Chapter Four

Thursday January 1, 1998

8:23 AM

Luna stared up at the pristine wrought iron gate of Malfoy Manor in wonder. Mrs. Malfoy had given her instructions on how to enter the gate before they had all departed Zabini Mansion mere hours ago. Her father had kindly side-along Apparated her to the Manor a moment ago and now, here she stood.

She tapped her wand against one of the pickets and watched as the gate sprang to life before her. "State your name and business," it creaked, the pickets bending and stretching like a giant mouth.

"I'm Luna Lovegood," she told the gate politely. "Mrs. Malfoy is expecting me."

"You may enter."

The gate went rigid again and slowly swung open. As she passed through, Luna said a soft, "Thank you," to the gate and made her way up the long drive.

Mrs. Malfoy was waiting for her at the door. "Good morning, Luna," she greeted Luna warmly.

"Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy," Luna returned.

Mrs. Malfoy showed her inside as she spoke, "I want to thank you again for doing this, though I don't imagine Draco will be receptive. He won't open his door to anyone but Rookin."

Having heard the same from Blaise the previous night, Luna just smiled kindly and said, "Well, I'm willing to give it a shot, if that's all right."

"Of course, but you may be stuck standing in the hall."

Luna's smile widened. "Oh, I don't mind," she stated, patting her satchel. "I've brought some back issues of The Quibbler and a couple of books to read. I can read them aloud, just so Draco knows someone's there."

Mrs. Malfoy dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. The kindness of this young girl was unlike anything she had ever seen. "Ahem, well, if you get tired of reading, or need a change of scenery, I'll be in the drawing room." She pointed toward an archway just down the hall from the entry. "You're welcome to join me at any time."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"You're quite welcome, dear, and please, call me Narcissa," Mrs. Malfoy told her. "Rookin."

"Yes, Mrs.?" the elf inquired.

"Please show Luna to Draco's room and see that she is well tended during her stay."

Rookin bowed low and set his large eyes on the young blonde. "This way, Miss."

"Thank you."

Luna followed Rookin up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway. "Master Draco is locking himself in his room and not coming out," Rookin told her, "but Rookin takes good care of Master Draco, he does."

"I'm glad he has someone like you watching over him," Luna said, smiling at the elf.

"Rookin is a good elf, Miss. He makes sure his family is well fed, that they is getting enough sleep… Rookin sees to it that they is all taken care of."

When they reached Draco's room, Luna raised her fist and knocked on the door. "Draco," she called. "Draco, it's Luna. May I come in?"

There was a loud crash from inside the room and Rookin scowled at the door. He was a good elf, always followed the rules, but he was reaching the point where he was beginning to feel like a failure. He was supposed to take care of his family. Allowing Draco to shut out those that care for him was not taking care of his family. He made a decision then and there. No more.

"Rookin will let you in, Miss."

"Oh that's not necess-"

Ignoring her, the elf snapped his fingers and the door lock clicked. He would have to punish himself later, but he was determined to do a better job of caring for his young master. He reached up and turned the knob, pushing the door open in the process.

Luna stared in amusement as Rookin motioned for her to enter the room. He was muttering under his breath as he opened the nearest set of curtains, allowing light to brighten the gloom. When he turned and caught sight of the room, Rookin screeched. "Master Draco! You is being a very bad boy!" he scolded as he began to pick up the various empty bottles of Firewhiskey and dead animals that Helios had left as gifts for Draco.

"You give Rookin that bottle right now, Master Draco! You is having a guest!"

The room had been so dark that she hadn't noticed the white-blonde haired boy sitting in the corner, nursing a bottle of the amber liquid. "Hello, Draco," she said pleasantly.

Draco belched loudly in greeting and took another long swig from his bottle. "Rookin is teaching you better manners than that!" the elf said angrily before turning to Luna with an apologetic gaze. "Rookin is very sorry, Miss. Please forgive Master Draco; he is not himself."

"Of course, Rookin," Luna replied kindly, settling herself on the floor across the room from Draco, but keeping him in view. "I'm just going to sit here for a bit, if that's not too much trouble."

"No trouble, Miss Luna," Rookin replied, beginning to clear up the mess. "Just let Rookin finish cleaning in here and he will get Miss something to eat and drink, he will."

"Oh, you don't have to do that."

Rookin turned to her with his fists on his hips, his expression one that left no argument. "Mrs. told Rookin to take care of Miss Luna," he said firmly. "So, take care of Miss Luna, Rookin will."

"Very well, Sir."

