Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay on this chapter, in the past month I had to travel home to Canada unexpectedly from Germany (requiring a two week quarantine) and move apartments, so I've been very busy. I hope you are all doing well and staying safe.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Draco woke up suddenly, ripped into consciousness without permission. He blinked rapidly, annoyed at the sudden interruption. His dreams had been more reality than fantasy, replaying the connection he and Hermione had made just a few days ago. A private, intimate moment from a distance, a distance that could not stop him from feeling everything going through her at the time.

However, no matter what he thought of the memory, it was all erased from his mind when he realized the reason for his premature wake-up.

"Merlin bloody hell, Blaise, can't you give a guy a break?"

His old best friend was sitting in a chair across from his bed, eyes narrowed and dark, arms crossed and tense. The once proud Slytherin glared at him for another moment before responding.

"Thought it was about time that I paid you a visit."

Draco pulled his body up and leaned against the wall, rubbing away the exhaustion from his eyes. "It did take you long enough."

Blaise scoffed. "You really thought I was going to come for a catch-up mere moments after I dumped your ass here in the first place?"

He had forgotten that Blaise had dragged him upstairs after the Malfoy Manor raid. He hardly remembered it, he had been barely conscious, holding on by a strand to reality, blood pouring out of his nose from the beating he had taken at the hands of Finnigan.

"What do you want, Blaise?" Draco grumbled, shifting uncomfortably under the other's gaze. "You don't need to give me a lecture, Merlin knows Hermione covered that."

He winced at the memory.

Blaise snorted. "Yeah, and I bet you really took it in. Did you even hear her over the groveling?"

"I didn't grovel," Draco muttered, eyes shifting back downwards. "I mean… I wouldn't describe it as groveling."

Blaise gave him a look so sharp it could shatter glass. Draco felt its burn on his skin, before forcing himself to face his once best friend head on.

"Well, if you're going to rip me to shreds, you might as well get on with it."

After a split second which felt centuries long, Blaise's sharpness broke, followed by a deep sigh.

"I'm not here to rip you apart, Drake."

The foreignness of his childhood nickname hit him spades, dousing him in nostalgia, for a time before war, and turncoats, and inexplicable pain. His brief trip down memory lane ended as suddenly as it began, as the full meaning of Blaise's words occurred to him.

"Wait, you aren't?"

The other man shook his head. "As much as I would like to punch you in the face, I imagine Hermione did it verbally well enough. That's not my interest here."

"Then what is?"

Blaise appraised him for a moment. "I'm a little different from the others. I grew up like you; in a culture of pureblood supremacy, in the Slytherin common room. I understand the expectation of becoming a Death Eater that you understood, that Nott understood before he bloody well fucked off. I know how to separate emotions, and bravery, and honour, and all that shit. I understand you."

Draco's heart sped up. "What are you saying?"

"Don't get me wrong," Blaise continued. "Just because I understand you, doesn't mean that I agree, or think you didn't fuck up. It just means that I don't think what happened to Thomas should be your epitaph."

"Really? You're not mad?"

"Of course I'm mad, Drake," Blaise muttered. "I'm mad at you for getting us all in this mess. But I didn't know Thomas. He wasn't my friend. Sure, I'm sad the guy died. But, I don't think you were aiming at Thomas as Thomas, as a way to fuck with the Order. I think you were in a battle and you cast a curse that you shouldn't have."

What Draco had tried desperately to explain to Hermione echoed in Blaise's words.

"I would wager that I'm the only person in this building who thinks that," his old friend continued. "Which is why I'm here. Thought we should talk."

"That's the part I still don't get," Draco said. "I agree with you. What else is there to say?"

Blaise leaned back in his chair. "Why didn't you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Take Hermione when you had the chance."

Whatever Draco had been expecting Blaise to say, it was not that.

"This is what I've been stuck on the last few days," Blaise mused. "It didn't surprise me that you turned out to be a double agent. I mean, I had been hoping that you'd really started to change, especially after Lucius branded you…"

An uncomfortable trickle ran down Draco's spine.

"I've never thought you were evil, Drake," Blaise continued. "I thought you were a power-hungry idiot when Dumbledore died, and in the years since, I've always thought that you were too far in, especially with your family, to get out. But I've never really thought that you were evil, not like some of the Order has. Not at your core, at least.

"But, just because you're not evil doesn't mean you do the right thing. I'm pretty sure that you and I can both agree you have not even approached the 'right thing' anytime in the last three years or so.

"But when we were all at Malfoy Manor, and you were this fucking close to succeeding in your mission, which, by the way, was stupid, you backed off. Or, I suppose, you moved forward and broke Hermione out of whatever spell your father had her under, and firmly stood on our side to save her.

