Saturday morning came and went, unknown to Ginny who was still asleep on her best friend's couch. After returning to her own apartment from work, Ginny had decided to abandon her previous plans of curling up on the couch alone all night. Instead she had flooed to visit her best friend since Hogwarts, an ex-Ravenclaw named Linda Callahan, to tell her the good news. Linda had been so happy to see that Ginny seemed to have finally gotten out of the rut she had been in since her and Harry's breakup that they had ended up breaking out a bottle of Pinot Giorgio to celebrate. Once they had drunk their way through that, they found a bottle of Fire whiskey that had been in the cabinet for Merlin only knew how long. The ultimate result was that both girls had gotten so completely and utterly trashed that Ginny did not think she could apparate home without Splinching herself in at least eight different parts, so she had ended up passing out on the couch.

The midday sun shone brightly through the open curtains of the window right behind the couch, driving its blazing light right through Ginny's closed eyelids and into her aching head, causing her to wince in pain. She felt like an angry Blast-Ended Skrewt was running rampant inside her skull. She sat up, and the throbbing in her head immediately worsened.

"Merlin," she muttered to herself, rubbing her eyes. She needed coffee. She stalked into the kitchen, where Linda was already wide awake and reading an issue of the Daily Prophet.

"Well, hello Sleeping Beauty," Linda said as Ginny plopped herself ungracefully into one of the chairs at the dining room table. "You look terrible."

"And you don't," Ginny muttered grumpily. "Why?"

"Hangover Draught," Linda said simply, her hazel eyes twinkling impishly. "I always keep a stock of it handy. I'll mix some in with your coffee; you look like you could use both."

"Thanks," Ginny said gratefully as Linda handed her a large cup full to the brim of coffee. It had an odd sort of smell to it, Ginny noticed, but that must simply be the Hangover Draught. But she honestly didn't care what it smelled and/or tasted like as long as it made her head stop pounding so badly.

"So," Linda said, setting down the Prophet. "Any plans for today?"

"Not really," Ginny snorted. "You're the only one who seems to put up with me."

Linda laughed. "Yeah, for whatever reason."

Ginny mock glared at her. "Gee, thanks. I love you too."

"So were you planning to just hang out at home alone all day today or would you like some company?"

"Sure," Ginny replied. "That'd be great. Do you mind if I took a shower first, though? I can practically feel the liquor streaming out of my pores."

"Go ahead," Linda said. "You know where everything is. You can borrow some of my clothes if you'd like."

Ginny emerged from the shower some forty-minutes later, dressed in a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a T-shirt lent to her by Linda. "So what did you have in mind?" Ginny asked, as Linda scooted over on the couch to make room for her.

"I dunno," Linda replied shrugging. "I was thinking we could go somewhere for lunch and do some shopping?"

"Yeah," Ginny agreed. "I need to buy some new clothes, anyway. I haven't even gone shopping since Harry and I broke up."

"Well," Linda said. "I'm glad you're finally venturing back out into the world, Gin."

"Me too," Ginny said laughing. "It's been two years, but I think things are finally getting better."

"I hope so," Linda said sincerely. "Some of us actually have missed you, you know, even if we don't know why."

Ginny didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, but she decided she didn't really care. Linda was right; it had been quite awhile since she'd even wanted the company of others. Harry's quick transition from boyfriend to asshole ensured that. She hardly ever went to visit her mom anymore, either, Ginny remember with a stab of guilt. That would definitely be in order; besides, if nothing else, she missed her mum's cooking.

Plans made, Linda and Ginny decided to go to apparate to London. There they could find a nice little restaurant to have lunch at, and then they could go to one of the many stores in the hopes of replenishing Ginny's rather dismal wardrobe. So they first stopped by Diagon Alley so that Ginny could withdraw some money from her vault at Gringotts, and then left to accomplish their all-important scheme of shopping.

Nearly two weeks had passed since Harry first moved Ginny onto the Carrow case. She had made quite a bit of progress on it, and figured that it wouldn't be long before he too was apprehended. How he had managed to stay out of the Ministry's clutches for this long evaded Ginny: Alecto Carrow was not exactly known for his cleverness.

Harry's attitude toward Ginny seemed to have improved considerably. They weren't anywhere close to being "best friends" or anything, but at least he wasn't being such a prick. He was being quite civil to her, actually. At that moment Harry stuck his head in the doorway of her cubicle. "It's nearly noon," he said. "You can go ahead for lunch now."

