Draco had had one of those dreams.

He hadn't even meant to doze off. But a drink in front of his fireplace to calm himself before the unity class meeting had somehow drifted into sleep. And sleep had delivered the dream. (In his bed in San Cipriano, her on top, until he'd thrown her off and flipped her over. Tasted her ripeness until she'd begged him to fuck her. And he'd obliged, driving into her from behind as she buried her screams in a pillow.)

Funny that while his waking body yearned for Astoria, his dreams were only ever of Hermione.

Something about having all of his outward desire for her constricted had made his inner life utterly filthy. Not that any of what he'd dreamt was make-believe. They'd had an afternoon almost exactly like the one in the dream.

He sighed heavily. And now he was late: hurrying up to the classroom still groggy and half-asleep. He hadn't even been able to have a wank before he'd left.

So this was going to go well.

Draco shook his head and put on a burst of speed to mount the stairs to the fourth floor. He seriously needed to put the dream out of his head if he was going to be able to tolerate this meeting.

Pushing the door open, he was surprised to find the classroom dark and empty. He'd been certain she'd be here already—look up at him and then the clock with that slightly exasperated dip to her mouth…

He flicked his wand at the lights as he strode to the front of the classroom and dropped into a seat. A couple of deep, centering breaths did absolutely nothing to abate his raging desire, so he rooted through his bag for his notes. Amazingly, he'd actually prepared for this—on one of the long, boring days at the manor over the holiday. He'd put some real thought into a possible structure for the class and had some ideas he was actually, in some pathetically optimistic part of himself, eager to share with Hermione. Although his more rational side doubted how much the spell would let him do or say.

Finally, he got all his notes out and arranged, then bent over them with a quick eye. He glanced up at the clock and crossed his arms. Stuck his legs out and crossed them too. Closed his eyes and tried again to will the dream from his mind.

Instead he focused on tonight's challenge: the first time he'd be doing what he'd been avoiding for months—being alone with Hermione and talking to her. He didn't count the dress shop or the hall outside McGonagall's office. He'd had buffers then.

And even so, both had nearly killed him.

He truly had no idea how this was going to go. Would he be able to speak? And how would she be? He flashed on her flushed face in the dress shop again, the way she'd shifted self-consciously in the half-dark of that hallway.

He shifted too.

A small, petty part of him was sure she still wanted him—and was thrilled by it. Even though he knew he'd gone beyond the pale with his various rejections of her. And despite bloody Theo.

His foot tapped a rapid tattoo on the floor.

Although—he stopped tapping—he could swear she and Theo hadn't been together much lately.

Despite trying not to, he watched her. Often. Marked her presence and absence. Listened for her voice and breathed for a soft whiff of her scent. Which was how he'd gotten suspicious about Theo's intentions long before he'd seen them fucking kissing in the common room.

He clenched a fist and beat it softly down on his thigh.

Inhaled and exhaled.

But Hermione had been absent a lot lately. Holed up in the library studying, he suspected. He knew she was taking an ungodly number of N.E.W.T.s.

And she hadn't been with Theo.

In fact, he'd seen Theo with Daphne more than Hermione. Unsurprising considering what Astoria had told him this week about Daphne finally breaking up with Corner. Was Theo on the make again? New Year's Eve seemed to make more sense now. Although Draco had to admit that Theo's behaviour had seemed aboveboard. Nothing like his juggling act in San Cipriano.

Draco still didn't trust him, though.

He rolled his neck and made an impatient sound. Who knew what it all meant? And ultimately it didn't matter anyway. He was still struck in this hell with no way out.

He let that dismal thought cool his heated blood for a moment before opening his eyes and tipping his head back to see the clock again. She was ten minutes late. Astounding. He should send out a search party.

But then he heard a noise from the doorway. Maybe an indrawn breath? Maybe just the shuffle of a light step. But he straightened immediately, almost got out of his bloody chair for some reason.

She was there. In the doorway. Her eyes on him, but somewhere south of his face. Her lips were parted and that flush was staining her jaw again. She swallowed visibly.

Draco fought an extremely irrational urge to smile.

Eyes up here, Granger.

But then she moved and he snapped out of it.

Idiot. She'd probably gotten caught up snogging her fucking boyfriend.

