TITLE: All Roads Lead Back

KEYWORDS: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily H/Hr, but a slew of various ships as well. Post-HBP.

SYNOPSIS: Harry Potter always figured that once his destiny was fulfilled he could finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him, he fell in love with his best friend...and everything went straight to Hell! A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told through multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final battle.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 21,171

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: None. I was under the gun to get this to y'all. All mistakes are totally mine.

WARNING: Did you read Chapter 21A yet? If not, you will be confused reading this one. I posted two chapters. Happy New Year and Happy reading. Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is. She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.

Death. Draco Malfoy knew it quite well. He had stood witness as Albus Dumbledore took his final breath in this world. He had fought in battles and found the ground about him littered with the bodies of his allies as well as foes. He had almost shuffled off this mortal coil so many times in service to the British Ministry that he had long since lost count. So Draco very well knew and understood the complexities of death. Still, nothing had prepared him for what he encountered when he arrived at the scene of what was once the Zabini stately country seat out in Wales.

To date it was the largest assault that Ptolemy Cadmus had pulled off. Not only had Blaise and his Muggle wife been killed, but all of their servants as well. They all had been locals who had sought employment with the recently arrived young lord, never knowing that one day they would die with him too.

A good number of townspeople, some of whom had run out from nearby businesses and homes when the spectacle of the small Peruvian was first spotted flying high above Newcastle Emlyn, and had stood by powerlessly as the ensuing conflagration entombed their relatives, friends, neighbors, and acquaintances, were all being interviewed and memory wiped. Ministry reps from almost every department were scurrying about, trying to maintain order and assess the damage, while members of the wizarding press were scattered here and there attempting to out scoop each other. The heat of the midday sun, however, seemed to make everything run at a sluggish, draining pace. Coupled with the endless, droning kerfuffle that surrounded him from all sides, Draco likened the whole experience to being trapped inside a beehive submerged in a vat of syrup. He certainly felt uncomfortable and sticky enough.

The worse of it was the smell, though. The aroma of charred, overcooked carcasses mingled with the pungent, sulfurous stink of dragon's fire and was virtually overwhelming; despite the numerous charms and spells many of the Ministry officials were using to try to alleviate their discomfort. Draco merely held a handkerchief to his nose and mouth as he tried to concentrate and listen to the report he was getting from the two Aurors that traveled on either side of him.

"So in all Catastrophes is saying that we are looking at about twenty-five…possibly twenty-six dead," said the one to his left; a lean, bantam of a man who nearly made Draco feel huge walking next to him. Cato Sweet glanced back down at the small notebook he had been reading from as if to confirm the number, then slipped it back into his robes.

The officer on Draco's right nodded his curly, chestnut head; the Bubblehead conjured around it jostled with its movements.

"That's not including the Zabinis themselves," Cicero Sweet told the blond; his muted voice sounding as though it were trapped in a fishbowl.

The three Aurors were near the bank of the river behind the house…behind what used to be the house, and were heading back to join the rest of the team. Draco had stolen away for a moment, hoping to get his emotions in check before anyone noticed how raw he was, but he had been easily found by the eager to please Sweets. It was no good anyhow. The torched shell of the manor loomed ominously over them all, providing no comfort, and even the gentle breeze moving off of the river's edge offered no respite from the heat and the putrid odor of devastation and waste that encompassed the area.

Draco stopped and looked back and forth between his two teammates; fraternal twin brothers that had been only a year or two behind him at Hogwarts. They were adequate officers, yet downright transparent wannabes whose grasping zeal was more than assisted by their rich father; one of Scrimgeour's oldest friends and most staunch patrons. The Sweets had both been transferred from the Third Squad within the last year, and since then, had been a thorn in the Slytherin's side; always following after him and grinning in his face. He didn't know either of the brothers well; one of them might have been in Hufflepuff back at school as far as he could recall, but he wasn't sure which. Even though they weren't identical, people still easily confused the two.

Draco couldn't stand either one of them.

"Twenty-five dead?" he questioned as he lowered the scrap of silk at his nose. It was almost as if he doubted what he had heard. "That can't be right. What would they have needed a household staff of that size for?"

"Who knows? It's just a pity they didn't have house-elves like civilized people," said the Sweet that Draco disliked the most; Cato.

While Cicero's ill-timed verbal gaffes were always exasperating, it was Cato's incessant preening that tended to vex Draco's nerves like nothing else. The only reason the fop wasn't displaying a Bubblehead himself was probably because he feared it would muss his perfectly coiffed, golden brown waves, thought Draco with rising scorn. The pretentious peacock always reminded him of someone he knew, but Draco could never quite put his finger on whom exactly.

"Five house-elves could have easily taken care of an estate like this," said the vain little pipsqueak in that grating, self-important drawl of his.

"And best of all," added Cicero, a servile dolt who usually parroted everything his brother uttered, "a few dead elf servants would have meant less paperwork; don't you think, sir?"

It was said unconcernedly in the manner one would expect a couple of highborn purebloods to discuss such things in. Draco chafed at the brothers' unwanted familiarity.

"What I think is that there are going to be more than twenty Muggle families who won't find the matter as humorous as you two so obviously do," said Draco snidely.

The fawning jackarses almost made him wish for the long gone, halcyon days of Crabbe and Goyle. At least those two monosyllabic lumps knew how to shut up when in the presence of their betters.

Sensing the blond's annoyance, Cato was first to jump in line. "Oh I agree, sir."

"Auror Malfoy, I couldn't have said it better…sir," replied Cicero quickly.

Draco rolled his eyes havenward and heaved a disgusted sigh. With the rumor floating around the Department that Potter would be leaving the Second Squad after he wrapped the Cadmus case, some of the more ambitious officers were already scrambling; preparing for the foreseeable power shift within their ranks. At that very moment Krispens was trying to position himself even further up Hanes' arse; walking the grounds at the Chief Auror's side instead of collecting evidence with officers Fitzroy, Cohen, and Whitmer like he had been ordered to.

The Sweets, on the other hand, had decided to climb into Draco's back pocket. Sure that Hanes in the Arse would be promoting from within, the brothers had opted to hitch their wagons to the Slytherin's star; believing that he, Potter's partner, was the Squad Leader's natural successor. Within the last few days their incessant kowtowing had become almost embarrassing. Draco cynically wondered just how ingratiating the brothers would be if they knew about his hasty dalliance with their sister in the alleyway behind the Hog's Head a few years ago. Then again, thought Draco knowingly, the two smarmy crawlers would have probably gotten down on their knees right beside Clytemnestra; one holding back her hair as the other called out directions. Then they would have jockeyed for who got to go next once she was done. The Sweet triplets were nothing short of obliging.

Unsurprisingly, Draco had no clue whether Potter was actually leaving the squad or not; the toss-pot hadn't the decency to inform his partner of any of his future plans. For all Draco knew, Potter really was moving up to Shacklebolt's team or had been handpicked to head up Scrimgeour's personal security detail as that Pest's shrew, Yaxley-Pickering, was telling anyone who would listen. He had noticed that Potter had been more secretive than usual lately; skulking around the Archives, taking mysterious floo calls from overseas connections, and telling spurious tales with almost Slytherin worthy canniness.

He had also been quite distracted. Not so much to impact his work…yet, but definitely enough to make his partner take note. Whatever it was that was weighing on the Gryffindor's mind, however, Draco had a strong inkling that it had nothing to do with getting a promotion.

Regardless, if Potter was actually leaving the team, Draco felt that the Squad Leader position was only due him. Though there were officers who had more seniority, he was the one who had worked right by Potter's side these last few years, doing all of the grunt work that the git was so kind to delegate to him. Even now, when Potter still had yet to show his ugly face, it was Draco who was managing the whole operation out at Carregbryn.

He had Romero, O'Shea, Bradshaw, and Whalebridge working alongside the Obliviators taking witness statements. A group led by Auror Dollanganger was helping with the body identification and removal, while the Sweets, Jacoby and the rest were supposed to be handling crowd control and containment. Draco was also the one getting the business end of Hanes' barbed tongue since Potter wasn't around to take the licking himself. Draco felt he had more than earned the spot.

And just where in the hell was Potter, thought Draco; wondering at his partner's whereabouts for perhaps the fifth time that day. He had sent out that Messenger Spell well over an hour ago. Potter should have showed up by now, he inwardly fumed.

As if tapping into the Slytherin's riotous thoughts, Cato Sweet tried yet again to curry some favor with his idol.

"Old Hanes in the Arse really seems to be in a strop," he timidly said, hoping to land on the older officer's good side…if he had one. Cato had practically modeled his whole school and career trajectory on that of Draco Malfoy's, save for the brief stopover as Voldemort's gofer, so now was not the time to go getting on his fellow Slytherin's bad side. It seemed to work.

"When isn't Hanes throwing a hissy?" Draco's slightly muffled voice asked as he held the hankie to his nose again. He never missed a chance to vilify his commanding officer.

Not wanting his brother to rack up all of the points with the surly Auror, Cicero decided to speak up. "He's just hacked off because Potter hasn't arrived yet."

Draco cut his eyes at both young men.

"That's Squad Leader Potter to the likes of you," came his clipped, no-nonsense response; dropping his hand back to his side. He was free to heckle his partner to his heart's content, but the two overeager pups obviously needed to be reminded of their place.

Judging by the way they both shut their yaps, they had gotten the message loud and clear.

"And don't worry about him. He'll show," continued Draco. "Potter will show," he said with fierce conviction. That's the one thing he never questioned. He only wondered how much longer it would be.

Draco resumed his progress across the field. His two little shadows followed right after him, hanging off his every word.

"If Commander Hanes is in a foul mood it's because of Weasley's babysitters over there."

He motioned his head to where the MMBA envoys, Fournier and Pilliwickle, were standing; surveying the Department's handling of the latest attack and whispering back and forth between each other. Both were taking copious notes.

"Since the last incident, those wankers over in the Home Office have been after the MMBA, wanting this thing brought under control yesterday. They've been hands off so far, but after today, with this many Muggle casualties to take into account, it's only a matter of time before they decide to horn in on our investigation. Especially since their papers are still making a stink about Banks-Cosgrove."

Archie Banks and Xerxes Cosgrove had been a same-sex couple slain way back at the very beginning of March; the last twosome that was offed by Cadmus the very day their wedding announcement had boldly appeared inside the Prophet's society pages. Strictly speaking the couple had only been granted a civil partnership; one of the country's first, but that was irrelevant. Cadmus didn't take such legal technicalities into consideration. The gay rights community in Manchester, the borough the couple had called home, had deemed the deaths a hate crime; not knowing how close to the actual truth they were.

Draco paused in mid-step. The two brothers, realizing that they were missing someone, turned to find the blond hanging back, gazing out at the water with a contemplative look on his face. Cato and Cicero were equally concerned when he turned those, gray, analytical eyes on them.

