Friday, June 27th, 2003.
Part one: Such a pleasant encounter.

Hermione's salvation from the eating disease that was boredom came in the name of the British Prime Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shackelbolt, that Friday morning at precisely seven o'clock. He came in with a case of violation of the statute of secrecy.

An elder woman had been arrested by aurors as she'd been shooting hexes to muggles, in plain sight of course, claiming they were all trying to steal her hat.
Dementia hadn't even been put in question by the aurors, until her ex-husband had come along, claiming she'd always been a partisan of death eaters, and had faked dementia to get away with the Azkaban sentence.

The report from Saint Mungo's was inconclusive, as the woman was a natural occlumens, and the interrogation by aurors still taking place.
The case was delicate, the investigation led by mediwizards as well as aurors, and was to be treated with most care.

Kingsley couldn't chair the trial himself, being busy with international cooperation meetings starting the next week so, he spent the majority of the day in Hermione's office to brief her, among other things. First, they reviewed every collected detail about the coming trial, then discussed an issue he'd received multiples complaints about, concerning a couple of regulations about international selling of magical goods Hermione would have to work on as soon as possible, then he announced her that she was invited to attend the next international magical law conference in Paris and that she'd be able to bring a guest - Astoria's squeak of excitement at that announcement he decidedly ignored - next, they discussed briefly - he knew the answer already - if she'd accept giving an interview about the regulations once she'd have worked something for the Wizengamot - she said no and other than frowning he didn't comment - and finally he stopped talking and went away with a little smirk:

"Should keep you occupied. I feared you'd get bored these days."

How he'd ended up in Gryffindor, Hermione would never know.

She'd wished for work though, and well, her wish was granted.

The fact that Astoria refused to talk about meeting her father until they'd be done reviewing all Kingsley had left them, and the fact that Tracey was already sorting through the documents, making a pile for each witch, made Hermione beyond the thanking-Merlin kind of grateful. Work first. Those witches were the greatest.

Plus, it kept her mind busy all day, and thoughts of Harry, at bay.

Once the work was split, Astoria stayed behind, looking as though she had something to say. She didn't though.

"Yes, I'll take you to the conference Stori." Obviously.

And obviously she received a crushing hug she should have expected, along with a few joyful squeals, before being able to get to work.

Blaise was taking an eternity to get ready. It was becoming the more irritating. What man took more than maximum twenty minutes to get ready?

Was that all he did all day? Comb his stupid hair and put fragrance on?

The scent tickled Draco's nose from the living for Salazar's sake!

"Are you ever going to get out of that bloody bathroom or do I have to go there alone?" He barked from the couch.

Blaise finally emerged and except from the robes, he looked exactly the same.

"What were you doing in there? Wanking? If you were I swear I'm moving out!" Draco continued.

"Don't give me false hopes. I was getting dressed you impatient idiot."

"They're going to wait for us."

"And? Can't wait to see miss bushy-hair in her sexy work robes?" Blaise smirked.

"Shut up."

"You know she's quite happy you'll be there." He taunted, watching Draco with prying eyes, as if he were seeking for something in particular on Draco's face. Whatever it was, Draco didn't want to know.

"Stop that Blaise." He ordered.

"What? It's true."

"And what makes you think that?" He sighed exasperatedly. "Your bloody wild imagination? Was that what you were doing in the bathroom? Picturing her?" He tried to taunt but it was the less effective reversal of banter he'd ever done apparently. Blaise was quick to snap:

"No, I leave that to you at night. I can't find my copy of Witch Weekly any more …"

"You fucking …"

Draco was left pestering alone. Blaise had disapparated. Straight to the restaurant. Which of course incapacitated him to say anything as both witches were already there when he joined Blaise in.

He wouldn't get away with it that easily though. Draco would make sure he got hit somewhere really painful for that.

Although he forgot his awful wrath as soon as he caught sight of Hermione. She looked pissed and Draco's paranoid mind kicked in again, leaving him irritatingly nervous all of a sudden.

Astoria came in just as Hermione put down the last scroll of parchment:

"It's almost time, let's go."

"It's still early maybe we could …" Hermione started.