"Oh," Ginny said distractedly. She had been absorbed in reviewing her files, but at the mention of lunch she snapped her head up. Was it really noon already? "Thanks, Harry."

"Listen, Ginny," Harry said. "I was wondering if you wanted to go grab lunch with me, actually." At the look on her face he blushed and added, "Not as a date or anything, Gin, I didn't mean it like that…"

Ginny continued to look at him strangely. Was this why he had suddenly started being so nice to her? To try to get her back? "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't," Ginny said slowly. "I've already got plans." This wasn't strictly a lie; she had indeed planned on stopping by le Café Matin. She hadn't been there in around a week, and she was sorely missing her cinnamon latte fix.

"Right," Harry said. He seemed quite flustered, alternating from foot to foot as though now he was quite keen to leave. "I'll, er, see you after lunch."

"Alright," Ginny replied, keeping her eyes glued to her folder until he left. She then hurriedly used her wand to put the proper papers in the proper files and pulled her Auror robes over her head due to the fact that le Café Matin was a muggle café, and being seen in robes might be rather awkward.

She apparated into the alley that ran alongside the café before hurriedly walking toward the main street and turning in to the cozy little café. A plump middle-aged woman stood behind the counter, and she greeted Ginny by name when she got to the front of the line.

"Well there's our favorite customer!" she exclaimed. "We've been missing you, Ginevra, where've you been, dear?"

"Oh, just work as usual," Ginny replied with a weary smile. The woman, who was called May, smiled knowingly.

"So what'll it be? The usual, I presume?"

Ginny nodded, and within two minutes a latte fragrant with the aroma of cinnamon and a croissant were being pressed into her hands. She paid May with the muggle money she'd exchanged at Gringotts for the sole purpose of coming here and went to sit at her usual table near the back wall. The only problem was that it was already occupied.

The intruder looked familiar, but she couldn't really tell in the dim lighting. It wasn't until she was right behind him that she knew for sure. Malfoy.

"Took my advice, I see," Ginny said as she sat at the table across the aisle from his. "And you took my table as well."

"I didn't see your name on it, Weasley," Malfoy replied smirking as he took a sip of his coffee.

Ginny grinned and inconspicuously pulled her wand out of her bag, pointing it from under the table and cast a silent spell. The sip of coffee Malfoy had just taken now came spitting back out: now across the table were the words "Property of Ginevra Weasley".

He wiped the coffee from his face and the table with a napkin. "Well aren't we hilarious," he said. "But I suppose that since I have been offered incontrovertible proof that this is your table, you can sit here too."

"How generous of you," Ginny replied as she undid the spell so that the words vanished. "Who says I want to sit with you?"

"Fine," Draco said haughtily. "And here I was actually trying to be polite."

"Relax, Malfoy," Ginny said, gathering up her things to join him at her table. "Not everyone's out to get you, you know."

"Whatever you say, Weasley," he replied vaguely.

They drank their coffee in silence for awhile, until Ginny said: "Is it as good as I claimed it was?"

"I suppose even Weasleys are right sometimes," Malfoy conceded.

"You could just say yes," Ginny said. "Are you always this difficult?"

Draco laughed. "So they tell me. But speaking of difficult, how's Pothead – I mean Potter – been lately? Still have a wand stuck up his arse?"

"Actually," Ginny said with a grin. "Somebody must have removed said wand for him. He assigned me to the Carrow case."

"The Carrow case?" Draco said enviously. "That bastard. I wanted that case, although I suppose my reasons were more personal."

Ginny laughed. A Malfoy being jealous of a Weasley. How ironic.

They talked a bit more over things of little consequence: work, friends, and even their Hogwarts days, although anything pertaining to Draco's sixth year (Ginny's fifth) was left out of the conversation. Before Ginny had realized it, the hour was nearly gone and it was time for them both to return to work, an event that Ginny hadn't actually dreaded for the past two weeks. They apparated back to the Ministry and returned to their respective cubicles, where the delectable cinnamon lattes had prepared her to resume her attack of the Carrow file.

