Friday, July 4th, 2003.
Part one: Gryffindor encounter.

The week had passed in such a blur that Hermione only realised it was already Friday when she passed the atrium on her way back from Kingsley's office. An Official - who certainly had never had to manage her load of work - shouted a "good weekend to you too" to someone else over his shoulder, waving with a file-free arm.
Who the hell ended the week at what? One o'clock?
Someone who took days off or actually kept a record of their worked hours, she supposed.
Lazy idiots the lot of them.
Hermione grunted under her breath the whole time it took the lift to get her back to her level.
"Law Enforcement." It said.
She took off and walked to Tracey's desk, eyes cast on the pile of paperwork waiting for her there.
Work had picked up. Hell, she'd wished for work, had been given it, and then some more.
At least it had kept her mind so occupied that she'd avoided any trip down memory lane and that any redhead broken prat had completely and thankfully slipped her mind altogether. As well as the days of the week. Or any other prat for that matter - pretty or not.
Alright, perhaps not.
Anyway, they now had two trials to prepare at the same time.
The Saint Mungo's reports from the old lady's case showed that said lady, Mrs Blooms, was psychologically disturbed. In which way, though, they had no idea yet, natural occlumens again. Merlin. Was she senile or insanely prejudiced? Hermione might have to actually participate in the investigation herself and thus would have to beg Kingsley to chair the trial.
Like that would work. She almost snorted aloud; he was so busy these days.
Well, she'd been thinking about training Stori for some time now; the witch was gifted, perhaps he'd agree. He'd created her position after merely reading her notes, after all.
It needed reflection though, Hermione couldn't possibly train Stori in a week, and she felt like she'd be at better use on the field for this case and soon.
The fact that she was a muggle-born could, in fact, help enlighten the situation.
It didn't seem enough of an excuse to give Stori some sort of promotion, though, whether the witch deserved it or not. She'd have to think harder and come up with something Kingsley would hear.
She was pondering the idea, trying to make up her mind before actually doing anything that would undoubtedly grant her some arse-kicking by their PM, when Hermione grabbed the files from Tracey's empty desk.
The witch was probably still in the archives researching for their second case. Stori was in charge of the preparatory work for now, and they'd both headed upstairs before lunch.
It was about a small company importing Armadillo bile from America, which seemed to have 'forgotten' to pay their taxes for the past three years. The scam had gone unnoticed by the authorities, of course. Some obliviating had been done. The obliviated Ministry official had only figured it out when his wife had left him because he'd forgotten a whole chunk of their marital history as well, though.
A pretty easy case in Hermione's opinion - the company director had guilty written in golden letters right across his forehead.
She started perusing the documents absentmindedly and strode to her office. She opened the door, not looking up from her papers, took her robes off, and jumped out of her skin.
"Harry? Ginny? What … What are you doing here?"
The couple was watching her warily, with matching worried frowns and tired eyes.
Ginny answered in a quiet voice: "We just … could we have a word?"

They were supposed to have a drink at the Leaky's.
After a whole week of preparations to pass on the company - in other words, interacting with a truculent little idiot his mother had hired as assistant every day for five very long days - Draco had needed a bloody break.
For multiple reasons that he tried very much not to think about in details, else he lost his very fragile and recently recovered sanity.
It was the first break in a while, and he hoped the last when this horrendous company was concerned. After all, just a few more days, and he'd be rid of the burden altogether.
All in all, it'd been a little while since Draco had been waiting on a Leaky's stool. Or more childishly sulking.
Tom's wrinkled, bald scalp was still slightly waving, Blaise was expectedly late, the glasses were dirty, and the courter sticky. The place was full and the hubbub loud enough to make Draco growl under his breath.
Now that he thought of it, why the hell were they always meeting up there? Looking around, he wrinkled his nose in disgust - even more.
The smell, dirty everything, the crowd - which every so often contained wankers - should have been enough to put a no-no sign in bright red letters on the place.
Except that the Leaky was the closest wizarding place to his office that sold alcohol without question no matter what time it was.
Except that a few weeks before, Draco had only been able to free himself either early in the morning before his first meetings, either for lunch and had generally needed the walk to calm down. Yes, the hike in muggle London. Where he could sulk, and glare and no one knew him.
He didn't need that any more now, did he?
