Chapter 85

Monday 30 March 2003: AM

Gus takes a steadying breath before firmly rapping on Harry's office door. Keep it brief and professional… there's no need to feel embarrassed – I certainly haven't acted improperly, and this issue needs to be addressed now. Right.

"Come in," Harry's pleasant voice sounds. Opening the door, Gus fixes a polite smile to her tense face; her expression becomes more natural as she observes Harry's current state of unmistakeable joyfulness.

He looks positively radiant… no prizes for guessing the reason why. Gus effortfully smothers her growing amusement. "Good morning, sir– Harry."

Bounding upright, Harry all but dances around his desk. "Gus! Isn't it a beautiful day? I mean, you know– for a Monday, not that Mondays are inherently worse than other days, just, well… you know…" his hip bangs into one of the visitor's chairs as he careens to a stop, grinning sheepishly. "Erm, good morning."

"Had an enjoyable weekend, Harry?" Gus can't resist the mild tease, snickering as her boss immediately pinkens and ducks his head. "How's Pansy?".

"Pansy's great – she's just great," Harry all but trills, blushing more fiercely as Gus openly laughs at his boyish enthusiasm. "Shuddup," he mumbles, though he joins in her mirth. "You're here even earlier than usual, Gus: is everything OK?". Harry's easy manner shifts to soberly attentive as Gus sighs deeply.

"No… it's not, actually." Without going into detail about exactly what she was doing with Blaise in the changing rooms, Gus quickly sketches out the confrontation with Kolton after Saturday's game. She concludes, "I wish to formally request a change of partner, sir; I no longer believe that working closely with Auror Faulkner is in my best interests, given his recent actions."

"I agree," Harry frowns, pinching at the bridge of nose, beneath his glasses. "Are you alright, Gus? Has anything else happened? Your health and safety is paramount, and you have my full support, always – both as a colleague, and a friend. I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner– "

"Harry, stop. Please. You are (and always have been) a wonderful boss, and none of this… situation, is your fault. Kolton overstepped, and that's completely on him," Gus shakes her head, striving to stay composed as her anger and disappointment at her once-trusted friend and partner rises. "I understand if you feel it would be better for me to transfer to a different supervisor– "

"No. Absolutely not." It is Harry's turn to interrupt. "Do you wish to file a formal complaint? It isn't necessary to effect a change of Auror partnership, of course, but it would mean that an investigation is automatically launched," he advises. "Sexual harassment and discrimination is not tolerated in the Ministry, Gus." Gone is the light-hearted swain of a few minutes ago, replaced by a grim-faced, experienced wizard.

"Harry, I don't think that filing a harassment complaint is necessary – and Kolton hasn't really said or done anything to warrant a formal reprimand," Gus slowly replies.

"Yet," Harry rejoins. "I have noticed his proprietary attitude towards you, in the past – I'm sorry, I should have paid closer attention." He scratches at his red robe collar in frustration.

"You're not responsible for the whole world, Harry!" Gus barks, before her brain catches up with her mouth. Did I just yell at my boss… Harry Freaking Potter! Oops.

"Sorry – well, it's true, though," Gus lamely amends. "Some days I wonder how you can stand upright, what with the troubles of the world resting solely upon your shoulders."

"Don't sugar-coat it, Gus," Harry grumbles, though he is wryly smiling. "Tell me what you really think." He waves off her bumbling apology. "It's fine, I'm painfully aware of my 'hero complex'. Listen, HR's preferred policy in this type of situation is to enforce some kind of 'mediation' meeting–"

"Not doing it–"

" – but I think that's ridiculous, so we're not doing it," Harry seamlessly concludes, ignoring Gus's emphatic opinion. "I'll go down there straightaway and request a change of partners, and inform Faulkner myself, once it's been processed."

"Thank you, sir– Harry," Gus exhales heavily in relief. I shouldn't feel guilty about this; Kolt's brought it on himself by being a territorial dick… I made it perfectly clear to him when we were first partnered that I wasn't interested in anything other than a professional, platonic relationship. Her stress-stiffened neck relaxes a fraction.

"No need to thank me; and please keep working on leaving out the 'sir', OK?" Harry smiles. A fluttering noise turns their heads, as a purple aeroplane memo squeezes itself beneath the doorframe and zooms straight at Harry. His Seeker reflexes grab it just before it slams into his breastbone.

"It's past time the Ministry got with the program and embraced using computers and emails," Harry absentmindedly muses, as he unfolds the flapping missive. "We've had two eye injuries this month alone from overzealous ruddy memos."

"I'll leave you to it," Gus begins to turn for the door, as Harry's eyes dance rapidly over the text.

