July

"Thank you, Draco. I appreciate that you could come in on such short notice."

By lunchtime the following day, the day after tea with his parents, Draco once again sat in Kathrine Bouvier's office. Since the visit to the park with Weasley ended on such a strange note last time, Draco hadn't bothered to let the matchmaking-lady know how the date had gone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco knew that was one of the rules at the agency; they needed to keep an open dialogue with their designated matchmaker. That included reports on how the dates had gone, and if they would like to see the other person again. Bouvier hadn't tried to reach him at all during the fourteen days of silence either, so Draco had pushed all thoughts of her deep, deep down within his mind and forgotten about it. He wasn't sure if he had hoped that she would forget about him, too.

Regardless, she had owled him yesterday and here he was.

There hadn't been any point in not going. After all, he didn't really have a choice.

Kathrine smiled at him from her seat. "It's been a while, and I thought that we needed to have a little chat. How have you been lately, Draco?"

She was rarely, if ever, on first-name-basis with him. To hear the uptight matchmaking-lady call him Draco instead of Mr Malfoy and in a much gentler tone than the usual snappy voice she had, was weird. Her eyes were soft; she looked like whatever Draco was about to say, she would understand.

Had she ever been like that before?

Draco had only really seen Kathrine Bouvier happy with him when he managed to get another date with Weasley. Mostly she seemed to view Draco as a parasite she badly wanted to chase out of the room. It was one thing she and all his previous dates had in common.

He had forced himself to have eye-contact with her, but feeling uncomfortable, he found it hard to keep up. Instead, Draco's eyes turned from Kathrine to the wall at the question she'd just asked—the famous wall Kathrine so often looked fondly at. The one with pictures of happy couples from ceiling to floor; all former clients of hers. Bouvier loved to brag about it; they were her measurement of success. Her matchmaking services had never once failed-which she liked to remind Draco of on occasion. If she couldn't help him, it would be his fault.

That was the unspoken rule between them.

The couples flashed white smiles to Draco, nauseating, annoying smiles. He had always hated them, and he hoped at least some of them were very miserable together. Or had gone through terrible, ugly divorces they would never dare to tell her about. Draco mused if Kathrine would survive one-or several-of her precious couples breaking up. Or if it would make her feel—or rather appear—like a failure.

"The wedding invitations have been sent out," he ended up replying, still looking at the wall, as if that would explain everything. Why he hadn't reached out to Bouvier and been isolated. "Everyone will most likely receive them today."

Draco could feel Kathrine's eyes on him and imagined them huge and disgustingly understanding. He wished he could disappear. "How does that make you feel?"

This was a matchmaking-agency, not a fucking therapist's office. Draco didn't want to talk about feelings; especially not with Kathrine Bouvier. He wanted to get straight to the point, fix everything.

"Like I would want to speed things up."

Kathrine hummed in agreement. "Yes, well, as I said, we need to talk. You never reported back how the last date with Mr Weasley went."

"My apologies, that must have slipped my mind I'm afraid," Draco said, now turning back to her with the business-smile in place. He was being disgustingly polite and was well aware of it too. Bouvier didn't deserve it.

The woman looked tense, and like she wanted to sigh in irritation but decided against it. She gave another curt nod. "I understand that you have a lot to think and worry about, Mr Malfoy," she said, going back to using last names, "but in all honesty, I'm concerned. About this. About you."

The softness that had temporarily vanished from Kathrine's eyes when she started to become annoyed was back again. Draco realised what that softness meant.

Pity.

Fake or not; is she feeling sorry for me?

"According to Mr Weasley in his last after-date comments..." Kathrine continued, flipping through notes on her desk; the notes she kept of Draco and his progress with the agency. She found the one that she had been looking for to put it at the top of the pile. "the date you had at the Phoenix Wildwood Park went alright, though he is unsure about what you want." She paused to eye him over the parchment before she continued reading, "he has asked me to contact you as he wonders about…" Kathrine squinted at the paper, "just that. Your interest in him."

So I'm here because of Weasley then?

Draco bit his tongue to avoid voicing the thought aloud. The way Weasley had chosen to phrase their arrangement in front of Bouvier almost made him shudder. It sounded so ridiculous.

"When was Weasley here?" Draco asked. He'd been wondering-not that he was going to admit it- about Ron; at least a little.

"Just a few days ago," Kathrine said, lifting her eyes from the notes to look at Draco. "Much like you, I had to contact Mr Weasley myself. ('Oh', Draco thought, a little surprised.) You know, it's peculiar that both of you seem a bit…reluctant to speak to me about your last date. Did something particular happen that I should be notified of?"

