Anger is manifested in the individual who spurns love and opts instead for fury.

It is also known as… Wrath.

The rain continued to fall, soaking through his robes, but Blaise didn't seem to notice. His mother was gone, and he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye. Hell, he'd never even known that she was sick… Too much time spent travelling abroad and ignoring the one person in his life who ever showed him what love could be like. After their last disagreement, he'd refused to return home, opting to travel all over the world instead.

Taking one last look at his mother's final resting place, Blaise turned and walked back along the path to the manor. Just a few days ago, he'd been partying it up in Havana, and now… Now he was in charge of the entire Zabini estate, a feat that he thought wouldn't happen until many years from now. If only he had opened one of the many letters that were sent to him by his mother over the past few months…

Inside the massive manor, Blaise found himself walking toward his mother's bedroom. The house-elves said that she spent her last few days in this room writing in a journal. The journal was sitting on the night table, and without a second thought, Blaise picked it up and began to read. The more he read, the angrier he became until all he could see was red.

Blaise had wanted answers about his father and his lineage all his life, but Jade Zabini withheld information time and time again. If only he had come home sooner, maybe he could have spoken with her about what she'd written on these pages. His heart pounded, and the blood rushed to his head as he discovered that still, his mother refused to speak of his father and that, ultimately, this journal was unfinished.

"Damn it!" Blaise screamed as he threw the journal across the room before punching the bedroom wall. His fist broke through the wood panelling, but just barely. Blaise was acutely aware of the severe pain in his knuckles as the red faded from his vision. Broken, probably. Bones were easily fixed, but this pain in his heart was not.

Cradling his now broken hand, Blaise fell to his knees, ignoring the hot tears as they streaked down his face. Grief tore at his heart, mixed with the guilt of having stayed away for far too long. These past years he'd let his own problems crumble their relationship, and for what? Pride? Greed? Something else? Who knew, but Blaise only had himself to blame.

The tears continued to burn angry trails down his cheeks as he wished that he hadn't spent so much time in Havana. It had been a long time since Blaise felt the need to drink, but tonight was an exception. He couldn't stand another moment in this room… This house even. Without telling the house-elves he was leaving, Blaise apparated off the grounds searching for a way to escape his anger.

For a few weeks now, Hermione had been walking around on dragon shells not only at work but through life in general. After five years of marriage, Ron had asked for a divorce. Since the beginning of their relationship, it felt like nothing but work, so it came as no surprise. It was a relief, really, or it was until Hermione opened the Daily Prophet that morning.

Apparently, her ex-husband was wasting no time putting himself back out there. If the nearly full-page picture was anything to go by, Ron was already dipping much more than his toes into the dating scene. Scoffing at that thought, Hermione opened to the article that accompanied the offensive picture despite her better judgement.

Word after word described Ron's new love interest, ultimately comparing and contrasting the blonde witch to Hermione. It made her skin crawl and her heartbreak to the point where she wanted nothing more than to punch both their sodding noses as hard as she possibly could.

The more she read, the angrier Hermione became until eventually, she took the paper into both hands. She crumpled the newspaper into a ball with a scream of rage and threw it into the fireplace grate. Grabbing hold of her wands, Hermione glared at the offensive paper and hissed a conflagration spell. Satisfaction erupted in her chest as fire destroyed the printed words.

"I need a bloody drink," Hermione muttered to herself as she lowered her wand and used her free hand to wipe at her weary face. After watching the fire burn the newspaper into ash, Hermione took a handful of floo powder and stepped into the grate herself. She would find a pub to get comfortable in and drink away her troubles for the night.

A familiar face walked through the door and moved toward where Hermione was sitting at the bar. After the day she'd had, it was nice to see someone who might not judge her for what the papers were writing about her life these days. Hopeful, she waited to see if her old schoolmate would find his way into the empty spot next to her at the bar.

"I haven't seen you here in a while," Hermione mused as the former Slytherin sat down on the barstool next to her. When he said nothing, aside from ordering a tumbler of firewhisky, she added, "I'm sorry about your mother. I know you were close."

Blaise lifted the drink to his lips, paused, and then set it back down on the bar. "Thanks," he replied stiffly, staring blindly into the amber liquor. "I guess I'm supposed to say she's at peace now or some shit."

"I wasn't trying to make you upset," Hermione said softly in apology. She'd lost her parents in the war, and even though she managed to give them their memories back, that lost time was enough to break her heart.

Blaise sighed heavily and turned his head toward the witch. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just a proper wanker tonight." He gestured into the air. "Bad day and all that."

A sad smile lifted Hermione's lips for a brief minute before she placed a hand on Blaise's forearm. "It's been a shit day for us both, it would seem."

Clearing his throat, Blaise pushed his untouched tumbler away for a moment so he could focus on Hermione. "I saw the papers this morning. Is it true?"

"That my marriage with Ron is completely over, and he's already moved onto a new lover?" Hermione said, her stomach sinking with every word. She wet her lips and stared forward without seeing the collection of alcohol above the back bar. "Yup. I should have known it wasn't going to last, but I just kept on hoping it would work out, you know?"

"I think you need this more than I do," Blaise said, sliding his drink toward the witch. "And for what it's worth, Weasley is a moron. Any wizard would be lucky to find themselves on your arm."

A blush formed on Hermione's cheeks, and she casually slipped on the drink to try and hide it from Blaise.

"You want to get out of here?" Hermione said, gesturing toward the door. "I suddenly fancy some fresh air, but I don't want to be alone right now."

Swiftly, Blaise slid from the stool where he sat and offered her his hand. "I like that idea. Maybe if I'm not alone, I won't want to break my hand again. Let's go."

Smiling, Hermione placed her hand in his, and together they left the pub. Many curious eyes followed them as they walked past, but neither cared anymore. It was time to leave their anger behind and focus on the future.