Aftershock -Part Two

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In the following weeks, Draco would catch glimpses of Granger, talking to someone or another. He was never party to what the Ministry wanted with her, which annoyed him. He had been taught humility by necessity, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold onto. So Draco drank his coffee every morning while going over the unimportant tidbits that kept the wizarding world running smoothy, and became more curious and bored with each passing day.

The only thing that kept him going were the letters from Potter, which arrived once a week like clockwork. Draco took comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only one who could feel his talents dissolving. Potter would have had it worse if he hadn't stayed with the Muggles though. Damage taken in the last battle had made playing Quiddich professionally an impossibility, and so Harry had become a Muggle sports writer, and enjoyed it well enough.

"Like swallowing glass." Draco quoted to himself, reading the latest news from Potterville. The description fit more situations than Potter had meant it to, the poor man was complaining about the photo editor again. Overall, Potter seemed grumpy but content, if such a thing was possible. Then the end of the letter approached.

Hermione wrote me this week. I'm glad that you managed to get her back to England. I think that she was having entirely too much fun with those icky old vampire books at that estate dismantling in Transylvania. Draco mentally kicked himself for not thinking of just asking Potter where she was instead of going through Gringotts. She says that she got to see you for a few minutes, that your office is better suited to Hogwarts with all the stuff in it, and that you didn't look well. Is everything alright D? Is the Ministry treating you well?

The emotion hit Draco harder than he was prepared for, and he had to put the letter away. In school he had often wondered what it would have been like being a part of the family that the Trio seemed to collect around them. Draco's own school group was held together more by awe and fear of the Malfoy name than anything else. And while Potter's group usually started much the same way, it didn't take long for more compassionate emotions to take their place.

While Potter and Draco had formed an odd sort of brotherhood in the pressure of those terrible days, the bond hadn't extended any further than the two of them. Draco had been content with that, knowing how much damage he had done to the possibilities so early on.

Now...

Now Hermione had been concerned enough to write about him to Potter. Not just in the "I know you don't hate him anymore" way, but with an actual update. And how the Hell would Granger know whether he looked well or not?

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Draco was locking his office door behind him, when Hermione startled him. "Are you free this evening? Her vioce was cheerful, and Draco wondered briefly what parallel universe he had fallen into.

"Yes, I am Granger," he replyed cautiously, "what of it?"

"Harry's in London tonight, and I was wondering if you would like to join us for dinner?" It was a tempting offer, but he was wary of the source. Hermione was the most civil person he'd ever known, but not to the point of suffering his company if she didn't have to.

"How are we planning on keeping his ardent admirers away?" Draco asked, remembering what had happened the last time Harry had been out to eat in London.

Hermione looke uneasy, which made him more curious than nearly anything else would have. "The restaraunt that we agreed on is in Muggle London." Ah, that explained the unease. Apparently his new, more open-minded life was not a well-known development. Draco wondered if Harry hadn't told her out of embarresment. After all, Malfoy and Potter were nearly friends these days, but that wasn't common knowledge.

"I would be delighted Granger. Where and when?"

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Harry ended up driving Draco home, which got them both a raised eyebrow from Hermione. Over the course of the evening, everyone had stayed on their best behavior, and there had only been brief patches of tension. Hermione had been a translator for Gringotts when the last battles had started, and was again now. She knew only vaguely what had happened, but had no intereset, or stomach, for the the details. Draco had been relieved when she seemed to accept that he and Potter were on good terms, and had let them talk freely, which was a luxury neither had indulged in for a while, and had woven herself easily into the conversation. Soon they were chatting like old friends, as if Weasly was at the table instead of a Malfoy, and it warmed Draco's heart, just a little.

He had caught Hermione looking at him with a strange emotion in her eyes, as if he were a logic puzzle, every so often. Soon he was trying to out-stare her, as if they were in potions class again, and he had been certain that only one of them would get into trouble. It didn't work out that way, but soon he could see impending giggles in her eyes instead of puzzlement, and that just made it more fun. He had felt the weight of the last few years lift from him briefly, and it had been wonderful.

Harry had kept the conversation light, being better at idle chit-chat than either of the other workaholics at the table, and the evening had been more or less pleasant, right up to bidding Hermione good-night as the two men got into Harry's tiny orange car. Somehow, Draco had known that Harry would have an orange car. He was sure that the only reason that Harry didn't have a Cannons bumpersticker was that the ministry would have confiscated it.

Now they travled in comfortable silence, each concerned with his own thoughts. That was the nice thing about traveling like a Muggle, Draco thought, the leisurely pace of car and train travle was that one had time to think, and ponder while they got from one place to another.

All too soon, Harry had pulled into the driveway and they sat, looking at Draco's very dark and lonely house. Draco didn't want to go into the solitude, and Harry was just watching him patiently. So he made an offer that would have given his father a stroke:

"Would you like to come in for a nightcap?"

"Sure D." And they walked into the chill house, dispelling some of the lingering melancholy.

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