"No, wait – this concerns you too," Harry says. "It's from Head Auror Pritchard-Hawes: he's been given the go-ahead to begin effecting international arrests for Operation Acromantula, and he's ordered us to liaise with local authorities in Western Europe for the rest of the week." He looks up from the parchment, his green eyes a-glitter with excitement and stern determination. "We're going to get these depraved grubs, Gus – every last one of them."

"That's fantastic news, Harry!" Gus's mouth curves in a triumphant smile. This– this is what I've trained for, what I believe in… the chance to see justice served, to redress the balance… the opportunity to make a real difference in the ongoing battle between the dark and the light.

"You bet – but we'll be gone until at least Thursday night," Harry turns over the page, frowning slightly. "It's extremely late notice; I do understand if you can't arrange for child care for Tavi–"

"It'll be fine, I'll ask Mrs Green to look after her, she's done it before." Gus crosses her fingers behind her back as Harry's worried look begins to alleviate. There's no way I'm going to miss out on seeing this case through – and the experience will be invaluable. A small twinge of regret fires as she considers that Kolt is going to miss out on the 'action'. Not your problem, Augusta.

"Well, you'd best ask and start making the arrangements ASAP – and pack for our trip," Harry starts rummaging through the piles of paperwork on his desk. "I'm going straight to HR to sort out the transfer, then I'll tell Kolt's replacement to get him or herself ready for the trip and bring them up to speed, too – where's a quill or just a bloody pencil when you need one, I swear they grow legs and walk out of here!" Harry rattles open desk drawers in frustration.

Plucking a stubby pencil from an overstuffed letter holder, Gus quips as she pushes it into his palm, "Hiding in plain sight?".

"Go on, off you go! Meet me back here by eleven o'clock, we're to convene with Leo and his team at half past – owl me if there's a problem, please." Harry waves her away, totally focused on scribbling down illegible notes on the back of the purple memo.

Closing the door gently, Gus creates a quick mental checklist.

Go home, ask Nella to look after Tavi until I return, pack a small bag

Drop by Tavi's school, tell her what's happening, make sure she's OK

Return to Ministry, revise the Acromantula files, meet new partner

Tell Blaise I'm going away, ask him to please keep an eye on Tavi and Mrs Green…

Kiss my boyfriend goodbye.

She isn't aware she's grinning hugely until she catches sight of her dopey face in the reflective surface of the elevator.

My boyfriend… Blaise Zabini. My funny, big-hearted, irreverently sexy boyfriend. Harry was correct… it truly is a beautiful Monday.

Monday 30 March 2003: PM

"Excuse me, Professor Malfoy…" the soft, tentative voice of the Hufflepuff schoolgirl is almost lost beneath the burbling chatter of the art classroom. Her slightly raised hand falters as Draco moves toward her easel, straining his brain to remember her name… Savannah? Johanna? Julianna! Julianna Campbell, that's it.

"Yes, Miss Campbell?" He steps a little closer and smiles reassuringly, alarmed at her instinctive cringe when he makes eye contact; her dark brown orbs are round with anxiety. Maybe I should let Cecily handle this… Draco's eyes flicker to the front of the Seventh Year Art classroom, where Professor Benson is busy (happily) arguing the pros and cons of gouache versus acrylic with a couple of students. Merde.

"Oh… well, I was just wondering… that is, I can't seem to…" Julianna gestures helplessly between her half-finished canvas and the still life on a small, elevated table in the middle of the classroom: three peaches in a wooden bowl, beside a half-full water glass and an uneven pile of Knuts.

Draco regards Julianna's composition. She has sketched in and painted the coins and fruit with no small talent; a quite delightful depiction of realism, with some intriguing impressionist elements in the treatment of light and blended hues. The water glass, however, is clearly the problem.

"I've tried to block it in – but it's not really anything, is it?" Julianna dejectedly mumbles, every word quieter than the one before. "I don't know…"

"I always had trouble with reflections and glass, until a teacher showed me a simple way around it," Draco keeps his tones low and calm and his eyes trained on the still life. "Madame Auclair said that our brains often fight our eyes. We're told water is colourless, invisible, right? But look again: that glass over there contains many colours, and shapes… diffused and distorted, but they certainly exist. See how the right side has those warm undertones, from the peaches behind it? And how the black of the table softens to dark grey, in the centre?".

"Yes… I see it!" Julianna nods eagerly, picking up a slim charcoal stick and running it swiftly across the white space in the middle of her canvas.

Barely perceptible movement to his left; Draco registers Head Boy Joseph gingerly shuffling closer, his big ears almost twitching as he strains to overhear their conversation. Interesting…

"OK, that's great, Miss Campbell. Once you've finished sketching, I'll talk you through Madame Auclair's techniques for selecting and working in the colours. What you've painted is excellent, so far – it reminds me a little of 'Peaches and Almonds' by Renoir: are you a fan of his work, perhaps?" Draco gently enquires.

