Author's Note: Here you go, the next chapter! Gosh, I can't believe I've hit forty already. And yet, I think this story is still shorter than Vengeance.

Chapter 40

I'm about to die of curiosity.

What are those four talking about in there?

I'm almost certain that they'll discuss me at some point. Well, if I'm going to be the subject of the conversation, I have a right to hear, don't I?

Fuck it, just because they don't want me to listen in doesn't mean I can't. This is my house.

I put down the half-full bottle and walk over to the door in time to hear Potter asking where this is. I hear Blaise giving him a response.

Silently, I push the door open.

None of the occupants in the room are facing my direction except for Granger. I'm surprised that she doesn't notice the door opening.

"So, what then?" Potter asks. "Malfoy just decided to buy a place for himself?"

"Yeah that was pretty much it. He got the money from his dad. Thing is, he wouldn't take any of us here. Said it was only his," Blaise replies.

I shake my head. "Bloody blabbermouth, you are," I say.

Four surprised pairs of eyes find me standing in the doorway.

"How long have you been standing there?" Weasley asks.

I shrug nonchalantly. "Not long."

Weasley opens his mouth to speak, but upon hearing Granger's voice, he stops himself.

"Boys? Could you go outside, for a few minutes? I want to talk to Blaise alone."

I chuckle. "Am I one of the boys now? Or am I just invisible?"

"Shove it, Malfoy," Weasley says.

I'm not in the mood to argue with him, so I let it slide.

He's facing Granger as he speaks. "Why—"

Potter interrupts him with a hard yank toward me. "Don't ask," he says.

"Why's it always Zabini?" Weasley whines.

I step aside to let Potter and Weasley through the doorway.

"It's better than leaving her alone with Malfoy, at least," Potter says as he passes by me.

"Yeah, thanks," I say sarcastically, pulling the door shut.

I walk past my guests and sink into the couch, propping my feet up on the coffee table. Potter and Weasley stand somewhat awkwardly. And it's only right. After all, they don't belong here.

I conjure two large green armchairs. "Have a seat."

Potter lowers himself into one of the chairs. "Thanks."

Weasley doesn't sit, instead choosing to pace back and forth behind Potter's chair. I watch them calmly, and Potter looks uneasy under my gaze. What is it that's bothering him?

Then I notice that he's avoiding my eyes.

Ah, he's afraid that I'll take another dive into his melon. Well, there's no information I'm hoping to gain from him, so that'd be pointless.

And then, as my eyes rest on that famous scar of his, it hits me—the reason why Voldemort was interested in that useless, gaudy dagger. It's already been established that Potter's some distant descendant of the Ignotus, third Peverell brother, so the dagger must have been another heirloom, like the Invisibility Cloak, that was passed down over the years. And Voldemort has a penchant for choosing meaningful or valuable objects to make into Horcruxes.

I smile.

"So, Potter, when are you planning on ending this war? I think enough people have died, don't you?"

"Watch it, Malfoy," Weasley snarls.

"I believe you are the one who should be minding your tongue. As Blaise said, this is my house. My house, my rules. Now sit."

Potter glances at Weasley, who's finally sitting down, before replying. "I haven't seen Voldemort for some time, so I haven't exactly had a shot at him."

"Well, I'll give you a tip. He's got at least one more Horcrux still out there."

"What? I thought we got them all," Potter says in disbelief. "Hermione said that the book said it's impossible to have so many—"

"Then that book ought to be rewritten. Otherwise, Voldemort's done the impossible."

"You're lying," Weasley says.

"Oh, really? And what reason do I have to lie to you?"

"Drop it, Malfoy," Potter says.

He shoots a glare at Weasley, presumably to shut him up. I wonder if a mere look would be enough to stop the weasel from speaking.

"How do you know there are more?" Potter asks me.

"He told me."

"He told you?" Weasley blurts.

No, I suppose it's not enough, after all.

"He told you?" he continues. "Are you that high up on the food chain?"

"Yes, he told me," I say. "I even know where one of them might be."

Potter's eyes widen. "Where?"

"I'm not in a particularly sharing mood today," I say.

Potter's face falls visibly. "Why not?"

I shrug. "I'm just not."

Now he looks angry. "Ending the war will save lives. We need to get rid of any new Horcruxes he might have made. You can't withhold information like that just because you don't feel like sharing it."

I smirk. Looks like his hero complex has just kicked in. "Sure I can. The information is in my head," I say, tapping my forefinger to my temple. "No one can force me to give it up."

"You said yourself that enough people have died," he says. "The sooner we end this, the more lives we'll save."

"I'll think about it."

Potter looks utterly exasperated.

"Don't be an arse, Malfoy," Weasley says.

"Can't you keep your mouth shut, Weasley? You're part of the reason why I'm in such a foul mood. A small part, admittedly, but still a contributing factor."

"I'm the reason why you are in a foul mood? Who do you think you are?" Weasley demands, jumping out of his seat.