"Without the last reports from the auror's department there's nothing more we can do for now and I want a chat and mostly a drink."

Hermione followed her out of the office without arguing. If she needed a drink, maybe things hadn't gone so well with her father. They apparated directly out of the Ministry to Diagon Alley, and Astoria dragged her along a few streets Hermione had never been into.

They reached a small restaurant that, if the window looked rather cheap, the inside countered the first impression. It was definitely an expensive place.

Magical eternal candles floated above the tables giving the place an air of intimacy, and if most of the tables were pushed in corners, you could still get a glimpse of the white linens covering them, as well as the carved mahogany legs. Silver tableware, crystal glasses and a composition of flowers sat before each plush chair, which Hermione had to admit looked beyond comfortable. At the centre of the large room hanged a crystal and gold chandelier, lined with golden chains and at the far back, just before the door to what she presumed were the kitchens, a gigantic mantle piece took a large part of the wall, the stone engraved and carved in intricate patterns.

Hermione was left breathless for a few seconds before turning to Astoria. She didn't need to ask though, that her friend answered the unvoiced question:

"They're known for their discretion, and after the last Witch Weekly I'd rather not my father believe Blaise has proposed."

"Oh."

They were seated in a corner of the gigantic candle lit room by a very straight-backed maitre d', who bowed before leaving them to peruse the menu. The chairs were indeed, the most comfortable she'd ever dropped her skinny butt onto. Hermione didn't know that posh wizarding restaurants had the same nasty habit of giving price-free menus to women though. She frowned at hers but dismissed it, and opened her mouth to ask about Astoria's father but the witch beat her to it:

"So, Potter?" She asked, a displeased frown on her soft features.

"Err … Blaise can't keep his mouth shut, can he?"

"I won't bother to answer that."

"Well I suppose he told you what happened. Nothing's changed, if anything it's even worse." Hermione sighed.

"I knew I shouldn't take that day off." Astoria scowled. "I would have kicked his arse."

Hermione chuckled and the pretty witch gave her a vicious smirk. She most definitely would have.

"Thanks for the support." Hermione smiled.

Astoria only chuckled and Hermione decided that her curiosity was more important than Harry's self-righteous warnings.

"Anyway, how were things with your father?" She asked.

"We managed to resolve the differences calmly."

Hermione didn't believe a single word of that.

"Really?" She asked, one of her eyebrows weirdly brushing her hairline.

"Err … no." Astoria grimaced. "I told him to mind his own business, and that he could disown me for all I cared."

"Ouch. How did he take that?"

"As usual."

"Wh …"

"He gave up Mione. He always does." She sighed. "Told me to do whatever I wanted but to avoid scandals." She paused and mumbled: "And that he expected a proposal within the next year."

"Oh. So, officially officially with Blaise then."

"Yes."

"How do you feel about that? How does he feel about that?" Hermione asked warily.

"I think he didn't listen to a single word I said last night. He thought I was leaving him."

Hermione snorted: "Like you'd do that."

"Exactly." Astoria chuckled. "I'd rather he keep believing though, the sex was grandiose …"

"Oh my." Hermione cut. "I do not need details."

"Right. Forgot you were a prude." Astoria smirked.

"Shut it."

Astoria stifled a laugh and they were cut by the waiter, who brought them their drinks. They took a sip and Hermione tried to retaliate the banter: "He better not chicken out now."

"I don't think he will."

"You sure?" Hermione taunted. Astoria looked in fact so sure of herself that it did nothing but make her huff.

"Well he's not the kind to move slowly, is he?" She shrugged.

"To move on slowly you mean." Hermione didn't bother wiping the ugly smirk from her mouth then. "For what did you fall already?" She pretended to wonder. "Oh, right. I'm a breakfast and more kind of guy."

"Shut it." Astoria snapped. She laughed just after Hermione did though.

And then, she smirked, not a good sign.

"At least he's been in my bed." She taunted. "Not like a certain pretty blond …"

"Oh my don't start!"

"Why? Would do you some good to play touchy-touchy …"

"Shut …"

"Ladies." Blaise greeted, taking a seat between the facing women, leaving Draco to do the same on their other side. None of them answered and Draco realised suddenly that his paranoia had been wrong, they were pissed at each other. No, correction, Hermione was pissed at Astoria. She was glaring at the smirking brunette.