"I'm not surprised that you were a secret double agent, or that you accepted this task, or that you almost completed it. I'm surprised that you didn't. And I can only guess one reason why."

Blaise met his eyes once again. "How do you feel about Hermione?"

Draco felt blood drain from his face. "What are you asking me?"

"I know that you've slept together," Blaise replied, causing Draco to almost pass out. "As does most everyone here."

Huh, Draco thought. No wonder, among other reasons, Finnigan had beat him to a pulp.

"But I also know you," Blaise continued, leaning forward. "I watched you screw around with Pansy, then Astoria, without a care in the entire world. I know what sex can mean to you."

Draco felt his anger flare. "Don't talk about things you don't understand."

He caught the glimmer of a smirk in the corner of Blaise's mouth. "I said what sex can mean to you, not what your relationship with Hermione did."

Blaise smirked openly now. "Which brings me back to my original question: how do you feel about Hermione?"

"Did you seriously come up here to gossip like teenage girls about Hermione, and not, I don't know, to yell at me for betraying you lot?"

Blaise waved his hand dismissively. "We've covered this, Drake. Of course, I'm pissed. I just see the grey in the situation more than some of the others, especially when it comes to Thomas."

"But I led you all into the snake pit!" Draco exclaimed, finding himself irritated with the nonchalance Blaise was demonstrating. Shouldn't he be angry? Shouldn't he be screaming?

Perhaps his extended stay at Grimmauld Place had indoctrinated the man in the Gryffindor classics of mercy, forgiveness, and seeing the bloody best in people.

"You did, and you aren't off the hook for that, how many times do I have to explain this?" Blaise sighed, exasperation shining through. "But even though you had us hook, line, and sinker, you didn't reel us in. You didn't. Sure, have your decisions in the past few months been the shining example of morality? No. But when it counted, Drake, you made the right choice."

"I cannot believe that you came up here just to give me a standing ovation for not killing you all."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Blaise muttered, before standing up, taking a step forward, and promptly punching him in the face.

"Bloody hell, Blaise!" Draco shouted, flinching as he felt his nose crack.

Blaise whipped out his wand. "Episkey," he muttered, shaking his head.

Draco touched his nose gingerly. "What was that for?"

"You wanted me to be mad so much that I figured I might as well sock you, get it out of the way, and now we can move on and have a civilized conversation."

"My nose is never going to look the same after this week," Draco muttered.

"You still look like the same cold-hearted bastard to me."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "So where's this civilized conversation you keep griping on about?"

"Hermione, Draco," Blaise nearly shouted. "I know that you weren't hit with an ethical lightning bolt while we were at the Manor. I doubt that it just, I don't know, bloody occurred to you that your actions were wrong, and even if it did, I doubt you would've cared. There is one thing, and one person alone that made you switch sides, for real this time."

Blaise huffed. "So for the love of all that is holy, before I sock you in the face again, because I will, trust me I will: how do you feel about Hermione?"

Draco blinked several times, mouth opening and closing silently. His brain felt like it was in free fall, desperately trying to grasp something to hold onto, something to point to, something to help him explain the feeling that had overwhelmed his very being for days, weeks even.

"It's… it's hard to put into words."

Blaise scoffed. "Try to put less effort in, I dare you."

He shot his old friend a glare. "It is. The way I feel about her… it goes beyond words, beyond language. It's as if my entire world shifted, no longer tied to gravity… but her."

"From no effort to poetry in ten seconds, highest regards from me, my friend."

"Friend?" Draco raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Semantics," Blaise shrugged. "Don't let me distract you from your soliloquy."

"I don't know how to explain it, Blaise," Draco said, his voice soft for the first time. He was more speaking to himself than his old friend anyway. "This whole thing… it started as a mission, absolutely. I'm not going to deny that."

"Don't bother."

"But," Draco continued, ignoring the interruption. "It changed. Not right away, obviously. I mean, anyone can see that she's grown up since our Hogwarts days. She's beautiful."

"There's a reason that she's the bachelorette of number twelve Grimmauld Place."

Draco ignored Blaise again. "But it went beyond beauty, beyond the physical."

Blaise chuckled. "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Merlin almighty, Blaise. Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Get to the point, then."

Draco sighed. "I guess I learned that we could talk to each other, that we understood each other, on a level that I've never felt understood. We could debate, we could chat, and it felt earth changing. Then the magic transfer happened, and I was a goner."

Blaise pursed his lips. "Do you love her?"

Draco laughed humourlessly. "I'm not sure I'm fully capable of love, anymore. And even if I was… loving Hermione is like loving the sun itself. She is the one you orbit around, she sustains you, blinds you, and the only thing you can do under her gaze is burn."