"Careful there, Weasley," I say, conjuring a twig and twirling it between my fingers. "If you piss me off, I might just—" I break the twig in half "—snap your wand in half."

He glares at me. "You wouldn't."

"That's what you'd like to believe. Ask me to prove that I would, and I'll gladly show you."

"Ron, forget it," Potter says.

I grin. "Ah Potter, Keeper of the Peace."

Weasley's face is redder than a ripe tomato.

"I don't think you're doing a very good job with your mate, there," I comment offhandedly.

Weasley lets out a frustrated shout and heads for the bedroom. Potter leaps out of the chair, glaring at me, before hurrying after his friend. I suppose he's doing the mature thing, trying to mend bridges. I should probably try to make his job a bit easier. But I just can't resist poking at that weasel. And he makes it so easy for me.

"Ron, calm down. He's not worth getting this worked up about," he says.

I get up and follow them to my room, taking my time.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot stay in the same room as that bloody ferret," I hear Weasley saying.

"Last time I checked, this was still my house," I say.

Upon entering my bedroom, I Summon their wands.

"If anyone gets to lose their temper here, it's me."

Potter's glaring at me again. "I didn't do anything, Malfoy. Give me back my wand."

"I don't care, Potter. At the end of the day, if it comes to a choice between me and Weasley, you'll all choose Weasley," I say. "So excuse me if I decide to consider my own safety first."

Blaise stands and turns to face me, and I sense that he's going to try to make an argument.

"Yes, you'd pick him too," I say. "Don't lie to me."

We lock eyes for a long moment. It's true, then. I see it in his eyes. If a fight broke out between me and Weasley, he'd pick the weasel. Some best mate, eh?

"Malfoy, give us back our wands," Potter says.

"It wouldn't do us any good," Blaise says. "Once he's touched the wands, they're practically useless against him, unless we wanted to poke him with it."

"If that's true, then why won't you give them back?" Potter asks me.

"Because he's a bloody prat, that's why," Weasley says.

I ignore him. "I feel better when potential enemies are disarmed," I reply to Potter.

And because my powers are limited. It's hard to block magic—took me two years to finally do it properly. I can't control more than one wand at a time, and have to have touched the wand very recently in order to block its power. But they don't have to know that.

"Hear that?" Weasley says. "He just said we're enemies. I told you—"

"Shut up, Weasley. Don't you know when to stop?" Blaise says.

"You little—"

"Ron," Potter says in a warning tone.

I allow myself a short laugh. Potter sounds like a mother trying to control a child who's about to throw a temper tantrum. But I suppose it's effective—Weasley folds his arms across his chest and stares daggers at me.

"Draco, just give them back," Blaise says.

"Why do you want them back, if they won't be of any use to you?"

"Because it makes me feel better," he replies.

Then Granger speaks. "Maybe you three should go."

The weasel looks horrified. "Hermione… are you… well won't you be coming with us?"

Hmm, no. Not when I can do something about it.

"Look at her," Blaise says. "She's so much paler than usual. Do you really think she ought to be going anywhere?"

Good job, Blaise.

"Hermione, do you want to come back with us?" Potter asks.

"I don't mind staying," she responds.

That's… surprising. I thought I'd have to put up a fight to keep her here.

"Hermione, are you mad? This is Malfoy we're talking about," Weasley says.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm still standing right here," I point out.

I'm about to continue to say that I've also still got his wand and that it's the perfect moment to carry out my earlier threat, but Granger catches my eye, and her message is clear—shut up. There's something incredibly sexy about a woman who gives silent commands like that.

Aw, fuck.

"If Malfoy was going to kill me, he would have done it last night," she says to Weasley. "He's had so many chances to do it. He wouldn't have waited until now."

All true. But I'm still surprised that she would defend me against the weasel. She keeps denying that they're in a relationship, but they're at least still best friends, aren't they? Then again, Granger is logical and reasonable. If reason is on my side, she'll be on my side. It's nothing personal.

"Draco, give us our wands. We'll need them to Apparate back," Blaise says.

Fine, have them.

I open my hand and levitate each wand to its owner simultaneously. As soon as he's got his wand in his hand, Potter grabs Weasley and pulls him out into the living room.

"Bye, Hermione!" he calls out.

"Bye, Harry!" Granger replies.

I look at her, wondering what my first name would sound like rolling off her tongue.

Then a hand hooks around my arm, and I'm being dragged out of my room. Fucking Blaise.

"I'll borrow him for just a second, and then you can have him back," he says as we exit. "All right, Hermione?"

He yanks the door shut, and I turn to see that Potter and Weasley are still in the living room.

"Well? What are you two waiting for?" I ask.

"Blaise," Potter replies.

"You two go on. I'll be back in a few minutes," Blaise says.

Potter nods and grabs Weasley's arm, Disapparating.

I frown. "I thought Weasley could Disapparate on his own."

"Yeah, he can. I think Harry's just worried that he'll splinch himself if he's too worked up."

Makes sense, I suppose. "So, what did you want to tell me?" I ask.