"I am – thank you, Professor," Julianna's deft linework pauses as she smiles from beneath her short crop of riotous jet ringlets, her back straightening from its previous defensive hunch. "I'd love to see more of his work in person… the British Museum houses some of his prints and drawings, but no paintings," she wistfully states.

"Well, the Musée d'Orsay in Paris has the very finest collection of Impressionist works – you must visit it," Draco urges, his lips curling in a fond smile at his memories of practically haunting the museum during his stay in the City of Lights. "Renoir, Manet, Cezanne… Monet, Degas, Seurat, Van Gogh… it's utterly magnificent."

"Oh, well… I hope to… one day." Julianna turns back to her sketching, seeming subdued again as she shakes her voluminous hair over her face.

"Julianna, your painting looks wonderful," Joseph appreciatively murmurs, bending down until his tall form is level with her seated one. Like Draco, he trains his sight on the canvas instead of the skittish girl. "I'm having trouble with the water glass, too; would you mind if I brought over my easel to listen in, please?".

"Um– of course… Joseph," she whispers, cheeks burning through her concealing curls. "If you like… I don't– I don't mind."

Hmmm… Draco crosses his arms behind his back, intrigued with the little by-play as Joseph nearly trips over his lanky legs in his haste to set up beside the sweet, shy, Hufflepuff. Looks to me like Head Boy McGrath has a bad case of Lovestruck Pining… remains to be seen whether the diagnosis is Requited or Unrequited.

Judging from the jittery peeks Julianna is taking at Joseph, the attraction isn't all one-sided. Her hand trembles as she lays down the charcoal stick. By Helga, she's a nervous little poppet, Draco worries. I hope young Joseph can see that for himself… and that he treads cautiously…

His fears are allayed as he notes how the schoolboy is wholly respectful and constantly aware of Julianna's personal space boundaries and her obvious discomfort with loud, sudden noises. Joseph takes great pains to speak softly, keeping his movements slow and steady (albeit a tad awkward), as he wrangles his easel into position.

He's absolutely gaga for Miss Campbell; look at him, trying so hard not to steal stealthy glimpses at her, while she does the same. Hermione would be squealing at the rank cuteness of this pair, if she were here. Draco swallows back his amusement as he realizes that Joseph reminds him a little of himself at this age… though the lad possesses more courage and sensitivity than I ever did. I never did apologize to him, did I? Crap.

"Mister McGrath, a word?" Draco leads him to the rear of the classroom before he can rethink his decision. "I apologize for being hard on you, in Headmistress McGonagall's office, when we met. I had no right to be so… touchy, about Professor Granger. I'm– well, I'm a bit of a jealous idiot, when it comes to my beloved. I'm sorry, it was deeply foolish of me, and I was out of line. It won't ever happen again.

"I understand, sir – I do," Joseph stoutly replies, his eyes seeking out Julianna's form. "I mean, if I had a – a girlfriend, I think I'd feel exactly the same way… I'm sure of it, in fact."

"Mmmm… she's special to you, isn't she? Miss Campbell," Draco presses, biting down on his smirk as Joseph's eyes wheel. "It's alright, I won't say a word; I've been there, trust me."

"Julianna– she's– she's my friend– we're– we're friendly, that's all," the schoolboy sputters. "It's not– she's not–"

"Easy there, Jackdaw, I'm not about to expose you. I admire you, in fact… just don't wait five years, or for a miracle to drop Miss Campbell at your feet, alright?" Draco sighs, shrugging at Joseph's bemused countenance. "Never mind, lad. You're on the right track, OK?".

"Um… OK?" Joseph dutifully repeats. "Can I go back to my painting now, Professor?".

"Just one more thing, McGrath: thank you, for what you did this morning – with that skull/snake prank, I mean. I–I appreciate your support. You didn't have to do that, but I'm glad you did."

The youth shrugs. "Unlike some of these chumps, I've read the history books, and the newspapers, sir; and I've talked to the few people who were willing to speak about their experiences, with You-Know– with Voldemort, I mean. I don't blindly parrot learned prejudice and hatred when the truth of the War was obviously vastly different, and much more complicated. And I won't stand idly by when I see cruel bullies at work. You've no need to thank me, Professor Malfoy." His blue-grey eyes flame with a quiet righteousness, strikingly at odds with his usual easy-going deportment.

Now I see why he was made Head Boy… smart, strong, and a fierce terror when roused.

"Er – OK. Right. Carry on." Draco vaguely points back to Joseph's easel, suppressing another smile when he catches Julianna peeping at the boy. She whips her head back to her art fast enough to crick her neck. Hermione is going to eat up this little romance like Belgian truffles.

"Everything going well back here? Enjoying your first day on the job, Draco?" Professor Benson has wandered over to join him, wiping paint from her fingers with a damp rag.

