeah! A swirly one with lots of wax to keep it curled. Again, didn't go with the outfit."

"Sounds like someone we know," commented Astoria, looking to Draco and Hermione while simultaneously reaching for Ron's other hand. Now, the buffoon had one woman's hand in each of his hands and a serendipitous smile on his face. Lavender shot Astoria a disapproving glare, jerking Ron's hand a little closer to her.

"Señor Diggle," Hermione and Draco said in unison.

"Was he there when the explosion happened?" asked Harry, in full Auror mode now.

"Yes. Crying into his rum raisin with extra raisins," Lavender answered.

"It can't be a coincidence," said Hermione.

Draco didn't wait to assess his thoughts. He had a hunch, and he wasn't sure where exactly it was leading him except toward the door. He swung it open, the smell of smoke and burnt wood filling his nostrils. Then he stepped outside and began walking toward the crowd of onlookers, his eyes peeled for a familiar, annoying individual.

"Pardon," he said not-too-kindly to anyone he needed to push past, checking out face after face. It was discouraging when he didn't find Diggle right off, but a second hunch led him past the aurors, crowd, and reporters into the alleyway adjacent to the burned down establishments. There, hiding behind a trash can and sniffling his nose into a handkerchief, was none other than Señor Diggle. His clothing was singed from head to shoe - or half a shoe, really - and his cape looked more like a tattered drape over his shoulders. The left side of his mustache was completely burned off.

When his eyes caught Draco's, he immediately jumped up on his feet, clearing his throat and trying to pretend as if he wasn't sobbing away moments ago.

"Ahh, Señor Malfoy," Diggle cleared his throat. "Eh, espantoso what happened out there…"

Draco rested his hand idly on his wand holster.

Diggle turned his head toward the end of the alleyway. Draco stepped in front of his line of vision and narrowed his eyes. It was then that he noticed the bottle of firewhiskey in Diggle's hand, clutched as if it were a vital extension of his arm. "Por favor," Diggle whispered, "just leave me be."

"Sure. After you answer some of my questions." Not-so-nicely, Draco grabbed Diggle by the scruff of his robes and yanked him forward, and then he pushed him toward the alleyway exit. "To the joke shop. You try to make a run for it, and I'll tap dance over your immobilized body."

"Como si tú fueras capaz de bailar claqué," Diggle scoffed under his breath. He didn't make a scene as they pushed their way through the crowd and made their way to the joke shop - but a scene was already brewing inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes when Draco returned. From outside, he could hear the shout of a woman.

"That's it! I've had it!"

"Tienes que estar bromeando," said Diggle, turning to Draco. "In there? You want me to go inside there?"

"If I have to, so do you," Draco replied with a sardonic smirk slathered on his face. He pushed the door open and shoved Diggle just in time to witness Astoria prying Ron out of his chair and, even more forcefully, his hand from Lavender's.

Ron Weasley clamoured to his feet - it was the only way the lug knew how to move, really - and proceeded to stare, confused, at the witch. "Er...Astoria?"

"Ron, out of the way. This doesn't concern you," she said, shoving him to the side and wagging a finger in Lavender Brown's face. "Have you no shame? Must you really try to woo your ex back in the middle of an investigation?"

The rest of the group sat stark still, quietly exchanging awkward glances, while Lavender raised both of her eyebrows and blew into her tissue theatrically. "I haven't a clue," she sniffled painfully loud, "what you're rambling on about."

"No? Well, then you won't mind if I do this!"

To everyone's astonishment, Weasley included, Astoria turned on her heel, grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, pushed him back into the table until he sprawled halfway across it (directly next to Lavender), climbed on top of him, and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

Weasley's eyes went wide for only a split moment before he melted into the kiss like a school witch, the tips of his ears turning a vibrant shade of crimson. Lavender's mouth hung open, reminding Draco of a broken hinge. Daphne sighed, unamused. Blaise made a vomiting sound. Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry sat perfectly still, as if he could erase the whole entire thing from his memory if he simply didn't move. George Weasley started a slow clap; no one joined in.

When Astoria finally broke away and smirked in triumph, Lavender gave a small squeak.

"Wow," Ron gasped, his eyes starry. "I could go for a few more of those."

Draco resisted the urge to follow Blaise's example of fake vomiting, instead deciding that, if he was going to witness a situation so ridiculous as this one, he might as well support the Slytherin in the room, even if she acted like a bloody Gryffindor. "Well, Weasley, I dare say she was never that passionate about me." He didn't miss the small blush across Astoria's cheeks. "Consider yourself claimed." He then smirked toward Hermione, adding, "And if you ever, you know, felt the need to claim me that way…?"

"I'll be sure to bring my branding iron," she quipped back with a wry smile as Ron pried himself off the table.

And that's when Draco Malfoy decided: best not to push it. But someone he could push was Diggle, and so he did - right into the center of the room.

"Alright, Diggle. We have a few questions for you."

"Er, Malfoy," began Potter, his face scrunched, "you can't just interrogate whomever you like whenever you like."

"Why the Hell not?"

"For one, you're not an Auror…?"

"Are you insinuating Aurors interrogate anyone whenever they like?" Draco countered.

"No. Of course not. It's against the law."

"Oh, well good thing I'm not an Auror." Draco shoved Diggle into a chair, where the elder wizard released a string of explicits in Spanglish. "Now speak, Señor Fancy-Feet."

"¡I am not un perro! I am a free wizard!"

"A free wizard who just so happens to be in Diagon Alley on our opening night, and just so happens to be swigging down a bottle of whiskey right after the fire, away from everyone, in a deserted alleyway? Yeah, I'm not buying it." He looked to Lavender. "Is this him?"