"I just wanted to warn you. If anything happens to Hermione on your watch, I'm coming after you."

"That's all?" I scoff. "You had me thinking it was something important."

"Draco, don't start that with me. You know better."

We lock eyes for a moment, and I wonder if it'll ever be the same. But I already know it's impossible to go back. We're both marked. There's no way to take that back.

"Fine," I say. "But if I'm honest with you, you'd better be honest with me."

"Fine."

I watch him warily. I hadn't expected him to agree so readily.

"The answer to your question is yes," I finally say.

He shakes his head. "Even after all this time?"

I nod. "And you?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"I don't even know."

"Well, if anyone could catch your eye, it'd be Granger," I say. "But she doesn't exactly fit with your usual type."

"Don't make judgments on what my type of girl is."

"Was I wrong?"

"No."

"There you go," I say, grinning.

"Draco, since we're being honest, I'll just come right out with it. In my mind, you're still my best mate. What happened three years ago… it's all over and done with. As far as I'm concerned, we're even."

"No objections to that."

"I know Hermione's been on your mind for a while, so—"

"No, I won't have you backing off out of pity. Do you really think I'd take that from you? And you say I'm your best mate."

"Look, she isn't stupid. And your actions haven't exactly been subtle. She's going to ask you about it, eventually. And if you're not ready to tell her the truth, you'd better have one hell of an explanation for her," Blaise says.

"Thanks for the tip, you nosy little bastard. With Granger… it's not up to us, what she wants. So don't start thinking about self-sacrifice."

He grins. "You know me. I'd never go that road. I'm too selfish for it."

"That's a lie, and we both know it," I say.

He only shakes his head, still grinning.

"Give Potter a message for me."

"All right."

"Tell him I'll have a special delivery for him by the end of the week."

Blaise nods. "Special delivery, end of the week. Anything else?"

"Just one more thing—not for Potter, for you."

"Go on."

"Keep an eye on Weasley," I say.

He laughs. "What are you worried about?"

"He may not be the brightest, but he's a proper duelist. I don't think he likes you much."

"That I already knew. I've been rooming with him and Harry for almost two years now. Don't worry, he's harmless," Blaise says.

"I can't shake the feeling that he's just waiting for his chance," I say.

"Well, if anyone's really pissing him off right now, it's you. So I'd be more worried about myself, if I were you."

"Just watch him, will you?"

"All right, all right," Blaise says. "You're about as fussy as my grandmother."

"Shut up and get out of here before I hex you."

He laughs again. "Bye, Draco."

"Bye, mate."

When he's gone, I sit down on the couch for a minute.

That's the most… the most normal that I've felt ever since the war started. I can't say how much I've missed having a best friend, a confidant. It's been too long since I last sat down with someone and spoke only the truth.

Lies, deceit, Occlumency—that's been my life. And I'm thoroughly sick of it.

I should see to it that I get that dagger for Potter.

At the time, I really was withholding the information out of spite, bitter that Granger would never look at me the way she looks at them. But after some reconsideration, I've decided that it'll be better if I deliver the dagger to Potter myself. The last time he was anywhere near Diagon Alley, he was injured to the brink of death.

Yes, it'll be safer if I go.

But I remember that Granger's still in my bedroom, all alone. She's safe, but she'll be bored. And starving. I'll take Naree here and command him never to give away the location. I always felt safer because I was the only person who knew of this place, but now that I've let even that weasel in here, it's only right that I allow my faithful companion entry. Naree will be able to take care of her—I don't know what I'll have to do or how much time it'll take to get that dagger out of Borgin and Burkes.

The trip to and from the Manor is very quick, and after giving Naree orders to make and serve Granger a hearty dinner, I lift my wand to return to the Manor.

I turn and glance at my closed bedroom door. She's such a small distance away from me. And in all likelihood, she's probably waiting for me to return. I should at least let her know ahead of time that I'm leaving.

Sighing, I move to the door and push it open.

She gives me a small smile, and it seems to me as if she's… nervous?

"You're back," she says softly.

Her attitude toward me seems different. I wonder what prompted the change, if there really was one. She looks more unguarded than I've ever seen her before, which naturally prompts me to be more wary of her.

"Yes, but only for a moment. I have to go."

Her smile falters briefly. "Already?"

My heart stutters. She doesn't want me to go.

"There are some things that I have to do."

"When will you be back?"

"I don't know."

"Are you leaving now?"

I nod once.

"Then…" she tilts her head up to meet my eyes, "… take care of yourself, Malfoy."

The look in her eyes is a miracle to me. She looks worried about me, about my well-being. My heart warms at the thought, and no matter how much my mind berates myself for this reaction, I can't seem to stop the swelling warmth.

"I will," I reply. "Bye, Granger."

Author's Note: I feel like I have ideas of how to continue, but I'm writing a lot slower. The ideas are in my head but they're just not coming out. I'll put up this chapter and maybe another one, and then if I'm still having trouble writing, I'll slow down my updating. I think I've updated once a day for the past few days, actually.