Thursday, May 22nd, 2003.
Blaise woke up, feeling light pressure on his chest. Something soft was tickling his chin. Screwing his face to get rid of the thing, he tried to shuffle in the bed, only to find out he couldn't.
His eyes fluttered open, and closed right away, assaulted by the sharp light coming from the window. It took him another minute to finally open them fully. Astoria was snuggled against his chest, her face resting in the crook of his shoulder. Her straight raven hair pooled around her alabaster skin. She was gorgeous, even asleep. He watched a moment as her chest rose and fell slowly against him, and relished the feeling of her breath on his chest.
It was a sight he would definitely not grow tired of, any time soon.
Wait. He'd never woken up like this. In fact, every time he'd woken at her place on a working day, she'd already been gone. Damn! What time was it?!
"Stori. Stori." She grumbled incoherently, her womanly manners completely asleep. "Stori, you're late." She jolted right up in the bed, panting, and stormed out of it, not even bothering to untangle herself from the sheets.
"Dear Lord! Sweet fucking Merlin!" She cried hysterically, as he was left naked, on the sheetless bed. He couldn't help but chuckle. Three minutes later, and probably a beauty charm too, she was out of the bathroom, her hair carelessly stacked in a high ponytail he'd never imagined she could sport, still stumbling on her feet with the sheet.
This time he burst out laughing which only got him to receive … a shoe? Right in the face in retaliation.
"Damn woman!"
"Shit, I need that bloody shoe!" She cried.
"I love it when you're like that." The words had blurted themselves out of his mouth but he was glad. Rage twisted her mouth, and she shot him a threatening glare he was rather fond of. She then jumped on the bed, grabbed her shoe, hit him on the shoulder and went to go. But she stopped at the door, turned around frowning, and came back to barely peck his mouth very quickly.
She was out the door, that banged loudly after her, before he could process the look on her face.
Sweet Salazar, that woman.
Draco had spent, for the first time in many years, an approximately good resting night of sleep. Which just basically meant that he hadn't fainted nor blacked out, out of exhaustion or drunkenness. He'd simply gone to bed.
Maybe trashing his father's entire office into shreds hadn't been so bad of an idea. It had released his nerves for sure, however short the respite had lasted. It had mostly, and momentarily only – the elves had probably cleaned it up by then, as well as refilled the cupboards – incapacitated him to drink his mind to oblivion at night.
His thoughts were clearer when he unfolded the letter his new assistant had handed him first thing. Which also meant that the reality he was in was the more wide open before his eyes. But, upon reading Nott's agreement to a meeting with Flint and himself, the black open space of dread before him seemed to cloud. He started wondering about those shops, and who would run them. The investment would certainly determine that, but maybe …
He couldn't possibly run a dozen of potion shops atop the work he had there, that was a certainty. But maybe, just maybe, one would be manageable.
Potions had always been his favourite class back in Hogwarts, whether the teacher had favoured him or not, and the prospect of being able to bury himself in a cauldron during the week-ends was pleasant enough that it might help his sour mood.
How much more work would it be anyway? Instead of six days a week, it would be seven? Good. No more spare time to dwell on gloomy shit.
Right, he had found some sort of escape. Something that was going to keep his mind busy. After the negotiating part of course. And the dreadful meetings that would come with it.
After proposing a date for the meeting that might ensure his next escaping activity, he scratched his head, thinking.
It had been Granger's idea. She'd written. He'd have to see her anyway whenever he would have to report the investment, plus, leaving her attempt at fixing things between him and Blaise unanswered felt somehow rather rude. She'd even offered her help, stating that she felt like she owed him.
Draco didn't hold any favour on her though. If nothing he was the redeemable one. Years of bullying and all. Maybe he should answer. At least to politely decline both her offers and …
Right, he'd just do that.
Hermione was on her way to the department of Mysteries, when the lift stopped at Improper use of Magic. Astoria jumped in the magical box, panting. Her hair was a total mess. Well, nowhere near the mess Hermione pulled on a daily basis, but still, for a women of her stature it was unbelievably weird.
"What happened to you?" Hermione asked. The pretty witch winced:
"Err … slept on." Hermione felt her eyes grow so wide that she was certain they could pop out of their sockets. She was at a complete loss of words. Astoria scowled and then sighed.
"Forgot to set my wand." She mumbled, avoiding Hermione's eyes. Maybe a tall dark-skinned wizard had something to do with that.
"Oh. I see."
"Err … It's …"
"None of my business Astoria. What you do on your spare time, or who you do, is none of my business." Hermione startled again as a light blush crept up her entire face. What had she said? Wasn't it kind of official between them?
"Err … Sorry anyway, I had planned on being early to help you."
"Don't worry, Tracey was there and with what you told me yesterday I'm sure I'll do just fine."
"Good then." She nodded as the lift landed at Mysteries. Hermione started out, feeling a bit teasy, or maybe so nervous that she needed the banter, gave with a smirk:
"You might want to redo your hair though. It looks like you did him in the broom closet about three minutes ago." She burst out laughing at the terribly shocked face Astoria pulled. It was so out of character.
"Don't laugh at my face! I had enough with Blaise already!" She scowled then, in a more likely Astoria way, and Hermione saw her pull at her hair-band before the doors closed on her.
Blaise apparated directly to Diagon Alley for the first time in months. Nobody was waiting for him, sulking on a stool this time. His light mood of the morning had definitely passed.
It only aggravated after he walked out of the apothecary, arms full with an order he'd forgotten to shrink, and passed the Weasley bullshit shop.
