I wake with a start to someone pounding on my bedroom door. I lift my head out of the nest of pillows and duvet I've made during the night, and stare blearily around the room. It's light enough outside that the curtains are surrounded by chinks of bright, white light. I groan, and lower my head back to the pillows. The banging starts again.

'What?' The door opens at my barked response.

'And good morning to you, sunshine.' My sister sweeps in, not even looking at me as she strides past the end of my double bed, towards the window and throws the deep blue curtains wide. I hiss as the sunlight hits my tired eyes and bury my face in my pillow again, willing it to go away. Willing Ginny to go away. But of course, she doesn't, and I hear her walk across the room to stand by the bed. 'You know it's almost midday, right?'

'Day off,' I grunt, then peer up at her through narrowed eyes. 'How is it that I've left home and you still follow me around?'

She clicks her tongue at me, hands on her hips, waist-length red hair swaying as she shakes her head. She squints her own blue eyes at me as she says, 'In case you'd forgotten, Ronald, I live here too.'

'How could anyone forget, with the amount of noise you two make every night?' I fake wretch, and she swiftly picks up one of my pillows and smacks the back of my head with it. I see stars briefly, but they clear quickly enough. She sinks down onto the edge of the bed, surveying my face.

'You look a little peaky,' she comments, her voice now tinged with concerned. 'The dreams again?'

'What do you want, Gin?' My stomach clenches at the very mention of my dreams. Yes, they had been bad last night, but I don't want to talk about them, not now. And especially not with Ginny. She doesn't need that window into her older brother's broken mind. She seems to understand this, as she scowls at my avoidance of her question but doesn't push any further. Instead, she reaches into the front pocket of her dungarees and pulls out an envelope.

'Owl came for you.' I take the letter from her hand, noticing that it's still sealed. Her eyebrow raises as she notices me scanning the closed seam. 'Don't worry, none of us read it. It's spelled shut, anyway.'

She's right. I can feel the tingle of the magic as I run my fingertip over the glued edge. I turn it over, and my stomach flips when I see my name, written in that spidery writing.

'Don't you have a wedding to be planning or something?' I murmur weakly to Ginny, my eyes fixed on the envelope. She huffs, but gets up and sweeps from my room, closing the door and leaving behind only blissful silence. And the letter.

I haven't spoken to or heard from Malfoy since our last conversation, exactly one week ago today. It had helped me to start coming to terms with myself, and although I still wasn't ready to tell my family, I was slowly beginning to feel much more comfortable in myself. But I was also starting to have more questions as the acceptance grew, and I'm relieved that he's gotten in touch as I've been debating how to ask him to meet me again. I don't know why my hand is shaking as I lift my fingers and slide one under the lip of the envelope. It pops open immediately, and I pull out the letter.

Weasley,

Same time, same place?

~ DM

He wants to meet today, at 12:00, like last week. My heart leaps as I grab for my watch on my bedside table. It's 11:30.

'Shit!' I bolt from the bed and race into the shower, taking the quickest wash I've ever had in my life. Strawberry-scented shampoo gets in my eyes as I rinse my hair, but I ignore the burning sensation as I shut the water off again and grope blindly for my towel. I stagger from the shower cubicle and frantically rub at myself until I'm mostly dry. I snatch up my toothbrush from the edge of the sink, squeezing on toothpaste and shoving it in my mouth as I hurry back to the bedroom. I pull a clean black T-Shirt on over my wet hair, then a pair of blue boxers. I let out a muffled, minty curse as my jeans get stuck on my still-damp thighs, and drag them up, ignoring the burning on my skin as I fasten the fly.

I throw my toothbrush in the direction of the sink as I run from the room and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as I pelt down the stairs, coming to a stop in the main hallway. Through the kitchen door I see Harry and Ginny sat at the table, surrounded by the papers and leaflets that Hermione had been sending over for the past month, all to do with anything and everything wedding-related. They're both staring at me, eyes wide.

'I'm off out,' I tell them, panting as I grab my fleece-lined tartan jacket from one of the hooks on the coat-stand.

'OK, have a nice - ' The rest of Harry's words are cut off as I slam the black front door of Grimmauld Place behind me.

Twenty minutes later I skid to a halt outside the cafe. It's taken me two tubes and five minutes of running to get here, and as I glance at my watch I'm pleased that I'm only five minutes late. I look through the glass front of the cafe, and see him sat at the same table as last week. His forrest-green jumper-clad back is to me, looking tight and upright as always, and his hair is a neatly ruffled shock of white. I give my heart rate a minute to slow while I drag my fingers through my mostly-dry hair in a vain attemot to tame it slightly, then enter the shop.

'Hi, Rita,' I grin at her as I walk past the counter.

'Hello, Love. Pasty? I've just put one in for Draco.'

'Please.' She winks at me and bustles off into the kitchen at the back. I shrug my jacket off before I reach the table and throw it over the back of the empty chair as I slip into the seat. The smile I'm about to give him gets stuck. His face is a little paler than usual, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared, and his hands are clasped together tightly in front of him. 'What's wrong?'

'You're late.' His voice is cold and clipped. I scrunch up my face.

'Only by five minutes,' I grumble. 'It's not a big - '

'Maybe not to you.' My head reels back at the snap in his tone, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. I watch as he carefully arranges his face, then his eyes open again and he's much calmer, that familiar smirk on his lips. 'Sorry. I just hate when people are late.'

'Well, I only got your message about an hour ago.' I try and fail to not sound defensive, to not make it sound like we're 15 again.

