When Draco returned to the Manor two hours later, after tea and polite goodbyes, he headed directly to his study. He wrote Blaise a note in his recognizably angular and corrie-fisted script and sent the scrap of parchment off with his eagle owl:

Come over tonight?

He suddenly remembered Potter's gargantuan stag Patronus, and wondered if he and Blaise could master the spell. It seemed a much more expedient way to send short or urgent messages. He laughed to himself—perhaps Granger could help him and Blaise learn it—before calling for his elf. He needed a snack and a Firewhiskey before dinner with his mother. He had been calm for the last two days, but suddenly he felt the urgent need to move about—do something—or else his skin would get physically itchy rather than just a mental sense of disease. Firewhiskey and then a long walk to visit his leasing farmers and check in with them, should they need anything. No—Firewhiskey whilst on his long walk—that was a much better solution.

He arrived back at home just as the sun was setting, just in time to change for dinner. He could hear his mother laughing at something from down the hall in the small parlor reserved for family only. When he entered the room, she was perched on the chaise, bare feet on the furniture, something his father would never have not commented upon. Good, she deserved to relax, particularly as she'd had a conflicted time while she was grieving. She now looked every bit the wealthy comfortable widow in a bateau-necked dark gray cotton dress, Lucius' viridian velvet housecoat cascading off her shoulders and open about her waist.

Blaise sat across from her, clearly having come from his estate in Italy, as he was wearing an ivory linen suit. The jacket was tossed elegantly over the back of Draco's favorite wingback chair, and Blaise had rolled up his sleeves and removed his boots. Blaise sat with all of the gravitas of an African king, mildly amused, wise, and aware of his own power. His skin looked mahogany in the light from the fire and aubergine in shadow, his tight curls has been recently trimmed tight to his scalp and now resembled ripples in water. It had been almost a month since Draco had seen him, and behind his emotionality at this moment was a shiver of lust. Blaise looked good, he always did, somehow managing to balance impeccable taste with an air of sloppy devil-may-care that made the man roguishly attractive at all times.

Despite understanding the his mother didn't know about, or at the very least would never acknowledge, Draco's relationship with this man did not dampen the soft and possessive affection he felt overtaking him at seeing them like this. Relaxing before dinner, laughing in each other's company—like a family. The incessant almost-itch sensation came back with a vengeance, and he took a deep breath to clear the choking sensation of emotion in his throat. He could feel himself blinking away the mist from his eyes, it just would not do.

...

Blaise looked up at Draco, stoic obstinate bastard that he was, trying to calm himself down. He could see emotion shining in Draco's eyes, and he knew better than to say a word about it with Narcissa in the room. Better to breeze through dinner and talk through it later. It could be like pulling mandrakes sometimes, but whatever was bothering Draco, he'd get it out of him.

...

"Blaise," he sighed deeply into his glass of Firewhiskey, "I'm fine really. I just feel...itchy...anxious. There's no reason behind it so I was going to endeavor to ignore it."

Blaise was making that patient expression at him, like he intended to wait out Draco's fit of pique, until he broke and really expressed what was bothering him. Draco made a mental note never to let Blaise and Ginny team up in any future emotional persistence hunt—they'd be able to force the Great Sphinx to explain her riddles with their eyes alone—surely. Blaise was going to lose at this game tonight.

Draco had already told Blaise about his realizing he actually was friends with the Potter-wife, he'd talked about his time with Granger, healing her, enjoying her company, he'd skimmed the subjects of their conversations. He'd already admitted that he hoped they could be friends with Granger and that he'd considered telling her about their relationship, which Blaise had agreed to, knowing she wouldn't be upset by it. They'd had a chuckle together over Draco's daydream of her nagging Blaise, and agreed that they really should master a Patronus and that Granger would likely help. He'd even explained why he'd gotten choked up in the parlor.

Blaise wasn't going to get anything more out of him, because the thing he was trying to dig at was the least concerning of anything that'd occurred over the last two days. Whatever it was that Granger told the Minister hadn't worked, that merited far more of his concern. Blaise seemed to relent a bit after a few minutes of undaunted staring and sighed,

"Alright, I'll relent for tonight. Let's go to bed."

"Thank you. Regardless of my anxiety, some of us still have to get up on the Ministry's schedule in the morning." Blaise let out a snorting chuckle and led the way from his study to his room.

...

Blaise woke up earlier than usual the next morning, and suddenly understood what Draco had meant about feeling vaguely itchy and anxious, but he didn't mention it aloud. He assumed it was like when someone talked about insects or a rash and it made your skin crawl—sympathetic reaction or something like that—and while Draco hadn't said a lot about the sensation, it'd apparently been enough. Ugh, he needed coffee, it was too early to be up at all, let alone to be thinking.

...

Draco had written her a polite note two days after he left her house explaining that he and a friend would like to learn the Patronus charm, and would she be at all willing to assist. Her reply had been hilarious, in as much as it had challenged several concepts he was sure were central to the universe functioning as intended:

Harry taught me and is really a better teacher in regards to Defense, but of course I'd be willing to try and help you learn. I've got to give a speech at the Ministry in a couple weeks, see you there?