"They just don't get it yet," he said with a jaded snicker. "Banks didn't get killed because he was gay. Cadmus doesn't care if they're straight or as camp as a row of tents; doesn't give a damn if they're black, white or puce. He could give two shites about whom or what they worshiped. He just hates Muggles! And he hates the witches and wizards who are misguided enough to marry those damned Muggles, despite what you try to tell them!" huffed Draco sourly. "And it's all because of that slut daughter of his who went and let one get her up the duff! She couldn't keep her legs closed, so others have to pay the price now and we have to clean up the mess," he passionately finished.

Both Sweets were unused to the Auror speaking so upfront and openly with them. Hell; speaking to them at all! It all went to both of their heads.

"And what a mess!" exclaimed Cicero, eager to take advantage; his russet eyes looking almost maroon in his excitement.

Cato's similarly colored eyes were just as enthusiastic. "Last time I checked, Catastrophes was having a slow go of it," he remarked.

Draco's face took on an expression of apprehension and his brow line puckered with unease. "Have they found—"

"No," answered Cato, expertly perceiving his former housemate's unspoken query. "But the last I heard from Doreen, they believed they may have recovered the lady of the house. The remains of two females were found huddled close together in one of the parlors. The first one was burned pretty badly, but thanks to the rings on the other one, they're pretty sure it's the wife. Of course some additional testing will need to be done," he said. "As for Zabini himself," Cato went on, quickly raising his robe sleeve to his nose as a swift breeze assailed them and kicked up the festering stench from the fire's aftermath across the field, "it shouldn't be too long before we find him as well."

"Then again, it's not like much is ever left over after a dragon attack," added his brother thoughtlessly, hoping to contribute something to the conversation and appear clever in front of the other two men. Unfortunately for him, the Bubblehead he was sporting made that next to impossible. "For all we know, Blaise Zabini is nothing more than a moldering pile of ash right now."

He compounded his mistake further by misreading the blond Slytherin's riveted scrutiny and actually grinning, dunce-like, at him.

"You knew the poor, dead sod; didn't you, sir?" Cicero fecklessly asked.

The alarming look that Draco shot the brothers was positively malevolent. In fear of their lives, the two Sweets scuttled away from their senior officer, heading straight for the safety of the still smoldering framework of the manor. Draco watched their hastened retreat, took careful aim with his wand, and popped the dumb one's Bubblehead as though it were a large, plastic zit. Damned Sweets!

As Draco placed his wand back in its holster, he could only shake his head at the sheer idiocy of the question that had been put to him. Did he know Blaise Zabini? What the hell kind of stupid question was that?! Of course he knew…had known Blaise. He had known Blaise all of his life. Literally. They had been introduced during a lull at one of Maude Avery's winter socials some years ago. The two had been placed right next to each other inside the same pram. Draco and Blaise had been 6 and 5 months old at the time, respectively.

From there a lifelong association had sprung. It wasn't all that surprising. At Hogwarts their mothers, Magnifika and Narcissa, had been the best of friends and greatest of enemies. Draco's mum had even been quite fond of regaling company with the tale of how she had stolen the Malfoy heir right from under her bestie Aggie's upturned, patrician nose. Despite that near felony, the two women remained close; often vacationing together with their families.

He and Blaise grew up sharing quite the bond. They weren't exactly what one would call mates; his revolving door of father figures left Blaise rather aloof and reluctant to emotionally attach himself to people, while Lucius Malfoy's boy had been reared to seek power not friendships. Nonetheless, Draco felt a connection to his fellow little aristocrat. The moment his nanny 'Zelda threw the two toddling wizards in the same bath after a long day of playing in the mud, then pushing each other's faces in it, helped solidify their relationship.

Blaise was the yin to his yang. Or the yang to his yin. Whichever way it went, where Draco was brash and outspoken, Blaise was usually more of a reserved introvert. While Blaise was as readable as a book of goblin erotic poetry, Draco, despite his father's best efforts to mold him into a hardened, emotionless reflection of himself, regrettably had too much temperamental Black in him. The pampered princes, however, shared one thing in common; before either had even learned how to walk, they had both been taught to hate.

Once the boys got to Hogwarts, Blaise played the lone wolf, while Draco's inborn desire to dominate others quickly earned him followers and what he hoped was his father's approval. Still, Draco respected Blaise's independence and secretly admired him for his ability to be his own person. He considered the handsome black boy an equal. Late at night, while everyone else was fast asleep in their beds, the two teens would have long talks in their darkened dungeon Common room. Draco often found himself seeking out his fellow Slytherin's counsel, and every now and then, Blaise would come to him to discuss what was on his mind as well. Even though they each took different paths in school, their link remained solidly intact.

Until the War, that is. To be fair, Draco completely understood why a lot of his housemates turned on him. He was a blood-traitor. The outcome of the Second War left most of their parents, siblings, and acquaintances dead, missing, or rotting away in Azkaban. Upperclassmen like Flint, Bole, and Montague, Death Eaters all, had each landed in one of those three categories. The dream of a "pure" society had fallen to ash around the feet of his childhood playmates and Draco had played a pretty significant role in its ruin.

Shortly after the Reconstruction, Crabbe and Goyle each severed ties to him in deference to their fallen fathers. Harper, Vaisey, and Knott began to openly cut their old housemate when running into him in public. Pansy granted Skeeter an exclusive one-on-one interview to announce to the world that her and Draco's longstanding betrothal was kaput and that no amount of begging from the shunned Slytherin would make her take him back. That last one had actually come as somewhat of a relief to Draco; Pans had always been a pretty terrible lay, truth be told.

It was Blaise's desertion that had saddened him, though. Blaise; who had never shown even the slightest interest in the Dark Arts, only accumulating vast stores of gold and other wealth. As far as Draco knew, none of his step-fathers had been dark wizards or even Death Eater sympathizers. Although Magnifika Zabini had always been very vocal with her stance on purifying the magical race, he couldn't say that he had ever heard her voice the Dark Lord's name aloud. The two Zabinis had been neutral observers all through the Second War, so Draco hadn't expected Blaise to cast him aside and end their near two decade long association like most of their peers. But that's exactly what he did.

It took some time, but Draco eventually came to accept the break. First his burgeoning friendship with Hermione had helped ebb his isolation and loneliness directly after the War. Later the demands of his grueling career along with his blossoming relationship with Luna left him so fulfilled that he rarely thought of Blaise at all.

It would be years before a word was said between the two of them.

"Have you ever slept with a Muggle?"

Draco had been raising his half filled bottle of stout to his lips when Blaise's question quite literally caught him by the short and curlies. The stunned look on his face was a laugh riot; eyes bulging, mouth hanging open like a surprised fish on a hook, and had Blaise been the type to have even a dollop of humor in him, he would have fallen into hysterics at the sight of it. Instead the grim faced Slytherin stared solemnly at his old housemate and awaited a response.

Draco didn't disappoint.

"W-WHAT?!"

He fumbled his drink and nearly spilled its contents everywhere.

"No!" he protested as he quickly set it down and sought a napkin from the dispenser to dry up the mess he had made. "NO!" he said again as he emphatically shook his head. "Why would you—NO!"

As Draco wiped up the remnants of the beverage on the table, he tried to make sense of the out of nowhere inquiry.

"I mean...I'm sure everything still goes in the same slot," he floundered, brow furrowed as if trying to suss out a most difficult conundrum, "but—NO! WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP QUESTION IS THAT, ANYHOW?!" Draco snapped, looking at his tablemate as if he had lost his head to ask such a thing.

Blaise merely rolled his eyes at the blond's crudity.

"Thank you, Draco. Although the first 'no' would have sufficed," he said curtly, squirming a bit in his seat.

"The question just took me by surprise, is all," Draco said after finishing off what was left in his bottle and setting it back down. "'Have you ever slept with a Muggle'," he aped in Blaise's stuffy, uptight mien. "Is that you're idea of a gag?!" he griped, cocking his head. "Of course I've never slept with a Muggle. Who do you know who's slept with a Muggle?" he demanded to know, referring to their circle of associates back at Hogwarts. Back then that was the kind of joke that would either earn the teller a Jelly-Legs for a few hours or a box to the ears.

The two young dandies were sitting in a booth at the very back of the Haggling Hag. Earlier that day Draco had received the rather intriguing invitation, sent by unregistered owl post, to meet Blaise for "drinks and conversation", at the Knockturn Alley watering hole after nightfall. Since the parchment had marked the first time in nearly six years that the now big shot, captain of industry had even bothered to acknowledge his existence, Draco had been tempted to just throw the damned thing away without even reading it first. Luna had been with him when he received it, though, and her levelheaded calm had given him the encouragement to see what Blaise was up to.

When he later arrived at the pub, he found the nervous looking fellow already seated in a spot that was least likely to draw attention; his back to the door to ensure that no one saw his face. He was anally wiping at the mouth of the brandy snifter in his hand and raising it to what little light filled the room to inspect the glass for spots. After Draco slid into the seat across from him, the two traded polite greetings, asked after the wellbeing of each of their mothers, and settled into painfully courteous small talk that lasted nearly an hour. It all was enough to drive Draco to drink; fortunately the waitress who was tending them kept the Russian Imperial coming.

Once Blaise asked his ridiculously inane question, Draco really began to appraise the situation and wonder just what this little reunion was all about. He had already come to the conclusion that Blaise didn't care a fig about Auror Department intrigues or whether or not his mother was going to holiday in the Greek Isles like the rest of her set this winter. Although Blaise had sounded pleased to hear that things with Luna were going quite well, even commending him on finally settling down with a "good, pure-blooded girl", he had sounded awkward and exceedingly ill at ease while saying it. Like he was just bubbling to tell someone, anyone, something, but couldn't quite get the words to come out right. When the question had finally spilled from Blaise's lips, even he seemed surprised to hear it.

Since Blaise had never been the antsy type, Draco could only question what had the man in such a dither. Draco also wondered at why, of all people, Blaise had chosen to put such a ludicrous question to him. Sure he was somewhat of an outcast in certain camps now, but he hadn't become that progressive. He may have fooled around with a few witches whose lineages might have been beyond the pale, but that's where he officially drew the line.

The truth was he had no great love for Muggles; despite enjoying the fruits of their labor from time to time. While Draco didn't think he hated them really, he wasn't exactly sure he liked them all that much either. He had been conditioned to think so little of them for so long that it was much too hard for Hermione, and later Luna, to break him out of all of his preconceived beliefs and foibles. The thought of actually having sex with one was completely foreign to him. The only reason he could think that Blaise would seek him out, after all these years, and ask him such a silly thing was if—

Draco gasped loudly.

"YOU'VE SLEPT WITH A MUGGLE!" The blond had nearly risen from his seat with the force of the accusation.

Blaise's almond shaped eyes darted guiltily around the room.

"Announce it to the whole pub, why don't you?!" he whisper-shouted ferociously, setting his sights back on Draco once assured that no one had heard the charge. He was clearly embarrassed by the allegation judging by the way he grabbed up a handful of paper serviettes and began to mop at the perspiration pouring from his temples.