Why the hell weren't they at Hog's head, then?
Salazar.
That thought was an insult to his brain. When in Slytherin's name had he started wishing for Hog's Head? What had happened to him?
A shit ton of things had happened.
And Blaise was late, evidently, so Draco had nothing else to do but dwell on thoughts he'd been dwelling on all bloody week anyway.
First, his mother hadn't even bothered to come to handle the paperwork in person, thus avoiding her only son.
Alright, so apparently, he was going into details. Great.
She hadn't responded to the letter he'd sent her, accepting her proposition. She hadn't given a single sign of being alive aside from sending that despicable and irritating assistant. Who, by the way, had such a high-pitched voice Draco wondered if his mother hadn't hired the bitch just to piss him off.
Which should have been enough of a reason to need a bloody break, right?
Well, of course not. There was something else that had been nagging him all week, slowing him down in his work, thus slowing the passing on of Malfoy Inc. and elongating his ordeal.
Something that had actually even disturbed his sleep.
What was it already?
Oh, right. He liked Hermione Granger.
Was that all? Oh, no. Of course, not.
He'd told Blaise too.
Oh, and evidently, he'd only realised aloud and after he'd punched Ronald sodding Weasley square in the face in front of her.
Also, he'd had no news from Hermione the whole week whatsoever.
Although if he'd expected a thank-you note for his trouble, he might have been pushing the stupidity a bit too far.
What was she supposed to say? Thank you for punching the red face of my ex-husband?
Idiot.
So ...
He liked her. He knew he liked her; there was no denial involved - well, any longer.
Trying to find excuses felt cowardly. Hadn't he told himself he'd never be a coward again?
In actions, though, not in feelings, and no one was threatened or in danger in his surroundings just then.
Although Hermione might feel threatened if he suddenly went all Gryffindor mushy feels and bravado.
What had taken him anyway?
Letting himself feel, bloody feel, for the first kind woman ever helping him out for real. Well, kind was a bit of an understatement when said woman could be attributed about the whole dictionary of qualities.
Wrong train of thoughts.
Worse than that, why had he ever let Blaise, sodding Blaise again, work his way in his head and make him talk?
Talk.
He'd talked about his feelings for Salazar's sake!
Another thing to make his mother's disappointment just on point. Which was actually not so bad a thing considering he wanted nothing to do with her principles and etiquette.
He wasn't about to go Gryffindor, though.
Hell no.
He was a Slytherin, a proud one, a Malfoy - whatever that meant - and shite he was Draco Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy didn't talk about his feelings. Period.
He tried not to have any, actually.
He failed. He'd always failed, but still.
He didn't.
He had.
In what horrible mess had he put himself again?
A week of hair-pulling hadn't helped to turn his thoughts off anyhow.
Thoughts of feelings.
What an utter soft shite he'd become.
Hermione sodding Granger.
No one, not a single soul in the whole bloody world, would have bet on that.
Blaise finally arrived, twenty-three minutes late - which was somehow an improvement - and thankfully cut short Draco's inward turmoil. As usual, he didn't look an ounce apologetic for making Draco wait.
He barely had time to sit though, and Draco to scowl-glare at him, that an owl came in with another patron, flapping its wings wildly. Both of them frowned rather ungracefully when it landed right before Blaise.
Tom approached with a full glass ready for Blaise, just as Draco wondered aloud:
"Who's writing?"
Blaise shrugged and grabbed the letter.
"It's Stori." He said, opening it.
"How does she know we're here?"
Tom's disbelieving eyebrows only revealed to which point he was thinking him stupid at that moment. Draco had never seen so many wrinkles in his entire life. Not even on a post-nap Aberforth.
The bartender looked on the verge to roll his eyes as he droned: "Everybody knows you're here."
Salazar, did they need to go to Hog's Head, Draco thought and almost slapped himself.

The shock passed instantly. The sheer anger Hermione had felt last time she'd seen the both of them came back in a rush.
"Why?" She snapped. "I've got work to do."
"Me too, but this is important." Harry countered in a quiet voice. Hermione braced herself for what might happen next. If this was about Draco punching Ron … she'd snap.
Violently.
She'd warned him.
She sat down at her desk and took a few deep breaths trying not to glare and failing. Harry and a very oddly silent Ginny sat facing her.