The half man was standing outside his way too colourful windows, angrily pulling at a smoking stick. The man was smoking, tapping his foot impatiently, and mumbling under his breath.
When he spotted Blaise, his tapping stopped instantly, and he frowned.
Blaise had only caught sight of him at commemoration events since the war, and now that he thought of it, always at the beginning. The man had apparently never stayed long after the speeches.
Recognition finally hit his eyes after a moment of inspecting Blaise's face, and he nodded politely, before tossing his cigarette bit on the ground and barging in his shop without even crashing it.
The nasty thing kept smoking and as he saw the smoke go up in the air in loops, Blaise realised he'd stopped.
He started again to the Leaky Cauldron, fuming at himself. He had been so surprised with the man that he hadn't even thought of shooting him something nasty. Well, except for the fact that he was part of the obnoxious red tribe, he had never done anything to Blaise but entertain him widely during their horrid fifth year, and maybe piss him off a tad during Quidditch games (nothing Blaise hadn't been to handle and give back though). How strange that he had acknowledged him. Politely.
Hermione sighed tiredly as the lift landed at her floor. She'd spent the day in that dreadful courtroom, skipping lunch, and articulating every word very carefully and after thought. She was drenched. To the core.
Tracey was gone. There was no notes on her desk. Hermione went to hers, to put down the files she was tightly clenching between her arms, and grab the ones she'd need for the next day, so she could review them at home.
She almost missed the note that was pinned to her chair.
Hermione, I'll be there early tomorrow morning to help. I reviewed your next files, hope you don't mind. Astoria.
Of course she didn't mind. It was actually very illegally thoughtful. Maybe she should consider trying to make it legal. Astoria seemed to enjoy enough working with her, and Hermione would definitely use the help.
Still wondering if it would be a good idea, Hermione apparated from the atrium to her crappy street. She walked from the dead end she'd apparated in, to the entrance of her muggle building. She could hear noise inside her flat from the landing. Suddenly alert, she drew her wand out of reflex and after a second of hesitation, banged the door open, standing upright and eyes darting everywhere.
The mess stopped alarming her as she caught the culprit of her trashed useless vase. The owl finally spotted her and stopped flying around, knocking things down, to land angrily on her shoulder and bite her ear impatiently. She snatched the letter from its paw and it flew right away by the kitchen window she'd apparently left open the previous night.
Careless. The state of fright she'd been in for a few seconds had revived way too many war reflexes. After casting a strong locking spell to her window, and adding a few extra wards to her door, she finally slumped on her couch.
The envelope she held was of the finest paper. On its front, her name was written in delicate looped letters that were slightly familiar. At the back sat the Malfoy crest in silver wax. She frowned. The last time Malfoy had written to her at the Ministry, the paper had been fine but the crest absent. He'd carelessly written a long letter, in the hopes of duping her into doing his job.
Then, it seemed like he'd taken a bit more care in his correspondence.
Hermione was so eager to read it, that she tore the fine paper in shreds. No witness anyway.
Granger,
I write with a few purposes in mind, as often.
First, to decline both your offers. As you clearly understood, I do not need any help, however kind (?) of you to offer. I am also in no state of mind to forgive Blaise. Although I was quite surprised to see your concern for my irritatingly prying best friend. (Has he finally worked his charm on you?) However I have to admit that I found your suggestion to kick him rather appealing, I will definitely think about it. I won't take the risk to kill him and have you sent to Azkaban though, you seem rather useful to the community.
Second, I wished to inform you that I followed your advice. I received, not later than today, an agreeing letter from Nott, and have met with Flint in my offices earlier in the week. I hope I will have to come to your offices to report a future extravagant investment sooner rather than later.
Also, I decided to run one of the shops. I have yet to decide which one, but found the prospect of taking care of a potion business to be a pleasant idea, which had never crossed my mind before your mentioned reopening them. I will, of course, report properly to the Ministry when the time comes.
I have one last thing to say, and hope you will burn this letter so as no proof remains. I wish to thank you for the advice, however condescendingly it was delivered and however it hurts my fingers to put those words on paper.
Until another seemingly fortuitous encounter,
Regards,
D Malfoy.
P.S: Please do not feel anyhow beholden of me, you owe me nothing.
It took her a moment to finally have a reaction. After utter stupor to receive such a letter, to bright annoyance at his few comments – although she realised quite quickly that they were only playful – and back to stupefaction, she hadn't managed to form a single coherent thought.
She'd known of course, that he'd refused her help, even if a slight hope that his stubbornness wasn't so bad had still remained in a dark corner of her brain, and had somehow also expected him not to forgive his friend that easily.
He'd still said he'd consider kicking him which, disturbingly, was probably a sign that he was on his way to forgiveness.
He'd followed her advice. She had no idea why but it pinched a side of her stomach. In another life she'd been a good advice giver.
All she'd lived through recently had made her forget slowly who she'd once been, and the familiarity to have someone follow her ideas brought back a long forgotten and shy self-confidence.
Although she knew perfectly well that she was not the same person she'd been years before, she seemed to still have a bit of her old self in there.
And Malfoy had brought it up. Here was something she couldn't rationally explain. It was like meeting with an old ghost from the past. It brought back a lot of things, but differently. They were different people. But they weren't. It was confusing.
She re read the letter, and this time almost chuckled at his banter. The old Malfoy, but different.
She frowned at his post-scriptum, she was the one to decide of that. Whether or not he thought she owed him, she did. End of the story.
She put the letter down on her smashed glass covered coffee table, and tried to decide whether she should answer or not. What would she say?
She shook her head, she had other things to do. Clean her flat was one of those things. Work her arse off, another.