"Sorry, Blaise," Draco apologized as he eased himself down slowly, "but just how in the hell did this happen?!" he bewilderedly asked.

Blaise, after debating with himself whether or not to just go ahead and share the information, finally relented after despondently exhaling. He leaned forward and Draco did the same.

"You remember my mother's sixth husband?" he began in a hushed murmur, balling up the napkins into a wad and tossing them on the table.

"Balthazar?"

"No, that was hubby #3. After him came Barnaby, then Bartleby, then Balthus," Blaise corrected him. "He was always a bit of an odd duck. Well one of the companies he had bequeathed to me was an outmoded textiles factory in Jakarta."

Blaise paused, as if to reconsider what he had said, then grimaced. Draco suspected it was actually a forced attempt at a smile.

"Oh, let's just call it what it was, shall we? I owned a sweatshop. It made silk gloves for Muggles. And that's all it ever made," he continued as he indolently relaxed back in the booth. "It returned next to nothing in means of profit, so last year I finally decided to sell it. Not too long after a group of investors made an offer to buy the land it sat on and we settled on a deal."

"Let me guess," the blond interrupted him, "the woman…"

Draco grinned evilly.

"…that is assuming we are talking about a woman," he snarkily said, causing Blaise to sit up straight and shoot him a threatening look, "was one of these high rollers?"

"No. However the law firm that she," he made sure to emphasize the word, "works for was representing them. We bumped into each other one day in the lobby," Blaise replied. One of his eyes twitched. "The way she looked at me…"

A salacious leer formed on Draco's face. "That randy for you, eh?"

Blaise wryly shook his head.

"No. She looked at me as though I were dripping in essence of pubescent ogre jiz."

"Yeesh!" responded Draco sympathetically.

"Although I hate to admit it," began Blaise, "it kind of…intrigued me. Not many people have ever been so openly dismissive of me before. The fact that she was a Muggle, and that I could have had her kneeling before me if I had felt so inclined, only heightened my interest. I must have asked her out over twenty times before she finally relented. It almost became an obsession of mine. But I was convinced that once I got this particular…"

He paused discomfortingly.

"…curiosity out of my system," he self-consciously went on, "I would be cured of it."

"So what happened?" Draco eagerly asked, scooting even closer to the edge of the table. Blaise's predicament was the most fascinating piece of goss he had heard in ages.

The left corner of Blaise's lip turned downward. His company interpreted this as a frown.

"We played a game of lawn bowls," he told Draco. "I've never done anything half so pedestrian in all my life. And yet I didn't hate it," he unwillingly admitted.

"No, no," said his guest impatiently. "I mean after you fucked her, what happened?" Draco avidly asked. "Did it fix you?"

In answer, Blaise lowered his face to the table in disgrace.

"I see," replied Draco astutely.

Now he understood what had Blaise awash in flop sweat and acting so twitchy. This was no meaningless coupling he had been confessing to. Blaise actually felt something for this Muggle he had been sneaking around with. And it was plainly evident that he had been keeping the shocking secret to himself for so long that the shame of it had finally driven him to seek out the one person he believed wouldn't judge him for it.

"I can't believe you fucked a Muggle!"

Blaise slapped his hand hard on the table, rattling both of their drinks.

"As though you can talk!" he hissed. "The way you carried on after that plain, Muggle-born trollop and all—"

"Watch it, Blaise!"

Draco instantly went on the defense. After all this time the topic of Hermione Granger was still a sensitive subject with him. Although she had been missing for years, he still cared about her and hoped that wherever she was, she was happy and safe. Blaise had no right to speak her name; especially in such an ugly, disparaging tone. The other Slytherin, however, ignored the warning and kept right on flapping his jaw.

"My father—my real father used to tell me all about them you know; Mudbloods. I was hardly more than four when he died, but I still remember everything he tried to impart to me. He always believed that they were aberrations, never meant to be born; neither Muggle, nor truly magical. I thought you knew that too, but I was wrong. I mean at first I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt after the War. I had hoped that you were only playing some angle fawning over Potter's pet the way that you did," said Blaise pompously. "But it soon became painfully obvious that you were actually after that Granger slag."

Draco had had enough.

"YOU GO TOO FAR!" he shouted, eyes as dangerous as a pair of ice picks. "And I wasn't obvious," he unconvincingly sniped as an afterthought once their waitress stopped by to drop off another Russian Imperial. As she walked away, Draco jerked the bottle up to his mouth and stared hatefully at his housemate before slamming it back down.

Blaise laughed dryly, not moved at all by Draco's mounting outrage.

"Why do you think I cut ties?" he volleyed, folding his arms on the table. "Because you sided with the Resistance? Don't be thick, Draco. I've always been more of a pragmatist than the rest of the old crowd," Blaise imperiously pointed out. In a snooty voice he professed, "There is no shame in protecting one's own self-interests. But to debase yourself for the likes of her?" The sentiment was rife with disgust. "A common, overreaching, little social climbing freak?! Did you at least get a return on that investment?"

It was a wonder Draco's gums didn't bleed; his teeth were grinding against each other so painfully that he could practically taste the enamel stripping from them. In a deathly calm voice he said, "Hermione and I were only ever friends."

"So I take it that means no, then?" Blaise pursed his lips. "Well, your mother can continue to hold her head up over something, I suppose."

"SAYS THE TWAT THAT'S BEEN FUCKING A MUGGLE!" came Draco's malicious retort. If Blaise thought he was going to sit back and be ridiculed just so he could feel better about his own questionable indiscretions, the blighter had another thing coming. Draco was beyond furious!

"Stop saying it like that!" yelped Blaise anxiously.

Though he was concerned that his secret would soon be the talk of the town, he still couldn't stand to hear Draco sully it and turn it into something ugly and profane.

"It wasn't like that! It was more than just…than just that," he swore vehemently. "She's urbane and well-bred; she's as sensible as she is cerebral."

As Blaise listed off his mystery woman's many virtues, his eyes were aglow with his esteem.

"And she has a talent with money the likes I've only seen in those possessing goblin blood," he added with a smile almost approaching giddy. "And…and…"

All at once, as if really hearing his own mad, impassioned gibbering, Blaise suddenly slumped in his seat disconsolately. He dropped his face in his upturned hands and mumbled unhappily into them.

"…dear Merlin, my mum is going to blast me right off the family tree, isn't she?"

The answer was an emphatic, categorical, no doubt about it "yes". But even Draco, being the sort of bloke that typically enjoyed kicking a fellow when he was down, in fact getting a right kick out of it to be honest, just couldn't bring himself to do it to Blaise. The toerag deserved it, Merlin knew how much he deserved it, but Draco's better angels won out in the end.

"Did you ever consider the idea that our parents got it all wrong?" he ponderingly asked, leaning back in the booth. He was fidgeting with his drink on the table, twisting it this way and that; watching the liquid swish and sway.

Draco seemed to reflectively study the last drabbles of black ale that lingered at the bottom of the bottle.

"That all the shite they drummed into our small heads when we were too young to know any better was just that; shite?" It was a question he had often asked himself, never really wanting to say the answer outright.

Blaise raised his head and lobbed a denigrating look at his tablemate.

"Draco Malfoy, what the hairy blue bollocks are you blathering on about?!" he stormily inquired, having no use for such philosophical tosh at a time like this. Didn't Draco know he was having a real-life, personal crisis here?!

The blond stifled a chuckle and shrugged Blaise's vexation off.

"Never mind," he said. "So tell me; what are you going to do about this, uh…um…"

He realized that Blaise had never mentioned his lady love's name.

"Amparo."

Draco quirked a smile. Sounding politely curious, he asked, "So what are you going to do about this Amparo?"

Blaise breathed out a heartsick sounding sigh at the question. Draco had never seen him look so lost, so miserable. He even felt a slight twinge of empathy at the poor berk's plight.

"I don't know," Blaise answered. He raised his neglected drink and swirled its contents. "Ask her out again? Break things off?" He put the glass to his lips and knocked back his liquor in a single swallow. Setting the emptied snifter back down, he closed his eyes tightly against the warm liquid draining like quick-silver down his insides, before returning his face to its routine enigmatic expression. "Turn her into a dormouse and keep her in a cage under my bed? I haven't decided which yet."

Draco laughed at the funny, before immediately sobering. It's not as if Blaise was ever known for his frivolity and lighthearted sense of fun.

Shaking off the disturbing notion, Draco awkwardly attempted to lighten the mood himself.

"Well, you could always marry her," he ineptly joked, tittering weakly as he said it. He then promptly turned his head to signal the waitress for the check.

Five months later, no one was more surprised than the blond Slytherin himself, when Blaise actually took him at his suggestion.

Of course by then Blaise and Amparo were all in love (or at least something passing for it). Apparently the love struck fool had thrown himself fully into the relationship shortly after their conversation that night at the Hag. Amparo had even gone so far as to thank Draco for his "endorsement". Really she gave him far too much credit.

In actuality, before the two had said their vows, Draco had done his best to talk Blaise out of going through with it. Not because he had anything against Amparo; for a Muggle, she was tolerable. The one and only time he had ever met her, she had come off straitlaced and a bit dull for his own personal tastes. But that actually made her perfectly suited for her rather humorless intended, he reckoned.

Problem was, when Blaise had chosen to share with Draco his plans to propose, the Auror and his partner had just come from spending the better part of the day in the morgue at St. Mungo's with the bodies of Cadmus' most recent victims. February had been a busy month that had already seen hits on two half-and-half couples previous to the murders of Chutney Gupta and her Muggle husband, Suchindra. The idea of Blaise marrying Amparo had been the last thing Draco had wanted to hear after that, but the excited bridegroom would not be swayed. He had stood up to his own mother, for Merlin's sake! If he could face that termagant's wrath and still come out with his dignity…not to mention his inheritance, no bigoted barmcake was going to stop him from being with Amparo for as long as they both should live, Blaise had fearlessly declared.

As Draco gazed at the wreckage of Carregbryn, his eyes treacherously prickled at the bitter irony of those words now.

It just wasn't right! Blaise had done everything correctly to avoid this very catastrophe from coming to pass. He and Amparo had eloped, opting not to have some big, flashy ceremony that would have only drawn attention to them. Knowledge of Amparo's Muggle ancestry was not that widely known. The two kept a relatively low profile. They had been perfectly safe and married for months before they and their entire staff were so ruthlessly exterminated.

So why now?!

Why them?!

What could have possibly put Blaise and Amparo on the lunatic's radar all of a sudden after having gone to ground for weeks? This attack had come out of nowhere, it seemed. Something just wasn't adding up, yet Draco was at a loss. All he knew was that for the first time since Ptolemy Cadmus had started down this senseless trail or terror, the madness had finally come right into Draco's own backyard, claiming the life of someone he had known personally, almost as long as he had known his own self.