"What do you want?"
Harry cleared his throat and didn't start talking until Hermione was about to open her mouth again.
"I took Ron to Saint Mungo's." He said.
"And?"
"They're keeping him."
Silence followed. Hermione didn't know what she'd expected, but she had no words to express the lack of feelings.
Harry swallowed. "He … things got …"
"Violent." Ginny finished slowly.
"Had he been drinking?" Hermione asked. If his previous behaviour was of any indication, he might have.
"No." Harry shook his head. "We were about to call healer Bradley, as you suggested, but Ron saw him in the atrium right away and …"
Shit. "What's he done?" Hermione winced.
"He tried to curse him, Mione. They had to stun him."
"Merlin, is he alright?" Guilt snapped its face up as Hermione realised she'd been more talking about Bradley than Ron, although the idea didn't even cross Harry's mind.
"Yes, but … I … they're keeping him." He answered, not mentioning Bradley at all. "He's in severe depression …"
"I figured."
Harry's bright green eyes grew sombre. "Hermione, I'm so sorry, we didn't know."
Hermione blinked. "What?"
"Bradley …" He started, "he explained to us …"
"About Bellatrix." Ginny gulped, her eyes widening with concern. When Hermione didn't say a word, not trusting herself to speak, she added: "We didn't know."
If that wasn't a shame.
Hermione tried to breathe to calm her ire, but she seemed to have reached a point where nothing could stop it.
"Of course, you didn't." She eventually drawled. "You stopped speaking to me."
"No." Harry shook his head. "Hermione, we barely saw each other, and you never told us when we did. Ron … he didn't believe it. That's what - when he saw Bradley, he called him a liar and - he broke. We didn't know. Bradley explained to us what that bitch …"
"So, what?" Hermione barked, and Harry seemed to shrink in his seat. Good thing that he was out of reach.
"Well … I …"
"Now that you actually know that I'm… what? Disabled? It erases the fact that you …"
"No." He cut. "You don't get it, just … listen." Good thing he didn't let her time to talk anyway because he was no Astoria. There was also no way he'd make her cry this time. "He told us you were killing yourself at work," He continued. "And you were, and that …"
"That I didn't want a child and had done everything I could to lose it." Hermione finished for him between clenched teeth.
"No … he …"
"Don't lie, Harry, it's what he said to me." She saw the slight waver of green in his eyes. "You believed him."
"I … no. It's not like that." He panicked, lifting up so that he was barely standing at the edge of his chair. Both his hands came up towards her on the desk, too far to be able to touch her, though. That, his obvious panicking, the wideness of his eyes and his next words, was all it took.
"I know you couldn't have …" He started.
"YOU CALLED ME A COWARD! BOTH OF YOU!" Hermione exploded, jerking up from her seat, making the chair bang against the wall at her back. "You said I'd given up! You thought I didn't give a shit about Ron!" She pointed a finger to his suddenly frightened face. "You accused me! You made me cry, Harry!"
"I … fuck I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Harry was crying now, his emerald eyes reddening under his glasses, his hands trembling.
"Hermione, please … just listen …" Ginny pleaded, and Hermione broke.
"NO. I'm done listening to shitty excuses." She threw right back at them. "YOU ignored me," she growled, turning her stupid aloft finger back to Harry, "your supposed best friend when I needed you most. I lost everything for you, Harry," she rattled on in one breath, "there's nothing I wouldn't have done for you. You were like my brother, and you disappeared. You sent your wife when I needed my best friend, my fucking brother! I needed family because my mother is at the other end of the world because of a war we fought together! I never let you down Harry, Ron did. And yet you believed the bullshit he fed you."
"I offered." Ginny reminded, frowning. "You could have talked to me, Hermione."
"When you didn't even try and got pregnant with James in a week?" Hermione answered, her voice somehow losing all its snap, trembling instead. "I'm sorry, Ginny, but I couldn't talk to you. Every time I saw your belly, it …" A cry escaped her throat, and her voice broke. Tears started falling down Ginny's horrified face.
"I …"
"It's not your fault." Hermione cut, voice still wavering, "But I couldn't. I needed you, Harry." She said, turning back to him.
"And I let you down." He concluded, meeting her gaze.
"Yes."
"So, that's it, then?" He sniffed, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a sleeve. "You'll never forgive me now."