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm late," she was saying, rushing down the aisle and dropping into a desk a few away from his. "I was in the library reading a primary source and it was… very engaging. And I lost track of time because I was in that table in the far corner where you can't see the clock. And I somehow forgot to wear my watch today—" She was bent over now, rooting around in her bag. And she was wearing tight muggle jeans—of course, he'd noticed them earlier. They'd probably inspired the bloody dream. "But I do have some of what I think are very good ideas—several tracks that we can look at and then decide which to try. Although I do want to see what you've done too…" Draco tried to force his attention to her words, but then she bent all the way over to retrieve a quill and his mind went straight back to the filthiest gutter, where he was pushing the jeans down, pushing her over a desk. He snapped it back with some effort. "Because I really think we can do right by the kids this term. If we put our minds to it. Give them something lasting to walk away with and also satisfy McGonagall." She was straightening up now, turning to face him, although her eyes weren't quite on him. "Do you have something too? Do you want to start or shall I go first?"

Draco opened his mouth. Closed it.

Gods, was he going to be able to bloody speak?

But no, it was lust and not the spell drying his throat. He cleared it.

"I do have some ideas too," he said, surprised that his voice was relatively clear. He sat up and uncrossed his legs, tried to focus on the mundanity of unity class planning instead of the shadow of her eyelashes on her cheek or the way her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.

"I worked on it over break. But let's hear yours." He tilted his head.

She looked at him for a moment and he could swear her blush deepened.

Then she jumped up and bustled to the blackboard, reaching for the chalk and starting to write at a point far above her head. She was saying something—talking quickly like before—about theoretical lectures and practical applications, but Draco was having trouble listening again.

Her top had pulled up. A filmy, floaty thing. Had she been wearing it all day? Or had she changed? He could have sworn she had the green jumper on earlier. It brought out the gold in her eyes. But now he could see an outline of her figure underneath the transparent fabric, then a slip of smooth skin and slim waist, curving away down to her perfect—

"So? What do you think?"

She was blinking at him expectantly. And there was text on the board. Shit, she wanted a response. Draco read it quickly and scrambled to produce a coherent answer.

"I like that approach," he hedged, still trying to take in words and assimilate them into thoughts. "Replicating your house common room lesson structure, yes. And it, ah, actually goes with what I had come up with too." He rose and went to the board almost unconsciously. Her dark eyes tracked him as he moved closer and he forgot what he'd been coming over to say.

He stopped and just looked at her, then shook his head the slightest bit.

"Ah, working toward a culminating project. That's what I'd come up with. Something the students could build over the whole term and present to the rest of the school at the end." Thank fuck he'd found his mental functions again.

Her eyes lit. "That's a wonderful idea! And it could dovetail with mine. We could use my structure to build into yours."

She moved closer and he could sense the excitement crackling off of her. The spark of her intelligence and enthusiasm. God, he loved it. Loved her. He couldn't help looking into her eyes as she smiled into his.

And then he felt it so strongly—that pull between them. The one that had started as a faint tug toward a girl in a red dress on a sunny afternoon in Italy, then grown into something he couldn't escape. Had never wanted to escape.

The smile faded from her face. "Draco—" she said, just as he started to speak too, needing to say something to diffuse the sudden flood of longing that had made him almost lightheaded.

He stopped and she stopped. "No, you go," she said quietly. The first thing Draco tried to say had his throat closing, so he changed tack.

"I was just going to ask." He cleared his throat as he tried to navigate to safer waters. "If you'd outlined subjects for the structure or if you wanted to brainstorm."

Did her face fall a little as she said, "Oh. Right, and turned back to the board?

"I have some ideas," she said as she picked up the chalk again.

Of course she did.

"But," she smiled over her shoulder. "Let's brainstorm anyway."

He felt an almost smile lift the corner of his mouth in return. God, he loved her.

They worked for a while, Draco riffling through his extensive (to her amused surprise) notes and Hermione making his ideas better with her additions. He began to catch her enthusiasm, feel excited about the class and what they could do with it almost in spite of himself. She covered the board with scrawl as they went back and forth, their ideas taking slow shape, then getting more focused and usable.

Draco realised he felt good. Better than he'd felt in a long time.

And he was able to speak, clearly and without restraint. He supposed because they were keeping the discussion so focused on the class. And his mind was really present too. Not that his earlier lust had exactly abated, but he'd been able to put it aside.

At least until she touched him.