With a satisfied nod, Rookin went back to cleaning. "What is you thinking to eat? Is you having breakfast yet?"

"I had an apple," Luna replied.

"Apples is not breakfast," the tiny creature scolded. "Rookin will make Miss Luna a proper breakfast."

Knowing better, now, than to argue, Luna thanked him kindly.

The little elf quickly straightened up Draco's room and lit a couple of the sconces around the room. Draco had made it clear a few days previous that he did not want the curtains opened, so, despite wanting to keep the one curtain open, Rookin closed it and left them alone.

The moment Rookin was out of the room, Draco pushed to his feet. Luna watched silently as he stumbled over to his desk and clumsily pulled open the large bottom drawer, taking out a full bottle of Firewhisky. He met her gaze with a cold glare as he opened the bottle and put it to his lips, daring her to try to stop him.

Luna lifted a shoulder in a shrug and looked away. She took the latest edition of The Quibbler from her bag and opened it. As she began reading, the faint scuffling of unsteady steps told her that Draco had returned to his corner. Though she could feel his eyes on her, she didn't look up until Rookin returned with breakfast.

Setting The Quibbler aside, Luna took the tray that was balanced on his head and set it in front of her. "This looks delicious, Rookin," she said, taking in the scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and jam. "Thank you."

Rookin beamed at her as he took the glass of orange juice and plate in his hands, consisting of the same food, over to Draco. "You is very welcome, Miss Luna," he replied, setting the plate and glass on a little folding table, turning to glare at his master. "You eat that!"

Draco scoffed dismissively, staring the elf down as he took a long swig from his bottle. When Rookin didn't relent, Draco rolled his eyes and picked up the toast with a huff. As he took a bite, Rookin's eyes softened. He patted Draco's knee and scurried away to finish up his housework.

Luna eyed Draco covertly as she ate her breakfast. It amused her to watch him put his half-eaten toast back on his plate only to pick it up again a few seconds later. It was almost as if he was going to discard the food and then thought better of it, possibly afraid of Rookin's wrath.

The rest of the morning passed quietly. Luna read quietly while Draco drank. He had finally stopped glaring at her by the time he'd finished his breakfast and was now snoring softly in his chair.

At one point, while he slept, Luna noticed him twisting uncomfortably. Thinking he might be having a nightmare, Luna began reading aloud from the book she'd switched to a little earlier. It seemed to calm him, so she continued, switching between reading silently and reading aloud as the need arose.

Draco slept through lunch and when he woke, he was dying for a cigarette. He reached over to the folding table but only found his lighter. He patted himself down, in case he pocketed the cigarette pack without remembering, and came up empty.

"If you're looking for your cigarettes, the pack was empty so Rookin threw it out."

Barely acknowledging that she had spoken, Draco went to his desk and pulled a fresh pack from the top drawer. He smacked the top of the pack against his palm a few times before opening it and putting a cigarette between his lips. With a quick burst of flame, he inhaled deeply, groaning softly as the nicotine filled his lungs.

As he blew the smoke out, he narrowed his eyes on Luna. "I don't need a baby-sitter," he growled, his voice rough from disuse.

"I know you don't," Luna replied, looking up at him.

"Then leave," he gritted out.

Unoffended, Luna packed up her satchel and got to her feet. When she reached the door, she looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow, Draco."

Sure enough, the following morning, Luna was outside his bedroom door by nine o'clock. He thought about just telling her to leave when Rookin let her in. He knew she would. But he didn't think it was worth the trouble of hearing Rookin lecture him about his rudeness.

Draco appreciated that she didn't lecture him about his drinking and smoking, or pressure him to speak. She just allowed him to sit in silence. He noticed that she seemed to understand when he was okay with hearing her talk and when he just wanted to be left alone. It was nice having her around, although he would probably never admit it.

Over the next few days, Luna and Draco slipped into a sort of routine that was almost a carbon copy of her first visit. Luna would show up in the morning, Rookin would let her into Draco's bedroom, she would read, he would drink, Rookin would serve them breakfast and lunch, and sometime later, Draco would tell her to leave. And leave she would, always stopping at the door with, "I'll see you tomorrow, Draco."

Though he knew she was leaving because he told her to, he detested when the door closed behind her and he was left alone.

When Luna was around, things didn't seem so grim. They felt easier, less painful. He drank and smoked less with her around. His appetite was bigger, too. Sometimes he would even make comments on whatever she was reading when she read aloud. It was as if she was a little ball of light that brightened his day just that little bit, but when she was gone… Well, he just couldn't bear being alone with himself.

He hated being alone.

