It's gray and rainy and cold here today. I enjoy going to the mall on days like today. It's so bright and cheerful there. If only I didn't have to buy a gift for my little brother's birthday. I swear, boys are harder to shop for than girls. My mom told me not to get her anything for Mother's Day this year. Does anyone else see the Catch 22 in that?

Chapter 4
Blaise entered Draco's hospital room to find his sitting up in bed as he stared out the window. Clearing his throat, he sat down in the chair beside the bed and waited for Draco to acknowledge him. It was tense as the minutes ticked by; Draco not speaking and Blaise wishing he would.

"They said you brought me in," Draco finally said without turning away from the window.

"That's right," Blaise replied. "We were in the potions lab together at the Ministry. You were working on something having to do with reversing the Obliviate charm. It was eerily quiet before I heard this sound like an explosion. I turned around and you were halfway across the room bleeding from the back of your head."

Draco nodded; he had known most of that already. "Why haven't my parents come to see me?" he wondered. Blaise nervously fiddled with his fingers. It took too long for him to form an answer, and his friend had passed impatient. Turning his head, gray eyes locked on the Italian. "Do they know where I am? Don't they care that something bad has happened to me?"

Blaise slumped back in his chair and pressed his fingers to his eyes. "I don't know how to tell you this," he sighed. "Hermione would be handy at a time like this."

"Just say it already," he demanded.

Brown eyes diverted, Blaise whispered, "They're dead."

The man in the bed seemed to deflate. "She killed them too," he mumbled.

"Who?" Blaise wondered. "Who is it you think killed them?"

"Granger," came his dark reply. "She tried to kill me, and when it didn't work, she killed them. And now...now everyone keeps trying to convince me I married her."

"You did," Blaise insisted. "You married Hermione and you have a beautiful daughter. Hermione didn't kill your parents, Draco. Your father died in Azkaban and your mother seemed to fade away after that. You insisted Ana have her name, so Hermione put it down as her middle name."

Leaning forward, Draco held his head in his hands as he tried to block out his friend's words. It did little good though when he heard Blaise mention his daughter's name. His hands dropped to his lap and he slowly opened his once clenched eyes. "What's her name?" he asked.

Blaise sighed, hopeful that he had gotten through to his best friend. "Anastasia Narcissa Malfoy," he replied proudly. "She's beautiful, Drake. She has Hermione's hair and your eyes. She's smart for a two year old. She asks about you everyday."

Draco swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Can I see her?" he asked.

Hesitant to say yes, Blaise rose from the chair and crossed the room to the window. There were few people out on such a dreary day, and the ones who were were bundled in heavy coats with umbrellas held over their heads. Ana had woken up with a cold that morning, and Hermione had blamed it on the poor weather.

"She's not going to let me, will she," Draco added.

"You accused her of trying to kill you," Blaise replied. "I wouldn't let you near my kid either."

"Yeah, well, she isn't your kid," he retorted angrily. "She's mine."

Blaise whirled around to face his friend. "And what happens if you decide she's a killer too?" he inquired.

"Because she's a kid," Draco said. "Why would I accuse a two year old of being a killer?"

One eyebrow rose as Blaise retorted, "Why would you accuse your wife of being one?"

"Because she-" Draco started.

"Didn't kill anyone," Blaise interrupted angrily. "When Lucius died and your mother started giving up, Hermione was the one at the Manor every day taking care of her. She cried for hours when she realized there was nothing she could do, no way to bring her back. You have no idea, Draco, the effect your marriage had on our world. Your mother had a tremendous amount of respect for Hermione, long before you realized she was more than her bloodline. I had never seen Narcissa happier than the day of your wedding."

Shaking his head, Draco struggled to separate what his friend said from the memories he had. It all seemed too impossible to ever be true. She was a mudblood and he had been raised by pureblood extremists. Hermione Granger was everything he had been raised to hate. He wondered how it was possible that they had not only put the past behind them, but had managed to overlook their childhood behaviors enough to fall in love.

"How did it happen?" Draco asked. "I mean, her and me. How did we decide that we didn't hate each other anymore?"

For the first time since he had entered the hospital room, Blaise smiled. The question was a sign that the tides might be turning. Draco genuinely seemed interested in the parts of his life the potion had made him forget. This, however, wasn't his story to tell.

Draco frowned. "Do you think she'll tell me?" he asked when Blaise refused to do it.

"I think she loves you, mate," Blaise replied. "If you can promise to stay calm and not accuse her of any more crimes, she might. I'm staying with her though."

"Because you don't trust me," Draco said flatly. And what reason did he have to trust him? He was embarrassed, but Blaise confirmed his suspicion. "Are the two of you friends?"

He nodded. "Yeah, because of you," he replied. "She's still a bit on the bossy, know-it-all side, but I've never met anyone with so much care and compassion."

"Do you like her?" Draco wondered, concerned that his friend just might have feelings for his wife.

Blaise shrugged and looked away, embarrassed by the question. "She's been a good friend," he said evasively.

"That wasn't my question," the blond replied, irritation in his voice.

Blaise didn't know what to say. Hermione was his best friend's wife. They had a family and a baby on the way. It would be wrong to develop anything more than a friendship with the witch. And so he finally said, "No."

Leaning back in bed, Draco eyed his friend warily. Blaise Zabini had never been one for relationships, but he had often lured women away from him. It had been a game when they younger as neither really cared for the girls. Pansy Parkinson was a fine example. But Granger was his, and even if he didn't love her, he wasn't willing to let of what was his.