It happened as they were talking about the final project, a model for an integrated muggle-magical school. How long the students would need to do it—organisation, curriculum, design. Draco had somehow taken over writing, listing out everything they wanted to include, and Hermione was stuck on something, couldn't find it in her notes and couldn't remember it. She was tapping her chin and frustrated. But then he saw it come to her.

"I have it!" she crowed, moving forward and casually taking the chalk from his hand. And the second her skin touched his, time seemed to slow down. Her hand stilled and her fingers stopped, then dragged across his slowly, almost like a caress. He looked down at them, amazed that he wasn't jerking backward or acting like his skin had been scalded. He looked up at her face, her mouth slightly open as she looked down too. Then she blinked and caught the chalk away and the moment was over.

But Draco was rattled.

And he could tell she was too.

Why had they been able to touch? And how delicious it had been to touch her. He almost wanted to laugh at how much one trace of her finger across his knuckles could ignite him when he'd been inside of her, tasted her. Dreamed about it in great detail not a bloody hour ago.

All of a sudden, his desire was back like a leaping flame.

And when he swayed toward her, caught in a gust of it, just trying to feel her breath or the warmth off her body, the spell did drag him back. He found himself shying away, moving almost mechanically to his desk, where he sat with a scrape of his chair.

She looked at him and put down the chalk.

What was in that look?

Something tentative but intense. Something significant.

What was going on?

He saw her waiver there—deciding something, he was sure of it—before she closed her eyes quickly and then opened them wide.

"Well, I think that's a lot to start with," she said brightly, too brightly, going back to her desk and starting to pick up her book bag. "We don't have to work out every detail tonight and I think our first four classes are well-organised." She looked back at the board and nodded.

Draco felt disappointment sink him, but when he tried to open his mouth and ask, 'What were you about to say, Hermione?' his vocal cords constricted. So he just nodded.

She nodded back, still struggling with her book bag, which seemed particularly stuffed. He started to ask her how her N.E.W.T. studying was going (surely the spell would allow that), when the bag displaced her notes, which fluttered toward the floor. She reached out with a cry and Draco reached down too. The bag, already balanced precariously on her desk, fell over, and a great quantity of texts tumbled to the ground.

A Practical Guide to Magical Bindings

Mysterious Magic; Closely Guarded Pureblood Customs & Spells

Philpott's Law of Contracts and Bindings

Marriage Customs of 19th Century Wizarding Britain

Engagement and Marriage Bindings; A Feminist Perspective

He gasped, he couldn't help it.

Time froze again.

Then, "Draco, I—" Her hand shot out and her eyes were stricken. But then she slowly pulled her hand back and placed it gently in her lap.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything. But the spell cut him off. Brutally. He'd never felt it so strong.

"I know," she said softly, holding up her hand again, but not trying to touch him. "And I know it's difficult for you to speak. To me. About this." She gestured to the books on the floor and then started to gather them up. It was a marker of how stunned Draco was that he didn't bend to help her.

He felt tears start to his eyes.

He'd never wanted this. Never wanted her to know when there was nothing that could be done. But the relief was so great.

He opened his mouth again. No sound.

"Don't try to talk," she said, looking up as she reached for the last of the books. "I'll just tell you what I know. What I've been doing."

And then she outlined the most outrageous story. Theo telling her what he'd heard. After their fight. Against self-interest. Draco could hardly believe it.

"And I've been researching since," she said. "So I know something about the intent and communication issue. I know that Astoria probably needs to be the one to end it. But she can't for some reason. I know you can't tell me why—or even discuss it at all with me. I doubt she could either. And I know," she went on, spreading her hands, "that you've probably been over all of this. Before you got to school. And not found a solution. At least I think so. Hope so." She looked guardedly at him. "I like to think you wouldn't have acted—the way you've acted—unless all of this were true."

Draco had never wanted to speak more. To reassure her. Of course. Of course I wouldn't have, because I love, love, love you. So much. But he couldn't even shake his head or nod. He was physically frozen. The most terrifying feeling. Fucking Voldemort. Fucking spell.

He hoped she could see what he wanted to say in his eyes.

"But I'm going to keep looking," she was saying. "Keep trying. I fancy I'm rather persistent and good at this kind of thing." She gave him a swift smile and Draco felt warmer than he'd been since Italy.

He took a breath, tried to calm his racing heart, contend with the warring feelings in his chest.

