The week drags by, as though I'm just filling the time. At first I'm confused about being so keen to spend more time with Malfoy, of all people. But I tell myself that it's probably more about the freedom I feel in that little cafe, a place where only Rita knows or cares to know us, sat across a small table from maybe the only person in my life who really knows how I'm feeling. I'm sure Harry, Hermione, even Ginny would try their very best to understand, but it just wouldn't be the same as talking to someone who has been through pretty much the exact same thing as me.

The conversations seem to be helping me find balance in other areas of my life, too. I'm no longer so readily offering all of my free time to fill the extra Auror shifts, just to have an excuse not to go out for drinks with people after work. I'm turning up to Quidditch practices on time, and I'm able to get through the full hour without any of the usual splitting headaches.

I'm even nicer to be around at home, apparently, as Harry and Ginny ask me more frequently to spend the evenings with them. I play chess with Harry, or we watch the Muggle TV that he and Dad managed to rig up with magic to play any film or show that he requests. I enjoy their company, and listening to their casual jibes at each other or conversations about the upcoming wedding now feels like peaceful background noise.

That's another thing that has eased slightly over the last couple of weeks. During the war, when I was protecting Hermione from that damned snake, we fell, and I hit my head. Pretty hard. I was dizzy for days, but just didn't register it at the time with everything else going on. Since then, I've been really sensitive to light, and to sound. They always make me feel sick if there's too much of it. And if anyone hits the back of my head, with anything, it really knocks me funny. That part's still an issue, probably one I should see someone about, but for now the light and sound sensitivity has reduced a lot, and I'm just pleased to take the win where I can.

But as the week wears on, I can feel the tension growing in my shoulders again. My more cheerful demeanour has been making me more open to invites from colleagues, from team mates, to go out for a few drinks at the pub after work or training. But I know what a few drinks means.

It means we start in the pub, then someone buys shots, and then we're off into town to some night-club or other. Somewhere in the night I lose my friends and head for quieter clubs, more off the beaten track. Before I know it, I'm pressed up against the sweating wall of some hot-box disco, trying to drown out the pulsing music, a strange man's tongue in my mouth, tasting of whiskey and regret. I never go home with them, and I always go to bed feeling empty and stupid and on edge, nervous that someone I know will have seen.

So by the time Monday comes, I'm more than ready to meet up with Malfoy again. We don't mention the ... whatever it was from last week, just act like it never happened. Instead, he asks me about work, and I tell him that being an Auror is everything I hoped it would be. We're making good headway with capturing all of the Death Eaters who escaped in the days after the last battle, but I don't tell him that. I don't think he needs to hear it, it's too close to his past, which obviously still causes him problems.

So I ask him about being a Healer. He makes a face and tells me about all the red tape and procedures that are involved, but I can see the genuine passion in his eyes as he tells me about his specialty area. Head injuries and, from what I can tell, psychological damage. He describes a few of the many mental disorders people can develop, and I shake my head in disbelief at some of his stories of encountering people with things like psychosis and schizophrenia.

'But surely your mother's proud, right?' I say, when he pauses to sip his tea. 'Her son, a big fancy Healer and all.' His eyes darken as he looks at me over the rim of his mug, and I quirk my eyebrow in question. I'm starting to get used to how expressive his eyes are, how easily I can read the rapid changes of emotion in them. Probably thanks to my Auror's observation training, I suppose.

'She's proud of me. But I think she worries.'

'Oh. What about?'

'I think,' he sighs as he lowers his cup. 'I think she's worried that my ... lifestyle choices, will mean that I'll never truly settle down. That I'll never be able to find a committed relationship.'

'But ... ' I chew on my lower lip as I mull over his words, and feel a tiny bit of that electricity again when his gaze fixes on my mouth. I instantly release my lip, willing my ears not to colour. 'B-but, um, it's possible for people ... of a certain lifestyle choice ... Why wouldn't you have that?'

'I think it comes from her up-bringing. She's from old money, and for them, the majority reason for marriage is to produce heirs.' He looks up at me, eyes suddenly twinkling. 'Can't exactly do that easily when my chosen partner is unlikely to have a womb.'

I snort. 'You could still have an heir. People get adopted into families all the time. Look at Harry. I bet if my mum and dad keel over tomorrow, he'd be the majority shareholder in their will.'

Malfoy laughs at this, a sound that surprises me. I've heard him sneer before, and chuckle, but never truly laugh. It seems to come all the way from his toes, his whole body responding to it. His head tips back, elongating his pale neck, and his eyes are screwed shut as the sound escapes him. His shoulders continue to shake as he rights himself, and the mirth is so clear in his eyes, so true, that I can't help but grin back.