And he was mad enough to spit in a cyclop's eye over it!

As a matter of fact, Draco was still ruminating over these very thoughts when his partner finally arrived a short while later.

"HIT THE DECK!"

Draco felt the whoosh of hot air travel down the length of his back as his body hugged the ground beneath him. He had been conversing with one of his teammates when the officer, a great big bruiser with a ballet dancer's grace, glanced up and saw the projectile figure barreling straight at them. The officer called Draco's attention to it just seconds before diving for the ground; taking his colleague with him. Although he was thoroughly shaken, the blond managed to get out one single word before he kissed dirt.

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

He then rolled onto his back just in time to see Potter haphazardly touchdown on a patch of grass right on the bank of the rolling river. The impact of the near crash landing was so forcible that Draco wouldn't have been surprised if it had left a stamp. He had come just this close to hurtling into the drink. It was a wonder that Potter hadn't snapped his neck after such a reckless stunt!

Instead the showoff dismounted his broom with little ceremony, shrunk it down, and shoved it into his pocket. Straightening his dangling specs, and without even bothering to apologize, he hustled right past Draco and Auror Fitzroy as if he hadn't seen his two bewildered teammates gawking after him. Rather his rounded, haunted eyes were focused solely on the large gutted mansion as he rushed towards it. The blond had to race and jump in front of the man to head him off.

"POTTER, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PLAYING AT?! YOU ALMOST DECAPITATED ME!" Draco bellowed, shoving at his partner. Auror Fitzroy was right at his side, clearly just as stunned as Draco was to see their leader in the condition he was in. Although both of them had last seen Potter at the Ball the night before, the man looked like he had aged a couple of decades since then.

"Where is she?" the Gryffindor questioned, all wild-eyed as he struggled against the blond. Auror Fitzroy had to get between them just to disentangle the two men from each other.

Draco, who had been only half contemplating the best way to stun Potter and make it look like it had been an accident, was startled not just by the question, but by the near hysteria that accompanied it.

"Where is who?" he composedly asked, quickly coming down from his annoyance.

It was no good. Potter simply shook Auror Fitzroy off and grabbed at the front of Draco's scarlet robes, pulling him close while staring franticly into his eyes.

"I have no time for games, Malfoy! Just tell me where she's at," he fixedly implored, giving Draco a good shake. "I need to see her! I need…I…I n-need…"

Potter's incoherent blithering choked up in a near sob as fevered tears came, unbidden, to his eyes. Draco saw them plainly there before some form of self-possession over took him and he valiantly fought them back. Accomplishing that, Potter tried to throw the blond to the side.

"If you won't tell me, I'll go find her myself!" he forthrightly vowed, forcing Draco out of his way. He didn't get too far before the blond grabbed a hold of him and wheeled him right back around.

"Who are you talking about, Potter?"

Rather than respond to the question, he ignored Draco completely and turned to Auror Fitzroy instead.

"Church, where are the survivors?"

The black man's anxious eyes found Draco's for only a second, before they settled back on those of their distraught Squad Leader.

"Survivors?"

Potter's eyes glowed as if lit by green fire. "Yes! Where are they, Church?"

Once again the other two Aurors shared a look. For his part, Draco was unnerved by the whole exchange. The Second Squad had been working the Cadmus case for months. Nothing the kook had done so far had ever rattled their team leader like this. Potter sounded far too panicked now for Draco's liking.

"T-there are none, boss," Auror Fitzroy gently answered, his thick brows knitted in worry.

"WHAT?!"

Unperturbed by Potter's agitated explosion, the Auror held his ground and repeated the answer.

"There are none. Most of the bodies were so badly burned that there was a touch of trouble identifying a few."

At the reply, all of the blood drained from Potter's face and he began a new round of maddened jabbering.

"NO!" he cried out in distress. "No, it's not true! It can't be true! You have to tell me where she is!"

Potter tried to get passed the two officers once more before Draco managed to grab him from behind; hooking his arms under the Gryffindor's pits, and curling them back to physically restrain him.

Though there was no Auror on the team more loyal to the "boss" than himself, Churchill Fitzroy stood by and watched the whole thing play out as he agonizingly fretted over what to do; if he should break it up or send for help. He was quite used to seeing Harry and Auror Malfoy come just within inches of tackling each other to the ground during a heated altercation, but there was always that underlying assurance that neither would actually make good on his threat to kill the other. This time around Churchill couldn't be sure.

Draco recognized that this little skirmish of theirs was something all together different as well. Judging by the way Potter thrashed and flailed in his arms, he was ready to destroy the blond as soon as he got free of him. This led Draco to secure his hold on the man until Potter could calm down somewhat and be reasoned with. Draco wasn't stupid. Like himself, Potter wasn't the most physically imposing of blokes, but he was scrappy. Having tussled with him a couple of times in their youth, Draco could personally attest to this fact.

Luckily most of the bystanders had already cleared the area, leaving only a handful of stragglers from the media lingering about. Those bloodsuckers were camped around front where Hanes was giving an impromptu, blustery press conference and taking questions. There were no prying eyes to witness the scuffle that was happening in the field behind the manor ruins.

"Potter, are you mad?!" fumed Draco right into his ear, struggling to keep him in his grips. It was like mud wrestling a greased mountain troll.

Not that Draco got his jollies mud wrestling too many greased up mountain trolls.

"What the hell is wrong with you? What's going on? Do you even realize that you are out of uniform?" he continued, taking in his partner's disheveled appearance. If the commander caught sight of Potter in his civies, the arsehole would blow a gasket. Hanes was always looking for a reason to jump down the Gryffindor's throat; always looking for any reason to get rid of him, no matter how petty. Potter was just begging for a warning.

With a solid elbow to the belly, the sinewy Gryffindor was able to throw off his captor. It took Draco a second to adjust himself properly, before the two of them were angrily face to face again. Auror Fitzroy stood by as a helpless spectator, ready to jump in and lend his lead officer a hand if needed. Harry might be acting a bit loopy, but Auror Malfoy deserved a good arse kicking for such flagrant insubordination. Harry, however, seemed to be holding his own just fine.

"Hermione, Malfoy; is she safe?! Where is she?" the dark haired Auror demanded to know.

Draco's eyes popped at the inanity of the questions. Hermione?! What did any of this have to do with her?

"Well if she's lucky, she's having a frozen pumpkin latte somewhere right now. Otherwise, fuck if I know."

"NO, YOU IDIOT!" yelled Potter through tightly clenched teeth. "SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE IN THERE!" Turning his head, he stared despairingly at the ruins of Carregbryn again. His eyes squeezed shut, as if willing the sight away, but when they reopened, it still remained. "Hermione was in there!" his tormented voice croaked before making a maddened dash for the house once more, leaving Draco and Auror Fitzroy in his wake.

Potter's spur of the moment escape didn't leave Draco much time to think; the Slytherin just made a gut-check decision. Turning to the befuddled Auror still standing beside him, Draco caught his attention.

"Auror Fitzroy, I need to speak to the squadron leader alone for a second. Could you go and see what the Chief is up to?"

"And?" came the leery response. The man eyed the Slytherin warily; unsure of whether it was a good idea to leave the combative pair alone without a referee. Draco couldn't begrudge him his watchfulness.

"Keep Commander Hanes as far from back here as you can," the blond unsmilingly told the Auror. After years of being used as target practice for evil wizards and fighting off legions of dark creatures, the inevitable had finally happened. Harry Potter had officially gone off his nut!

Draco didn't think he needed an audience for it, though.

Auror Fitzroy seemed to agree. With a nod, he blinked out of sight.

Draco also Disapparated; appearing again just shy of the mad Gryffindor, unable to get a finger on him. He had to take a clumsy leap, arms outstretched, to grab onto any part of Potter that he could just to catch the wanker by the ankle. They both ended up going down flat on their faces. Although an Impedimenta would have been more civilized, Draco continued to temper his urge to simply pull his wand on the prat to make him stand still. He might fantasize about hexing Potter from time to time, but Draco would never seriously do it…he didn't think. Besides it was pretty bad form to jinx your own partner.

"LET ME GO, MALFOY!" rumbled Potter as he pumped his leg out to free himself. With a quick roll, Draco narrowly avoided wearing the pattern at the bottom of Potter's trainers on his face. Whereas the Slytherin had only been mildly aggravated by the man's insane ranting and odd actions before; he was ready to strangle him with his bare hands now.

"NOT UNTIL YOU STOP ACTING LIKE A FUCKING CRAZY PERSON!" yelled Draco, jumping from the ground and dusting himself off. The bastard was definitely getting his cleaning bill after all of this confusion was cleared up. "DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHERE YOU ARE, POTTER? WHOSE HOUSE THIS WAS?"

The dark haired Auror had also made it to his feet and was staring back at him contentiously.

"BLAISE ZABINI'S!" he growled in defiance. It was obvious that he realized how erratic his behavior read, but he would not be cowed by any of Draco's insults. "He's married to a Muggle by the name of Amparo Leon," he explained. "I've met her. I've talked to her. Hermione knows her too. The two of them were supposed to be meeting here this very afternoon."

Although all the facts told Draco what he had just heard was impossible…improbable…in-fucking-conceivable, his chest still hitched from lack of available air.

"That…that can't be," he barely gulped out.

"WHY WOULD I FUCKING MAKE IT UP?!"

"But…but…"

Draco felt as if the earth had suddenly shifted right from under him. He had to fight off an inconvenient bout of the dry heaves. All of those blackened bodies; he had watched as the Mediwizards carried the last of them out. One of them had been Blaise's, and if Potter was now to be believed…Hermione's?

"B-b-but that…th-that doesn't make any sense. No one c-came out of th-there alive," Draco weakly stammered, staring at the ground as if to make sure it was still underfoot and had not somehow switched positions with him. "Not Blaise, not Amparo, n-not…"

As his eyes met with Potters, he couldn't even say the name. Potter dumbly shook his head as he ungainly staggered back.

"She's not dead," he mumbled in a hollow, dispassionate voice, barely recognizable from any Draco had ever heard out of him before. Gone was the habitual Gryffindor, holier-than-thou swagger. Draco much preferred that bastard to this rather unfamiliar imposter he had somehow happened upon.

Clumsily, Potter plopped down to his knees like a marionette cut at the strings. It was like he had internally shut down, and Draco was horrified to find an empty void residing there when he looked into those much ballyhooed eyes of his. If he didn't do something soon, he feared that Potter would soon go into shock. Draco wasn't so sure that he wasn't already at that stage himself.

The blond Auror dropped in front of his partner, looking him squarely in the eye. Unsure of what else to do, Draco tentatively reached out a hand towards him.

"Harry?"

Potter's unfocused, glazed over gaze instantly adjusted. His eyes blazed with fiery contempt at the blond. Draco immediately felt foolish for his momentary lapse of judgment. Potter scrambled up from the ground as though Draco's touch would somehow contaminate him.