"Theo won't like it." Gods, those were the words he was able to get out? He flushed with embarrassment.

She stilled. Looked down. Fumbled with the strap of her bag. "Theo and I are, uh, no longer romantically involved."

He could see that her face was as red as his, but he could hardly register it through the fierce joy that was suddenly singing through his veins.

"It was a mutual decision." She looked up defiantly. "And we're still friends. Very much so."

But that didn't even bother Draco. He was soaring. Surely she could sense the euphoria vaulting from his very soul.

She glanced at the clock. "Shit, I have to go! The social committee meeting started ten minutes ago!" But Draco sensed she was overwhelmed, that she needed to get out of the room. And that was fine; he'd run out on her enough times.

He was able to nod and she swept up out of her seat. "You'll grab the notes from the board?" she asked as she turned away.

He nodded again and she darted for the door.

"Hermione?" he managed to say just before she left, his voice the merest rasp.

She turned halfway, but didn't look at him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She bobbed her head once before hurrying away.

⁂

Draco couldn't move for several minutes. Just sat there breathing the faint odor of chalk dust and wood polish while the clock ticked on.

But then he moved with a jerk, surging out of his chair and pointing his wand at the blackboard to copy and erase the text there. He spelled it absently to a parchment and stuffed it in his bag, then rushed for the door.

He needed to be moving. Running.

Down the stairs he clattered, out into the darkness of the freezing winter night, away from the castle and across the lawn. Not toward the pitch and his broom, but the other direction—to the lake, his bag bumping against his hip and his lungs burning as he went.

He made it to the shore and kept going, following the slippery path around the dark curve of the water until he could barely see the turrets of the castle. Running and running until his breath gave out and he couldn't run anymore, until finally he stopped, wheezing and doubling over.

A hoarse laugh, of all things, ripped from his throat and echoed out over the rippling blackness.

She knew.

She was helping him.

Joy and despair warred within.

In so many ways, this was exactly what he didn't want—Hermione battering herself against the problem with no solution.

And yet the feeling of her being on his side?

Pure elation.

Possibly bolstered by the idea that she wasn't with Theo anymore.

He laughed again, the sound definitely tinged with hysteria, and put his head in his hands. Felt the warmth of tears rolling down his cheeks as his shoulders shook, and he slowly dropped to his knees.

⁂

Draco felt about a hundred years old as he let himself into his bedroom. He was also chilled to the bone, his jumper and warming charm having been no match for running so far around the lake that it had taken him nearly an hour to walk back to the castle.

And he was tired. So tired. But also buzzing with a sort of ragged energy.

He fidgeted around his room, draining the watery dregs of his Negroni (the last of the San Cipriano supplies used up), then peering at the glass before putting it down. It felt like a hundred years ago that he'd drunk this and dozed in front of the fire.

Even the memory of his dream couldn't rouse him out of his strange mood.

Sitting heavily on his bed, he pointed his wand at the gently smoldering grate, conjuring a flickering fire from embers then chafing his frozen hands together in its faint warmth.

Snippets of earlier with Hermione raced through his mind. Her face when she looked up from the spilled books, her words so quiet and determined, the moment when she'd touched him and he'd been able to let her.

What was he going to do now? To resist?

He'd built up such a wall earlier in the year, created distance between them so effectively. Swathed himself in the numbness of resignation.

And then she'd been with Theo and numbness hadn't been possible, but the pain and anger had made it easier to stay away.

But even that hadn't worked.

He thought of their last unity class, the dress shop, the first day back here after the holiday. He'd obviously failed again and again to fall out of love with her. It had been waiting, like the embers in his fireplace, to jump into flame.

And now. And now.

He sighed heavily, then flung up and walked to his window.

But this was also exactly what he'd been trying to avoid: Hermione getting involved and being unable to leave it alone, leave him alone and move on with her life. Because he'd done the research and he knew the magic—and the circumstances.

And he knew that it was impossible.

There was no way out.

He wiped at a smudge on the glass. Maybe he should go up to the 8th floor and get the Ogdens…

Then a whooshing sound from his fireplace had him turning in surprise.

"How's my favourite depressed bastard?" A cool voice sounded from flames that had suddenly turned green.

Improbably, a smile tugged at Draco's lips. He turned to the now-roaring fire. "Fucking twat, where have you been?" he said, crouching down to get a look at Blaise Zabini's smirking face.