The dark, sinking feeling he'd had since Hermione was abducted began overtaking the brief moment of light Luna had brought him. He pulled a new bottle of Firewhiskey from his desk drawer and removed the stopper before taking a long drink. He moved over to his best and flopped onto it. He stared up at the ceiling with an arm behind his head and sighed.

After a while, and almost the whole bottle of Firewhiskey, Draco fell into the drunken sleep of a lost soul.

Monday January 5, 1998

10:49 PM

Blue eyes stared out at the starlit sky. It was late. Yawning, Blaise arched his back and raised his arms over his head, stretching. He looked down at the letter he'd been writing and jotted down a final line. He then folded the letter and slid it into the neatly addressed envelope. He carefully poured a glob of wax onto the flap and pressed his metal stamp into it, letting it harden.

A soft hoot drew his attention to his open window as he put the stamp back in its place. He smiled at the sight of the boreal owl perched on his window sill and held up his arm. "Come on," he said softly.

The owl spread her wings and flew to him, landing neatly on the makeshift perch. "Haven't seen you in a few days, Callidora," Blaise cooed at her. "Been off hunting, have you?"

She hooted again and clicked her beak at him. Blaise chuckled as he ran his fingers through the soft feathers on her chest. He pushed to his feet and walked over to the large cage that stood near his window. He opened the cage door and Callidora hopped in, immediately going for the water bowl. "There's a good girl."

Blaise watched her as she drank and then hopped around. Another chuckle was pulled from his lips as Callidora put herself in the water dish and began giving herself a bath. "Oh, are you getting pretty for Killian?" he asked conversationally. "Yes, of course you are. He should be back before long."

Since moving Callidora into Killian's cage, the two owls had become quite a duo. Almost inseparable. He placed a handful of owl treats in the food dish, knowing that she would leave some for Killian, and left her to her own. He went back to his desk and picked up the book he had been reading throughout the day.

He hadn't quite been able to take in the words on the pages, so he decided to forgo trying. He slid the book back onto his bookshelf and sighed. Then, something caught his eye. A little further down the shelf, a book he hadn't looked at since the summer.

He took the book from the shelf and ran his fingers over the title. Magical Mysteries: A Look at the Unsolved Crimes Through the Years. Hermione had given this book to him for their birthday. He held the book to his chest and went to his bed. Before he laid down, a sudden thought occurred to him.

He recalled the lessons he'd had with Professor Firenze. There hadn't been many, but he had certainly learned a lot. He had learned a lot about himself. He had learned a lot about Hermione. He had learned a lot about, not only their connection as twins, but their magical connection as well. Their last lesson before the holiday had been particularly enlightening.

Professor Firenze's tail swished as he circled the twins. They were seated on the cushy grass of the forest-like classroom floor, legs crossed, facing each other. Between them was a small campfire of blue flamed fire that Hermione had expertly cast.

The centaur had asked them to write a number on a piece of parchment. The point of this exercise was for them to use their telepathy to pull the number the other had written from their head. Ten minutes had gone by and Blaise had had no success in even making a telepathic connection with Hermione.

His growl of frustration shattered the silence and sparks flew up as he threw his piece of parchment into the fire. He pushed to his feet and ran his hands through his hair. "Professor, this is pointless!" he complained.

"Blaise," Hermione admonished gently.

Professor Firenze held up a hand in her direction but kept his focus on Blaise. "Explain." There was no anger in his voice. No question. Just a simple request.

Blaise's shoulders slumped slightly. "I can't do it. I can't make the connection," he confessed. "I keep trying, but… It's like something is stopping me."

"Let us try a different approach, yes?"

The young wizard shrugged. The centaur motioned for him to retake his seat and joined the twins by the campfire. He stared at the two of them for a moment before saying, "Hermione, you've mentioned that when you and Blaise are in close proximity, you can sense each other; correct?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you can also sense what each other are feeling?"

They both answered this time. "Yes, Sir."

Professor Firenze nodded, thinking. "Why do you think it is that you can do this?"

"Because we're twins?" Blaise guessed.

"I imagine that is a part of it," the centaur chuckled. "Hermione?"

Hermione's brow furrowed as she looked down at her hands for a moment. "Could it be because we recognize each other's magical energy?"

Blaise was confused. "Magical energy?"

Professor Firenze clasped his hands together. "Much like the various things that make you who you are, magical energy is unique to the individual," he explained. "Hermione, do you recall the ingredients for the porridge from your first lesson?"

"Yes, Sir."

"If you would gather them, please."

