Wednesday, May 14th, 2003.

When Hermione had decided to get back on her feet the previous week, having Aberforth Dumbledore floo her home himself, while she vomited her guts out on his carpet wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind.

Having to scrougify robes twenty times to get rid of the smell either.

She'd taken the last vial of pepper up she had, but it was as efficient as pumpkin juice. Her head was pounding so hard it felt like she was repeatedly hit with a brick. Her mouth was as dry as the desert, her stomach and throat painful from the vomiting and apparently the organ was as dumb as a sock. She kept gagging every ten minutes when it was as empty as a troll's head.

Still, she had to go to work, but the blurry picture the mirror gave her back as she starred at it, made her wish for polyjuice. She looked like an inferius.

She didn't dare try to apparate to the Ministry, though it would have saved time. She feared her headache would only worsen.

So she walked. The early sun added a second brick to hit her head with. Shielding herself from it with a repellent charm only drained her. When she finally reached the visitor's entrance she was feeling the more sick to her stomach.

Tracey didn't comment, if nothing she managed an impassible face and started working right away as usual. Thank Merlin for Tracey Davis.

However, working on the last details of the Foster case revealed impossible to do when feeling nauseated. Her saviour of the day sent a note, labelled personal, just as she was about to give up.

Lunch? Or are you still locking yourself in your office?

Astoria Greengrass had either guessed or bribed Tracey. Either way, she knew. Hermione realised she didn't care. Astoria didn't appear to be likely to judge her. Hermione couldn't go to the cafeteria in this state though. But she wanted to go down there, Astoria's company had become something pleasant. She decided to be honest.

Only if you have a hangover remedy.

The response came as a delivery. Two vials. A very expensive hangover solution, and a pepper up potion.

Hermione was down at eleven thirty, sharp.

Blaise hurried up along the pavement. His cloak was way too heavy. When had the weather changed like that? It wasn't even twelve thirty yet and even his shirt felt too hot already. Wait, he lifted his right wrist into view again. He was almost thirty minutes late.

Draco would be the dramatic queen again. Blaise ran the last few steps, mingling with hurrying muggles.

How was it that muggles were always late too? Right, they couldn't apparate. Wait, why hadn't he apparated?

When he reached the Leaky Cauldron, Draco was boiling. He could see it from the door. The man was as tensed as a rubber band.

A wincing and late Blaise sat on the stool next to him. Tom had been watching Draco with a displeased frown for now twenty seven minutes. Draco wanted to hang himself again. Why did they always meet there anyway?

"Where the hell have you been?" He snapped.

"Err … at Sherry's …"

"Oh my …"

"Yes, yes, you were right. She didn't understand. But she's quite the good shag and I haven't heard from Greengrass since last week-end so …"

"About Greengrass." Draco cut himself. He needed to be cautious there.

"Yes?"

"Do me a favour. No questions asked." Blaise's eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead in incredulity. Draco remained silent until he had to speak.

"Alright but I'll have something to ask in return."

"I had no doubt you would." Of course he had, and Draco might come to regret it later, Blaise had a tendency to ask for trouble. He sighed and told: "I want you to tell Greengrass about Weasley's interview."

"Why?"

"I said no questions." Blaise blinked, and then finally seemed to remember his last sentence. Sometimes he looked stupid. He was definitely not a morning person, because yes, noon was morning to him.

"Alright. I want you to get rid of Sherry for me. She has a crush on you. If you went out with her once, she'd be off my feet."

"Err …" Here, troubles.

"Just one date mate. You don't need to do more. You could dump her nicely, as you know how to do, and she'll definitely fuck off." Well, Draco could do that, it was all he'd done with women for the past four years anyway. Have a date, be bored until he wanted to strangle himself with their hair, and dump them nicely.

"Agreed."

"So, McMillan was right, there's a weakness to the new regulation regarding the article seven of … Err … Oh, there, article seven, section two, paragraph three, of magical misuses control law of 1979."

Astoria Greengrass had the very nice habit of always starting with work. It was fascinatingly reminiscent of the witch facing her. Hermione couldn't feel more grateful.