'I know. It's alright, Weasley.' He breathes slowly once more, and the smile widens as his shoulders relax. 'Seems like it's just habit for you to never be on time, eh?' I blush, wondering if he knows about the Quidditch practices. I'm saved from defending myself further as Rita arrives with two pasties and another mug for me. There's already a pot large enough for two on the table, and again she does her juggling act to get everything balanced between us.

'My angel,' Malfoy croons, gazing up at her with doe eyes. She just chuckles and swats at him playfully before heading for the kitchen again. He turns back and catches me staring at him incredulously. 'What?'

'You're a bloody charming git when you want to be, Malfoy.'

'Only to those who deserve it,' he quips, and cuts into the pasty in front of him. I stir two sugars into my tea and savagely bite into the piping hot pastry.

'So, when was the last time you had a good shag?'

I immediately choke on the food in my mouth. Through the tears in my eyes, I can see him grinning wickedly at me as Rita abscent-mindedly thumps me on the back on her way to another table. I gasp, my airway clear, and notice his eyes directed at my mug. It silently fills with water, and I chug it down gratefully. As I regain my composure, I quickly look around the cafe to see if anyone noticed his spell or, more pressingly, his words.

'How did you - '

'Magic. Weasley, I asked you a question, and if you're recovered enough to ask stupid questions of your own then you're recovered enough to answer my important ones. When was the last - '

'I heard you the first time,' I growl, the rush of blood in my ears finally returning to normal. I watch him delicately bite into half of his pasty as I frame my words. 'There's two parts to my answer, I suppose. The last time I ... did that was about two years ago.' His eyebrows raise, but he stays silent. 'As for the last time it was good ... '

'Ah. Is the Golden Girl not as excellent a bedmate as one might think?'

'Watch it, Malfoy.' I'm already bristling, wondering why we're even having this conversation. 'We may not be together, but Hermione's as good as family to me, so watch your mouth.'

'Alright, alright.' He holds his empty hand up in surrender, then takes another bite of the pasty in the other hand, watching me. Waiting again. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, and I could swear I see something flicker in his eyes as he follows my hand.

'Hermione was ... she did everything that she could, everything I should have wanted. But it just ... ' I grapple for the words.

'Just didn't feel right,' Malfoy finishes for me, and I nod, deflating slightly. It feels so refreshing to have someone who really understands what I'm going through, who can articulate the thoughts I've been having when I can't even recognise them myself, but I still feel bad. Like I've failed. Failed myself, failed my family, failed Hermione.

'Yeah,' I grunt, and shove the last of my pasty into my mouth to fill the void where words should be.

'I felt the same way.' I look up as he pours us tea. He's studiously watching the cups as they fill, then focusing on the sugar as he adds half a teaspoon to his cup and two to mine. 'No matter how hard I tried with a woman, it just didn't seem to work. They were either faking, or I was. But I just always felt hollow afterwards. One thing I would say though, Weasley, is pick your partner for your first time wisely. I was in a bad place after ... after the war, and I think I just fell into something that I hoped would fill the void.' His eyes lift to mine briefly, and I see regret staring back at me before he looks back down at his tea, stirring it slowly. 'Don't make the same mistake I did.'

I want to ask him more about that first interaction, his first experience with another man, but something in my head warns me off, tells me that I might not want to hear about that, not yet. And something about the tone in his voice, the tiredness of it, laced with a caring lilt that I have never heard from him before, takes my mind back to our earlier conversation. 'Malfoy?'

'Mmm?'

'Why did you get so upset that I was late?' He stiffens, his spoon stilling in his mug, but I just wait, holding my breath. His eyes slowly raise to meet mine.

'I was worried something might have happened to you.' The breath rushes out of me in shock.

'You ... worried ... about me? Why?'

'Because we went through bloody Hell, Weasley.' His eyes harden and his fingers grip his spoon so tight that his knuckles turn white. 'Because we went through a war, and even though it was three years ago, the things I saw, the things I did ... They still haunt me. And so now, I keep tabs on everyone in my life. I make sure they're all OK, they're all still breathing. And when someone isn't where they said they would be ... I worry.'

'Merlin,' I murmer, concerned by his palid face, his granite eyes. Maybe it's that I've never heard him so vulnerable before, or maybe it's the implication that he thinks of me as someone in his life, as a friend, but for the first time I feel sympathy for Draco Malfoy. Not pity; genuine sympathy. 'I'm sorry. I didn't even think - '

'Why would you?' he spits, finally releasing his spoon and dropping his eyes. 'It's not like I did you, or anyone else, any favours in those years. I don't expect anyone to be concerned if I'm still around or not.'

The defeat in his expression makes me lean across the table. I grip his chin, and force his face up, making him meet my gaze.

'Don't ever think that,' I growl, and his eyebrows raise in surprise. 'You survived. You did the right thing in the end. Yes, you did a lot of shitty things, but you were a kid. We all were. We had no idea what we were doing, and the people around us who should have known better were just willing to use that innocence for their own gain. You were right, you're not that person anymore, Malfoy. I can see that now. So don't you take that on yourself. You deserve to live.'

'Ron ... ' It's the very first time he's ever said my first name, and it sends a bolt of electricity through me. My hand flies from his face, as though I've been burned. His eyes are wide, almost as though he felt it too ...

I stand to leave, nearly knocking over my chair in my haste. I pull out my wallet and dig out some Muggle money, throwing it down on the table top. As I move to withdraw my hand, long delicate fingers wrap around my wrist. I look down at him.

'Same time next week?' His eyes are slightly pleading, worry creeping onto his face, and I do my best to smile reassuringly.

'Same time next week.'