Draco gathered his files from his desk and moved swiftly out of his cubicle, thankful that it was finally time to go home. He hadn't been able to focus much on his work since he had gotten back from le Café Matin. He had been raking through his thoughts to try to figure out why he had actually been talking to the Weaselette: This made two full conversations between them in the past two weeks. It was unnatural for Draco to want to talk to anyone about anything at all unless he had full assurance of their trustworthiness. He knew nothing about Weasley, and yet he didn't mind talking to her too terribly much. It was undoubtedly strange. But whether it meant talking to Weasley or not, he was going back to le Café Matin. She had been right - the coffee was damn good.

On his way out he passed by Potter's office. The door was open, and he appeared to be intently reviewing a file, but at second glance Draco saw that it was not, in fact, a file, but a picture. A picture that Draco noticed was extremely crumpled as though Potter had spent many a day clutching it in his hand and staring at it. But what really provoked Draco's interest was the look in Potter's eyes as he practically bored holes in it. It was a look Draco knew well: Regret.

Potter looked up from the picture to notice Draco staring at him, and instantly the look in his eyes changed from one of regret to one of annoyance.

"Can I help you, Malfoy?" Potter asked, clearly irritated at being disturbed as he hastily shoved the photo unceremoniously into a desk drawer.

Draco smirked. "I just wanted to turn in the Baggins case," he said.

"You've finished it?" Harry asked, half approvingly, half doubtfully.

"Obviously," Draco said rolling his eyes. "Otherwise I don't think I'd be turning it in."

"Well, er, good work," Potter replied grabbing the folder out of Draco's hand before turning back into his office and slamming the door shut behind him.

Draco shook his head exasperatedly. Potter obviously had his knickers tangled up about something. But Draco didn't really care enough to reflect over it, so he shrugged his shoulders and left the Ministry, longing to get back to his apartment, take a nice hot shower, and sit out on the balcony with a glass of wine. Perhaps he would visit his mother tomorrow night and offer her some company then, but tonight he was too tired. But as he apparated to the front door of his apartment and unlocked the door, he found a surprise waiting there for him: Blaise and Pansy were both sitting on his couch, and beside them were two huge parcels, one wrapped in shimmering black paper that changed color like oil on water, and the other wrapped in silky green with snakes slithering around the corners of the box.

"What the hell – "he said, trying to think of what the occasion could possibly be.

Blaise cocked an eyebrow at Draco's apparent lack of memory before saying, "Happy birthday, mate! Twenty-four years old; find any grey hair yet?"

Pansy grinned widely at him, flipping her short, dark hair out of her face. "Open mine first, Draco. I actually took the time to pick out something, unlike our less thoughtful friend, here."

Draco was still standing in the doorway, mouth agape, and mind reeling. They were right. Today was his birthday; how in Merlin's name had he forgotten his own birthday? It was August 11th, his twenty-fourth birthday. All he'd been concerned with lately was work. So concerned, apparently, that his own birthday had slipped his mind. Talk about being a workaholic…

"Well?" Pansy said, rising gracefully from the couch to slip her hand inside his and pull him over to the couch. "Are you going to open them?"

"Oh," Draco said, shaking his head to clear it. "Right. I just wasn't expecting this…"

Pansy laughed. "Just come on and open them. Our reservations are at seven, and we don't want to be late."

"Reservations?" Draco repeated as he sat by Blaise on the couch. Pansy handed him the black parcel. "Come on, just open the damned present," she said impatiently.

Draco carefully unwrapped the paper, opening up the box. Nestled inside it were an expensive looking set of black dress robes ("Those are for when we go out tonight," said Pansy.), a bottle of aged elf-made wine, and a title-less book that looked ancient.

"I got the book from an antique collector," Pansy explained. "It cost me a fortune. Apparently all you have to do is leaf through the pages and imagine a subject and it'll appear in the book."

"Wow," he said gratefully. "Thank you, Pansy, I love them." He got up and placed the bottle of wine in his wine cabinet to save for another night and returned to his place on the couch, gingerly removing the book from its box. Blaise grabbed it out of his hands before he could even open it. Blaise closed his eyes, apparently deep in thought, and leafed through the pages. Instantly a title appeared on the cover that read, On the Attributes of the Youngest Heir of Zabini.

"Narcissist," Draco muttered, grabbing the book out of his hands. Blaise laughed. "Now you have to open mine," he said, shoving the smaller green bundle onto Draco's lap. Draco unwrapped this one too, and inside it were an intricately gold wizard's watch (his old one had been shattered in the last battle at Hogwarts), and a two-hundred galleon gift card for Honeydukes.