Weasley's in for a long stay at Mungo's, mental break down. Potter and his Weasley wife are telling Hermione now. Come pick us up later, both of you.

The first thing that came to Draco's mind as he gave back the little note to Blaise was that he couldn't possibly burst out laughing, right?
No, he could definitely not.
Blaise was frowning, apparently, at a loss for words, a first, and Draco just didn't know what to think.
Mental break down.
Damn, it was not that funny now, was it?
"Err fuck." Draco eventually voiced his thoughts. Because really, it was fucked up.
"Let's just pretend there's something to celebrate tonight, then." Blaise grimaced.
Draco didn't know what took him, but he joked: "There kind of is."
"It's not funny." Blaise frowned seriously.
"No, you're right, it's not." Draco sighed. It really wasn't, but … it was? "Weaselbee's gone round the bend." He murmured as if saying it would somehow make it less whatever it was and more … real?
Nope, he had no compassion for the piece of shit.
"Fuck, it is funny." Blaise almost chuckled and caught himself right away, frowning. "Hermione …" He said, and Draco gulped.
Hermione.
Well, if Stori thought she'd need a drink, they'd go. No way in hell Draco was going to let her drink herself to oblivion again, all by herself.
No.
He'd keep an eye on her this time.
No more cowardice, right?
"Alright," Blaise said, pushing his glass away on the counter and standing. "I've got a thing or two to pick up at the apothecary first. Let's skip the drink."
Draco nodded again. He tossed a Galleon next to their untouched drinks and followed Blaise out without so much as a blink.
The "funny thing" was starting to sink in.
Damn.
And … Nope, he still didn't care. After what the bastard had put Hermione through - Hermione, the woman who had actually been tortured AND had physically lost the children - he didn't even deserve to break down, not after Hermione hadn't.
She had, though, hadn't she?
Shit.
Draco sighed; this was much more complicated than he could understand, wasn't it?
As he mumbled for himself, he let Blaise drag him along the alley, the heat of summer irritating, the sun burning his skin. He hated summer. He did. Especially when he had nothing better to do than to follow Blaise around like a bloody crup.
They reached the apothecary in no time, Draco's thoughts going up and down and making no sense.
He only went back to reality when Blaise was shrinking seven bags of goods to stuff in the pockets of his robes.
"What are these for?" He asked, frowning.
Blaise's shrug of an answer was slightly too casual to be innocent, and when they were finally out of the apothecary, and he still hadn't answered, Draco just barked:
"What the hell?"
"Mind your own …"
"Zabini!" The call made both of them turn, forgetting their incoming argument.
They'd just passed the Weasley disgusting orange joke shop, and the wanker was there. Draco tried to muster his most superior sneer and thought he'd managed just fine until Blaise nodded to him. The redface number … - how many were they anyway? - tossed his cigarette on the floor and didn't even bother to crush the nasty bit of reeking smoke.
"Wait!" He called. Blaise stopped and only cocked an eyebrow at the man. "How is she?" He asked, and Draco had no doubt to whom he was referring and found that he didn't like it one bit.
Blaise huffed. "Like I'll tell you so you can report to your …"
"Please." The half cut. "Harry wanted to see her first to apologise …"
"Apologise?" Blaise snorted. "He better beg at her feet, and I hope she kicks him." He hissed viciously, and Draco found himself smirking in agreement.
"Alright, I see the general feeling there." Weasley tempered, lifting both his hands in surrender. "I just … come on, I just want to know if she's alright." He pleaded.
"She's fine." Blaise gave curtly. Like they had any idea.
"Good. Good." The redhead nodded, his eyes saying all but that things were good.
"Is that all?" Blaise drawled in impatience.
"Wh … Look I …" Stuttering, great. "I had no idea he was this … I never argued with Hermione, you know? I even took her side …"
Blaise rolled his eyes with exasperation. "You're not on trial, Weasley, no need to testify."
"Shut it." The other man snapped, something menacing passing through his features and disappearing as soon as he opened his mouth again. "Would you just tell her to come by?"
Blaise had a second of disbelieving hesitation before denying: "I don't think so."
"And why not?" Weasley asked. Draco lost patience at that.
"Because your cunt brother went for her." He spat.
"I'm not my brother." The twin said, turning to Draco for the first time.