"Did we interrupt something?" Blaise frowned, visibly enjoying the situation. Astoria opened her mouth but shut it instantly at the impressive warning in Hermione's eyes. Draco's curiosity suddenly surpassed the thought that he never wanted to be at the other end of that look. She cut any questions short though:

"I guess if you weren't this late you'd know. Now you'll never find out. Right?" She drawled, not leaving Astoria from sight.

"Right." The last answered, her smirk never deflating.

"It's his fault." Draco found himself justifying.

"No kidding." Hermione chuckled, turning her gaze to him for the first time since … Sunday morning.

"Well, a king ought to make an entrance." Blaise gave, pompously waving for a waiter to come take their order.

Hermione slapped her mouth to stifle her laughter. Draco didn't bother to spare Blaise's feelings, he burst out in mocking laughter and she was quick to follow. "A king!" She laughed, pointing a finger at him, her eyes on Draco. It calmed him down instantly, things were indeed back to normal. Draco hadn't entirely forgotten his wrath though and decided Blaise deserved a little banter:

"You used to make ladies melt with such lame catch phrases." He said. "Now you make them laugh. Wedding plans made you tacky it seems." He smirked, trying to muster his worst vicious face. It worked.

"Cause you've got so much success with Ladies it's overwhelming." Blaise snapped in answer. Apparently the wedding talks were grating on his nerves. Good.

Hermione caught the warning in Blaise's eyes, and Astoria was no fool either. Apparently wedding talks were out of order.

The evening unfolded on that note though, mocking comments, scathing answers, laughter, drinking, pompous declarations, and more laughter.

By the time they were ordering dessert, Blaise had called himself king, prince, most handsome man on the planet, among other things on the same streak, Draco had retaliated all declarations with the appropriate insults, Astoria had sneaked in a few of her sly comments and Hermione could proudly say that her own comments had made everyone laugh too. She was getting rather good at that mocking game they seemed to be playing.

All in all, she'd spent one of the best evenings she had in a long time. The firewhiskey was probably helping but, just as she'd told herself just the day before, everything was fine, nothing – not even a messy-haired green-eyed wizard - was bothering her, and it felt good.

So good it was surely wrong but the liquor made her forget that reasoning. It was good and it was all that mattered.

As they perused the menu once more, the conversation deflated a moment - probably because their stomachs were all too full for the coming dessert – and Hermione found herself watching Draco instead of the long list of priceless goods listed before her eyes. She realised things were exactly as they'd been before, and that Draco didn't seem uncomfortable or anything. He lifted his face from his menu and didn't even twitch at catching her looking at him - he was probably too tipsy to realise she'd been staring - and smiled. She could do nothing but to give him his smile back. He'd smiled so easily. Merlin, he smiled.

That was new.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the waiter, and when dessert arrived, Hermione realised that for the first time, they'd all spoken to each other, and that none of them had ended up ignoring the others. It made her smile a very private smile and, as they all started on their pastries, she wondered if she could ask Draco about his company.

The awkwardness that she'd expected between them hadn't happened and, shrugging to herself, she decided that friends talked to each other, and that she wanted to know. It wasn't like she hadn't enjoyed the, for once, shared evening but …

She just wanted to know.

"So, how's the selling?" She asked, turning to him.

Draco's small smile then bordered relief. Apparently he'd been wondering the same thing. He didn't even comment on her little chuckle - which she hoped hid the sudden heat she felt on her drunken face - and started explaining right away how he'd sent the notice around, how many possible buyers were interested, and so on until they were finished with the last course.

He seemed … rather happy. Although there was still that hint of something tense just at the collar of his black tailored shirt. He was wearing quite the expensive dressed robes that evening, Hermione could see the quality of the material from her seat. He looked taller than Blaise, leaning over his plate to talk to her, his left hand toying with his fork while the other waved slightly as he explained the apparently tremendous process of selling a company. It seemed that the amount of paperwork was far beyond his nerve capacity to take in.