"Holy hell, mate," Draco said in astonishment. "What in Merlin's name am I supposed to do with two hundred galleons worth in chocolate?"

"Share it with me, of course," Blaise stated obviously.

Pansy slapped him good-naturedly upside the head. Blaise pouted at the abuse, but he made no more comments. "Now," Pansy said matter-of-factly. "Draco, go ahead and put on those dress robes. We're going out tonight to celebrate. Blaise and I've already got our clothes with us."

"Are you even going to tell me where we're going?" Draco whined.

"Nope," Blaise said. "You'll see when we get there."

Knowing that there was no sense in arguing with them he grabbed the dress robes and went into his bedroom to get changed. After doing so he examined himself in the full-length mirror. His shoulder-length platinum hair was swept out of his sharply-angled face into a ponytail, and his grey eyes flashed in self-approval as he donned the trademark Malfoy smirk.

After deeming himself suitable enough to go out, Draco swept back into the living room. Blaise was sitting on the couch, already dressed in a set of deep gold dress robes that accentuated his Italian good-looks. Pansy, apparently, had not yet finished getting ready. Blaise rolled his eyes as Draco sat beside him. "Bloody women," he said. "And she's the worst of the lot. Last time we went out it took her three hours just to get ready. Three hours, and that's with magic!" He shot Draco a scandalous look.

"You're the one dating her, mate," Draco said smirking. "And you never seem to complain after she's done when you're drooling all over the floor."

"I do not," Blaise said, glowering at Draco. At that moment, however, Pansy exited the bathroom clad in a long burgundy dress that shimmered every time she took a step. Her dark hair had been made (doubtlessly by magic) to be longer, and was swept up into a complicated looking up-do. Her dark eyes shone brightly, and her lips were glossed over with deep red lipstick. Blaise immediately stood up, instantly the gentleman to offer Pansy his arm and comment upon how beautiful she looked. Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise was completely and utterly smitten with Pansy, however much he might complain about how long it took her to get ready. In fact, Draco would probably have to scourgify all the saliva from his carpet when he got back.

"Are we ready?" Pansy asked smoothly, and Draco noticed the self-satisfied look in her expression. He would probably have that same look in his own eyes, Draco thought with a snigger, if he had actually managed to render Blaise speechless. "You'll have to Side-Along Apparate with Blaise, Draco," Pansy said. "Seeing as you've no idea where we're going and we don't intend to tell you just yet."

"If I must," Draco said. He gripped Blaise's arm and they all three turned on the spot, reappearing with a pop in front of an unfamiliar, pricey-looking restaurant. Seeing as it was called "La Rime du Sphinx" and the restaurant itself, as well as the people clothed in wizard's dress robes entering in it, was apparently unseen to the passersby, Draco could only assume that it was a wizarding restaurant. The fact that the Sphinx on the sign was actually pacing up and down in front of the flashing letters of the restaurant's name looking unnaturally real and mobile also was a pretty good hint.

"Paris," Draco said grinning as he took in the sights of his favorite city. "Who thought this up? Let me guess, Pansy?"

"Of course," Pansy said with a grin as Blaise moved ahead of her to chivalrously open the door for her. "Now come on, our table's waiting."

A waiter was instantly there to greet them. "Dernier nom?" he said somberly after he had taken their cloaks.

"Parkinson," Pansy replied smoothly.

"Ahh, of course, Mademoiselle," he said, switching from French to English. "Right this way."

He turned and led them stiffly toward the back of the restaurant, weaving through the tables without even looking down. Once they were seated, Draco cast a critical eye about the restaurant. The tables were covered in unicorn-white tablecloths, and the only lighting was provided by magically-suspended chandeliers over various points in the room. Tiny fairies twittered in their sweet, high-pitched voices near the ceiling, weaving fluidly in a complicated dance below a domed section of the roof that, rather like the ceiling at Hogwarts, appeared to be bewitched to show the sky outside. Upon the table was an intricate looking centerpiece that appeared to be Goblin made. Carvings of hippogriffs, griffins, unicorns, and other various magical creatures were carved into the solid wood floors. With a small pop, a menu appeared in front of each of them.

Draco scanned through it. The specialty of the house was a Coq a Vin entrée, followed by a Blanquette de Veau, to be summed up with a delectable Tarte Tatin. They all decided that they would choose this, and as soon as they reached this agreement a house elf instantly appeared at their table bearing their chosen meal.