"Oh, really? Show me your regulations." She asked, extending a hand.

"Here, paragraph three. About blasting ink. Those things are nasty." Astoria pointed with a finger on the right line.

"Oh, right I see the loophole. You could sell some if it's been produced in a country outside regulations. It's aberrant. I need to fix this."

"Yes. I'll send my report to McMillan this afternoon. It needs to be revised a bit so, I'll be in your archives until then."

"Of course. Tell him to come to me once he's referred of the problem to the Wizengamot. I'll propose a new clause to the law."

"Good. How's the Foster case doing?"

"Last details. Though it's a pain in the arse at this point."

Astoria gave her a knowing smirk that said long before mocking with a mischievous grin:

"No wonder, with a hangover …" Hermione didn't want to revive her headache or she would have rolled her eyes. Before she could think of an answer though, Astoria's smirk morphed into a serious expression:

" I said I wouldn't ask so, I won't. But, if you need me to kick a few arses, it would be my pleasure. Especially stupid arses of war heroes." Astoria was taking liberties. Were they becoming friends? It felt like it. How she'd known though remained a mystery.

"How …"

"Tracey speaks under pressure. Though she won't tell anyone else, I think she feels beholden of me. You know, for getting her an amazing job with a hero boss."

Hermione had a snort and bitter chuckle:

"She must be disappointed."

"Oh I doubt it. If nothing I think it's far more entertaining than to watch Blaise comb his hair every other day."

Now she had a real chuckle.

"I guess."

"So, how many bottles last night?" Astoria asked with a smile. How was it that she didn't look judgemental, even the slightest? Hermione realised she'd had the hangover potion at the office since she'd sent it in five minutes. Astoria had things to hide too apparently. Why not be honest then?

"Err … I don't remember." Astoria laughed at the confession. "Aberforth's carpet does though." She laughed the more at this one. She didn't seem mocking, it was strange.

"You are full of surprises." She grinned. "What do you say we have our proper night out Friday? Without blonds or flirting idiots?"

"Alright, but maybe not Hog's head … Aberforth had to floo me back home last night, I doubt he would appreciate doing it twice … Neither washing his carpet by hands I guess." Hermione reckoned, still feeling the shame.

"Oh, are you planning on really enjoying the evening? Or were you trying to make a joke?" She was smirking her face off. Hermione faked a vexed open mouth. Astoria burst out laughing and she followed.

"So, what happened at the Ministry yesterday?"

Blaise could look stupid all he wanted, he wasn't. Draco had to fake his surprise, and it wasn't pretty. Blaise smirked at his unsuccessful attempt at fooling him.

"Alright, I'll ask again, what happened?" He pushed.

"Yesterday?" He tried, shrugging. "Greengrass was at Law enforcement too. Nothing happened, Granger was locked in her office." Damn. Wrong thing to say. How was it that with everyone else, it was easy to pretend, but with someone he knew since he was born, it wasn't? If nothing it should be easier! He knew the idiot by heart! Shit, so did he.

"I see. What happened Monday then?"

"I can't tell Blaise."

"I'm sure you can."

"No I said I wouldn't."

"Liar." Yes, he knew Blaise by heart, and this could last hours. He gave up and told him what he could without going into details:

"Potter made Granger cry so I insulted him. I apologised for Friday, she forgave me. Then, yesterday morning, Weasley was in her office before I went there, and apparently they argued for a minute and then she locked herself in it."

"Again? So what, is that … Oh, you want Greengrass to tell her, right?"

"Err … yes. At least she'll be warned." Draco shrugged. Blaise chuckled:

"Yeah right. You don't know Astoria. Sure she'll warn her but I'm certain she'll do something about it."

"I kind of hoped she would." Draco confessed.

"Oh you sneaky little blond." Blaise chuckled. "Who likes Granger beaver now?"

"Shut up. I don't like her, I just don't appreciate seeing her cry. Disturbs my work."

Blaise didn't even attempt to hide, he burst out laughing: "Yeah right! And I'm ugly!"