Gazing over the buzzing group of students, Draco sincerely replies, "All's well, Cecily; and yes… Yes, I am."

Monday 30 March 2003: AM

"Gussie! By all the Greek Goddesses, how I've missed you!" Blaise cries, bundling her into a fervent hug the moment she steps through his office doorway. "How is it that you're even more gorgeous, every time I see you? I know it's not witchcraft – nope, it's all you, my wonderful, clever, amazing, beautiful girlfriend." He brushes lipping kisses all over her forehead and cheeks, his gentle hands light on her hips as she giggles.

Me… giggling… I know I sound ridiculous, but I can't stop… Gus yanks the man to settle flush against her front, her hands gripping his tight buns as she kisses him back, their noses clumsily knocking.

"I saw you only yesterday," Gus gasps, as Blaise ignores her willing mouth in favour of licking down her neck. "You couldn't possibly have missed me all that much – and you're a terribly accomplished flatterer, Blaise Zabini."

"Well, yes," he moves his lips upward to tickle at her earlobe, "I am blessed with a silver tongue, but I never need to employ it when describing you, tesoro; your natural beauty and grace will always outshine my paltry words of awed praise and appreciation, Augusta Meredith Gilmont." Blaise pushes back a little, his dark eyes lustrous with unambiguous candour as he beams down at her flushed face.

Blundering bandicoots – I'm going to need angina medication, if he keeps this up. Desperate for a subject change, Gus bleats, "How do you know my middle name, anyway?".

She answers her own question as Blaise clams up, looking distinctly shifty. "By snooping in my personnel records – the same way how you found out my address. It's a good thing I like and trust you, Blaise Nosy-Parker Zabini," she prods a finger into his hard chest, pretending more annoyance than she feels. "Stalker, much?".

"Gus – I would never, ever stalk you! I'm very sorry, I know I went too far." His contrite expression doesn't last, as he rumbles, "It's 'Nario' by the way – my middle name. Gus, you… you like me? And trust me? Really?". Blaise's big, guileless grin is firmly back in place on his handsome face.

"No – I'm stringing you along simply to sweet talk you into bed and have my nefarious way with you," Gus deadpans, guffawing as his glorious ebony eyes grow comically huge. "You should see your face! Steady on, I'm only half-joking."

"I'm completely available for all and any bed-based nefariousness… just so you know," Blaise replies at last, croaking a little. "Wait – 'half-joking'? My poor heart, Gussie!".

"Let me kiss it better," Gus croons, sliding her hands up his back and unconsciously licking her lips in anticipation. "Hang on – no, first I've got to tell you something." Reluctantly, she steps back a pace, ignoring his whine of complaint. "Don't distract me with that pretty pout of yours, please. I have to go away for work today, Blaise; Head Auror Pritchard-Hawes wants us to travel to Western Europe to help with the international roofie plot arrests. We're leaving just after lunch, and Harry thinks we'll be gone until at least Thursday evening."

"Can I come? Alright, I knew that was a long shot," Blaise sighs, his thumbs delicately caressing the spot behind her ears that makes her want to purr like a sleepy moggy. "I'm so proud of you, and pleased for your career advancement, Gussie… but you know I'm going to miss you like mad, mia bella guerriera. Please promise me you'll be safe, and perhaps send me an owl, when you can?".

"Of course I will, Blaise… I'm– I'm going to miss you – a lot, you know," Gus gulps out the admission, flinging herself at him and pouring her whirling emotions into a rib-squashing hug. I wish I could tell him how much his presence in my boring old life already means to me… I wish I didn't still feel so leery of being emotionally vulnerable. Ugh, all these feelings! She chuffs a wry laugh against his exquisitely tailored black suit.

"What's so funny? Thinking of me being thoroughly miserable without you, Gussie? I will be, you know." Blaise's voice is devoid of mirth, his expressive dark eyes sad as they meet hers. "I'll be counting the minutes until your return, dolcezza."

Feeling more than a little gobsmacked by his tender declaration, Gus stares fiercely at his sable tie, willing away her silly tears. Do not start crying – yeah, OK, the man's sweeter than the finest honey, but there's no need to turn into a mushy, simpering fangirl over him.

"Gussie? Are you worried about having to work with Faulkner? Has he said or done something nasty, after you put a flea in his fat ear on Saturday?" Blaise urgently asked, obviously having misinterpreted her continued silence.

"No, I spoke with Harry this morning, and he arranged for Kolt to be temporarily assigned to a different partner. My new colleague is Soledad Rana, I briefly met her a quarter of an hour ago. She seems pretty cool, and knows her stuff. You don't have to worry about me, Blaise." She hesitates before softly adding, "I'm glad you do, though. Would you do me a favour, please?".

"You need but name it; consider it done, my Gussie," Blaise heartily vows. "Anything your heart desires, mia amata."