Oh, I don't know. Pansy Parkinson. Crazy woman.

"No," Draco said shortly. "Nothing at all. I can't speak for Weasley, but personally, I've been swamped…"

...with drinking my problems away. Hiding. Pretending.

"Lots of business to attend to." Draco gave her another dazzling business-smile. A convincing smile; the type that could win anyone over.

The woman didn't buy it.

"Mr Malfoy," Kathrine said, leaning forward in her seat, "Normally I wouldn't do this with my clients, but I think we can both agree that you are not a regular client…" Her green eyes seemed to stare into his very soul. "A few weeks ago, I wanted to let you go. I have said it before, but you are not an easy client for me to have. Everyone I've matched you with hasn't wanted you at all, and the after-date comments have been rather horrid…"

Draco pressed his lips together. Yes, Bouvier didn't need to remind him of that. He knew all too well about it-remembered everything all too well.

'I'm sorry; I can't do this. H-he's...he's a Death Eater. I wish I'd known about it before agreeing to this date.'

'He can't be trusted. His people killed my aunt. How can I be sure he's a good person?'

'Draco Malfoy tried to kill Dumbledore. I don't care that he didn't do it. He still counts as a murderer in my world.'

It still stung.

"…more awful than I have ever seen in my entire career," Kathrine continued, adding more salt to the wounds, "So I was about to give up. I have a reputation to think about. But then Mr Weasley came along, and he's been the only one who has taken an interest in you. It made me hopeful for your future and Ms Greengrass's as well. I do not wish to see you —or her—forced to be marrying either. Since times are getting desperate, I would advise you that this is not the time to be picky. Or run away (she gave him a stern look). If you and Mr Weasley have even the least bit of connection—which I am certain that you do have—then don't throw this away, Draco." Kathrine sighed. "Not speaking to each other in fourteen days is a lot in the dating world. And frankly, a lot for you."

Kathrine Bouvier went on to give Draco an entire speech. About how both Draco and Ron had seemed so positive in their commentary after the visit to the vineyard, and not to mention the first coffee shop date. How confident she was that they had a spark—as a professional, she could see that. Kathrine had seen the very same spark in all her other clients, the ones whose portraits were now decorating her wall.

Draco followed along, though his mind had trouble taking in everything the woman said. His mind was fixed around a particular word slipping off her lips, and now he couldn't stop thinking about it. When Kathrine came to the part of the speech where she said that she had high hopes of putting Ron and Draco's couple's portrait up on the wall someday, Draco's mouth felt dry, and he needed a drink.

There's no such thing as a spark.

There's no such thing as a spark.

As always, when he had thought it himself, the words made him feel uncomfortable.

"The wedding…" Kathrine said, "how soon is it? What's the status?"

"August seventeenth," Draco replied, barely recognising his own voice. The stress churned in his stomach. "It hasn't changed since the last time I told you."

"Right," Kathrine nodded. "And you said the invitations have been sent out?"

"Mhm."

I'm in so much deep shit, and I need to contact Astoria. The stress was starting to get to him, worse than before.

Draco balled his hands into fists underneath the table. He was so close to losing his temper. Kathrine Bouvier annoyed the hell out of him; he had always hated this woman. Every word she said was unprofessional as well as too personal. She sometimes spoke to him like they were friends. It was ridiculous. "I don't have to see Weasley if I don't want to," he said in a defensive tone, gritting his teeth. "It's my choice."

Shaking her head, Kathrine continued, "No, you don't. And normally at this stage, when clients haven't booked another date or been at the agency to leave reviews, I would put you up with a new match if you were still interested in continuing. But for you… There aren't any others left. At all. And… I can't stress this enough. Time is running out. Is Mr Weasley aware of your situation with the upcoming marriage?"

"No," Draco lied, voice tensing. "He's not. Though he's about to find out since my parents decided to plaster the whole thing all over the Daily Prophet. They're writing an article about Astoria and me." He lowered his gaze to the table; Kathrine's eyes on him made him feel so uncomfortable.

"Then I think it's time to break the news to your parents about your sexuality and then explain a few things to Mr Weasley if you'd like to continue together." She gathered her papers to tuck them back into her drawer, locking it with her wand. "Obviously, like you already know, I cannot force you to continue to date him…"

No, definitely not. You haven't sat here for almost an hour guilting me about not seeing Weasley for two weeks. No, not at all.

