Author's Note: Wow, the big fifty! But I still think this story is shorter than Vengeance, in word count. It's catching up, though! One more chapter might do it. Ooh by the way, this marks 25 chapters each for Draco and Hermione, yay!

I have a can of Pringles sitting on the table next to my laptop, and I cannot stop eating. This is awful. Remind me never to buy Pringles again because they are addicting. And since I'm already talking about random stuff, I'll recommend another song: "California King Bed" by Rihanna—she almost sounds like the old her in this song, and I love it! I have not been a fan of her newer music, but I actually liked this song. Just heard it today. If you haven't heard it already, look it up!

Chapter 50

I squat down next to the large leafy plant and push two of the giant blades out of my way. Aha, there it is—a small, white root protruding from the soil. I reach down with a gloved hand and gently tug it free. A few inches away, another root shows itself, and I collect that one as well.

Two is enough for one potion—I'm making a Numbing Draught for Ginny, so that when Madam Pomfrey's protective spell wears off, we can still numb her insides. It'll take some time for less vital organs to regain their full functions, and the process is still supposed to be very painful.

I glance at the cottage. I'm all alone in the garden right now. What better time to summon Naree and ask about Draco?

I call out for the house elf, and he appears promptly.

"Naree, is Draco all right?" I ask him.

"Master is recovering."

"From what?"

Naree frowns. "Miss Granger does not already know? If Master did not tell, perhaps Naree is not supposed to tell."

"He didn't have time to tell me himself, that's all. Please, tell me what happened to him."

"Naree does not know," the elf says with a sorrowful expression. "Master usually comes home tired but otherwise very healthy. Last night Master was dangerously weak from overexertion."

"Overexertion?" I repeat.

It's something I've read about, but as I've only dabbled in wandless magic, I never gave it much thought.

Naree misinterprets my echo of the word as a query about what overexertion is and gives me a brief explanation.

"Wizards have limited amounts of power that they can call upon to use wandless magic. It increases with practice. Overexertion is what happens when they use more magic than is available to them," he says. "Elves do not have such limitations."

"Yes, thank you," I say. "Where did you say he was coming home from?"

"A meeting with the Dark Lord."

I bite my lip.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Granger?" Naree asks uneasily.

I shake my head. "No, nothing."

Then the back door opens, and Blaise steps outside. "How long can it take to find some roots?" Upon spotting the house elf, he adds, "Oh Naree, nice to see you again."

"Likewise, Master Blaise."

"Naree, I was wondering if you could bring me a reference book on Dark Magic sometime later today," I say. "One from the Manor library, please?"

"Oh, Naree does not like the sound of that."

"You brought Hogwarts, A History last time, didn't you?" I point out. "I'm sure they won't notice if only one book is missing."

"All right, Naree will return with a book for Miss Granger."

"Thank you."

Naree smiles brightly and disappears.

"What were you asking him about?" Blaise says.

"What makes you think I was asking him anything?"

I walk past him, through the small house, and into the kitchen. He follows me inside and shuts the door.

"Muffliato," he murmurs.

"What did you do that for?" I ask, setting the roots down on a clean cutting board.

"Privacy," he replies. "You can tell me what's on your mind, you know. I could help you."

"There's nothing on my mind," I say.

The roots must be crushed with the flat side of a blade… I open a few drawers before finding a knife.

"You're a rotten liar, you know that?" Blaise says conversationally.

I bring the flat side of the blade down hard on the first root, but when I give it a squeeze, it seems to have hardened more than before.

I frown. "I'm not lying," I say absentmindedly, giving the root another sound whack. "There's nothing—"

"It's Draco, isn't it?"

I swing the blade down several times, as hard as I can, but the root only seems to get harder.

"What does he have to do with anything?"

"Come on, Hermione," Blaise says. "You can't still be in denial. You know."

I begin to beat the obstinate root steadily—I will not be outdone by a white, stumpy plant organ.

"And what is it," I ask, "that you're so sure I should know?"

"Hermione, don't treat me like a fool," he says.

I try to increase the force of my strikes even more, but I only have so much strength. Whenever we used the roots of Shrivelfigs at Hogwarts, they were already crushed into powder for us. Now, I'm beginning to understand why. I've got a pretty good arm on me, but I can't do a thing to this root.

Blaise sighs. "Let me help you."

How does he expect to help me with Draco?

"I'm fine," I say.

"I was talking about the roots," he says.

Oh. I stop my fruitless banging and pass him the knife, pushing the cutting board toward him. He smashes downward once, hard, and a crack forms.

"How…?" I mutter.

He grins at me and then clears his throat. When he speaks, it's in a very deep, oafish tone. "I am big strong man. Big man crush things."

I laugh at him—it's priceless, seeing the well-bred, refined Blaise speaking like a caveman.

"Ah, there it is," he says in his normal tone.

"There what is?"

"Your smile. You've been so serious all morning."

I roll my eyes. "Just because I'm being serious, you think something's wrong with me?"