Hermione nodded and made her way over to the cupboards. Blaise furrowed his brow. "Hang on, I remember Hermione telling me about that stuff. It lowers inhibitions."

"Yes, but we're going to try something else, first."

"Here you are, Professor," Hermione said, setting the ingredients and utensils needed.

"Excellent. Please, face each other and take hands."

Once they had done so, Professor Firenze instructed them to close their eyes. He threw a few herbs into the fire, filling the air with an earthy scent, much like the ground after a good rain. Then, he began speaking in a soft, hypnotic tone. "Deep breaths… Very good… Focus on each other. Only each other. Do not think. Only feel."

Blaise snorted skeptically. Hermione squeezed his hands sharply, causing him to wince. After that, he focused his attention on the task at hand; breathing deeply and centering on Hermione.

He concentrated on her tiny hands joined with his. Despite their smallness, there was a strength, an assuredness in their grip. Her fingers wiggled a bit and something rippled.

They both gasped.

Blaise tightened his grip on her hands as a warmth unlike anything he had ever felt licked at his skin. Hermione, he thought. The warmth blanketing his hands grew to near fire heat, but he didn't pull away from it. Instead, he welcomed it, reached out to it. The heat slowly worked its way up his arms, across his shoulders, up his neck to his head, down into his chest, and through the rest of his body.

The taste of honey filled his mouth; sweet and delicious. Somehow he knew he was tasting Hermione's magic. He felt a shiver run through him as Hermione's fingers gripped tighter. She tasted his, too. What do I taste like, he wondered?

Peppermint, Hermione's voice replied.

Blaise grinned and opened his eyes in excitement. "Bloody hell! That was amazing!"

Hermione's smile was as bright as his own. "I've never felt anything like that."

A soft clapping reminded them that they were not alone. Their heads turned toward Professor Firenze, who was also smiling. "Well done," he praised. "Very well done."

"Now what?" Blaise inquired.

"Now, you try again. With one hand only, this time."

Blaise's eyes opened with a pop. "Merlin, how could I have been so stupid?!"

He put his book down on his bed and went to his fireplace. He plunged his hand into his little pot of flu powder and chucked a little less than a fistfull into the flames, turning them green. He leaned into the fire. "Lovegood residence," he said.

The fireplace whirred at blinding speed. Blaise closed his eyes to keep from getting dizzy. This was certainly not his favorite way of contacting people, but he needed to reach Luna quickly.

Finally the whirring stopped. Blaise opened his eyes and found himself looking into a very cluttered living room stacked with books, knickknacks, various creature parts, and other things he couldn't quite make out. A floorboard creaked and a pair of bare feet came into his line of sight. They were small and feminine. "Luna," he whispered.

The feet came closer. A second later, familiar wide blue eyes were staring at him. "Blaise?"

"Hi."

"What's your head doing in my fireplace?"

"I needed to see you," Blaise told her. "Are you busy tomorrow? Can you come by the Mansion?"

"I'm visiting Draco tomorrow, but I can come by after," she replied. "I usually leave sometime after lunch."

"That'll work."

Luna's brow furrowed questioningly. "What's going on, Blaise? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine. I just had a thought about how to boost my Telepathy so I can connect with Hermione and you're the only person I can think of that can help me," Blaise explained. "I'll explain everything tomorrow when you get here, just… keep an open mind, okay?"

Luna nodded. "Of course. I'll help in any way I can."

Blaise smiled. "Thanks, Luna. Sorry about the late hour."

"It's nothing. I'm always up late."

They said their goodbyes and Blaise pulled his head from his fireplace. When he sat up, he rolled his neck and shoulders. "You'd think there would be a more comfortable way of Flu-calling." He then stood and decided he had better try to get some sleep.

Thursday January 8, 1998

6:13 PM

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Zabini, Blaise, thank you for seeing me on such short notice," stated Investigator McMillan when he was shown into Mr. Zabini's study.

Mr. Zabini shook his offered hand. "Of course, it is a pleasure to see you again."

Blaise snorted and rolled his eyes. As nice as Investigator McMillan was, he couldn't agree that it was a pleasure to see him. He knew the man was just doing his job, but when that job was to find Hermione and punish those responsible for her abduction, the fact that it had been two weeks and he was no nearer to completing said job was disheartening.

"Please, do sit down," Mrs. Zabini said.

"Thank you," he replied, taking the chair she was now offering. "Ahem, I'm afraid I don't have anything new to tell you regarding your daughter's disappearance, but-"

"Abduction."

All eyes turned to Blaise. "Sorry?" Investigator McMillan inquired.