"But my honest opinion is that I think you should try another date with that man. I can't repeat this too many times: I feel like you do have something going on."

Liar. You absolute fucking liar.

Kathrine didn't see a bloody thing. She was a businesswoman, with only galleons in mind, and if her clients ended up happily together, it made her appear more successful. Richer. It also gave her a better status and made people want to hire her. Everyone wanted to find love with Kathrine Bouvier's help.

Draco felt as though somebody had just slapped him several times across the face. This whole conversation made him anxious, and the desire to drink reappeared in his mind.

He desperately needed to get out of here.

This whole meeting had been strange.

Draco didn't like to beg for things, because Malfoys weren't beggars. They took what they wanted and didn't care about the rest. People could be manipulated, twisted and turned in thousands of ways, just so a Malfoy could claim whatever his mind, not his heart, desired. Draco had spent two weeks feeling sorry for himself, which was also a thing that Malfoys didn't do. The last meeting with Weasley had ended so awkwardly when Pansy saw them.

Draco hated it; he wished he didn't have to, but like Kathrine said, he was out of options.

"I changed my mind, he began, clearing his throat. "I'd like to get in touch with Weasley, after all. Personally, not through you. I'll pay you double than what I already do. I don't care about your policies; I need to contact him, and I won't accept no for an answer."

It was begging laced with demand. It wasn't the same thing as pure begging; it was tougher and more controlled. It made Draco feel more loyal to himself and not that he was about to lose grip of everything that he was.

You're losing your control. You're pretending you're not, but you are.

He knew that he was. Draco was all too aware of it. Kathrine Bouvier opened and closed her mouth, seeming to be in a battle with herself. Draco pressed her a bit more, lied about the love he could feel. It left a sour taste in his mouth and didn't sound believable for a second. But it might have been unneeded; Bouvier was more a fan of her clients' galleons than love anyway.

She wrote the address down after thinking it over, despite it being against the matchmaking service's policy to do so without the client's consent. Draco rewarded her with the extra money as promised —which she greedily accepted—and pocketed the note.

He then left her office without another word.

"Good luck," he heard Kathrine say after him before the door closed behind him. "You need it."

Draco wasn't sure where he had expected Ron to live if he was completely honest. Perhaps he had expected him to still live in that ghastly pigsty he had spent his whole childhood in; Weasley just seemed the type who would never move away from home. He got a rather odd image in his head of Weasley inheriting the Burrow after his parents' death, staying there forever amongst rats and dust and dirt.

Regardless of what he had expected, the concrete building towering in front of him was not what he had had in mind.

It turned out that Weasley lived in a suburban Muggle area—a typical nice and cosy place surrounded by greenery. Children played some type of Quidditch-like sport outside, though instead of speeding through the air on brooms, they kicked a ball back and forth to each other and occasionally, one of them managed to kick it inside some kind of net stretched over a metallic frame. It was only that one ball too, and not several like he was used to. Draco gave their game a long, curious look as he walked by, thinking to himself that whatever this sport was, it didn't look nearly as fun as real Quidditch.

So typical Weasley to live where the Muggles are, he thought. The redhead had always been infatuated with them-every Weasley was. Draco recalled from their school days how Weasley had been at Granger's heels like a little dog, and back then he had been confident those two would end up together.

I truly wonder what has changed.

It wasn't the nicest residence building Draco had ever laid eyes on, but considering Weasley's previous home, this seemed like a vast upgrade. Weasley lived on the top floor, and once inside the main building, Draco allowed himself to Apparate after making sure that he was out of sight from the Muggle children. The lift looked scary and unpredictable, and going up several flights of stairs would take too long, and he would be exhausted and sweaty when he reached the apartment. And he couldn't have that. He'd smell, and that would be disgusting.

Draco pressed a finger to the doorbell and prayed that Weasley would be home. The nervousness reappeared in the pit of his stomach, and he mentally glared at it until it went into hiding.

This was only Weasley, Draco reminded himself sternly. And you despise Weasley.

However, the person who opened the door was not Weasley.

Instead of the tall and bumbling redhead, Draco was met with a head full of bushy brown hair with unruly, wild curls and the frowning face of Hermione Granger. She stood there in the doorway, squinting at him as if she had a hard time placing where she recognised him from.

Then it dawned on her. Her mouth opened and closed in surprise.

"Malfoy?"

Draco hadn't been prepared to see Granger. It made him feel embarrassed; he should have known; of-fucking-course Weasley lived with her!