"Blaise – you can't just blindly agree!" Gus chuckles, her mild exasperation overcome by his puppyish eagerness to please her. "What if I asked you to – I don't know – break into Gringotts, or something?". She lightly smacks his broad chest, her palm lingering on his delectably warm, defined musculature. He must have a dedicated exercise regimen, to look and feel this fit… Caught up in a vivid daydream about a shirtless Blaise sweating up a storm in a dimly-lit gymnasium (skipping rope, perhaps?), Gus almost misses his reply.

"Well… then I'd have to think about… the best ways to break into Gringotts," he ripostes, hitting her with the full force of his mega-watt smile. "No favour is ever too great, if you ask it of me, sweetheart." He looks down. "You can pet me with your other hand, too, if you like; that feels rather wonderful," he nods to where her right palm is still rhythmically stroking his pecs through his opened black suit jacket.

Gus yanks away her fingers before they actually slip open his shirt buttons. "Just checking for… irregularities," she wildly fibs. "I thought you had a– lump."

"It's called a nipple, Gussie." The amused undertone in Blaise's deep voice is infuriatingly smug, as is his widening smirk. "Nubbin, papilla, mamilla, tettarella–"

"Cut it out– I know what it is," Gus grumbles, as heat rises up from her neckline. "Do you want to hear this favour I've asked, or not?".

She carries on without awaiting his response. "Would you please check in on Tavi and Mrs Green, every now and then? Nella's looked after Tavi for a few days before, and she's perfectly capable, naturally – but I'd feel better, knowing they can ask you for help, if they do need any. If you don't mind… depending on if you can fit it in– "

"Of course! I swear to you I'll drop around every day – maybe I could loan them one of my owls, for emergencies – damn, I wish you had a Floo at your flat, the council never have to know if we make a few necessary building tweaks – hang on, I get paid to schmooze through the proper channels! I'll put in an application through the Muggle Liaison office and I reckon I can push through the exemption order by the end of the day," Blaise animatedly babbles, whirling to rifle through his filing cabinet.

"Blaise, there's no need for all that! I've already applied for Extension Charms for the apartment, and been repeatedly denied," Gus sighs, laying a steadying hand on his arm. "I don't plan us on living there forever, anyway. And much as I appreciate your offer of a borrowed owl, there are no pets allowed; not to mention, explaining a swooping messenger owl coming and going would present more problems than it solves. Hold out your hand," she slips hers into her robe pocket.

He complies immediately, blinking down at the small black mobile phone she presents. It looks absurdly small cradled in his big mitt.

"It's a mobile phone; I usually take it away with me on work trips, to keep in contact with Nella and Tavi, but I'd rather entrust it to you, this time," Gus explains. "I hope you don't mind, I already told them both to call or text you if they have any problems… it's pre-programmed with Nella's number, see?". She presses a few buttons to highlight the correct menu option. "I warned off Tavi from sending you dozens of messages, she's mildly obsessed with technology and usually commandeers the phone from Nella. Is this OK, Blaise?". Gus worries at her bottom lip with her left incisor. I should have checked with him beforehand…

"'OK'? Gussie, I'm honoured – truly honoured," Blaise whispers, swallowing convulsively. "Thank you… this means more to me than you know… this means I'm really family," he speaks the final phrase mostly to himself, his lean fingers curling around the mobile device. He visibly gathers himself to ask, "Would you mind giving me a quick tutorial, please? I understand the basics of the technology, but that's all."

Heart swollen by how evidently touched Blaise is, Gus manages a jerky nod before swiftly running him through the call and text functions. He listens intently, picking up the gist of it after only a few demonstrations. He really is a very clever, capable man – I'm ashamed of myself for ever thinking him shallow and lazy, Gus thinks. And he's so caring and kind…

Once Blaise is satisfied that he knows how to competently operate the mobile, he tucks it securely into his inside jacket pocket.

"I fully charged it last night, but if it does get low on power, just ask Tavi to give it some more juice, as Nella's is identical," Gus adds. I know I'm stalling on saying goodbye… it's only for a few days. It's fine. The time will fly by, especially considering how busy we're going to be.

"Gussie… please promise me you'll be careful?" Blaise stares intently into her topaz eyes, threading his fingers through hers. "You're a total kick-arse, cool-as-a-cucumber killer cat, and I have the utmost confidence in you – but I worry about you, darling."

"I'm not sure about your mixed metaphors there, but I'll take all that as a compliment," Gus jokes. "I promise I won't take any silly risks, Blaise. You don't need to worry about me, orsacchiotto." Eh, I hope I pronounced that right…

"'Teddy bear'?! I'm your teddy bear! Oh, Gussie!" Blaise actually picks her up and dances them about his office as she clings to his neck and laughs helplessly.

