Chapter Four: Renunion

Blaise appeared in an alley beside the gallery. He walked around front and tried to compose himself. He entered and sauntered over to Sarah. "Is Jennifer Wells in?"

Sarah gulped audibly. "I...I don't think it's such a good idea..." She looked guiltily down the hall that led to the studio. Blaise didn't wait for anything else, he just walked down the hall. Sarah tried to call him back but gave up. She called Jennifer instead. "Um, Jennifer? Blane Zan is on his way back..." she winced at the strangled scream that answered her.

Blaise entered the studio and saw a slender red head staring out a window that overlooked a side street. He cleared his throat. He didn't see her face before it was buried in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her. "I never would have made him ask you to dance if I had known, much less send him here."

She nodded into his shoulder. Eventually she pulled back, wiped the tears off her face, and said, "I know."

He smiled at her. "It is good to see you, though."

She smiled back at him, albeit weakly and nodded before getting a pained look on her face.

"Lunch?" He asked. Again, she only nodded.

Sarah almost fell out of her chair when she saw them come out. He had his arm around her and she looked so small and weak, a way Sarah had never seen her, but at the same time she also seemed happier than ever. "We'll be back when we're back," Blaise informed the assistant with a smile. She nodded weakly.

"It was the photo album that clued me in," Blaise explained, "that and red hair."

"It wasn't the photos, not really. I mean, he would have recognized me from them eventually. There are a few pictures of you in there somewhere. It was just, if he turned the page, well, the second thing in that book is the letter. I could have dealt with him recognizing me, I think, but I just panicked when I saw how close he was to reading that." They were eating at a little side walk cafe, and she was talking more to her tea than to him.

"I figured as much. You wouldn't have danced with him if you were too paranoid about him figuring out who you are." He paused to take a sip of wine and a bite of bread. They were still waiting on their food. "I still wish you would let me give it to him."

She looked up. "You still have it?"

"Don't sound so surprised." He pulled a picture out of his pocket. "I always have it with me. I guess I've been waiting for some sign that I should give it to him despite your order and wanted to be able to do so immediately." He put it back. "Why won't you let me give it to him?"

"You know why." She started picking apart a piece of bread.

"No, I don't. I don't even know why you left. I understand that you felt you needed to and that was enough for me to let you, but I still don't know why you felt that way."

She looked up again. "There was nothing for me. There was no reason to stay." She looked confused.

'Not London!" He was getting agitated. "Me! Why did you feel the need to leave me?"

She lowered her eyes. "Because...because you would always be with him. Because whenever you would get a letter from me you would get mad at him. Because whenever you would get mad at him you would ask to give him the letter. Because he would know you were talking to me. Because he would leave you if you kept getting mad him for leaving me. Because you are the only friend he has. Because I have Sarah."

His face softened. "She doesn't know anything that happened, does she?"

She shook her head. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. He sighed.

"That picture is his favorite, you know."

She looked back up.

"He has a print in his wallet. He has a print in his office. He sits and stares at it whenever he thinks about you. He has an albulm, a lot like yours actually, in which he has collected all of his favorite prints. The first one is that picture. Every wall in his flat has at least one picture of yours on it, usually more than one." His eyes were so full of concern. "Gin, you deserve to have a friend that understands as much as he does."

"Can we not talk about him anymore?" He swore to himself as he saw a familiar wall erect itself behind her eyes.

"Sure." So instead they caught up on each other's lives. There was nine years of stories to tell. They took two hours and they still weren't done so they agreed to meet again on the weekend and spend Saturday together. She would show him the town. He would see Rome the way Romans did.

He walked her back to the studio and showed him around. He looked at all her newest prints in the gallery, perused some of her sketchbooks, and flipped through some of her paintings in her studio. "Why don't you ever publish any of your other stuff?"

"What? The paintings?"

"Yeah, or the charcoals, pastels, pencils, mixed mediums..." he let his voice trail off as he turned toward her.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Those are personal. They're my version of a diary."

"And your photography isn't?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh!" She had found a way out of this. "I have something for you!" She raced to office and returned with a handful of pictures. "You might like these."

He flipped through them. There were three of him in the park. So it had been her. There were also a few from the ball. There was one of him talking with about three women. There was one of him dancing. There was one of him eating; he laughed when he saw that one. Then he got to a picture of Draco. His smile faded. There was one of Draco up on the catwalk, half hidden in shaddows. She had taken it while she was still on the way up, before he had known she was there. There were two of him standing in the crowd after descending from the catwalk before Blaise had gotten to him. One was developed the wizarding way, everyone in the photo moved except Draco, all he did was turn his head every now and then to watch the people swirling by him. The other was developed the muggle way with extended exposure, everything around him was a blur of color, but he had moved so little during that time that he was almost completely in focus. Blaise looked up Ginevra.

She shrugged. "He was too photogenic to pass up." Blaise nodded and pocketed the photos.

"Thanks. They're wonderful. You know, I'm surprised I didn't recognize you through your photography." He was suddenly thoughtful. "All of Draco's favorites either recall times you were together, emotions anyone from the war would have felt, or a loneliness, a..sort of...distance from the world, that the two of you share." He saw the look on her face grow dark. "Anyway, I better get going, I kind of just disappeared on him." With that he disapparated.