HG

Her penmanship was neat enough to match his mental carcicature of her from school, but the end of each word had little flourishing serifs that he hadnt originally expected. It was the same kind of confident, stylistic approach she'd taken to her wandwork at Hogwarts, but he hadn't considered that it would manifest in her handwriting as well.

It's been three weeks since Draco had last seen Granger. He'd come in to the Auror office this morning, and was going through current case files and research whilst giving off a generalized distaste for the universe over his usual second cup of Assam black tea when Potter marched up to his desk in the sea of desks.

"Hermione's back. She looks good. I never did thank you for your work that day."

"Just doing my job, Potter. I never hesitate putting you back together either."

"Draco, I'm serious. Kingsley had clearly tried and failed and I'm shite at healing spells. The only thing I was able to learn, from Hermione by the way, was to always carry Dittany. Two Unspeakables were found dead." he paused, his face and tone become somber and strident in a way that Draco hadn't seen or heard since the War, "Thank you for helping Hermione."

He nodded with wide eyes, uncomfortable with the emotional tenor of the conversation, and fought the urge to scratch at himself. The almost-itch sensation seemed to get worse when he was uneasy.

"You're welcome Potter. I didn't know anyone from the Department of Mysteries had died."

"Kingsley kept it quiet because of whatever they were working on. Hermione was here last week to address the Wizengamot in a closed court session. Ginny couldn't even get anything out of her over dinner, it was like watching basilisks in a staring contest."

The current ripples of gooseflesh in his skin was currently distracting him from whatever Potter was saying,

"...anyway she and Kingsley are giving a speech in open...I think press will be there too, not sure what that's about..."

Even Blaise had mentioned that he'd gotten the same crawling sensation in his skin over the last three weeks, although it didn't seem to bother him as much as it did Draco. He felt himself give a shiver from stem to stern and was finally able to return his attention to Potter,

"What have you been on about Potter?"

"Ugh, Malfoy, I'll just come get you when it's time to go. And I need your half of the Sterling case report by 11."

They'd been dealing with a lot of common assault and minor hexing incidents lately. It was May, and Smith had tried to give some quibble as if it was all the sudden an epidemic. Even Potter had commented that there seemed to be a rash of bar fights and short non-lethal duels over the last month, and no one seemed to know why. Even the participants seemed foggy as to why violence had broken out in the first place.

A few Aurors had thought that perhaps someone was instigating fights by using Confundus, but it was a quickly dropped theory. There was too wide a spread geographically, and participants ranged widely in age. The only unifying information about everyone involved had been that they were single, which was more a statistic of their arrest rather than some kind of reason for the increased assault rate.

Draco was of the opinion that it was not more than normal, as he'd seen folks coming into St. Mungos and knew this sort of thing happened more frequently in warmer months of the year. It was just better reported now. One positive reaction to war and violence being everywhere, was that no one turned a blind eye to a bully anymore. Aurors were called in immediately if violence broke out, and sometimes even when folks could see a fight brewing. It made for a lot of paperwork on his desk, which he resented, and a more actively ethical society, which he appreciated. Paradoxical, and no less annoying a thought for being true.

He'd been to lunch with Ginny and had finally accepted a dinner invitation for the end of the next week. Ginny was in a markedly better mood for having seen Hermione, and seemed to think whatever her friend had been working on was concluded—'good riddance' she'd said—although he suspected that was far from the truth. All-in-all, he felt fairly satisfied with his day thus far.

Potter came over from his own desk around two o'clock so they could head down to the Wizengamot's forum room, which had a public gallery, as well as seating for the entire high court, a section for reporters, and a high dias in the front for a speaker or two. It was off the Ministry Atrium, rather than down on Level Ten, so that it was more accessible, but it did mean fighting the daily crowd to get in.

Walking with Potter had a dual effect—in fits and spurts the crowd parted or gathered to swamp the man—and Draco recognized the furtive and rapid bounce in the man's heels that spoke of impatience and frustration. Not that anyone else knew, of course, as Potter had plastered on a bland semi-smile, greeted everyone using their name if he knew it or asking if he didn't. Draco also realized after a few minutes of this start-and-stop tempo, that Potter was taking attention away from him in his Auror robes, no one had even noticed him until he passed behind Potter.

Draco wondered if Potter knew what he was doing, but he'd heard a rumor once at school that the Sorting Hat has considered putting this man in Slytherin, so it was likely that he knew exactly what he was doing. Draco was suddenly found himself both a little resentful and a little grateful. Clearly he'd been interacting with too many Gryffindors recently, if his feelings were this tumultuous and conflicted this often. He made a mental note to drunk with Theo and Blaise as soon as possible in order to have a nice evening without all sorts of emotional complications.

If only he'd known that his most recent Gryffindor acquaintance was about to throw even more complications into the hat. Literally.