"Your teddy bear Blaisey is always going to worry about you – I guess that's part and parcel of wooing a cop," Blaise stops gallivanting as he processes his own words. "Cazzo– I'm dating a cop," he breathes in astonishment as he settles her atop his fancy desk.

"Mmm… I did wonder when that was going to sink in. Do you have something to confess, Mr Zabini?" Gus teases.

"Yes, I'd like to report a crime – Auror Gilmont has stolen my heart," he clutches at the named organ as she groans. "Too cheesy? Nah, too much is never enough with me." Blaise links his hands behind her waist, his beautiful, generous lips drifting to within a few millimetres of hers.

"I should go… Kiss me, Blaise," Gus closes the maddening gap as he happily acquiesces. She experiences a profound, primitive tug that resonates throughout her yearning body, her nerves immediately held in thrall to his touch and taste and smell… even his voice, as he hums in pleasure. Their tongues sensually tangle, their hands avidly stroking exposed skin and gripping strong young muscles.

Watching him through passion-narrowed eyes, Gus delights in how thoroughly focused Blaise appears: utterly concentrated on her reactions, each of her moans and rapt shudders resulting in minute adjustments on his part, as he accordingly adapts the pressure and glide of his lips and fingers. She whimpers as he wedges himself a little closer, his hardness bumping against her aching core.

"Sorry, sorry– I'm crazy for you, Gussie," he groans, his eyes flying open in surprise as she holds him in place.

"Ditto, Blaisey – just a few more minutes, OK?" she dives back in, fascinated by the softness of his full lips as they firmly fuse with hers in another drugging kiss. Their clothed bodies writhe frenziedly on the desk; only the remembrance that she foolishly failed to shut the door behind her upon entry keeps Gus from pulling him atop her.

He's right – too much is never enough – the more I get of Blaise Nario Zabini, the more I want – no, the more I bloody need, Gus realizes. Wretchedly sexy, darling hottie that he is… "More, Blaise… please…"

They finally spring apart as heavy footsteps sound down the corridor. Gus frantically pats at her ruffled hair and clothes, stifling a wild snicker as she takes in Blaise's ravished, kiss-drunk appearance. His jacket is hanging halfway down his arms, his tie flipped over his shoulder, and his dark umber eyes are groggy with barely-banked desire. As for his pants… he turns to make a rapid adjustment.

"I'd best get going, before Harry or Soledad come looking for me," Gus mumbles as she wobbles off the desk. Blaise instantly places a hand to her hip to walk her to the door; she flashes him a grateful smile.

"Take care, mia cara ragazza," he bequeaths a final, delicate kiss to her mouth before raining two more on each of her hot cheeks. "My warrior cop… my beautiful girl. See you soon, Gussie."

"See you soon, Blaise… il mio orsacchiotto." Gus can't stop herself from bussing his glorious lips once more, before dashing from the room. Her feet sound unnaturally loud to her own ears as she hustles down the hallway.

I won't look back… that's soppy. I don't do soppy.

Her resolve lasts until the corner; she chances a teensy glimpse over her shoulder.

Blaise's hands are grabbing the lintel as though it's the only thing stopping him from chasing after her, his eyes burning as he watches her departure.

Internally groaning at her lack of self-restraint, Gus properly turns to blow him a two-handed kiss.

His overjoyed smile as he plucks the invisible smooches out of the air is like watching the sun rise. Gus files away the unforgettable image as she quickens her pace back to Harry's office.

Ah, hell… I'm wallowing in soppiness now! What's even more amazing is that I don't regret it – not one whit.

Monday 30 March 2003: PM

Lifting the lid on the large silver cloche, Hermione sniffs appreciatively at the creamy chicken, bacon and mushroom stew. Perfect. The elves have outdone themselves, as ever. She checks the clock, her gleeful anticipation rising at the thought of Draco's imminent arrival to their quarters. Unless he was unavoidably delayed, he should be here right about–

The door swings open; Hermione is enveloped in Draco's loving hug before she can complete her thought, her pulse inevitably rocketing in his presence.

"Ma petite, my Hermione – I missed you so," Draco proclaims, his words slightly muffled into her frizzed hair. The happy grin on his face dispels her concern over his not-so-fabulous start to the first day of teaching.

"How are you, sweetheart? How did your afternoon classes go? Just give me a minute to wash my hands and I'll escort you down to the Great Hall," he sets down his satchel beside the bookcase.

"Oh, my afternoon was great – the Fourth Years are very switched-on, and they even gave me some homework – I had to stop by the library to pick up a new textbook on Euler-Lagrange equations, after Chandra Gill raised some intriguing questions about temporal evolution of spherical systems… never mind, your eyes are glazing," Hermione smiles, holding up a hand to quell his protestations.

"Really, it's not what I wish to discuss tonight, mon amour." She waves at the small table set for two. "Draco, would you mind terribly if we dined here this evening? I took the liberty of asking for a private supper to be brought up; Ruibby delivered it herself."