'You know, you should laugh more. You'd attract a life partner in no time. Then your mother wouldn't have to worry about you.'

'Thanks, Weasley,' he murmurs, and his cheeks colour slightly as he looks down at his hands, still smiling. Then he looks up again. 'But what about you?'

'What about me?'

'Don't you want the life partner, the white picket fence, the hoards and hoards of red-haired, freckle-faced children?' His voice is teasing, and I jokingly glower at him for the insincere dig at my family before my face turns serious again.

'I think I do. I think it's part of the reason why I was struggling so much with my own ... lifestyle choices. I just didn't know if it was possible for me to have both, and for someone who comes from such a big family it just didn't seem conceivable that I could have both. But then I read about this lesbian Wizarding couple in the Prophet.' I smile as I remember the relief I'd felt on seeing the article. 'They were a professional Healer couple, and they decided after the war that they would open their house to a few of the orphans from the war. Suddenly, their house was filled with kids of all ages, who could support each other with everything they'd been through.'

'I remember that,' Malfoy says, a smile tugging at his thin lips. 'Rose used to work in the department I'm in now. I only met her a few times before she left to take on all those children. A remarkable woman.'

'Absolutely. And an inspiration for people like us. They showed that it's possible to have that, and for a family like that to be accepted in society. And that's when I knew that I really could have it both ways.' I think it over a little, then wince slightly. 'Though, I don't know that I could ever have that many kids. I think two or three would do me.'

'Two or three would seem busy to someone from a one-child home.' His voice is soft, and I see his eyes are far away, as though he's trying to imagine what it would have been like to grow up in a house like mine. And it strikes me that Draco Malfoy has led, and possibly still leads, a very lonely life. It makes me want to give him something.

'Malfoy,' I say quickly, leaning forward. He seems shocked by my body language, my tone, but he sits still and listens. 'It sounds like you've had a pretty hard life, and if I'm honest, a lot of our childhood makes a lot more sense to me now. But I ... I want you to know, that I'm starting to really look forward to our weekly meetings. I've been feeling a lot more comfortable in my own skin ever since we started talking, and you have an awful lot to do with that. You're making a big difference in my life, and I'm really grateful.' I can feel the blush colouring my face, but I hold his gaze. His eyes sparkle, and he breaks our eye contact to raise the cuff of his jumper and wipe it quickly across his face.

'You know,' he says, his voice a little shaky. 'You can be pretty compassionate when you want to, Weasley.'

'Only to those who deserve it.'

His smile is a little more solid as I send his own words back at him. He digs in the pocket of his dark jeans for his wallet, and when I open my mouth to protest he frowns at me.

'You've paid for the last two lunches, Weasley. I'm not used to others paying when I go out, and I don't like feeling as though I'm in anyone's debt. So at least let me even things out.' He holds my gaze again, and after a silent battle of wills I huff and lean back in my chair, arms crossed.

'Fine.'

'Don't pout. It's not becomming.' He looks so pleased with himself, drawn up to his full height, chin tilting up as he lays the Muggle bills on the table, that I feel myself smirk. When he's all smug and self-satisfied like that, he looks kind of cute -

What the actual fuck? Did I just think of Malfoy as cute?!

'Weasley?' My focus snaps back to him, and he looks worried. Not surprisingly, as my whole body has tensed and my face must be a picture. 'Everything alright?'

'Yeah. Yes. Sorry.' I shake my head, and we stand to leave. I follow him outside, shaking me head as he pauses to press a kiss to Rita's cheek on his way past. But she turns to me with a grin, and offers the other cheek. I don't even think before I'm stooping down to peck her softly. She chortles, and smacks my arse as I pass her, causing the patrons on the nearest table to roar with laughter. Malfoy is laughing his deep belly laugh again, and even I'm chuckling as we stagger out of the cafe. The sun is still bright, and I enjoy the Summer breeze for a moment before looking down at Malfoy. 'Same time next week?'

'We'll be seeing each other before that, Weasley.' I lift one eyebrow, and he rolls his eyes. 'The first match of the Cup is on Saturday. Our teams have been drawn up to face one another. Don't you ever read the bulletins?'

'Apparently not,' I say, chuckling again at the mild irritation on his face. 'Well then, I guess I'll see you Saturday?'

He turns away, walking away from the cafe, away from the phone booth, and calls over his shoulder, 'See you Saturday. Try not to be late.'