"Good service," Blaise commented, one eyebrow cocked in surprise as the house elf gave them their respective plates, as well as a bottle of Chardonnay and three glasses. The house elf bowed gravely to each of them in turn and vanished with a pop, leaving them to eat their meal.

More than an hour later they stood on a terrace of the restaurant overlooking a sweeping green lawn dotted with shimmering lights, each of them stuffed to bursting with the scrumptious French cuisine provided by La Rime du Sphinx. Draco held a cup of coffee in hand, which he noted hazily was not quite as good as the coffee at le Café Matin. This observation reminded him of the Weasley girl. He smiled for a moment as he remembered her chime-like laughter echoing through the small café in London. His thoughts were interrupted, however, as Pansy pulled a silver cigarette case from a purse and graciously offered one to him and Blaise each before taking one herself to place in a long stem.

He set down his empty coffee cup (where it instantly vanished and was replaced with a full one) as he thanked Pansy and lit the cigarette, glad for the calm of the night. It had been awhile since he'd been out anywhere, being so consumed in working as he was. He used to love going out like this.

"A knut for your thoughts?" Pansy asked, although the smug look on her face told him that she already knew what he was thinking.

Draco chuckled. "Alright, alright," he said. "You guys are amazing."

"You're damn right we are," Blaise replied in a disgruntled tone. "Especially since I'm the one paying for all this." Draco could tell, however, that despite Blaise's quips, they had all enjoyed themselves.

Draco finished smoking his cigarette and put it out in an ashtray that had magically appeared beside him in the past five minutes. This place really was good.

"I've got to get back home, though," he said with a sigh. "I've got to be at work bright and early tomorrow."

"We know," Pansy replied, and then added sternly: "But you'd better visit your mother tomorrow, or she'll be likely to have all of our heads. She told us we could have you tonight because she knew we probably wouldn't have a chance over the weekend, but tomorrow she'll be expecting her little Drakie."

"I know," Draco replied, grimacing at the use of his mother's old nickname for him. "I'll send her an owl tonight to let her know I'm coming."

Apparently satisfied, Pansy then looked to Blaise, who answered her look with an incline of his dark head. Then, simultaneously the three apparated back to Draco's apartment where Draco bid them good night with the promise that he'd pull himself away from his work for long enough to go out again some night.

He entered his apartment and turned on the lights with his wand. After throwing the boxes and wrapping paper left from Blaise's and Pansy's presents haphazardly on the floor, he lay contentedly upon the couch, stretching his long legs over the armrest. He allowed his mind to wander for a bit, first reflecting over his night out with Blaise and Pansy, and from there to more heady subjects that had been shut out of his mind for a long time. Quite a long time.

He remembered, with a flash of emotion that was hard to define, the capture of his father. Lucius had been hiding out on an island in the Caribbean owned by the Malfoys that they had once used as a vacation spot. They hadn't travelled there in years, not since Draco had been but a child. Apparently after Draco had reached the age of four Lucius had decided that frivolity and vacations were not for a Malfoy heir, and that from then on Draco would spend all of his time learning and studying so that his Malfoy superiority would be obvious as soon as he entered Hogwarts. In fact, just to make sure that Draco never forgot his lessons, Lucius tended to follow up their study sessions with regular beatings.

But Lucius had returned to the island, deeming it the perfect place to avoid capture. However, despite the cornucopia of magical wards placed around the island, Lucius had not been able to escape being apprehended. And by a Weasley, no doubt! How exactly she had managed to do it, Draco did not know. As malevolent as Lucius may have been, he was also clever, and not at all a careless man. Yet somehow, someway, she had done it. Draco thought idly that that may be why he had talked to her. She had removed his despicable father from burdening the shoulders of both Draco and, more importantly, his mother. The actions of his father had plagued Narcissa so much that it had literally caused her to fall ill. Draco had had to care for her almost constantly in the years before his father's imprisonment. In the past couple years, though, Narcissa had gradually improved, much to Draco's relief. His mother was the only real family he'd ever had.

Draco's mind whirled vaguely from his thoughts as the day's exhaustion finally claimed him, pulling him effortlessly into sleep like the last leaf spiraling downward from a tree in autumn. He dreamed dreams that were strangely devoid of images, and when he woke up to the sound of his alarm the next morning, all he could distinguish from them was the dimly familiar smell of freshly ground cinnamon.