Still, as he told her how grateful he was for his secretary, comparing her to the 'daft pile of cheap slutty robes' he'd had before, Hermione couldn't help but notice the way his eyes shone. The stale grey, although a tad blurry by alcohol, glistened, as the corner of his lid pleated.

He smiled so easily now that it caught her breath a moment.

It changed everything.

If he'd been already 'pretty' as Astoria had put it, with that hint of something dark, something sombre shadowing the air around him, now … he looked like the only flake of white snow in a black desert.

Godric's knickers what was wrong with her? A flake? Malfoy?

No, Draco. Smiling Draco, in expensive black tailored robes.

Damned was Astoria.

He was handsome.

Gods what was she doing?

She shook her head slightly and asked quickly about how he'd drafted the notice, even though she knew exactly how one was supposed to do, and tried to quit staring.

Damn Astoria for putting those bullshit ideas in her head.

Damn him for kissing her!

His smile bordered smirking.

Merlin he'd caught her staring, hadn't he?

She felt her eyes grow wide in embarrassment, heat starting to stain her cheeks and then, just then, he smirked fully. She got a glimpse of that boy she'd met twelve years before then. That malicious glint at the corner of his mouth she'd seen countless times, minus the vicious hate.

Something she hadn't seen in him once since they'd met again.

The waiter cut the atrocious moment and, although Draco kept drunkenly smirking his face off, this time, both he and Hermione ignored the couple's snickers about their 'close conversation'. They were friends, friends talked.

They didn't stare. Neither kissed!

Err … pecked.

They all walked out of the establishment, their steps slow, probably from stuffing themselves up to the point of implosion.

Although after they'd passed a few shops Hermione realised that none of them seemed too keen on disapparating home. She didn't make the exception, somehow not willing to see the evening end just then.

Astoria voiced her thoughts:

"Let's go to Hog's Head? Get a few more drinks before we head home?"

Apparently they'd all been waiting for that, since no one argued and they went back to the Leaky Cauldron to use the floo.

Aberforth smirked at the sight of them and didn't even ask. He levitated a bottle of firewhiskey straight to the table at the farthest corner of the gloomy empty room. He still gave a warning glance at Hermione.

No puking apparently.

A few drinks later though, Astoria and Blaise were apparently too drunk to hold it in much longer, an entire evening was already a prowess. As they sat next to each other, nothing kept them from snogging. They were even playing with their foot under the table. Which was rather embarrassing to be honest.

Draco growled under his breath, and Hermione found she shared the feeling. She only noticed just then the wand he was playing with on the table.

Thank Merlin a subject of conversation.

"Oh! Is that your new wand?" She asked.

"Yes." He smiled. Again.

"What is it?"

"Cedar, unicorn's hair, err … eleven and a quarter inches. Here." He handed it to her. Even being a muggle-born Hermione knew that it wasn't something a wizard did often. If ever. Landing one's wand to someone else was a show of trust she had never expected from him.

"Oh no, I wouldn't …"

"You can look at it." He dismissed, pushing it on the table for her.

Hermione took the wand in her hands, and tried to remember what exactly she knew about Cedar wands. She had read a lot about it when she'd bought her first and only wand. Hers was made of vine wood, had a dragon heartstrings core, and was ten and three quarters inches long. She'd read that vine woods was uncommon, and that most of their owners were seekers of a greater purpose, had a grand vision, often a personality with hidden depths. Or so the book told. She'd never considered herself having an intricate personality, but she knew that she'd always sought to do her best to help on a grander scale. Which was what she hoped she did with her job anyway. She'd also read about cores and reckoned that dragon heartstrings made for fast learning, and powerful spells.

Onto Draco's wand she had to think though. As for the wood she didn't remember correctly and it bothered her. For the core, unicorn hair, she knew for certain, gave the most consistent magic, no fluctuations or issues. She also knew that unicorn hair wands almost never turned to the dark side. She had a little smile at that.

"What was your previous wand?" She asked out of curiosity.

"Hawthorne, unicorn hair, ten inches." He reckoned, pleating his eyes.