"You're a Weasley, same scum to me." Draco gave with a nasty glare. "Your brother is actually lucky I don't find him worth going to Azkaban."
"Cause you're not?" Weasley provoked, lifting both red eyebrows.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You punched him." He sounded calm again. Which was disturbing.
"I reckon you punched me too." Draco shrugged, failing to look as calm as the strange weasel specimen.
"Why did you?" The twin continued as if Draco hadn't spoken.
"He was out of line with her."
"And?" He cocked his head to as side before asking, his stare piercing. "Since when do you care, Malfoy?"
The answer came out of Draco's mouth without hesitation:
"Since none of you Gryffindor scumbags do."
Weasley swallowed before answering, his eyes widening: "I do."
"Oh, really?" Draco chuckled; there was no humour in the sound, though. Perhaps he did spend too much time with Blaise. He took a step further. "Where were you then? When she was drinking her mind to oblivion at Aberforth's? Or when your sick brother went for her? Twice? Or when your precious little Potter made her cry?" He could hear the viciousness in his tone and relished in it. "I was there, you wanker, and shame on you for it is I who defended her!"
"You're right. Shame on me." The twin gulped quietly.
"I …" Draco realised just then that he was holding the redhead by the collar. Apparently, he'd grown out the twin—quite a bit.
The last didn't look so cocky no more, did he?
Wait, what was he doing? In the middle of Diagon Alley?
Damn.
Again? What was it with him and cunt's collars anyway, eh?
"Mate, I think we're done here." Blaise's hand tapped his shoulder. "Let go."
Draco did as bid, and they both turned around to go.
"No, wait! I'm sorry, alright? I didn't know …"
"What do we care?" Blaise answered, turning back again before Draco could open his mouth.
"She cares." The twin pushed. "You'll see her, right?"
"Yes."
"Give her that." He took a torn piece of parchment out of his cloak then, tapped his wand a few times to it, and folded it before giving it to Blaise, apparently not trusting Draco.
Wise.

Hermione deflated instantly. Tears were slowly making their way down from under her lashes, and she didn't have the strength to swallow them back up.
She didn't know what to say either.
She wasn't all white in that story, was she?
"When did we stop being friends?" Harry asked in a thick voice. "We've forgotten to be friends."
"Yes." She whispered.
He slumped back down on his chair, and Hermione found that she was exhausted. She slowly picked her chair back up and proceeded to do the same when he started speaking again, his voice somehow steadier.
"Everything's so fucked up … All this …" He gestured around as if the shite they'd been through was actually in the room. "It's so fucking unfair. Didn't we have enough with the war and …"
"Life's not fair, Harry." Hermione reminded him. "I think we've all had to come to terms with that for the past decade or so."
"Still." He sighed. "It didn't even …" He turned to Ginny, whose head was cocked, tears still streaming down her face. She gave him an encouraging half-smile. He sighed, turning back to Hermione. "It didn't even cross my mind. That you could be hurt, I mean, that that bitch would come back and haunt us. That monstrous …" He took a deep breath, his nose flaring. "I think it was the easy way to just believe that you'd been over-working and that Ron was just still as impulsive as he'd been when we were teenagers." He lowered his green gaze to his hands. "You know, the laws, the security measures and everything it was - I wanted to make sure nothing like that could ever happen again." He looked back at her, the thin track of a tear slowly drying on his contorted face. "I know that it's what you were doing as well. I never questioned your work, even though Ron did. He never understood, but I did. I - We wanted things to be fair. I so over-worked myself that I never thought it could be anything else for you." He paused and shifted on his seat again, so he got closer to Hermione. "But it's there, right? It's always fucking there. If it's not nightmares, it's drinking, or violence, or -" He swallowed as if the words were difficult to say. "or wounds that will never heal." The tears in his eyes renewed under his glasses as he looked at her. "We're just - it's never going away, is it? All of us, we're never getting over it, right?"
He always had his moments, didn't he? Harry Potter. He hadn't been appointed Head Auror, hadn't defeated Voldemort, deceived him by having strictly no wisdom.
They'd all grown up far too fast. And he was right; they were never getting over it. They just had to live with it. Hermione suspected he'd known that for long, though, but much like Ron, had decided to deny it.
He'd come to his senses, it seemed.
