Thursday, May 1st, 2003
Hurrying his pace down Diagon Alley, Blaise finally reached the front door to the shop he'd been planning to stop by before it closed. Then, he had to go back to the Leaky Cauldron to meet Draco who would probably wait for him again if he didn't hurry a bit more. Entering the little apothecary, Blaise crossed the distance to the counter top in two quick steps, and asked for the order he'd placed the night before. Waiting for the salesman to come back from the supply room at the back, he scanned the shelves of potion ingredients, trailing a finger on the labels. The door clicked quietly as another client entered, and peeking at his watch Blaise's patience started to shatter. He'd be late again. Turning around to call the salesman he got surprised to see that he was again face to face with the book-worm. She saw him, of course, but pretended as if there was no one there and just walked past him to the aisles. He couldn't believe she wouldn't even nod. He found himself thinking aloud:
"Seriously?"
She pretended not to hear him and kept perusing the aisle for traditional potion ingredients. Not one to appreciate being ignored, or not admired for instance, Blaise resolutely went beside her and put his hand in front of the row of ingredients she was examining.
"Evening Granger." He sneered. She let her hand drop but kept her gaze stubbornly fixed on the ingredients. After a few seconds her mouth finally opened.
"Leave me alone." She'd almost whispered it, her tone flat, as if she just didn't really care. She didn't look angry or impatient or in a hurry, she just looked blanked.
The last time Blaise had properly seen her, was at commemoration, a year prior, and all they'd exchanged had been a polite nod of acknowledgement. Blaise cocked his head to a side, trying to catch her eyes, and frowned. She looked exhausted, and blank. There was definitely something wrong with her, his guts told him so, and Blaise sensed it probably had nothing to do with the weasel. No one in the world would be that depressed over him, the idiot was as thick as a sock, and all in all too happy for his own good. He was also the most irritating and temperamental wanker Blaise had ever met. That thought made him smile, it was so easy to anger the idiot, it had become his favourite game over the years. Every time he'd been at a Ministry event he'd played it.
Shaking his head to focus again on the present matter, and seeing that she wouldn't talk any further, he blinked a few times and finally asked, his lips twisted in distaste:
"What's wrong?" She inhaled deeply and finally made eye contact.
"Nothing that concerns you. Move your hand please I'd like to buy those."
"You look like shit Granger." If he'd hoped to anger her, he'd failed miserably. She frowned and cocked her head to a side. Finally coming to whatever realisation she huffed and simply stated:
"As if you cared." Right, he didn't give a damn, so he shrugged:
"Right, I don't." She watched him expectantly but said nothing. "What?"
"Your hand." She pointed out. Blaise withdrew it and she took a few vials from the row, before starting to the counter. Not another word came out of her mouth. She paid and walked off quickly, without even a polite salute to the salesman, that seemed to have recognised her. Blaise took his order and followed.
He scowled, he was late again. At least it was what his watch pointer showed. He wondered why in hell he kept bothering with even owning one of those, since there was always something to make him late anyway. He should just stay in bed from now on. Right, if anyone wanted to see him, they could drop by. It would avoid running into a golden arse every other day too.
Hermione had hoped that she wouldn't encounter anyone shopping this late, but apparently she had used up all her luck. Crossing path with Zabini twice the same week was a first, and enough for a lifetime. The tall idiot was persistent in his wish to make her speak. She'd thought she'd made it clear that she didn't want to have anything to do with him whatsoever, but apparently being ignored wasn't his favourite game. Sighing, she walked back slowly to the Leaky Cauldron, made her way through the brick wall that kept Diagon Alley shut to the world, and was instantly assaulted by the thick hubbub of patrons deep in vivid conversations.
The place wasn't half as full as it used to constantly be few years prior, but accustoms kept coming by even on work nights, and passers-by always stopped there on their way in or out Diagon Alley.
Slipping through the little crowd gathered around the counter, she caught Tom's glance who greeted her with a quick and respectful nod she returned. He was the first person she responded to in quite some time. But to her defence, Tom had always been respectful and was not one to pry or ask too many questions. He usually just nodded and she always returned the politeness.
Turning her face back to the door she caught a flash of bright blond hair, and linking it with Zabini, felt a sudden urge to just run away. Which she practically did, knocking a woman with a tall purple hat off her feet before reaching the door.
Her headache had only passed in the afternoon, but drenched from the day and, if she were totally honest with herself, sad and depressed, all she wanted at that moment was a drink. Having emptied all her not-so-full cupboards two nights before she realised she'd have to go out. The Leaky Cauldron was not an option plus, there was always some kind of reporter lurching in the corners, so she thought of Hogsmeade. Why not see if the Three Broomsticks was less crowded? Surely, as it was almost the end of term, there wouldn't be any professors around, nor any student sneaking out. She'd probably be at peace for a little while.
Blaise was late again. Had he ever been on time for anything anyway? Nope. Never.
Scowling, Draco decided to order without waiting for him and lifted his face from his knuckles, just as Tom was nodding politely to a patron. He followed instinctively the bald man's stare and felt his eyebrows raise to his hairline. Again?
Blaise entered from the back door, about three steps after the famous book-worm, his eyes fixed on her back with a confused frown. Draco got under the strange impression that she was running away from him. Suspicion that only confirmed itself as she knocked someone off her path to hurry out.