"Oh, no. There's a lot more to it than that. Years of practice, for example," he says, bringing his arm down again to make another crack in the root.

I sigh and lean back against the counter behind me, watching as he crushes the roots. After a few more cracks form, the first root begins to crumble, and he works on the other one. Eventually, we have two small lumps of fine white powder.

"Now what?" Blaise asks.

"You were in Potions with me, Blaise. You should know."

"That was four years ago, Hermione. Do you really expect me to remember?"

"Yes, I do."

He laughs. "If I screw up this potion, it's your friend who's gonna take the hit. Don't you think you ought to pay more attention?"

I smile. "All right, I'll take over, but only so you don't embarrass yourself."

"How kind of you," he says, backing out of the way.

I point my wand at the cauldron, which is filled to halfway with water and a variety of other herbs that we'd already placed inside, and murmur, "Incendio."

A fire lights up below the cauldron, and I begin to pour the powder in slowly, stirring carefully as I do so.

Then I remember something.

"Blaise…"

"What?"

"I asked you to figure out the identity of the Death Eater who saved me, but you never got back to me," I say.

When he doesn't reply, I glance over to see that he's scrutinizing me.

Our eyes meet, and he smiles ruefully. "So, you know who it is already."

I turn my attention back to the potion. "How long have you known? How long have you kept it a secret from me?" I ask. Why would he do that? Why would he deliberately withhold information from me?

"I knew as soon as I saw him at Godric's Hollow."

I stop stirring the potion and turn towards him. "You knew that long ago, and you didn't say a word."

"Are you angry?"

"A little, yes. You said I would know as soon as you did, Blaise."

"It wasn't my secret to tell. Draco's still my best mate."

"But you told me—"

"Yes, yes, I know, and I'm sorry. But honestly, what would you have done if I had told you?"

"That's not the issue right now," I say. "You told me that you'd find out who it was for me, and I trusted you to tell me as soon as you knew. And now you tell me that you've been keeping the truth from me since… well, since pretty much the start."

Then there's a loud hiss from behind me, and I turn in time to see a puff of green smoke rising from the potion. I glance inside the cauldron and see that the mixture has turned extremely viscous. A few bubbles sluggishly rise to the surface.

I curse. "This one's ruined."

I put out the fire below the cauldron and back up to lean against the opposite counter.

"I'm sorry, all right? But you live according to a set of principles, don't you? I do, too. If he wanted you to know that it was him, he would have told you himself. And he'd kept his interest secret from you for years before we left Hogwarts," Blaise says.

"Years?"

Before leaving Hogwarts?

Blaise sighs. "Fuck. He didn't tell you that, did he?"

"Years?" I repeat again. "Years, Blaise? When did he…"

"I don't know, Hermione. I didn't notice until really late in our fifth year, but I suspect it had been going on for a while, already," he says. Then he sighs again. "Draco's going to kill me."

"Fifth year… oh my god."

I'd had absolutely no idea. He'd been just as contemptuous as ever—even more so, if anything, with his new status as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. If Blaise is telling me the truth, then Draco was very skilled at masking his feelings. I really never would have guessed.

"How did you find out?" I ask.

He smiles at me as though I'm a little child. "How long have we known each other, and how well do I know you?"

"Oh… right."

"Draco and I grew up together. We were like brothers."

"I guess I forgive you for keeping the Forbidden Forest thing a secret, then."

"Good. I'd be really depressed if you decided to sulk all day."

I flash a smile at him. "You're not nearly important enough to ruin my day."

He chuckles. "Glad to hear that."

"I should get some more of those roots," I say, walking past Blaise and toward the door.

His hand shoots out and snatches mine as I pass, and I spin to face him.

"What?"

He grins. "I don't know. It just happened."

"What do you mean?"

"Obviously, I wanted to hold your hand."

"Ron's not here, and he can't hear you," I say.

"Oh, I'm hurt. Am I only allowed to display my affection when Weasley's around to be jealous?"

I laugh. "Stop messing around, Blaise. We have a potion to make."

Then his teasing expression turns decidedly serious, and I find myself wanting to step away from the intensity that suddenly emanates from his normally playful brown eyes.

"What makes you so sure that I'm messing around, Hermione?" he asks.

I blink a few times, as though if I blink enough, the happy-go-lucky Blaise will come right back. This extremely somber expression has no place on his face, and I really want it to go away.

"Blaise… are you all right?"

Then a warm smile wipes away that frighteningly solemn attitude. "Yeah, just joking," he says lightly.

He moves to the door and holds it open for me.

"Honestly, Hermione. You take things too seriously."

I've never been terribly gifted as far as intuition goes, relying more on common sense and rationality to get me through anything that's thrown my way.

But right now, my intuition is telling me that this time, he wasn't joking.

Author's Note: What are your thoughts? I'm curious. And if you're worried about what Draco's about to do, I promise I won't interrupt with another Hermione chapter—we'll see him again soon (:

By the way, in case you're wondering about the fate of that can of Pringles… it's gone now.