"SHE'S NOT DEAD!" he howled; his whole body wracked by the force of a powerful, grief burdened sob. "SHE CAN'T BE DEAD! I would know it if she were dead. Don't you see?! I would feel it! SHE'S NOT DEAD!"

Draco achingly rose from the grass, watching as Potter shoved a hand into his trouser pocket and yanked out his Muggle two-way; pushing a button and fastening it to his ear. He determinedly ignored Draco's presence as he mumbled incessantly to himself.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up! Please, Hermione, pick up!"

Potter had bought the device a couple of days before when the two of them had been doing a bit of undercover surveillance work in Westminster. When it looked like nothing would come of the false Cadmus sighting, Potter had wandered into an electronics shop and bought the bit of gadgetry, while Draco had hung silently in the background, avoiding the reach of Hermione's leashed pooch Potter had brought along with them. However he had ended up leaving the store in a fit after the cheeky salesman offered to give Potter a discount on a second "mobile" for his boyfriend, all while motioning in the blond's direction. To add insult to injury, the assumption that the two men were lovers hadn't stopped the oily berk from continuing to flirt with his customer while Draco stood right there and played witness. He had stormed out in protest at the indignity of it all.

"HERMIONE?!"

Potter had stopped his busy back and forth as he throatily pronounced her name. He cradled the Muggle two-way to his ear and turned his back to Draco, unwilling it seemed to share with him the delirious, jubilant tears that had somehow managed to slip by his tightly screwed eyes. Nevertheless, Potter's voice betrayed his exultation; filled with such heartened, unvarnished relief that it vibrated with it. Although Draco would have never admitted it to the man, the sound of such naked emotion put the Slytherin's tenuous fears at rest. It all could only mean one thing. She wasn't dead! Hermione wasn't dead!

"Hermione, I've been ringing you all day!" Potter exclaimed, treading a fine line between sounding exasperated and near drunk with rapturous joy. "Where are you?!"

Unable to hear Hermione's end of the conversation, Draco had to make do with listening closely to everything that Potter said to follow along.

"YOU'RE STILL IN BED?!" When Potter swung around, Draco could see the look of pure astonishment on his face. In a mystified tone he blurted, "You mean you've been asleep all this time?!"

Whatever she said to that had Potter tripping over himself to apologize profusely. Over and over again, he tried to make amends.

"For the last time; I've already said I'm sorry, Hermione!" he eventually groaned out, giving up in frustration. "Now listen; I need you to stay right where you are. Don't leave the village until I say so. In fact, don't even go out the door if you don't have to."

Potter bit down on his lip as he heard her response.

"I know…I know you were seeing her today, but—no, listen. You can't go over to Amparo's house."

Potter huffed irritably.

"Because you can't," he replied to whatever argument she had given.

Draco smirked when the Gryffindor self-consciously glanced over at him. Embarrassedly, Potter rubbed at the back of his neck and attempted to lower the volume of his voice.

"This has nothing to do with…with what happened after I took you home; with what I said."

The blond's ears pricked up on that; saving it to digest later.

"Of course I'm not trying to order you around," said Potter tightly, trying his best to sound agreeable. The way he dragged his fingers through his longish hair in frustration, however, gave away his true feelings. When she said something that must have particularly stung, Potter pulled the Muggle two-way from his ear and infuriatedly shouted into it. "YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!"

Draco could actually hear what sounded like Hermione's teeny, discordant voice railing back at him before Potter shot the blond a look of disdain, and put the device back to his ear. He vigorously shook his head.

"Oh no!" Potter yelped; eyes growing wide. "No! I'm telling you that you can't go to Amparo's!" his steely voice said. "Because…because…"

Rolling his eyes; Potter dug in his heels and spoke authoritatively into the device.

"MERLIN'S WHISKERS, HERMIONE; IF YOU WOULD JUST STOP ARGUING WITH ME FOR A SECOND, I'LL TELL YOU!" he yelled. "YOU CAN'T GO TO AMPARO'S HOUSE BECAUSE IT'S NO LONGER THERE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?! IT'S NO LONGER THERE!"

Her response made him curtail his anger and dolefully nod his head.

"Yes, that's what I said. It's what I've been trying to tell you. I can't give you all of the specifics right now, but…they're dead, Hermione. That's right; Blaise and Amparo are dead." After a cheerless sigh he added consolingly, "I know, luv. I know."

Draco realized that the note of tenderness in his partner's voice had nothing to do with Blaise, but with Amparo somehow. Remembering what Potter had said earlier, Draco wondered at just what Hermione's connection to Blaise's wife could possibly be. However instead of hearing any further details on it, Potter began to bluster loudly.

"Whaddaya mean, 'does Glinda know'?! I've not spoken to her."

Potter's eyes began to blink furiously as he shook his head.

"Oh, no!" He spluttered again, "No! You listen to me right now, Hermione. Do not go to Glinda's!" Smiling sardonically he said, "Why yes, that was an order. You can't go to Glinda's; it's not safe! I forbid it!"

The tactical error made even Draco cringe. Potter did too. The surefire way to get Hermione Granger's hackles up was to try and push her around. She always fought back! Although it was pretty petty of him, Draco happily smiled as he watched Potter go down in flames.

"I'll take whatever tone I want!" he snippily told her. "Yes, I know she's your friend, but—"

Disbelief spread across Potter's face, hindering him from completing the sentence.

"Hello?" After pulling back the Muggle two-way for a second to stare at it in astonishment, Potter put it right back to his ear. "Hello?! HELLO?! HERMIONE?! SHITE!" Kicking at the ground crossly, Potter shut it off and stuffed the Muggle device back into his pocket. The look on his face was most fearsome.

Not that Draco cared. He had finally reached his threshold of patience with his partner's bizarre theatrics. He wanted some answers. And fast!

"Potter, how did you know that this was Blaise's estate?" he keenly asked, holding the man's attention. "Hell, I didn't even know it until I arrived out here."

The git shrugged his shoulders and evasively answered, "Lucky guess."

Draco frowned. "And just how do you know Amparo?"

"Met her last night at the pub after the Ball. Listen, Auror Malfoy," Potter brusquely began, trying to redirect the conversation, "I need to pop off to Hogsmeade to check on something, but before I do, I think we should gather the team and have a short briefing. I want to know everything I've missed."

Obstinately narrowing his gray eyes, Draco said, "A lot! But I'm not telling unless you talk, you wanker!

The bastard was trying to turn everything around on him, thought Draco crankily. Like he hadn't been the one zooming in, mad as a hatter, to announce that Hermione had been inside Carregbryn; like it wasn't his fault that the two of them had been rolling around in the dirt just moments earlier. And now he was traipsing off again?! Potter was trying to keep something vital from him, he just knew, but Draco wasn't having it.

"Your shite might work on others, Potter, but I'm not buying it!" he proclaimed, pointing a finger at him accusingly. "If you know why Blaise is dead right now, you better start talking. What the hell happened here today?" The blond was a kettle of resentment just ready to boil over.

"Alright, alright!" Potter fussily carped, walking right up to him. With no further hedging, he lowered his voice. "I'm not really sure. All I know is that two days after meeting Hermione in the heart of Diagon Alley, Amparo Leon is now dead; killed in a house fire." At the sight of Draco's gobsmacked expression, Potter let out a mordant snicker. "Quite the coincidence, don't you think?"

Draco was knocked for six by the news.

"Let me see if I understand you correctly. You think Ptolemy Cadmus came after Amparo and Blaise…to get at Hermione?" he incredulously questioned. He couldn't grasp what he was hearing. "But why here?!"

Potter huffed in exasperation. "He wouldn't be able to get her at the Hollow, would he? He wouldn't even be able to get within twenty miles of her with that Bulwark I put up."

The blond nodded his head thoughtfully. "But I'm sure he could have gotten her any number of times outside the Hollow."

Gritting his teeth, Potter shot back, "When?! When she was with me? When she was out with you?! Ron?! Cadmus would have never stood a chance!"

Still Draco pushed back. "Well what exactly would his plan today have been? Kidnap her? Kill her? And why? Just because she looks like his dead kid?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" exclaimed Potter, tiring of his partner's unremitting cross-examination. "But since when did any of this make sense?!"

Draco couldn't disagree with that. Crazies weren't really known to be rational. But the timing of Blaise and Amparo's unforeseen deaths did seem to dovetail nicely with Potter's theory. If Hermione was what led Cadmus to Carregbryn today, that would mean that this wasn't over. If he had now truly switched his focus over to her, what would be his next move?

"If you're right," said Draco decisively, "we have to tell her she may be in danger now. We have to let Hermione know."

Potter's forehead creased. "What 'we'?" he aggravatingly queried; straight-faced. Continuing in the same vein, he dismissively said, "Hermione's safety is none of your concern."

The blond blinked as though he had misheard. "None of my concern?"

Draco nearly choked on the condescension.

"That's right," came Potter's smart arsed reply, "so stay out of it. I'll be the one to ensure that she remains out of harm's way." As if mulling it over some more, he added to himself, "I'm also going to have to get my brother and sister-in-law under protection again as soon as possible."

With that said, he turned his back to Draco to head for the front of the structure and seek out the rest of the team. News of Hermione's non-death had done wonders for his disposition. He had crashed down in a tailspin, figuratively and literally, but was now acting more like the Potter of old; practical, professional, and a pain in the arse.

"Now see here, you self-righteously smug bastard," snapped the blond belligerently, marching right alongside his partner, "you don't own Hermione!"

Without slowing his progress, Potter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and sneered. "Of course I don't own her, but I am her friend."

"As am I!" Draco griped, stopping dead in his tracks.

Potter came to an abrupt halt and turned to face the other Auror.

"That's debatable," he said flippantly, readying to turn the cornerstone of what had been Carregbryn's west wing.

"Why you—"

Without thinking, Draco's hand involuntarily jumped to his wand holster. The only thing that paused the events of the day from shuttling to the inglorious finish it would eventually end on, was the appearance of the wizard and the dark robed witch that came strolling around the corner; Hanes, and on his arm, a resplendent looking Magnifika Zabini. She was bedecked in an array of glittering jewels from the diamonds in her dusky, upswept hair, all the way down to the moonstone buckles on her shoes. Trailing behind the pair was Magnifika's manservant, Gimlet; a satyr that Draco remembered fondly from his adolescence. The shaggy legged creature used to tell the best old Grindelwald yarns and had even let Blaise and Draco have a few puffs off his "medicinal" hookah when they had asked him once; loyally cleaning up the evidence when the two young masters had been sick all over his servant's quarters afterwards.

The two partners immediately stood at attention; their hostility vanishing in the presence of their shared villain. With only a hint of irreverence, they both saluted their commanding officer.

"Gentlemen," the two men lowered their hands, "I hope we're not interrupting," began the irritable Chief Auror unpleasantly, eyeing both of his officers with an air of disfavor. "I had a feeling I would find you skulking around back here, Auror Malfoy, but Auror Fitzroy was adamant that you had returned to headquarters." Hanes fixed his sight solely on the Slytherin; his dark eyes sparking with distrust. "I suppose he was just mistaken."