Blaise finally sought him out as the door banged behind the hungover Granger, and walked in a middle of a round of patrons to come and sit on the free stool next to him.
"Girls running away from you now?" Draco didn't wait to point out.
"You seen? How …"
"She's probably hangover." Draco smirked and Blaise's eyes widened to the approximate size of a plate.
"How would you know?" He frowned.
"I had to sign the regulations papers yesterday, and she took care of it."
"And?"
"Why's she running away from you?"
"I'll tell if you do."
"All right."
Hermione apparated next to the Three Broomsticks, but thought it wise to peer inside from the window before entering. Merlin she was grateful for her cautious brain. First, she hadn't remembered Rosmerta, and as nice as the witch was, she'd probably ask too many questions, second, Hagrid was in there with Neville. Sighing, she went for her last option, Hog's Head, since there was no way in hell she was setting foot at Madam Puddifoot's. Passing a closed Zonko's and the post office, she walked slowly to the far end of the village. The wind was a bit chilly for this time of year but, wandering alone in fresh air was relaxing, especially after such a day.
She'd found herself face to face with Caroline first thing in the morning, then she'd argued, or better screamed like a banshee at Judith, AGAIN, then she'd had yet another sodding meeting with all her department, and then crossed path with Zabini, again. The day had been long. She entered the pub and was welcome with a piercing pair of questioning blue eyes. Aberforth Dumbledore wouldn't ask though, he'd probably guess. She approached the counter, behind which he was stacking clean glasses.
"Need a drink?" Even if it sounded like a question, Hermione knew it wasn't really. She nodded:
"Firewhiskey." He obliged and she took her glass to sit in a corner of the room, away from the non-existent prying eyes.
She had down three of these and was just starting on the fourth when she got confirmation that Merlin had forsaken her, and that she'd never be lucky in anything in her life again. A tall raven haired man sat abruptly in the chair facing her, his face surprised, a firm and well-practised smirk plastered on his mouth. Hermione recognised him from Hogwarts, even if she'd never talked to him, his long hair and pale complexion were unmistakable. Theodore Nott. Before he could say anything though she exploded for the second time that day:
"Is this some kind of sick joke?"
"Well hello to you too."
"I'm serious. Is this the Slytherin encounter week or something? Zabini, then Malfoy, then Zabini again, now Nott, then what?"
"Parkinson?" Answered a feminine voice Hermione remembered perfectly. Pansy Parkinson joined her too at the table and put down two glasses for Nott and herself.
Closing her eyes and rubbing her face in both hands, Hermione wished them gone, aloud, and hoped to be hallucinating. But she wasn't of course.
"What're you doing here Granger?" Pansy Parkinson seemed to be sincerely wondering, and Nott was watching her with interest, as if she'd been some sort of new magical specie. Hermione sighed and stood.
"I'm going home." She droned.
"Your glass is full." The witch said. Hermione didn't sit back down anyhow, grabbed her glass, downed it in two large and painful gulps, then stormed out of the pub. She heard Nott call after her but ignored it, and once safely outside, did something she usually never did. She disapparated even if she felt a bit too tipsy to avoid the risks of splinching herself to death.
She went straight to bed, her head buzzing with memories she had no wish to remember, ever.
"Can't picture getting rid of the weasel to be such a woe, something's off." Concluded Blaise, his face torn between worry, and disgust at actually being worried. Draco chose to lighten the mood, it wasn't like the both of them to even talk about the prude golden arse, admitting something was off, which was certainly the case, was well enough.
"Maybe he was that good in bed. Never know, with the lights off …" He sneered. Blaise chuckled, incredulous, shaking his head in denial:
"Yeah right, and I'm ugly."
"Anyway there's nothing we can do, or nothing I'm willing to do whatsoever so …"
"Right. It's just odd, I kinda feel like I should do something." Blaise said, his face screwing in a mix of actual worry and something else Draco considered to be madness.
"Right, you've lost it." He concluded.
"No, look I saw her talk with my grandma a few months before she died. Apparently she made pass a whole bunch of regulations just to help our company after the war." He started explaining, as if it could possibly justify the worry. "My grandma wanted to be rid of all the dark arts branches in the family business and they worked together for some time. Now that I own it, she's lowered the controls and given us more freewill."
"Really?" Draco startled. "Wait, that's her decisions?"
"Yeah it is." Blaise nodded. "You know that half the regulations on your company today are her idea?"
Why wasn't Draco surprised, and why hadn't he realised it before?
"I didn't know. Now that you say it, yesterday morning she said that from now on I'll only have to go there every six months. It was three the last time I checked, think she decided that just this morning?"
"Perhaps." Blaise shrugged. "You said you usually never see her, maybe when she saw you she thought …"
"Right maybe it's just because she saw my face and never wants to see it again."
"That sure played a part." Blaise smirked. "But it's more likely to be because you strictly followed every regulations she's installed."
"Right I did. This company had never been cleaner than since I took the lead. You must be right, I don't see Granger mixing work and old school rivalries anyway."
"Yeah. She's not one to mess with work. Which is why something's off, if she drinks during the week and starts yelling at receptionists …"
"I've been drinking during the week for the past 4 years and my company's just fine Blaise. We'll see tomorrow anyway. I bet the weasel is a mess …"
"Can't wait to see that. Maybe she'll yell at him too!" Blaise's enthusiastic smirk was very welcome.