"It's the best idea I've heard all day – thank you, Hermione." Draco kisses her hand as he leads her over to the table and pulls out a sturdy wooden chair. "How is Ruibby? Has her sword-crazy dipshit paramour been sacked yet?".

"Ruibby's still hopping mad – understandably – but she's feeling better after talking to Luna. Mac has been released from the infirmary; you'll be relieved to know he's under strict instructions to remain in their suite, and Minerva has asked us to sit in on her meeting with him, early tomorrow morning." Hermione unfolds her napkin into her lap and uncovers the stew and bread basket; Draco begins to ladle the delicious hot dish into their bowls.

"It would serve Macdolas right if he were let go: I know for a fact that Headmistress McGonagall warned him off wielding any weaponry, remember? He wasn't even here a full day before he nearly sliced off his toe trying to snitch a sword, for Merlin's sake," Draco grouches. "What really pissed me off was seeing how much he loved all the attention that idiotic little caper brought about, Granger."

"I agree that he shouldn't have meddled with that suit of armour, Malfoy; but in his defence, I think he just wanted a closer look at it," Hermione argues.

She gentles her tone as she continues, "I suspect Mac also has some unaddressed… issues… about keeping everyone safe, after what Flint and McLaggen both tried to do. He already had a fierce need to protect his loved ones, and it follows that he probably still feels the same way, though we're now safe at Hogwarts. We– we both know that danger can strike anywhere… even here." She keeps her eyes fixed on her cutlery, her hand trembling as uneasy memories of battle, terror, bloodshed and loss fill her mind.

Draco is by her side in a heartbeat, crouching to soothingly rub her tensed shoulder, his other thumb resting against her jaw. "I'm sorry, Hermione. You're absolutely right, and I shouldn't be so hard on Macdolas. I just wish he had a brain bigger than a walnut, when it comes to shiny sharp blades – I'm kidding," he groans, as Hermione huffs. "I was terrified at the thought of losing him, OK?".

"I know – I was petrified, too," Hermione rakes her hand through his shiny alabaster locks. "Hopefully, he's learned his lesson, and I'm certain Minerva won't sack the rascal. I'm alright, Draco; please eat some dinner, you've had a long day. Go on," she imperiously motions to his vacated chair.

He fluidly swivels and returns to his seat, his unusual grey eyes soft as they gaze back at her. I wish I had a tenth of his easy grace… not that I'd ever trade it for the heady delight of watching the man move so elegantly, Hermione decides. She determinedly refocuses the conversation.

"How did your first art classes go? Is Professor Benson happy to share the load? Tell me everything, please." She spoons up more tasty stew, settling in to attentively listen.

After only a tiny hesitation, Draco launches into an energetic retelling of his experience with the Seventh Years, including the (extremely slow-moving) budding romance between Head Boy McGrath and Miss Campbell. He smiles benevolently at her as she gaily claps her hands and asks an exhaustive series of questions about the shy pair. He tries to downplay how helpful he was to them both with explaining Madame Auclair's technique, but Hermione is having none of his diffidence.

"It sounds to me like you've already made a genuine contribution to your students, both in their knowledge and welfare, Professor Malfoy," she grins, even as he negates her observation with a vehement shake of his fair head.

"Rubbish, it was but a small tip that Cecily would probably have passed onto them, had I not been present," he demurs. "I apologized to Joseph, by the way; and when I expressed my gratitude for his help with the skull prank earlier, he said he'd read about me – about all of us, I suppose – in the history texts, and that he believed the War wasn't all black and white. I was rather humbled when he said that… when I wasn't feeling like a wizened tribal elder," Draco gripes. "'History books', indeed!".

"You're not yet twenty-three, you poor baby," Hermione razzes. "I told you Joseph was a lovely lad, didn't I? And, Draco – you deserve to feel proud of your efforts, my love. I'm really sorry about what happened earlier– and I never wanted to overshadow your achievements here, you know. Today is as much about you realizing your dreams, as it is about me achieving mine. I'm incredibly proud of you; even more so, seeing the ludicrous pushback that you've had to cope with. We'll get through this, together," she passionately declares.

"Thank you, Hermione." Draco fusses at the bread basket until it is exactly centred between them. "Your support is a treasure I shall never tire of, nor will I cease feeling blessed and grateful for it." His Adam's apple jitters.

"You'll always have my backing: unless we're discussing the House Cup," Hermione attempts to lighten the intense emotional atmosphere. "Speaking of support – a couple of owls came for you while I was setting up, I put their letters on our bed. Shall we go check them out? I've another little surprise in store," she urges, dabbing at her mouth before setting down her napkin.

