She arrived at Chez Avasseur looking much the same as she had on her birthday; tousled hair, patched and stained robes, sharply glinting eyes. Draco didn't rise. He almost did out of habit, but remembered in time.

She took the seat opposite to him, settling into it warily. "Well, what's this about?"

Draco looked at her and didn't reply. Truth be told, he wasn't sure how to reply.

"Well it can't be all that pressing then," said Bones in the brisk manner that she'd never had at Hogwarts. "I assume that it has something to do with the remaining Death Eaters?"

That made Draco frown at her in bemusement. "Not in the least – what in the world gave you that impression?" A moment later it occurred to him that that was the most likely reason for him to want to contact her. Now that the war was technically over and Hottie was no longer secreted, Bones had emerged as the somewhat gloomy face of the legendary organisation.

"What else could we possibly have in common?" she asked, sweeping the room with a vaguely bored gaze.

Draco sighed sharply and leant back in his seat. Lunch had not been a good idea; dinner would not have been a good idea. It was too public. Things had never been public with them. "I wanted to see you for a bit, that's all."

At fifteen Bones would have allowed that excuse, even if she didn't understand it. At twenty-two, Bones was nowhere near as obliging. "I realise that. What for?" Her tone wasn't irate, not yet, but Draco thought that it might get there if he really didn't have a reason behind the invitation.

"I sat with you in Potions a few times," he said coldly, glaring at Bones in a silent dare to contradict him. "I don't know if you remember, but…"

"I remember." Bones closed her menu, discarding it casually on the table. "You sat with me once after that DA meeting."

"It was more than once," replied Draco. "And I discovered, rather to my astonishment that you help keep me sane. So I'd like to see you for a bit."

Bones stared at him and then laughed hollowly in a tone that sounded like it had been torn to shreds. "Gods, Malfoy," she finally said. "I can't even keep myself sane." She started to rise before thinking better of it and sinking warily back into her seat.

The two looked at each other for long moments.

"Lunch wasn't a good idea," Draco commented finally.

Bones shook her head agreeably. Her eyes were still hard and he didn't think she was prepared to forgive him for dragging her out here without a proper reason.

"Like to skip it for a drink?" asked Draco.

Bones shook her head once more. "I only drink on birthdays and at Christmas," she said wistfully, as though the thought of a drink was immeasurably welcome.

"Hot chocolate," said Draco and Bones smiled.

"Speaking of Christmas," said Draco when they had adjourned to the café around the corner and ordered their drinks. "Did you have any plans?"

"Family," said Bones with a grimace.

"Too bad," said Draco. "If that falls through, feel free to head up to the Estate."

"With my family, I'd be tempted to do that anyway."

It was such a far cry from the girl who had practically sparkled when telling him about her exuberantly loving mother and quietly doting father and embarrassingly inquisitive little sister that Draco was compelled to ask, "What's wrong with your family?"

Bones gave a short laugh that could have been designed to cut, it was so razor sharp. "There's nothing wrong with them. They're great. That's the whole problem."

"I see," said Draco dryly.

Bones leant forward slightly, elbows on table. "I don't remember that scar on your lip," she commented. It could have been an off-hand remark, but she sounded furious.

Draco couldn't tell whether she was angry that he'd been hurt or whether she was angry that he'd gotten off so lightly. He opted for what he hoped was a neutral response and, motioning vaguely to his lip, said, "This is nothing."

He wasn't lying. The lip was hardly the worst of what had happened to him in the war. And, compared to others, his war experiences had been a walk in the park.

"So," he said, clearing his throat and quickly changing the subject. "I'm glad to see you managed with that Auror business. Was it difficult?"

Bones shrugged as she absent-mindedly built pyramids out of the sugar cubes in the bowl. Despite himself, Draco smiled. She never had been able to leave sugar alone; it was nice to see that some things didn't change. "When the war started they were desperate for anyone they could get," she said, tone cool without any suggestion that she had once desperately wanted to be an Auror, without any suggestion that she took any pride in it now.

Searching for some way to continue the conversation, Draco offered, "You were buried deep. I never heard a word about you all through the war."

"And I only heard bad things about you," said Bones with a wry smile as her sugar cube pyramid quavered.

"And believed them?" queried Draco, his tone somewhat bitter.

"Of course," agreed Bones unapologetically. Then she shrugged. "At first."

Draco knew what she meant but he rubbed the back of his neck and asked, "Wicksworth?" anyway. He wasn't sure what the experience had meant to her, but it had kept him going for most of the war.

Such a little thing.

It had happened so quickly that Draco hadn't been able to process it at first. He'd been at the base in Wicksworth, a rambling country manor that looked as though magic had never so much as brushed by it. As a spy, he was used to being on edge; it was almost second nature to him. And yet, when he stepped into the kitchen that day, he was taken completely by surprise by the voice behind him.

He should have recognised the tone. It had been over a year maybe, but he should have placed the way the voice rolled over the second vowel in 'Avada', smooth and a little hoarse. All he heard was the word though, and his brain froze.

The second part of the killing curse never came. Finally, Draco turned around.

He took in the wand that was pointed at him first, before forcing himself to look beyond it at the witch holding it. She was taller than at Hogwarts; her hair was coming loose from its careful plait and she looked as though someone had drained every drop of blood from her face.

"Malfoy," she said, letting her wand arm drop to her side. "How are you?"

"Good." His voice was too breathless and he couldn't drag his eyes from her. "And you? Is…is your family okay?"

Her eyes narrowed and she nodded curtly. "They're alive," she said, but she didn't sound happy about it.

Draco let out a breath of relief anyway. "Good, I…" Even as he stumbled to find the right thing to say, he realised that there wasn't time. "I've wanted to talk to you a thousand times," he said finally, and it was true, but it wasn't enough.

She looked surprised before her mouth pulled into a wry grimace. "I wish you had," she said and, with a flick of her robes, she was around the corner and racing down the hall.

By the time Draco reached the kitchen doorway, she was gone.