"Oh you know. Here and there. Mostly there," Blaise said. "Been fucking mental, actually. I'm so fagged I don't know what time zone I'm in."

"That gig in Dubai still giving you trouble?"

"Bloody hell, yes." Draco could see Blaise lean back and shake his head. "I'll be so glad when it's done." He leaned forward again. "But enough about me. I'm fine. I'm calling to check in on you. How are you doing?" His cool mask dropped and concern creased his brow. "You look like shit, actually."

"Thanks." Draco said, pulling his desk chair around to face the fire and sinking into it. "I've had a bit of a day."

"Spell fucking with you?"

"You could say that."

"What happened?" Blaise leaned forward again.

"What hasn't happened?" Draco sifted through the events of the few weeks since he'd last talked to Blaise, trying to pick out what to tell. One extremely small bright spot in all of this was that the spell did not seem to recognize Blaise as a threat, so Draco could talk to him about almost everything.

"Let's see," Draco tipped his chair back and folded his arms. "My mother knows about Hermione and me, and offered her help. Lucius also knows, but is being decidedly unhelpful. I almost killed Theo on New Year's Eve because I thought he was cheating on Hermione with Daphne. I had to return to this fucking hell on earth," —he gestured around him— "and I found out tonight that Hermione knows about the spell because bloody Theo told her. So she's now researching how to break it. Oh, and she and Theo have uh, parted ways." He smiled humourlessly into Blaise's shocked face.

"Mother. Fucker." Blaise blinked several times. "Hermione knows and they broke up. That's got to be a relief."

"I guess." Draco passed a hand over his face. "A very small part of me wishes she didn't and they hadn't."

"You've got to be bloody joking. I recall very distinctly the precise degree of your… displeasure when you found out about them."

"I don't want her to be unhappy."

"Is she? Did Theo fuck around on her?"

"I don't think he did. She said it was mutual and that they're still friends. And he claims he didn't. He seemed very, ah, offended at the mere suggestion he'd do that to her. That I made on New Year's Eve."

Blaise let out a low chuckle. "Did you make this suggestion with your wand or your fists?"

"Tried with both, but Lucius took our wands and Theo explained before we quite got to fists." Draco looked to the side. "There was a bit of shoving, though."

Blaise's shoulders shook.

"And you believe him," he finally said.

"I guess?" Draco ran a hand into his hair. "But Astoria told me Daphne broke up with that wanker she was dating, so it's hard not to see a connection."

"Hmm, yeah. Theo was always mad for Daph." Blaise nodded slowly. "But, sounded as if he and Hermione were also…"

"Right." Draco cut him off.

"You could have just told him about the spell. I told you to. He could have been there for you and stayed away from her."

Draco blew out a sigh. "I know. But I wanted him to be there for her."

"Just not maybe that much?" Blaise's voice still held a hint of laughter.

Draco seriously considered dousing the floo for a moment before breaking into a rather painful smile. "Have I told you lately what an arsehole you are?" he asked.

"Hey, someone has to lift you out of these melancholy moods," Blaise said.

Draco made a rude gesture at him.

"And both Lucius and Narcissa know now? That's insane." Blaise shook his head.

"Yes, and are at cross-purposes, it appears."

Blaise blew out a laugh. "My money's on Narcissa."

"Yeah? Well mine's on Lucius." Any urge to laugh or smile left Draco completely. "He holds all the cards right now."

"Right," Blaise said. "I suppose he does. Unless Narcissa has enough gold to—"

"She doesn't. He made that clear."

"But she has the means to pull strings."

Draco rubbed his chin and looked away. "I can't let myself rely on that."

"I wouldn't say it's a sure bet, no. But maybe a reason to not lose hope completely? Plus you've got Granger looking at the problem now."

"With all due respect to Hermione's intelligence and er, tenacity, I doubt she's going to find anything Astoria and I didn't," Draco said. "She doesn't even have the resources I had—the family records. She's looking at bloody law texts and books about social conventions. And I can't tell her anything about how it happened. Who cast the bloody spell." He gave Blaise a dark look.

"Yeah." Blaise took a big breath. "The odds aren't great."

"And time's fucking running out too. Lucius and Cygnus are planning a June wedding."

"Fuck. Better get my dress robes pressed."

"Yes, I'll expect you to stand up with me. Otherwise I won't get through it."