Draco refrained from visibly flinching at the hardly subtle indictment. Hanes might hate Potter's guts with an unyielding passion, but Draco knew full well that he wasn't on the commander's Christmas list either. Where once his father's influence had been a boon, now; years since the War's end, Draco still paid the cost of being the Death Eater's son.

"Auror Potter, it's so good to see that you could finally join us," Hanes continued, turning a rictus grin on him. Hanes gave Potter a silent, once over, then introduced his guest as he released his hold on her. "I'm sure you both know Madam Zabini."

The ageless beauty stood by mutely as the two Aurors acknowledged her presence. Potter showed just the bare minimum of respect with a short nod, while Draco exhibited what he felt was the proper deference owed such a longstanding family connection; especially one he hadn't spoken to in ages.

"Hello, Magnifika," he said, bowing at the waist. As he straightened, he could hear his partner sniggering just under his breath. He met Potter's mocking smirk with a moue of simmering displeasure.

Hanes' feigned cough broke up their warring stares.

"She just arrived and was hoping to find out any information concerning her son. I don't suppose either of you could help her on that," he added, pointedly looking at Potter. Knowing the commander, he was going to tear into the Gryffindor's arse as soon as Magnifika departed. Potter knew it too. The veins in his neck corded as he bit back a quick-tempered response. Draco decided to step in to defuse the situation.

"We're pretty much done here," he said, approaching Blaise's mum. Taking one of her ring heavy hands in his own, he looked her in her eyes as he sympathetically stroked her wrist. "Unfortunately, Magnifika…and I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but—Blaise is dead." His scratchy voice nearly cracked. "I identified him myself," he delicately told her. "Neither he nor his wife survived today's attack."

As cool as ice, she removed his fingers from her wrist and pulled back her hand. Draco felt the chill as she appeared to stare straight through him.

"Has the Ministry issued a formal decree yet?"

The question stumped him, causing Draco to frown. "Pardon?"

Gimlet stepped up and handed his mistress a loosely rolled sheet of parchment that she then held out to the Auror. He spotted right away its broken wax Gringotts' seal.

"I've just come from the bank," she announced as Draco took the roll from her. While he unfurled it to read, she continued to speak. "Ragastaadt, the foul little thing in charge of Blaise's account there, has informed me that until there is an official ruling; control of my son's vaults will not turn over to me."

Draco stared at the woman, dumbstruck at what she had said. He couldn't have heard right. At least that's what he tried to convince himself. Unfortunately Potter was there to burst that happy little bubble of self-delusion.

"Unbelievable…"

There was no denying the sheer abhorrence in Potter's tone. It made Draco recoil in trepidation and Hanes shoot the hothead a severe, disciplining look. Potter ignored them both, gazing at Blaise's mother as though she were something inhuman and contemptible. The witch, however, paid little heed to his stark disapproval. To the rest of the world Potter might still be their savior, but to Magnifika Zabini he was little more than some upstart half-breed.

"It has to be in writing, you see," she said frostily as the stout, little Gimlet stepped forward, his rounded, low hanging belly swinging before him, and retrieved the paperwork from out of Draco's ashen, shaking hands. He was dismayed to find that the once paternal old satyr seemed to be following his mistress' lead by treating him as if he were little more than some insignificant gnat. "The goblins are very strict about these niggling details," Magnifika continued, turning to Hanes. "Armistead, could you look into it for me, please? Until then I suppose the solicitors will just have to hash it all out until they find a way to work around this minor inconvenience."

She was all business; her carefree delivery nearly making Draco bend at the waist and drop his head between his knees. He was that ill. And yet he held his tongue, unable or unwilling to vocalize his horror at the woman's alarming indifference. He had just told her that her son, her only child, was dead and all she seemed interested in was discussing formalities and sticky red tape. It was surreal! Draco would have thought it was all some sick joke if Potter hadn't gone and blown his stack.

"SHE WAS PREGNANT, YOU HAG! YOU'RE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW; SHE WAS GOING TO HAVE A BABY!" he roared, advancing on her in two swift steps. Both Gimlet and Hanes moved as if to shield the little woman from the big, bad, intimidating Auror, but Magnifika confidently waved them off. She didn't even blink in the face of Potter's raging fury. With his voice edged in disgust he cruelly snarled, "YOU WERE GOING TO BE A GRANDMOTHER OR DON'T YOU EVEN CARE?"

Draco's head had instantly snapped towards his partner's direction when he dropped the bombshell. The blond was positively floored by the information. The impact of it hit Magnifika hard as well.

"A child?" The barest hint of human feeling seemed to creep into her voice at last. "Blaise never mentioned anything of a child," she said faintly.

The divulgence actually made Potter's hostility wane. As Magnifika turned dark fringed eyes up at him, the Gryffindor dialed his attitude back.

"He didn't know," he disclosed tactfully. Potter looked sincerely saddened as he solemnly went on. "She was waiting to tell him on his birthday. She'd been so happy."

Frown lines appeared between her eyebrows, flawing Magnifika's near perfect, ocher skin. "Why that's just in a few days," she murmured pensively.

Her stoic expression then hardened.

"Pity." Draco and Potter both gaped at her in astonishment. "Then again I suppose one less mongrel is no great loss," she coolly added, then turned to her manservant. "Come along, Gimlet."

Holding out her arm rigidly, the woman impatiently waited until the satyr gingerly touched her elbow to Disapparate them both away.

The second she was gone, Hanes pounced on his two Aurors like a wild dog.

"Look you two," he heatedly began, "I'll have no more of this tomfoolery out of any of the officers under my command; you got that?!" His eyes ricocheted between them. "That mincing little prick Gilligan Pilliwickle is waiting for me back at my office. One word from him or Fournier and your father-in-law will give the go-ahead to blow my whole investigation wide open," Hanes continued, his eyes landing on Potter; practically boring a hole through his head. "I'll not have the Home Secretary in my hair because of the incompetence of a couple of spoiled, over-hyped war brats!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see his partner's jaw line tense, but the Auror maintained his cool veneer. Draco tried to follow Potter's lead, but he was furious. Their team had been busting their humps for months trying to nab this psycho. They were doing the best they could to track the dark wizard down, but it was like trying to throw your fists against the wind; you hit nothing but air. Other than the daughter's ring they found back in January, they hadn't come across anything more substantial to help lead them to Cadmus or his pet Vipertooth; no prints, dander, not even dragon waste. No accounts of livestock or domestic animal mutilations near any of the crime scenes; typically an occurrence reported soon after a dragon sighting. But there was nothing at all about this case that was typical.

Sometimes it felt like all of their hard work was futile, and that Cadmus, the dragon, all of it was just some figment of their collective psyches. But it was an insult for Hanes to intimate that they hadn't put their all into the investigation. Draco practically slept with a copy of the Cadmus case file. His partner was just as invested, even going outside the Ministry's authority to bring in one of his brother-in-law's colleagues for a consult. As far as Draco knew, his partner was still waiting on word from the dragon expert. But the idea that both Aurors were not putting forth their best efforts was laughable. Hanes was full of shite!

"Now listen," began the commander crabbily, "I have to go convince Arthur Weasley's minions that my officers are actually capable, and that we'll have Ptolemy Cadmus in custody shortly. Do not make me eat my words, Auror Potter," Hanes sternly upbraided him, looking directly at the younger man. "I want you to round up what's left of your team here and have them back at HQ by time I'm done meeting with the MMBA representatives."

Draco and Potter each saluted Hanes, both sensing that they were being dismissed. Hanes just glowered at them with distaste.

"Oh, and Auror Potter, we'll be discussing your tardiness, your impertinence, and your lack of appropriate attire after the briefing," he finished, right before vanishing from sight.

"Yes, sir," grumbled Potter to the empty space where Hanes had been standing. Dropping his arm back to his side, he addressed his partner. "Come on, Malfoy. I'm sure Madam Zabini is just dying to get the go ahead to add that new wing to her summer home. Let's not keep her waiting, shall we." His lips twisted in a cruel smile with the bitter jibe.

Draco didn't get the joke.

"That's not true. I…I know Magnifika," he protested weakly. Even he recognized how pitiful he sounded. "She's in shock. She's simply mourning the loss of a child," he loyally defended. "We all cope in our own ways."

Potter heartlessly rebuffed the flimsy excuses.

"Oh please, you heard her. She's already planning out her next shopping spree with all that newfound blood money that will be coming her way soon," said the Gryffindor with mean-spirited relish. "And all it took was one dead son. I can't say that I'm surprised, though," he carelessly muttered to himself as he turned to walk away. "Slytherin and all…"

If he had thought little of the scornful aside, his partner did not. Potter nearly ran smack dab into the blond as Draco materialized right before him like lightning.

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

Potter took one look at his partner's disgruntled scowl and threw up his hands, palms forward, in a conceding gesture.

"Nothing," he said, hoping to head off an argument.

"No. No, tell me," pressed Draco, practically begging for one; aggressively getting in the other man's face. Potter had to take a hasty step backwards; still nobly trying to avoid a row. "You see, I want to know," Draco went on, voice rising. His face was frozen in a vicious smile. "Gift me with your vast and profound insight, dear leader. Just what were you trying to say?" he questioned. "That because Magnifika Zabini was in Slytherin house she somehow lacks a heart? A soul?"

He roughly poked at Potter's shoulder, taking the Gryffindor by surprise judging by his mystified expression. The sight of it only spurred Draco on.

"That Slytherin's can't care about anyone but themselves?!"

Once more Potter had to back up in retreat as the blond antagonistically prodded at him.

"THAT WE AREN'T CAPEABLE OF LOVE?!"

With each question Draco's voice went up a decibel.

"If that were the case," he snarled meanly, "Blaise wouldn't be dead right now!"

Tiring of trying to play nice, Potter finally shoved back; laying both of his hands on his partner and pushing him off.

"I don't want to have this fight with you right now, Malfoy," he warned, trying his best to reign in his own escalating temper.

"Too bad; I do!" huffed Draco stubbornly. "So tell me, Potter," he scathingly began, "am I just the soulless monster that's been nothing more than a thorn in your side all these years; first in the Order, then in the Department? Is that all I've been?"

Potter took the blond's measure, and giving up all pretense of being the bigger person, tossed him a simple, tight-lipped response.

"You said it, not me."

The answer somehow amused Draco.

"You know," began the Slytherin, chuckling darkly, "it really is a shame that Hermione doesn't see you for the smug…narrow-minded…sententious arse that you are," he denounced. "She's completely snowed when it comes to you."

With a roll of the eyes, Potter shook his head.

"You can act as if you and Hermione share some close and personal, deep understanding all you like, but it doesn't make it so. You know nothing of Hermione. Nothing!" he declared, righting his slightly askew specs. "So stop pretending that you do."