"You don't have anything new to tell us regarding Hermione's abduction."

Mrs. Zabini shifted slightly. "Blaise, I'm sure Inves-"

Blaise ignored her, keeping his eyes focused on Investigator McMillan. "She didn't disappear from her adoptive parents' home; she was taken. You should know this! Merlin, did you even read the statement I gave to Auror Hawk?!"

"Blaise," his father warned.

He pushed away from the wall and stepped closer to the Ministry Investigator. "Listen, Investigator McMillan, I like you; really, I do, and I'm sure you're brilliant at your job… Usually."

"Blaise, that is enough," Mr. Zabini scolded.

"No, it's not nearly enough, Father," Blaise shot back, turning to face him. "Two weeks that Ministry lot's been looking for Hermione, two weeks. I'd have better luck finding her with Draco, even in his drunken state. Hell, Potter and Weasley would have better luck than the Ministry. Why won't you let me try?"

Mr. Zabini narrowed his eyes on his son. "Blaise, we have had this discussion before. We will not have it again," he said in a tone that brokered no argument. "You and your friends will not interfere in the Ministry's investigation. Have I made myself clear?"

Blaise clenched his fists and tightened his jaw. "Yes, Father," he replied through gritted teeth. "May I be excused? I can't stand here and listen to another report of failure."

"Blaise," Mrs. Zabini gasped.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he said softly as he went by her.

As soon as he was out of his father's study, Blaise made a beeline for the stairs. He descended to the first floor and went directly out the front door. In an attempt to release some of the anger he felt, he threw his head back and let the loudest yell he had ever done rip through him.

"Did that help?"

Blaise whirled, wand drawn, and found himself facing Harry. "Bloody hell, Potter, didn't anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on people when they're in a rage?" he panted, slipping his wand back up his sleeve.

One of Harry's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "My parents were killed when I was one and my Aunt and Uncle really couldn't care less about teaching me anything," he replied, pushing away from the tree he was leaning against. "You didn't answer my question."

"I didn't answer your…? Oh! No, it didn't help."

"Yeah, screaming never helped me, either." He cleared his throat and moved closer. "You need to hit something."

Blaise snorted in disbelief and smirked a little. "Hit something? You mean like a Muggle?"

Harry grinned. "Exactly like a Muggle."

Skeptical, Blaise looked at him curiously. "And… it actually works?"

Harry nodded.

"All right. Um, what do I hit? You?"

His brow shot skyward at the question. "What?! No!"

Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and looked around. Settling on the tree he'd previously been leaning against, he aimed his wand and a jet of silvery-blue light shot like a bullet from the tip. The next second, they were both looking at a Muggle punching bag. "Hit that," Harry instructed.

Blaise stared at the odd object. He pulled out his wand again but Harry grabbed his arm before he could take proper aim. "Not with magic," he explained. "With your fist. Haven't you ever punched anyone before?"

"No." At Harry's expression Blaise felt the need to explain. "I've been around magic my whole life, it's natural for me to use this. Not this." He held up his wand and his fist respectively.

Harry chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, when you live with a cousin that likes to use you as a human punching bag, you learn to defend yourself very early on."

"Is that why you have such quick reflexes?" Blaise wondered. "Dodging your cousin?"

"Not sure," Harry shrugged. "They've certainly helped, though. Ahem, now… what you want to do is… and I'm no expert, mind you. I've only learned the proper way from watching Dudley, that's my cousin, practice his boxing at home."

Blaise nodded. "I get it. Just show me what to do."

Harry hit the punching bag slowly a few times to demonstrate and then motioned for Blaise to try. "That's not bad, but you're not going to get any anger out with a little tap like that," he informed him. "Try again, but harder."

Blaise hit the punching bag again, and again. With each punch, Harry would tell him to hit harder. Every single time. And every single time, Blaise would hit harder. He hit so hard, so many times, that his forehead began to glisten with sweat.

After about five minutes, Blaise's punches became slower and softer. He finally stopped, collapsing to the grass beneath him, panting for breath. Harry stood over him. "Feel better?"

Blaise laughed tiredly. "Much."

Harry reached down and pulled him to his feet. "Glad I could help," he said, restoring the punching bag to its original form.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Blaise inquired, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his face and neck.

"Mr. Weasley said someone from the Ministry was scheduled to visit your family today."

"Investigator McMillan from the Improper Use of Magic Office," Blaise confirmed. "He's with Mum and Dad in Dad's study giving them the news that he has no news."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not surprised. In my experience, the Ministry is totally useless."