"U-Um…" Lavender, obviously still in shock from Ron and Astoria. "Who?"

"Depressed Raisin man."

"Oh." She blinked, taking in Diggle's attire. "Bit more burnt than I recall, but...y-yeah."

"So tell us, Diggle. Why the Hell do I get the feeling you're to blame for this entire mess?"

Harry sighed audibly. "Malfoy, you can't just go around accusing people without cau-"

Suddenly, Diggle burst into a fit of tears, cradling his firewhiskey bottle as he brought it took his lips and took a sip. Then he produced a signed tissue from his breast pocket and sobbed into it. "N-No! I can't take it! ¡Mi culpa is too strong! He's right! Señor Malfoy is right!"

"Bet that's not something you're used to hearing, is it, Malfoy?" Ron smirked, earning a heated glare from Draco.

"Shut it, Weasley. The adults are talking." Slowly, Draco rounded Diggle and lowered his face into Diggle's personal bubble, purposefully contorting his face into one of pure loathing. "Explain. Now. Did you try to blow us up? Is that what it was? Are you working with my mother?" Even he felt it a little hard to believe she would stoop so low...

"¿Qué? No! Absolutely not!"

"But you've admitted to being at fault," said Hermione slowly.

"¡Sí! ¡Sí!" Diggle sobbed.

"Maybe we start from the beginning," offered Harry, sliding Lavender's cup of cocoa over to Diggle. Lavender almost protested, but after one scathing expression from Astoria, she fell into a forlorned silence. "What brought you to Diagon?"

"What else? Ice cream," replied Diggle, pouring a hefty shot of alcohol into his mug before taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid. "Comida reconfortante..."

"Pardon?"

"Comfort food," the man explained, dabbing his kerchief with one hand and sipping whiskey-laced cocoa with the other. "I've been...depressed...ever since I sold el estudio to tu madre." He looked directly at Draco as he spoke, apologetic in his tone. "I simply couldn't take it anymore." His face fell, crestfallen. "El estudio...it reminded me too much of mi mujer - my wife. Pero mi hijo…"

"Yes, Greg wasn't too keen on you selling the studio, was he?" Draco sneered coldly. "Thanks for that. Naturally, I was blamed."

"It was so hard...so hard to see it. My mujer...she always loved teaching. I just wanted to dance beside her...And now that she's gone...my son won't speak to me - él se niega."

"Well, of course he won't!" exclaimed Hermione. "You took the only thing he had left of his mother!"

"I regret all of it!" said Diggle, crying into his mug, gulping down the spiked cocoa until the cup was empty. "But that witch - she said it was too late!"

"And the explosion?" asked Potter carefully. "...Can you explain that, please?"

"Energía mágica."

Harry, obviously not fluent in Spanish, turned to Hermione for help.

"Magical energy," she explained. "But...Señor Diggle...are you saying your magical energy created the explosion?"

"Like a spell?" blurted out Ron.

"No," Diggle shook his head. "Una acumulación."

"A build up," Hermione translated. "It's rare, but it isn't unheard of. Wizards or witches under a surreal amount of stress who don't release their magical impulses can harbor bursts of magical energy at once."

"Like an obscurus?" asked Harry, concerned.

"Similar, but far less dangerous. The problem usually resolves itself once the energy is released." Hermione stood up and walked over to Diggle, patting him on the shoulder. "There, there, Señor Diggle. We know you didn't mean to."

"Who cares if he meant to?" scoffed Draco. "The fact is, he did it."

"Draco, he's obviously sorry!"

"Not as sorry as he's going to be." He pointed to Harry. "Go on, Potter. Arrest him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not that clear-cut, Malfoy. He'll have to be interviewed at the Ministry. - But...Señor Diggle, you will have to accompany me this evening. Stay here." Harry stood up and excused himself to inform Auror Roberds, his superior. When the door dinged shut, Draco huffed, crossing his arms much like a two-year-old who didn't get his way.

"Lo siento," Diggle whispered. "I am sorry. I never meant to...you have to understand - mi corazón…"

Draco stopped him, because he did understand. As much as he wished he didn't know, memories of his father came flooding into his mind, and he cursed under his breath. He remembered locking himself away after his father's passing. He remembered feeling lost, helpless even. And above all else, he remembered rejecting his inheritance (namely, the company) all because he couldn't deal with the pain and loss. He'd bartered it off to his mother, and that's where this entire issue today stemmed from.

He slumped down in a chair across from Diggle, defeated. "So this is how it all ends...an accident."

"We still have time," said Hermione.

"All of this because you and I decided to learn how to dance a bloody tango!" He kicked the table stump. "If I had known how, none of us would be in this mess!" He realized the moment he said the words that they were forced and wrong. Draco saw the way they cut the room, especially Hermione. He was about to apologize, to grovel like a Slytherin had never groveled before, but then he saw the way her eyes lit up, and he paused. "Hermione?"

"That's it."

"What's it?"

"That's IT!" She pointed to her feet. "If you and I had known, none of this would have happened. If you could have spelled your shoes…"

George's head perked up. "That's brilliant." He smacked his hand down on the table. "Shoes that dance for you! No lessons required!"

Ron's eyes went wide. "Could be used as a tool or a practical joke!"

"A simple copying spell to the right dance steps…" George was already planning. "Different dances for different shoes."

"Different colors!" exclaimed Daphne.

"Stylish," nodded Blaise. "I have just the lineup in my apparel release for this. I can get them here by morning's light…"

And just like that, Draco saw the mood in the room lift.

"It'll be tight…" said Hermione, charging to the front desk and pulling out a notepad. "But if we all pitch in…"

They had a plan. A daring plan. But it was a plan, and it was worth the shot in the dark.

Draco smirked. "Let's begin."

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