"Oh I know a lot, Potty." Draco's eyes seemed to turn silver as they glinted with fathomless malice. "Believe me. Hermione trusts me far more than you know," he goaded, hinting at something; heedlessly treading too close to the perilous edge he was about to go over. He was just so narked that he wasn't even aware of what he was saying any longer.

Oblivious of what his partner could be alluding to; Potter brushed off Draco's veiled comments as blustery twaddle.

"Why? Because you're friends?" he mocked, laughing outright at his own question as if he had told a funny. "Listen, Ferret," Potter said, smiling superiorly, "you and Hermione were never friends. You don't have friends." He stated it as simply as if it were fact. "And as for her, well…you were just a stray she felt sorry for."

All ten of Draco's fingers curled rigidly to form two tight fists.

"Shut up."

The barely audible, mumbled reaction made the Squad Leader smile contentedly. It was fun taking the piss out of the Slytherin for a change.

"As you know, she's always had a thing for taking in big, difficult beasts."

"You shut up, Potter! YOU SHUT YOUR BIG FAT GOB RIGHT NOW!"

"Of course you tried to take advantage her kindness and make something more of it," he continued, needling him; talking right over Draco with little care. "Hounding her…pursuing her like she was one of your cut-rate slags. But she wouldn't have you, would she?"

Draco couldn't remember the last time he felt such overwhelming hatred towards another living being, but he was willing to lay odds that Potter had somehow been involved then too.

"No," seethed the blond in answer.

Potter condescendingly nodded his head. "Because she wasn't interested; was she?"

"No."

"She didn't want you," Potter taunted; nearly intoxicated by the sight of his partner's crumbling composure. He was merciless in his abuse. He had the Slytherin on the ropes and was loving it. That's why he was so perfectly blind sighted.

"NO!" blasted the blond hatefully. "BECAUSE ALL SHE EVER WANTED WAS YOU!"

Potter's mouth had been open, probably prepared to deliver another bruising attack, when Draco's surprising blow nearly knocked him on his arse.

"Wait…wh-what?!" His bottom lip quivered as his green eyes blinked rapidly.

Draco didn't notice. He was too worked up to. His eyes didn't even seem to see the other man as he continued to shout. "NO ONE EVER STOOD A CHANCE, POTTER! YOU WERE ALWAYS IN THE FUCKING WAY!"

"WAIT…WHAT?!" Potter fell on Draco and savagely grabbed him by the shoulders. "What are you saying?! Malfoy, what do you mean?!" he begged frantically.

Draco flung the Gryffindor off of him. Potter cumbersomely tumbled to the ground and just stayed there; too paralyzed to budge an inch.

"What am I saying?! WHAT AM I SAYING?!" Draco glared at the other Auror with undisguised venom. "JUST HOW DAFT ARE YOU?!" he railed incredulously; his storm filled eyes bulging in their holes. "Hermione was in love with you! Stupidly, blindly in love…with you!" he ferociously spewed. "Of course you couldn't see passed your own ridiculous nose to ever notice. All through the War—all to the very moment she got the hell out of town, she was in love with you! FAT LOT OF GOOD IT EVER DID HER!"

It was as if Potter didn't even hear the last dig; so enrapt was he in everything else Draco let loose, that he just stared at the blond in awe. His mouth contorted back and forth between a wobbly, slight smile and a queasy looking grimace of circumspection. He was unsure that he had heard right. Worse; he was terrified that he might have heard wrong.

"In love with me?" the overwhelmed Gryffindor finally breathed in wonder. "Hermione…she's in love with me?"

Although Potter voiced the question to no one but himself, the horrifying realization of what had just happened suddenly hit Draco like a pile of erumpent shit.

He had done it. He had gone and done it; he had broken his promise to Hermione. She had lain all of her trust in him, had begged of him to do her one solid, and he had betrayed her without thought. And for what?! All for the simple pleasure of trying to make Potter the rotter jealous?! Just so he could hold over the prat's head that it was he, Draco, who knew more about the woman than her so-called best friend. Well good job, Draco angrily berated himself. He had told Potter that Hermione had been in love with him. The kneazle was out of the fucking bag! The best he could do now was try to stuff the bugger right back in and hope with deluded fervor that his partner was too dumb to notice.

"Oh, but don't worry, Potty. She got over you," he said with cold deliberateness, hoping that it was enough to do the trick.

He wasn't dumb enough.

"What?!" rasped Potter in such pained agony that the sound of it should have sent a thrill of accomplishment up the Slytherin's trouser leg. But unluckily for him, he had caught sight of the look on Potter's face before he had a chance to properly gloat.

Well fuck me three ways from Sunday, thought Draco; almost too numb to be exasperated by the surprising discovery. Hermione wasn't the only one carrying a torch.

Because that's all the shattered, heartbroken expression Potter wore could mean, the Slytherin now realized, years too late, as comprehension slid snuggly into place at last. Draco no longer needed a Ministry Penseive to tell him what he could see plainly with his very own eyes.

Potter was madly in love with Hermione.

Draco knew it to be true. It was so painfully obvious. Why it had taken so long for him to finally figure it out, he chose not to dwell on. Instead, his thoughts turned to Hermione, suffering for years thinking that her feelings for Chosen Wanker were unrequited, while all the while that git had been just as gaga for her. Why then had he married the Weasley shrew, Draco wondered. Merlin! What the hell was with all of these damned noble, self-sacrificing Gryffindors?! All of this confusion…all of this heartache could have been avoided if Potter had simply said something; done something instead of sitting on his arse all this time.

In that moment a fleeting flurry of indignation at just what the buffoon's inaction had cost stirred inside the blond on his friend's behalf.

But just as quickly, Draco's thoughts turned to the Discordium that was slowly destroying her. Hermione had suffered with it for so long. Well she didn't have to any longer, did she? This was the answer to her problem. Here was the solution; screw the Weaselette! Knowing that Potter was in love with her just might be enough to give Hermione the wherewithal to make her own little confession, he believed. And then she'd be cured.

And he would be the one who had made it happen, Draco told himself. If both Hermione and Potter were made aware of how the other felt, the prospect of her being freed from her affliction would be that much easier. And the beauty of it was that he would get the credit for it! He would get to be the hero; not Potter. And Hermione would be saved.

Well, thought Draco sagaciously, there was only one, responsible thing he could possibly do considering everything.

"Hermione doesn't want you anymore," he unfeelingly told his partner.

The lie had passed from Draco's lips before he had even become conscious of telling it. Instead of doing right by Hermione, Draco had chosen to stick the knife deeper into his once rival…and turn.

Staring mournfully at his tormentor, it took a moment before Potter could eke out a labored, overwrought response. "She got over me?"

The wretchedness of the question was near tragic. Still, all things considered, Draco had to say that Potter was taking it all rather well.

"LIAR!"

Before Draco knew what was what, Potter had sprung to his feet and went charging at him like a quintaped drunk with blood lust. The Gryffindor caught him about the midsection and tackled his partner to the ground. Draco cried out in surprise as he landed badly, and prayed that the unpleasant, yet distinct sound he heard wasn't that of bones splintering.

"Fuck…all…" he groaned in agony as Potter turned him on his back and sat crouched over him.

"God…damned…fucking Slytherin…BASTARD—"

Each near incoherent word from Potter was punctuated with a rock hard fist as he pummeled Draco's pallid face. The only thing that kept the blond from passing out from the pain spreading throughout his body was the taste of blood mixed with something bitter that filled his mouth, and the adrenaline that began to quickly travel his works. However it was only when Potter's assault began to slow, as if he had begun to tire of using the Slytherin's head as a punching bag, that Draco managed to spit out a stroppy comeback.

"I'm the liar?!" The blond peered out at his assailant with some difficulty. The bastard had socked him in the eye and Draco could already feel it swelling shut.

Potter had been pulling back his fist once more and it seemed to just hang in the air, as of its own volition, at the Slytherin's question.

"You've been in love with your best friend for years, you fool. You tell me who the liar here really is?!"

Potter didn't even attempt to deny the accusation. Instead he grabbed Draco by the material of his uniform and jerked him up so that he could look the blond Auror directly in the eye that still functioned normally.

"You either tell me the truth or I'll make you," he ordered in an unnervingly calm tone.

Before Draco could answer him, he felt the abstract brushes of someone playing at the very fringes of his thoughts. Then the sun went out.

And came back.

And went out.

And came right back out again. It didn't take much more for Draco to realize that he had only seconds to do something before it was too late.

"SHITE!" Potter yowled in distress.

The punch that Draco landed had caught his teammate dead on his jaw, sending Potter reeling back and his glasses flying off his face. With the Auror caught off guard, Draco was somehow able to flip them both over so that he was now the one anchoring his partner and Potter was the one laid flat on his back. As he held him down, Draco sneered in triumph; delighted to have one-upped the git.

"If ever you try to fuck with my head again, Potter, you'll regret it," he swore, panting shallowly. Draco drew his wand out and aimed it at his captive's heart. "Next time I'll give you a show you'll never forget," he promised him.

Despite being in the position of weakness, Potter challengingly squinted back up at his attacker while struggling lightly against his hold.

"Oh yeah, Ferret?! Like what?" he defiantly queried; eyes smoldering with contempt. He didn't even acknowledge the wand in his partner's hand.

"C'mon, Potty," said Draco wickedly, cocking his head to the side, "don't tell me that secrets are all you think me and Pet have shared?"

Potter growled like a rabid animal and began to buck and thrash around under him, outraged at the sly intimation. Although Draco knew it was wrong of him, the insolent tone in Potter's voice had only inspired him to new depths of treachery, making him say things he knew he shouldn't.

"YOU'RE A GODDAMNED, FILTHY LIAR, MALFOY!"

"Am I now?" Draco smugly shot back. "Pray tell; which part am I lying about then?" he queried.

The question made Potter's movements abruptly still. Narrowing his eyes, he answered the blond.

"Before, when you said Hermione loved me—I don't get why you, of all people, would even know such a thing," he began. "But I saw your eyes, Malfoy. You were just spouting off; shooting off at the mouth like you always do. You weren't even aware of what you were saying. It just…slipped. But it was the truth," Potter perceptively said, noting silently the way that Draco's wand arm seemed to sag as the Gryffindor boldly spoke on. "It was only afterward, after you had realized what you had said, that you tried to backtrack," said the Auror with confidence.

"Oh…oh yeah?!" Draco shakily bleated. For the first time he began to feel like he just might be on the losing end of this thing. For such an idiot, Potter was being eerily insightful. Draco didn't like it one bit!

"Yeah!" replied Potter with a cocksure smirk; wincing only slightly from the pain of his aching jaw. Still he soldiered on; inclining halfway from the ground and propping himself on his arms. "You and I have been forced together for a very long time, Malfoy. I can read you like a book by now," Potter told him.

The look on the Gryffindor's face left little doubt that he meant it.