Blaise nodded in agreement. "I say it's time to take things into our own hands."

"I couldn't agree more."

"Why don't you pop round tomorrow for lunch?" Blaise suggested. "Bring, Ginny and Ron, yeah?"

Harry nodded. "What about Luna?"

"She'll already be here. She's been helping me with a personal project."

"If you mean Malfoy, I was there when she offered to look in on him, remember?"

Blaise shook his head. "No, it's something else. I'll fill you in tomorrow."

"All right, see you then."

With a brief wave, Blaise turned and headed back inside. He was hit with a swirl of emotions the second he entered the house. The force of it made him feel a bit sick. I really need to learn how to control this, he thought. Maybe I should check with the others to see if they've found anything that can help.

A sudden thought pinged his brain. That's the first time I've called them the others and not Hermione's friends. She'd be so proud.

He smiled at that. His smile didn't last, though. Clasping a hand over his mouth, he sprinted to the nearest toilet. Yeah, I definitely need to learn to control this.

8:12 PM

Showered and dressed in a clean pair of pyjamas, Blaise made his way down to the kitchen. After emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet earlier, he was starving. He greeted Gripa, who was standing on her stool at the sink, scrubbing a pan.

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "Hello, Master Blaise. Is you wanting something for eating?" she inquired. "Gripa will makes you something."

He had planned on just warming up some leftovers, but her offer was too good to turn down. "That'd be great. Thanks."

Gripa stopped her scrubbing and climbed off her stool, drying her hands on the little apron tied around her tiny waist. "What is you wanting?"

Blaise smiled. "Do we have the stuff for fish and chips?"

With a nod, Gripa immediately scuttled around the kitchen, gathering all the ingredients and cookware she would need. As she cooked, the two of them chatted about the quickly approaching school term. It was becoming quite the hot topic in the Mansion.

Blaise wanted to do his schooling at home until Hermione was found, but his parents were of the mind that he should return to school. They wanted him to be a kid, to not have a care about the difficult real world things in life. It angered him to no end. He wasn't a kid, not in the eyes of the Wizarding World anyway. He was seventeen. Of age. A man.

A man who was tired. Tired of hearing reports that showed no progress. Tired of always feeling out of control. Tired of being tired. He wanted progress. He wanted results. He wanted to find his sister! He didn't know what the next day's impromptu meeting with his friends would yield, but he hoped it was something good and useful. Speaking of friends…

"I'm having some friends over tomorrow for lunch," Blaise mentioned casually. "Nothing fancy. Just a little get together."

Gripa nodded in understanding. "Gripa has meats and cheeses, fresh bread," she listed off, tipping her frying pan and sliding his food onto the plate by the stove.

"Sandwiches. I like the way you think, Gripa."

Gripa smiled as she plated his chips. "Gripa knows what her family is needing."

Blaise smiled at her affectionately. She was absolutely right. For as long as he could remember, she had always taken care of the family, and she always knew what was needed before being asked or told. "Yes, you do."

A few seconds later, Gripa snapped her fingers and the plate of the delicious smelling fish and chips floated toward him. He smiled widely as the plate settled itself on the table in front of him and thanked Gripa. The small elf shrieked as her bulbous eyes caught sight of the bruises and broken skin on his knuckles.

She ran around the table and clambered up onto the chair next to him. Grabbing his hand and examining it, she asked, "Master Blaise, what has you done?"

"It's nothing," he told her, removing his hand from her grasp. "Get your plate and have dinner with me."

Gripa's bat-like ears waggled in irritation. "Gripa eats after she tends to Master Blaise's hand," she stated firmly, leaving his side.

With a sigh, Blaise relented. As if she'd give me any other choice. "Very well."

She gave him an indulgent smile as she returned to her chair, carrying a small basket of healing supplies, and began tending to his skinned and bruised hand. Blaise sat quietly while she worked, not eating a bite. When she was finished, he looked at her expectantly and she obediently got her plate.

Once she was seated next to him again, Blaise cut off a portion of his fish and slid it, along with some chips, onto her plate. He then cut off a bite of his own piece of fish and ate it. When Gripa followed suit, he reached out and rubbed her head affectionately. Gripa's ears wiggled happily.

Friday January 9, 1998

9:04 AM

The chiming of the doorbell pulled Blaise from his pre-term studying. Looking at the time, he jumped up and bolted from his room and down the hall. Gripa was about a foot away from the door when he shouted, "I've got it!" from the second floor landing.