"That wasn't an answer."

"I don't bloody well know, Blaise," Draco said, his heart pounding. "It's something… strong. Protectiveness? Connection? Devotion? I don't know. All I know is that I switched sides for her, and only for her. Not for any sense of morality, or ethics, or honour, or any Gryffindor bullshit. But for the Princess standing in your midst."

His statement was followed by a beat of silence as Blaise appraised him, his dark eyes examining Draco's grey ones, searching for…what? Deceit, dishonesty… who knew at this point.

Draco sighed. "Even so… Hermione will barely talk to me."

Blaise smirked slightly. "I wouldn't disqualify how Hermione feels about you just yet, mate."

The memory of Hermione's feelings rushing through him the other day burned strongly for a moment.

"I think you might be right about that."

Blaise shrugged. "I guess we'll know when she gets back, anyway."

Draco sat up suddenly, stomach dropping. "Get back? Where did she go?"

"She went to stay at Tonks and Lupin's place for the weekend. I think she needed space to breathe. To think. Can't imagine why."

She isn't here, Draco thought, the statement replaying over and over in his mind. The feeling he had grown accustomed to, the desperate protectiveness flared up in his core. He tensed.

Blaise apparently noticed. "Don't worry, mate," he said, forced nonchalance in his voice as he examined Draco. "She's just gone for the weekend. She'll be back in no time. Unscathed as well. How much trouble can she get into drinking wine with Tonks?"

Draco laughed again, this time real humour filling his chortle. "It's Hermione. She can get into trouble anywhere."

"Can't disagree there."

"Could you…" Draco started, before trailing off. A crazy idea had just occurred to him. "Could you talk to her for me?"

Now Blaise was openly laughing. "Please. Who's ever been able to convince Hermione of something when she wasn't ready to hear it?"

"I'm not saying convince her that I'm the patron saint of ethics," Draco scowled. "But maybe help her see the grey a little bit. She trusts you. Even I know that."

Blaise hesitated. Draco watched his eyes flicker between emotions for a moment. Eventually, he sighed.

"Look, I'll give it a shot. I know that she hasn't been able to completely get you out of her head, even though it's driving her crazy."

"Driving people crazy is a specialty of mine," Draco muttered.

Blaise had nothing to say to that.

They sat in silence for a moment before Draco heard voices from below them in the house. He couldn't distinguish the words or who was saying them. All he heard was how angry they sounded.

He raised an eyebrow. "Who's here?"

Blaise narrowed his eyes for a moment, thinking. "I'm not sure. I thought it was just Fred, everyone else is out. Maybe someone came back?"

The voices grew louder.

Draco shrugged. "Maybe Fred burned lunch."

Blaise looked towards the closed door of the bedroom. "No, I don't think that's quite it. But that voice, that sounds like…"

Whoever Blaise was about to name was cut off by the sound of stomping footsteps, growing louder by the second.

Someone was coming upstairs.

"What in the bloody fuck," Draco started, as he heard the voices again.

From below, someone shouted "you've got to think about this!"

That was the Weasley twin's voice.

But if he was the one yelling, then who on earth was coming upstairs…

The thought was promptly cut off by the door slamming open.

Blaise's jaw dropped. "What in the bloody hell are you doing here?"

In the doorway stood the last person in the entire word that Draco wanted to see, which, it must be stated, is saying a lot. Looking thinner than the last time he had seen the man, his red hair longer, shaggy, falling across his forehead, clothes covered in dirt, stood Ron Weasley.

The Weasel King stormed into the room and threw something at Draco. Before he had time to react, he was hit in the chest with a wand, which promptly fell into his lap.

His wand. His wand since eleven. His wand that the Order had been holding downstairs.

"Why thank you, Weasley," Draco said, trying to figure out what was going on. "I've missed this."

"Stand up," the other man hissed.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"I know what you did," Weasley snarled, his ears turning as red as his hair. "Fred just told us about everything, about the Manor raid, about Hermione's heritage, about how you fucking tricked her, how you took advantage of her."

"Hey now," Draco said, frowning. "I didn't take advantage of her."

"Stand up," Weasley repeated, nearly hissing.

"Why in Merlin's name would I do that?" Draco responded, fist clenching around his wand.

"Because," Weasley started, raising his own wand and pointing it in Draco's face. "I knew you were a piece of shit the second you stepped into the house. Now it's time to deal with you once and for all. So stand up and face me like a man."

He wanted to duel, Draco realized suddenly. Duel for what? For Hermione's honour? To avenge the Order? No matter the reason, Draco only had one clear thought.

He didn't bloody need this right now.

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