"Oh." Unicorn again then. Just by looking at his wand people should have known he'd never be a real death eater. Strange that no one had ever noticed.
She remembered what Hawthorne wood gave to wands. It was the most contradictory type of wood for a wand. The wood itself was paradoxical, its leaves and blossoms healed when its cut branches smelled of death. It usually went for a conflicted nature in an owner, which, on reflection was another trait no one had really noticed about Draco when he was younger. The inward turmoil he must have lived through had its path all depicted from the start then. How interesting. Why had she never given wands more thoughts before?

Now, what was for Cedar?

"What's racing in there?" He asked, lifting a hand to take his wand back, one of his eyebrows drawn to his hair line.

"I can't remember what Cedar wood means." She scowled.

"Oh. Doesn't really matter, the wand chose me anyway." He shrugged.

"Yes, but …"

"What?"

"Your last wand … it was exactly for you when you were younger."

"How so?" He frowned.

"Em. Well, unicorn hair wands are the hardest to convert to the dark arts for instance." She explained.

"Really?" He startled.

"Yes."

"Oh." He seemed taken aback and watched his drink a moment.

"And Hawthorne …" She started but hesitated.

"Yes?" He pushed, apparently curious.

"Well they usually choose owners with a conflicted nature. They're very good for healing spells but also curses for instance."

"Oh." He went back to his drink, visibly lost in thoughts. He hadn't known.

Hermione wrecked her brain to find what Cedar wood meant. She'd have to recite the whole book. Why she persisted on trying to find out, she didn't know.
Alright, in alphabetical order, acacia, alder, apple, ash, aspen, beach, blackthorn …

Draco wondered how he hadn't known any of this. How was it that no one had ever told him that? No wonder he'd been a shitty death-eater after all. It'd been in him all along.

He started to ask more but Hermione seemed somewhere else then. He watched her mind race, her big brown eyes blur, well get even blurrier, and her right tiny hand fist in her mass of curls from frustration. He found himself completely hypnotised by her moving gaze. It swept from left to right again, just as if she were reading. Until a strand of the rebellious mass fell on her face and she blew at it absent-mindedly. Draco almost chuckled like an idiot when the strand kept falling back on her face. After a moment she gave up and he realised he'd been smiling.

He stopped.

She started tapping the tip of her left hand fingers on the table and after a minute of silent mumbling, her eyes grew wide and shot to him.

"Found it?" He asked. Stupid question really. She nodded, hesitated only a second and then started:

"Cedar wands, strength of character, perspicacity, perception, unusual loyalty, frightening adversary, especially in the face of harm to those the owner cares about."

"Oh."

Why did that provoke flashes of death threats to Pansy then, Draco decided to pretend he didn't know. She was still watching him though and Draco had to turn his gaze away from the inquisitive eyes. He felt heat creep up his face and tried to hide it in his drink.

It quickly receded with a few breaths, but threatened to come back as Draco saw from the rim of his glass that Blaise and Astoria had been listening intently to the conversation.

"What?" He practically barked at Blaise.

"I always knew you'd fight for me, mate." The last smirked.

Of course both women had a little laugh. The worst wasn't the joke itself, just that it was true. Now that he thought of it, were anyone to hurt Blaise - or his mother for instance (whether she pretended not to be such) - that person would certainly end up in great trouble. He flashed a little look at the two women currently at his sides.

Well … maybe both were concerned too.

Maybe? Who was he kidding …

Draco would never admit it - he had trouble enough doing so to himself – true or not though, and he would even pretend it weren't the case.

"It only works with the ones I care about Blaise. And each time you open that sodding mouth of yours, you drift away from that category." He sneered before it became awkward.

"Nah, I know you love me." Blaise blew him a kiss. Draco would have hit him weren't he too far away. Astoria was giggling and Hermione … well, she faked a gag. Draco glared half-heartedly, the childishness somehow funnier than exasperating. The grin she gave him just then he turned away from. That grin …

The four of them jumped out of their skin as the door to the pub, who had stayed gratefully closed all evening, banged open. Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. Ron was there, stumbling on his feet, a bottle of what seemed to be elf wine in his right hand, his eyes searching the place without seeing. He was followed closely by a panting Neville that spotted her right away:
"Hermione I'm so sorry I couldn't …"
"HERE SHE IS! THE SLYTHERIN SLUT!"