"I'll be there."

Draco put a hand over his face. "Bloody fucking hell," he groaned. "Can I just make it to the end of the school year?" He looked up at Blaise. "I have this idea like, once it's done—once I'm away from here and away from her, it will be better? Because there will be no hope and I'll just be forced to move on."

"I'm not sure it works that way, mate."

"Fuck. I know." Draco leaned back in his chair and sighed.

Blaise was quiet and Draco sat up, peered at him through the flames. He realised Blaise looked down as well as fatigued. "Are you really OK?" Draco asked, a twinge of guilt plucking at him. His problems were so huge they often seemed to take up all the room in his head. He was sure he'd been a shit friend lately.

Blaise stretched and rolled his shoulders. "Eh," he said after a moment.

"What?" Draco frowned at him.

Blaise looked to the side. "I'm too busy. Not enjoying life right now. And I, uh, miss Lav," he finally said, sounding like the words were difficult to get out. And Draco knew they were. Blaise was not big on sharing his feelings.

"Shit," Draco said. "I'm sorry. I should have asked sooner."

Blaise waved a hand. Draco could tell he already regretted speaking.

"Have you talked to her?" Draco asked, deciding to press on anyway. "Or seen her at all?"

"Nah. We decided to do a clean break thing. Well, she decided. I've been trying to respect that."

"Right." Draco nodded. "Well, I saw her. Over the holiday. At her shop."

"You did?" Blaise straightened in his chair and his look sharpened. "How was she?"

"I barely spoke to her." Draco cast back in his memory. He had been so totally befuddled at that moment in time: his head in turmoil, his body acutely aroused, his mother and Hermione in the same room… He brushed through all that to recall Lavender's face as she'd walked in and taken in his presence. He snorted, "She wasn't very happy to see me."

Blaise smirked. "Not surprised."

"Right. And Hermione was there too. Working in the shop over the holiday, I think."

"Hermione was there?" Baise whistled low. "That must have been a scene."

"And my mother." Blaise's mouth dropped open and Draco shook his head. "Long story. But yes, it was a moment." He coughed a dry laugh. "But Lavender looked well. Through the daggers she was staring at me. Maybe you should contact her."

"Eh, she's asked me not to."

"But if you miss her…" Draco realised the pang he was feeling was sadness—at another San Cipriano connection just dissolving—touched with jealousy that the only thing separating Blaise and Lavender was a request.

Blaise shrugged. "I miss those days," he finally said, seeming to read Draco's thoughts. "Lazing in the sun. Popping by to see Lav and then you. Getting to know Granger. Even Theo. We three had some nice nights sharing a bottle or two." His dark eyes flashed to Draco's.

"Yeah." The pang grew to an ache, dull and persistent. "We didn't know how good we had it."

"I'm surprised at him." Blaise's voice was soft. "That he told her about you. Especially if he had, has, feelings for her…"

Draco held his gaze for a long moment. He'd been wrestling with this too and suspected he would need some more time with it. He had no idea what to think about Theo. How to classify him. The anger toward him was still there, and the overpowering envy, but it was tempered by…something…now.

"He was never much of a Slytherin," he finally said.

Blaise broke into genuine laughter and Draco smiled fleetingly.

"Well," Blaise said, looking over his shoulder. "I should probably go and eat something. Didn't have dinner yet."

"Mate, it's after ten here!"

"Told you I've been busy."

"Well, maybe you should take a break. Meet up with me in London."

"Could do," Blaise said. "Or here in Paris. I could set up a Portkey out of London for you. I'll be grounded here most of next month."

"That would be ace. I actually wanted to talk to you about living there. After all this" —Draco waved a hand— "is over. Or started. Whatever."

Blaise nodded. "That's an idea. You think Astoria would go for it? And Lucius?"

Draco shrugged. "My life's not my own."

"Understatement," Blaise said with a grimace.

Draco blew out a breath. "Anyway. Go. Get some food," he said. "I'll be in touch soon."

"We'll definitely do something," Blaise nodded. "It's been too long."

"Cheers," Draco said as the flames went dark.

He tipped back in his seat again, supporting his neck as he gazed through the window at the bright stars pricking the black sky. Scenes from the day tumbled through his mind and he shifted, letting his head drop into his cupped hands.

The things he wanted seemed nearer than ever, and yet never more far away.