"No, we're not." She confirmed.
He nodded, looking at his lap for a moment.
"I want it back. Us three." He took Ginny's hand. She nodded for him to continue. "I want it back, Hermione."
"I don't know if that's possible now." Hermione said, the truth in her own words making her throat clench.
"I get it." He nodded, his already red nose taking a whole new shade of sad. "Just … I'm here. Now. Whether it's too late or not."
Hermione didn't reciprocate.
It was a bit too late, wasn't it?
The moment grew awkward when the air had been mostly filled with anger and sadness before.
"Could you go now?" She eventually said, needing the time alone, but mostly, needing them gone. "I've got work to do."
Ginny looked crestfallen, but Harry nodded and stood, his gaze accepting.
"Bye, Mione." He said on his way out. Ginny gave her one last glance as if she had something to say but didn't and closed the door in a quiet click after her.
Hermione took a deep breath.
Then, before she burst into tears, she grabbed a quill and some parchment.

"What was that about?"
"What?"
"You were ready to beat the shit out of him."
"I wasn't." Draco denied.
"Right." Blaise shook his head but didn't need to add that he was whatever the hell he was when he used sarcasm, that Draco growled between clenched teeth:
"He had the guts to say he cares."
"I think he does." Blaise shrugged. "He doesn't seem that bad …"
"What's wrong with you?" Draco stopped walking to look at him.
"What's wrong with you?" Blaise mimicked, exasperation twisting his gaze.
"Nothing," Draco answered too quickly. What was the point in lying, though? "Everything." He corrected, and Blaise only looked at him questioningly. "I fucking don't know, alright? Nothing's ever just … simple." Draco started, shaking his hands as if the movement would help. "I mean, I'm just free from the oath; I should be left at peace. But no! Weasley has to come around and shit everywhere!"
"It's what he does, I hear."
"Funny." Draco scowled. "I'm serious, Blaise. That wanker …"
"Pissed Hermione, not you." Well, not entirely true.
"Right." Draco still agreed, he'd talked too much anyway; better stop now.
"And you like her so …" Blaise sing-songed.
"Stop saying that." Draco's irritated tone did nothing to stop the other man, though.
"I don't understand." Blaise shook his head. "It's a good thing you finally recognise it."
"No, it's not."
Blaise blinked. Quite a few times before he spoke again. "What? Why?"
"Because!"
"Because?"
"Because we're friends. That's enough. That's it." Draco hoped to close the conversation with that, knowing fairly well that it wouldn't.
"Why?" Here, he'd known it. Blaise never stopped.
"Oh, I don't know," He feigned a clueless shrug and tapped his chin. "Because my aunt tortured her?" He snapped then. "Because I …"
"Oh, come on!" Blaise cut, serious again. "She's said it more than once the past is the past."
True enough, but Draco had other arguments.
"Right." He said. "I don't care about your past either, though, doesn't mean I want anything with you."
"Your loss," Blaise smirked.
"Fuck you."
"With pleasure, but later." Blaise now grinned. "Alone. I don't really like having an audience."
"Salazar you're…" Draco almost gagged as they reached the courtyard once again.
"So? Hermione? When are you going to tell her?" Blaise asked in a carefree manner as he grabbed his wand to tap the bricks. Draco stopped and, this time decided this conversation was ending.
"Never." He drawled. "We are friends, Blaise. That's it. I don't like her, I'm just lonely." Right, tell yourself that. "I've been surrounded with gold-digging bints for years, that's it. She's the only one who's kind. I'm lonely." Maybe if he kept repeating it, it would sink in.
"Liar." Blaise sneered. "Are you afraid she'd reject you?"
"Wh … no." Draco frowned. "I won't offer anyway." There was no doubt that she would if he did, right? There wasn't even a point in having this conversation.
Don't do that again, is all.
"You know, she didn't push you away when you kissed her," Blaise smirked, his eyes full of glee, his wand lowered to his hips.
Right, but again: don't do that again, is all.
"She was drunk and stunned." Draco countered, and it was true. "It didn't last long enough, anyway. She told me to never do it again."
"She was staring at you, open-mouthed at the restaurant."
Draco blinked.
"No, she was not." He said but knew it was a lie. He'd forgotten. She had, and he'd caught her.
He'd smirked his face off as they'd walked out of the restaurant.