Blaise didn't miss the way she narrowed her bulbous eyes at him, slightly put out, before going about her business. I'll have to let her fuss over me a little more to make up for this, he thought as he bounded off the bottom stair. Taking the final strides to the door, he pulled it open and greeted Luna with a breathless, "Hi."

Luna smiled and adjusted the bag over her shoulder. "Hello, Blaise."

The day after their Flu-call, Luna had come over as planned, and Blaise had explained his memory to her. They went over it in detail and Luna believed she could get all the ingredients he'd mentioned, but that she'd need some time. Blaise had agreed and they'd put together a plan of action for when she had everything they'd need.

He moved aside so that she could enter and took her bag from her. He guided her through the mansion and ushered her into his room. "Where do you want me?" he questioned, setting her bag in his desk chair.

Looking around the room, Luna decided on the massive throw rug that was laid out in front of the small stone fireplace. "Since all of your lessons with Professor Firenze have consisted of you sitting and lying on the floor, I think that rug is the perfect place. Though, I think you'll need some pillows to make you a little more comfortable," she stated. "You need to be as relaxed as possible for what we're going to do."

"Good thinking," Blaise agreed with a nod. "We'll need a fire going, as well. I probably should've had that going before you arrived."

Luna smiled as she drew her wand. "Allow me."

Blaise watched in amusement as Luna aimed her wand at the fireplace, easily setting the logs alight, and then turned her attention to his bed. With a swish and flick, his pillows rose into the air and were gently guided to the rug where they dropped into a disorderly pile.

"Enjoying using non-verbal spells?" Blaise inquired with a chuckle as he arranged the pillows to his liking.

"They do come in rather useful," Luna admitted, grabbing her satchel and bringing it over to the rug.

As she began pulling things from her bag and setting them up, Blaise sat comfortably and examined the various items. Bowls, powders, potions; there were so many things that he didn't know what to make of it all. Some of the items looked familiar as far as he could tell. Herbology and Potions weren't his best subjects.

Checking that she had put everything just where she wanted it, Luna set her attention on Blaise. "Get comfortable," she said, nodding toward the pillows.

He did as he was told, tilting his head back and looking at her upside down as she knelt at his head. "Are we really going to need all of that?"

"Well, my hope is that we won't need to use any of it," she told him. "Some of these herbs and potions have addictive qualities that I'd rather not subject you to and some of them would be better in the hands of someone more capable, but they're here if we need them."

She flicked her wand at the curtains, shrouding the room in darkness apart from the glowing blaze in the fireplace. "All right, put your head right and let's see where you are naturally."

Blaise frowned. "Compared to Hermione, I'm nowhere near natural with this," he stated. "It always took me multiple tries to make a connection with her telepathically, but she could make one with me, no sweat."

"I'm making a rule, right now; no putting yourself down."

"I wasn't…" His words trailed off at her look. "I'll try."

She nodded. "Let's get you nice and relaxed," she said, wiping her hand gently over his face, silently telling him to close his eyes.

Catching her hand before she pulled it too far away, Blaise re-opened his eyes and gave her a nervous look. "Um… Do you… Would you mind, er, maybe keeping contact with me?" he asked. "I think it might help me, you know, with the relaxing. I'm a little too much in my head right now."

Luna peered down at him kindly. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Not much to say, really."

"Blaise, I think we've been friends long enough for me to tell when you're not being fully truthful."

Blaise sat up and turned to face her. "What if… What if this fails?" he asked quietly, picking at a loose thread on the topmost pillow. "What if I fail?"

"I won't lie to you and say that you won't fail," Luna said gently. "You might."

At his disheartened expression she quickly continued. "I know you want to find Hermione, we all do, but you need to remember that this is a new skill for you. It's going to take time."

"I know, I just…" He let out a heavy sigh.

"You're dangerously close to breaking my rule of not putting yourself down."

Blaise ran his hands over his face. Luna patted the pillows, urging him to lay back down. "Come on, let's try again, and this time, I'll keep my hands at your temples."

Once again settling back against the pillows, Blaise closed his eyes. At the feeling of Luna's fingers gently pressed against his temples, massaging in little circles, he allowed the calmness her touch brought to wash over him. It helped, but not enough for him to fully let go.

Thirty minutes later, they were no closer to getting him to relax than they had been when they started. "I'm sorry, I thought the contact would help."

"All right, let's try something else," Luna suggested when Blaise growled in frustration. "You mentioned that Professor Firenze used an herb to help you during your lessons?"

"Yes. It smelled like rain."

At the mention of that, Luna opened a small jar and took a pinch of the herb, tossing it into the fire.