"That you are."

"Greengrass disagrees."

"She's blind then."

"Oh shut up. Now, what is it you promised not to tell exactly?"

"Are you that dumb?" He rolled his eyes:

"No, I am not. I just want to know if it's something she said or …"

"It's what they argued about with Potter."

"Okay. Did you say I promise?"

"Yes." Why he lied, he didn't know. What he knew was that he needed to change the subject before Blaise noticed: "She asked me to thank you by the way."

"What? Why?" Blaise startled.

"I was right, Greengrass told her about your little argument with the wankers."

"Oh, and she thanks me?"

"For taking her side."

"Damn. She likes me now, doesn't she?" He cringed. "Why didn't you insult her or something?"

"Because she was crying you dumbass."

"Oh right. Don't tell her where I live though. I mean, she's not that unpleasant to look at but … Definitely too bossy for me. And that hair of hers … Err." He shuddered mockingly.

"Right, I'll just tell her you enjoyed Friday night, and worry about her then. Sounds good to you?"

"You wouldn't!"

"Why not? It's true." Turning the mockery upside down was way more pleasant than to have Blaise squeeze things out of him.

After his late lunch with Draco, Blaise decided to get rid of his favour doing. First, he owled Sherry and gave her Draco's contact informations, the lad was so paranoid owls were banned from his home unless given a very specific address. Then, he lectured a not-so-random employee – this one wore a very interesting translucent blouse under her open robe - just to pass time, signed a few whatever, and walked to the Ministry.

Owling or floo-calling her would look desperate, especially since she hadn't first, but waiting for her after work, nonchalantly leaning against the brick wall would surely have its little effect. Blaise only hoped she didn't disapparated out of work. How stupid would he look if he waited all night, eh?

Walking inside the Ministry was out of the question though, security checking took too long for nothing. The only times he went there were under obligation – except when drinking was allowed - in order to sign those regulations papers at Granger's secretary desk. Now that he thought of it, Davis was her new secretary. Maybe the next trip there would be interesting.

He got lucky, he was always lucky, she was out the Ministry and he had only waited thirty minutes.

"Greengrass, what a surprise!" Her sceptical lifted eyebrow made him chuckle. "Don't like my catch phrase?"

"Not an ounce. What do you want Blaise?" She sighed. He smirked and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"If you let me walk you home I'll tell you."

She sighed, but he saw how she refrained a small smile. He would definitely spend a very pleasant night. And he was only doing it for Draco. How convenient.

Draco,

How unexpected of you to ask Blaise about me! I was very flattered. Is Saturday evening, seven o'clock, at Madam Pudifoot's alright with you?

If not, I understand some men don't like going there, we could go to the Three Broomsticks.

I am looking forward to our date!

Yours,

Sherry.

In what horrific situation had he jumped into? Madam Pudifoot's? Seriously? He was banned from the Three Broomstick since sixth year. How was it that she didn't know that? Yet she was definitely the type to read gossip papers! Oh, right, she wanted to go to that horrid place.

Draco growled under his breath for a good half hour before eventually writing a two sentence answer. He agreed to Madam sodding Pudifoot's but made it clear that he had to go home early. He didn't explain why, she called herself his even before meeting him. She surely wasn't the love of his life. Plus, a woman as naive as to believe Blaise had ever wanted anything serious with her was definitely in lack of brain cells. Also her loyalty was questionable, who goes on a date with someone's best friend when you just got out of bed with that someone?

He dreaded even the thought of having a "date" with her.

Why was he doing that again? Oh, right. To help the book-worm. What in hell had gotten him? He had lost his mind. Right, Potter and the weasel's stupidity were the loss of him. If only his need to pry had stayed where it belonged, deeply buried in his head. If only.

Now that he'd heard, he was ready, even if horrified, to spent the worst night of his life, just to have Granger warned that something atrocious was probably going to happen to her, again.

Good Samaritan Malfoy. Ludicrous. Maybe he should tell his father's portrait, just for the bliss of seeing it choke to … Err … Not death.