Well, it didn't mean anything. She'd been drunk as well, at least a little bit. Perhaps she'd just been listening intently.
What had they been talking about?
The selling notice?
She'd shaken her head as if to clear her thoughts when he'd realised.
Right, she'd been lost in thoughts, was all.
Plus, the waiter had come at that moment.
WAIT.
Was he seriously thinking about all this? FUCK NO!
Blaise chuckled; Draco must have made a face.
"You're about as much in denial as Weasley is." He sighed as Draco started shaking his head.
"What?"
"You like her." He lifted a hand to cut Draco as he continued, "Yes, you have history and all that shit, but you became friends in what? A couple of weeks?"
"Here you said it, Blaise, friends." Draco slowly spat out, as if speaking to a retard, Blaise was actually pushing his point.
"Oh, come on." He scowled. "You're not just friends now. Mate, she broke your fucking oath without a second thought. She cares about you." He pointed out, literally, with a finger on Draco's chest. "Now."
There was no point in denying it. If she hadn't when she'd offered her help, Draco knew she did now. But still.
"Yes, as fucking friends, you twat, and I don't want anything …"
"Oh, you do too," Blaise cut, "stop lying." And apparently, he had an argument. "I never saw you lower yourself so much as to punch anyone in the bloody face before." He accused. "You're not like that. You calculate everything. You're not reckless. You like her so fucking much you risked being thrown in Azkaban last week."
Damn, seen like that, it sounded …
"And it's not the first time either, is it?" Blaise continued. "You practically bit Skeeter's face at the charity."
Or Pansy's face off the earth.
Shit.
"Alright, yes, I care." Draco sighed, threading his fingers through his hair. "It doesn't mean I want anything more than what I miraculously managed to have."
Blaise rolled his eyes.
"Dramatic. That's your issue. You're a drama queen." He mocked, although his tone betrayed more exasperation than banter. "You have to find the difficulty everywhere all the fucking time. What's difficult there? You like her? Good. Try and kiss her for real and see if she likes you too. If she does, happy shag. If she doesn't?" He shrugged. "Say it was a mistake and go back to being friends."
"Happy shag?" Draco uttered, what the hell?
"Err …" Blaise grimaced. "Think she's frigid?"
"Excuse me?"
"Kidding." He interrupted Draco's outburst, eyes widening. "I was kidding." Then, he shrugged, "And yes, happy shag. Why not?"
"Because life is not that easy?" Draco growled. A happy shag with Hermione Granger. Blaise was nuts. Like Draco needed those kinds of thoughts in his head. As if that bloody green dress hadn't been enough already.
"Oh, but it is, mate." Blaise chuckled. "How do you think I got Stori? I charmed her once. We had sex. I was a pig. But we liked each other, and things just happened. I didn't plan anything." He smiled. "It just happens if it's supposed to."
Draco almost gagged. "I thought you were going to say meant to be." He sniffed scornfully. "Please never say meant to be."
"I … well, you can see it like that too …"
"Oh my Lord, I'm going to puke." Draco scowled. "What happened to you? Is it the coming wedding?" Sly, but perhaps it'd be enough to finally change the subject.
Blaise was still smiling as he answered. "Don't joke. I think I'll ask her soon."
Draco hadn't expected that. "What? Already?" He startled.
"Yeah. See? Simple." Blaise shrugged, a mawkish grin creeping up his mouth. "Either she says yes, either she says no."
"Right." Draco sighed. Although it was about time things were that simple for Blaise, it still felt strange. Stori would probably say yes.
Damn.
"Yes, I'm right." Blaise continued. "Plus, do you realise what it means if Hermione says yes?" That was definitely a smirk now, no longer a grin.
"Wh …"
"We get to go on double dates." He extolled.
"Err … Brilliant." Draco had had to control his gagging reflexes a bit too much to his liking for one single conversation.
"Yes, we'll be all over the papers." Blaise continued.
"Like I need more attention, what's wrong …"
"Yes, don't you want to see Potter in Mungo's as well?"
Well, that was a good argument.
Imagine Potter's face if Draco were to actually date the brilliant golden girl? He'd choke for real.
Wait, was he seriously thinking about it AGAIN?
"Fuck you, Blaise."
The concerned man finally tapped the brick and burst out laughing.