Draco hadn't seen her since the day of the battle. Out of everyone in the oh-so-famous Golden Trio, she had been the one who Draco had managed to avoid altogether. He didn't like her at all, and the way she looked at him now…

'No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood!'

Memories appeared in his mind. Second year, the Quidditch pitch. Third year, she punched him in the face. Fourth year, the beaver teeth.

Mudblood. Mudblood. Muuuuuudbloooood. The stupid fucking slur went on a repeat in Draco's mind. The very word Lucius had taught him and that everyone around him had used to degrade them.

Never real witches or wizards.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, snapping Dracoout from his temporary petrification. She had one hand on the door handle and the other placed on her hip. She looked at him with disgust, as if he was a spider she had spotted in the bathroom. Her voice held a hint of hostility, wavering only a little

"Isn't this—I'm looking for Weasley," Draco managed, cheeks flushing. It wasn't like him to not be able to form proper words or not get them out at all. He was a former Slytherin, and he was a Malfoy. He knew how to act and to speak, regardless of the person in front of him. Regardless of memories, regardless of anything.

Hermione Granger had been easy to throw insults at when he was a young boy. Standing in front of her now as an adult… Draco found he didn't know what to say.

Did he genuinely feel guilty? He supposed he did. Not that it could ever be said.

Bury it deep and never speak of it.

"Weasley," Draco repeated, struggling to keep his voice clear and even. "I was told he lives at this address."

"Why on earth do you want to see Ron?" Hermione asked; apparently, the woman was full of curious questions.

Huh. Draco almost felt smug about this. Granger must not know that Draco was Weasley's match at the matchmaking agency. The desire to tease her welled up in him, but he quickly forced it away. Not now, not ever again.

Stupid Granger.

"Because I need to talk to him, if you don't mind," Draco continued, allowing a friendly smile to twist his lips. It felt incredibly forced but seemed to unsettle Hermione; this was a version of Draco Malfoy she wasn't familiar with. "Please" he added, just to confuse her more. Draco enjoyed seeing a faint blush, slowly colouring her cheeks.

But Hermione was apparently not going to give in without a fight. "Why?" She repeated, raising her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, but you don't exactly—"

"Is he home?" Draco interrupted, putting a hand to the door so she couldn't close it in his face. "Hm?" He tilted his head to the side.

Hermione's face hardened further, and she blushed more, but she kept her mouth shut. She only kept staring at him with that look of disgust, like she looked at a dead bird.

"Like I said, I need to speak to him; it's important," Draco said, holding back the sarcasm in his voice. He was starting to get annoyed, and he hated that he did.

Be a good girl and go fetch him.

'No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood!'

The scene at the Quidditch pitch when they were twelve flashed before his eyes again, causing his heart rate to speed up. Draco started to get warm, and he knew all too well what this meant.

No, you cannot have a fucking panic attack right now.

'Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?'

The drawing-room now. Aunt Bella, his mother…Granger. They asked him to point her out, and eventually, Draco had given in. Lucius had —all too eagerly—confirmed her identity too. Her loud screams echoed through his mind as his aunt kept torturing her repeatedly in his head.

Draco couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't hear anything.

Aunt Bella's dead. The war is over. Take a deep breath. Don't lose your control.

Draco started to walk backwards, pale and horrified. He didn't know what made Hermione turn in the doorway; Draco saw her mouth move and the door close. He breathed hard and squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed over the situation and that his throat closed up. He had lost his control. And maybe his temper too; he wasn't sure.

Draco wanted to leave, but his feet didn't want to move. His hands shot up to rush through his hair, and he kept backing away until he hit the opposite wall, where he sank to the floor, and his hands flew up in his hair. Draco's heart hammered hard inside his ribcage. It hurt; he was sweating badly, and he hated himself.

Suddenly the door opened again, and this time, it was who he came for. Weasley probably talked to him, there was some kind of blurry, underwater noise, and as Draco looked up, the first thing he saw was those giant sapphire saucers and light eyelashes and freckles, lots of them. And then Weasley's hands were around his wrists; he pulled him up to a standing position and then Draco saw the inside of the narrow lift he had refused to take earlier and then the bottom floor of the building and then air, air, air. Draco turned to the redhead because he wanted to say what he originally had come here for, he needed Ron because the wedding and the invitations and the Daily Prophet and their business-deal and his two weeks of doing Nothing…

Weasley held him in a tight grip, they kept walking, passing tree after tree after tree and then Draco's legs couldn't carry him anymore. Everything went black.