"By all means, darling." Draco grasps her hand to help her from her seat and lead her to their bedroom. "I was thinking: why is it we have such a squidgy little bathroom, yet Macdolas and Ruibby are enjoying a 'sunken bath', apparently? That does not seem equitable in the slightest," he carps.

"Possibly because they're half our size, and thus require only half the tub space?" Hermione logically rebuts, chortling at his disgruntled expression. "Close your eyes," she repeats his earlier instructions before leading him through the portal to their bedroom.

Standing behind her handsome young lover, Hermione curves her arms around his waist as she softly bids, "You may open them now, Draco."

The twinkling metallic light bulbs above their bed now read, "Congratulations on Your First Day, Professors Malfoy & Granger". Their shimmer dapples the small pyramid of green apples Hermione has stacked on Draco's chest of drawers.

"An apple for teacher for each day this week; I shall be quite cross if you accept fruit tokens from any other student, Professor," Hermione stands on tip-toe to kiss his well-shaped ear. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, mon coeur."

"Hermione… you're simply too good to be true," Draco chokes a little, reverting to French as his emotions spill over. "Je t'aime tellement, ma belle lionne. Si ce n'est qu'un rêve, je ne veux jamais me réveiller."

"Oh, I'm flesh and blood, I assure you. Wait until I start snoring again tonight, if you need further convincing," she pinches his lean ribcage through his black robes.

"Ma petite, your whuffling little snores are adorable– ow! I mean, of course you don't snore," he hastily amends, as another well-aimed pinch finds its mark. "The… uh, the cute vocalizations you emit in your sleep are wholly endearing, and barely audible."

"Much better," Hermione nods. "Don't forget your letters, Malfoy."

Picking up the two letters, he flips them over to peruse the identity of the senders. "This one's from Mother – and this, from Lucius. That's odd, he always used to inscribe a line or two onto the end of one of her missives, not write to me himself," Draco ponders aloud. "I hope there's nothing wrong– " he rips open the seal of Lucius's letter with one swift flick of his index finger.

Skimming his eyes down the parchment, Draco's face grows blank. Hermione silently frets as he opens Narcissa's epistle, reading it just as speedily. She intervenes when he sits down heavily upon the quilted counterpane.

"Draco? Is something the matter?".

Her anxiety eases as Draco slowly turns his stunned eyes to her, his hand trembling around the closely-inscribed letters.

"They're congratulatory letters, Hermione: one from both my parents," he rasps. "Mother has always written to praise my efforts… but never Father. He said– he said he's proud of me, Hermione– he didn't qualify it, like he used to… he said he's sorry for failing me as a parent, and for endangering us all, with – with Voldemort. He even wrote that he's in awe of the courage it took for me to tackle my alcoholism, and he's proud of my painting career, and in being brave enough to come back to Hogwarts to teach–" his voice withers to a croak.

"Oh, Draco!" Hermione tucks herself tightly into his side, kissing away the sluggish tears that are trickling unchecked from his disbelieving, smoke-grey eyes.

"Hermione, do you– you don't think he's found out he's dying, do you?" Draco stutters, unconsciously crumpling the parchment in his fist.

"No, he's definitely not dying, Draco," Hermione carefully loosens his grip, unwrinkling the letters before laying them behind the pile of apples on his chest of drawers. "I think Lucy has finally found the guts to tell you he loves you, Draco – and he does, you know." She tightens her arms around his strapping chest, blinking away her sympathetic tears as the shock in his eyes begins to fade.

They simply hold one another for uncounted minutes, the magicked gold and silver fairy lights merrily sparkling overhead. Beyond the open curtains, the distant lights of Hogsmeade faintly glow in the gathering twilight.

I do understand Draco's musings, about whether this is merely a dream we're both sharing, somehow… and I don't ever wish to wake from it, if that's the case. I've never felt this intensity of contentment, pure joy, and rightness, before; all of it centred around this man… my magnificent, complex, wonderful wizard. Hermione eagerly responds to his slow, sweet kisses, as their soul-bond facilitates their silent communication.

I love you with all my heart, Hermione. I'll never be able to express how much you mean to me, he solemnly projects.

Draco, I love you with everything I am; and I'll keep telling you that, until you tire of hearing it, she replies.

Never. I intend to listen to you for the rest of my life, snores and all.

Ditto – but you're the snorer, not me.

Granger, must you always have the last word?

Malfoy… do you even need to ask?

Swapping kisses and tickles, they collapse back onto the bed… taking and finding comfort in one another, in equal measure.

Italian translations:

dolcezza – sweetheart

mia amata – my beloved

tettarella – nipple

Cazzo – Shit

mia cara ragazza – my darling girlfriend.

French translations:

Je t'aime tellement, ma belle lionne. Si ce n'est qu'un rêve, je ne veux jamais me réveiller - I love you so much, my beautiful lioness. If this is only a dream, I never want to wake up.