Blaise smiled at the familiar scent that quickly permeated the air. "Petrichor," he sighed, breathing in deeply.

Luna placed her hands back at his temples, softly instructing him to just breathe. His muscles slowly began to loosen. He was a jumble of tight springs being uncoiled one by one. A giant knot being untangled. He hadn't felt this relaxed since Christmas Eve at the Grangers. The night Hermione was…

"Blaise. Blaise, wake up!"

His eyes snapped open at the edge of pain laced in Luna's concerned words. He blinked up at her in confusion. "What happened?" he asked as he tried to sit up.

Luna put a hand to his shoulder, gently pushing him back down before he got too far. "Don't try to sit up," she ordered kindly.

"What happened?" Blaise repeated.

The small v between her eyebrows appeared as they drew down in thought. "I'm not sure exactly. One second you were relaxing peacefully and the next, your whole body went rigid," she explained. "Were you having a vision?"

Had he been? He shook his head, certain that he hadn't. "I'd remember a vision," he assured her. "Can we try again?"

Luna hesitated for a moment, assessing him carefully, before she nodded. She threw another pinch of the herb into the fire and Blaise fell into another trance-like state of relaxation.

"Again!" Blaise growled three hours later when another attempt to reach Hermione was unsuccessful.

Luna stopped him from putting his hand in the herb jar. "Blaise, you're exhausting yourself," she said kindly. "You need to rest. Besides, the others will be here in a few minutes for the lunch you invited us all for."

Blaise huffed.

"We'll try again, Blaise, I promise," Luna assured him. "Perhaps the others can give us their thoughts on why it's not working."

Relenting, Blaise sighed heavily and nodded. "You're right." He wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his hand. "Ahem, I should go clean up."

He stood on shaky legs and went into his bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Gripping the sink to keep himself upright, he gazed at his reflection in the waterfall mirror. Beads of sweat slid down from his temples. He wiped them away with shaky hands and turned on his shower. He had planned on just splashing some water on his face and maybe dampening his hair a bit but, upon seeing the state of himself, he realized a shower was in order.

Knowing the others would be there shortly, he stripped off his clothes and took the fastest shower he'd ever taken in his life. It wasn't until he'd finished and was getting out of the shower, that it hit him. He'd forgotten a change of clothes.

Ordinarily, this wouldn't be a problem. He was confident enough to walk around naked, even with a girl in his room. In fact, he'd done it plenty of times before with girls he'd slept with. He wasn't sleeping with Luna, though, he wasn't even thinking of sleeping with her. She was Ron's girlfriend and he was engaged to Beatrice. He wasn't about to disrespect either of their relationships by walking out of his bathroom naked.

He dried off and wrapped his towel tightly around his waist. "Um, Luna?" he called, cracking open the door.

"Yes?"

"I've got to grab a change of clothes, would you mind turning your back, or closing your eyes, or something?"

"Oh! Of course, yes." A few seconds later, she called out, "All right, you can come out."

Blaise opened the door wider and cautiously peered into his bedroom. Luna was sitting near his fireplace with her back to him, her face buried in her drawn up knees. He couldn't help grinning at her extra precaution. He hurriedly gathered some clean clothes and went back into the bathroom.

As he dressed, a slightly familiar humming began coursing through him. His whole body buzzed with so much energy the air around him seemed to crackle. He remembered feeling this way after his few lessons with Professor Firenze and Hermione. It was a pleasant feeling, like flying.

Laughter bubbled out of him but quickly died as bitterness flooded his mouth. Foul, disgusting, bile tasting bitterness that made him want to douse his mouth with disinfectant just to rid himself of the nastiness. Though he knew it wouldn't help, he brushed his teeth, twice.

"Blaise, are you all right?" Luna asked him when he reentered his bedroom.

He nodded absently. "Yeah, just some residual effects of that herb we used," he explained. "It happened after the lessons with Professor Firenze, as well. It's like I can taste everyone's magic within a certain distance but I can't separate them. It's like eating a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans."

Luna wrinkled her nose at the analogy. "Does it wear off quickly?"

Blaise shrugged. "After an hour, or so." He furrowed his brow. "I think the others are here."

Author's Note- Hey all! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! It took me a long time to get it where I felt it was ready for public viewing. I'm currently working on Chapter Five, so please bear with me. It's taking longer than I'd like. Also, Chapter Five will be the last chapter for a while because I'd like to get another five chapters written before going back and editing them to get them post ready. As always, thank you guys so much for your patience and for taking the time to go on this journey with me! Much Love- Sarah