"Just like I know you won't hex me," he shrewdly continued; taking another poke at his already rattled colleague. The claim seemed to only fire Draco up.

"Is that right? I can kick your arse with or without my wand," he said, straightening his drooping arm and tightening his hold on his beech wood.

"Doubtful," snickered Potter. "But for all your many, many, many faults…"

Draco resentfully scowled.

"…you're a good officer, Malfoy. You wouldn't hex your partner," the dark haired Auror stated. "Plus I'm unarmed. My gut instinct tells me that if you really wanted a go at me, you would prefer a fair fight," he added pompously. "Am I right?"

Draco didn't answer him right away. Instead he holstered his wand without much fanfare, rose up on his sore and protesting legs, and extended a hand to help his former archenemy, now associate, from off the ground where he still lay sprawled. Although Potter eyed the aid with open skepticism, and for good reason, he eventually took the offered assistance and was effortlessly hoisted to his feet. However it wasn't until the two men were on equal footing; Potter's hand still securely clasped in Draco's and standing toe to toe with him, that the sphinx-like expression on the blond's face morphed into maniacal glee. Right away recognition flickered in Potter's eyes upon sight of it, but regrettably not fast enough to steel himself for the blow to the stomach Draco delivered with his free hand.

So much for that gut instinct, apparently.

With what sounded like a stifled, hollow oomph, the ambushed Gryffindor collapsed to his knees before his traitorous teammate. His hand fell lifelessly out of Draco's.

"C'MON, POTTER," bellowed the blond, standing over him; his eyes glistening with an almost fanatical sheen, "I'M A BLOODY SLYTHERIN! WE DON'T…FIGHT…FAIR!" he screamed.

The Slytherin was so hot under the collar that he no longer knew what had him so riled, though he did know that he wanted to kick Potter's arse. For the moment he didn't give a shite about Department protocol or mundane moral codes; he just longed to give the arsehole a mark like the old one he used to have. A full body scar, this time. However he was denied the opportunity.

A guttural sound tore from Potter's throat as Draco was jerked straight up in the air and flipped upside down; too startled to cry out his astonishment. Invisible fingers seemed to grip him by his booted ankles and his robes fell across his face, obstructing his view. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, he began to be jostled up and down making it difficult for him to get to his weapon.

When Draco finally managed to yank the material of his uniform over his head, he looked to Potter; fully prepared to demand that he be put down immediately. However the request turned into a strangled gurgle once he observed his partner's arresting, almost Voldemort-like countenance; emphasized somewhat by the missing specs. Potter just stood there; face blank of emotion, arms folded imposingly against his chest, and the mere sight of the picture he cut unsettled Draco extremely.

He wasn't using a wand.

Draco was fairly capable of small acts of wandless magic as were most wizards and witches, but he had never managed anything half so focused or well executed as what Potter was exhibiting. Quite frankly he was impressed by it; even as he was smacked back to earth as if he had been squashed by the world's largest fly swatter.

Hitting the ground in a crumpled heap, Draco felt as if he had just done ten rounds with a brassed off yeti. But he had no time to muse over every little ache and complaint, because from his low to the ground vantage point, he could see Potter's trainers in the grass advancing in his direction. With little finesse, he managed to get his feet underneath him and grab for his wand. He had been awfully proud of himself when he somehow got it to Potter's neck in time. That is until he felt the sharp press of wood digging into his own throat.

"What are you going to do, Potter?" asked the blond Auror, fully aware of the fact that, had he wanted to, Potter could have had him flayed alive by now. However Draco wasn't willing to back down. Neither was his partner.

"Just you wait and see," replied the deathly serious Gryffindor.

At the exchange, a queer and inappropriate smile ghosted Draco's lips before it disappeared. Still, Potter noticed.

"What's so funny, Ferret?" he questioned, somewhat reluctantly.

Having been caught, Draco shrugged. "It just feels like we've been here once before, doesn't it?" For some reason Draco couldn't shake the intangible sensation of déjà vu that seemed to surround this comical circus of theirs.

Although Potter's only acknowledgement to the strange admission was an upticked eyebrow, there was still something in his expression that seemed to say that he caught his partner's meaning and oddly enough, agreed.

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

~~**~~ ~~**~~

Much later, when Draco was ennervated, he found himself sore, surly, and trapped in the Seventh Circle of Hell; also know as Armistead Hanes' private office. Glancing over to his left he discovered his partner seated in the chair right next to his, looking just as dazed and disoriented as he felt. It took the blond a few seconds to get his bearings and recall, with full and inexorable embarrassment, the duel he and Potter had been engaged in right before someone had decided to stop the clock on them. That same person had apparently unarmed the two Aurors, right after stunning them both.

Probably that rat Krispens, guessed Draco sullenly.

Even though he had no evidence to back up this presumption, the Slytherin began planning exactly what he would do to Fur-Face as soon as he got his wand back and caught up with the backstabbing blighter.

But first he and Potter had to face their commanding officer's unfettered, tornadic rage. After they gave a heavily edited account of what had happened, each smoothly corroborating the other's story, Hanes viciously tore into them for three hours straight. Even when the Ministry had closed down for the day, he was still going. Adding to their collective humiliation, the Chief Auror had insisted that Draco's madcap cousin sit in on the meeting and witness firsthand the evisceration. To her credit, though, Nymphadora seemed uncomfortable just being there. Her hair was even a muted shade of robin's-egg blue to match her mood, as she stood at attention near the door and silently watched the floorshow.

Although Draco wished he could say that they didn't deserve the dressing-down, he knew that not to be true. He had allowed his partner to get under his skin, thus making him act out in a way not becoming of an Auror. To be fair, though, he had pretty much provoked Potter into attacking him first. They both were guilty. However once Hanes finally started to wind down, the full extent of his wrath finally spent, neither felt that the punishment the Chief meted out fairly fit the crime.

"PROBATION?!"

"Yes, Auror Malfoy,' said Hanes, sifting through a stack of Ministry parchments on the desk he sat behind. He barely acknowledged the blond's existence as he put quill to every other sheet. "Six months should just about do it. Feel free to thank me for not demoting you," he derisively added.

Draco openly glowered at the man as the aloof Commander continued with his paperwork.

"As for Auror Potter here…"

The silver headed hawk actually paused, as if to consider his verdict, before speaking again. He looked up from the search order he had been preparing to sign and locked his eyes on Potter's.

"In eight days he'll appear before the Disciplinary Board and plead his case. Until then, he's on Administrative leave; effective immediately." With that he put his signature on the directive, then shuffled it to the back of the pile.

Potter, hardly moving like a man who had just been pulled out of a bare knuckled bout, was instantly out of his seat; bent forward across the desk before him. "YOU CAN'T DO THAT, HANES!"

"Sir, we're in the middle of one of our biggest cases!" Draco ardently interjected, standing as well; blanching from the pain that shot through him from the too quick movement. Gritting his teeth against the discomfort, he said, "To disrupt the team at a time like this would be…"

Inopportune.

Rash.

Calamitous.

Any of those three. All of those three.

"…bad business," he stated.

Unfortunately good old Hanes in the Arse didn't seem to see it that way.

"Well, Auror Potter should have thought about that before he assaulted an officer under his command. You've damaged the prestige of the uniform, not to mention the entire Department," he said, looking directly at the dark haired Auror.

The Slytherin pulled a face at the commander's glaring overstatement. The Sweets being in their ranks did far more damage to the Department's good name than Potter ever could, thought Draco. Still, he couldn't help but notice that in the Chief's version of the day's incident, his own wrongdoings had been conspicuously absent from the account. Draco wondered if Potter had picked up on that tidbit as well.

'In the meantime," Hanes continued, leaning back in his leather chair, "Auror Lupin will be assuming leadership of the Second Squad until a decision on Auror Potter's future is made."

Both Draco and Potter's heads swung around to where the woman was standing. Nymphadora reticently met both of their eyes, then dropped hers down to the ground. It was obvious that she had been briefed on Hanes' underhanded scheme beforehand and was being forced to comply with his orders. She appeared to want to fade right into the stucco wall behind her at their scrutiny.

Returning to his parchments, Hanes spoke again; almost as if it were an afterthought. "You'll be getting her up to speed, Auror Malfoy."

No one in the near suffocating room made a peep after the pronouncement. It incensed Draco; he had basically been relegated to being his kook cousin's water carrier, but it was Potter's reaction to the news that was more noteworthy. The space around him seemed to crackle with an intensity that was almost concrete. His lamp-like eyes, still free of his glasses, spookily bored into the commanding officer, and he gave off the impression that with the simple snap of his fingers, he could probably explode the git without a hair falling out of place. It was terribly rousing, to be truthful. Had Draco been a witch he might have even dropped his knickers at such a prospect.

"In case you're wondering," muttered Hanes in a rigid tone, eyes still doggedly fixed on his meaningless paperwork, "the two of you are dismissed."

He didn't even bother to see if his subordinates saluted him or not. Which was a relief really; Potter had looked like he was about to lunge across the desk and rip out Hanes' throat with his hands. Instead he forcefully slammed them down against the top of the wooden fixture, causing it to wobble unstably. Without even a backwards glance, Potter wordlessly stormed into the outer office, leaving his two colleagues staring after him.

"If Auror Potter isn't careful, he just might never be reinstated."

Draco pulled his eyes away from the door in just enough time to see the sly look flit from off Hanes' lowered face. A quick peek at his cousin told him that she had witnessed it too. Neither had to say the word aloud to confirm what they both suspected in that very moment.

"Potter, wait up!" called Draco over his shoulder; abruptly backing out of the room, and chasing after his partner as fast as his exhausted body would allow.

If the Gryffindor was being railroaded off the force, and Draco was almost certain that that was exactly what Hanes had in mind to do to Potter, the two of them needed to gather the squad together, stat, to find a way to call a halt to the commander's dastardly machinations. Even if Potter was already planning to leave eventually, now was not the time to kick him out of the Department; especially if the Chief was doing it just to be vindictive. While Draco could certainly understand that kind of motivation, the threat of Cadmus was too persistent for such absurdity. That was the reason Draco was prepared to go to the mat over this. He was doing it for the team; not Potter, he convinced himself. Besides, Hanes in the Arse had some nerve passing him over just to toss the reins to a ruddy First Squad-er, he thought bitterly.

"Potter! Hey, Potter, we need to talk about this!" Draco exclaimed, just as he caught up to the still fuming Auror outside the entryway of the department. At the sound of his partner's voice, Potter looked over and even slowed his pace as if to hear the blond out. However Draco never really got a chance to share his hunch about Hanes' true intentions with him. They hadn't gotten very far down the hall, before they had been bushwhacked.

"YOU!"

Potter's whole body seized up at the sound of the infuriated, female voice.

"AND YOU!"

"Oh balls! It's the Warden!" Draco shouted. He had nearly done a 180 and retreated back to the shelter of his cubicle at the sight of Hermione Granger's irate form stomping its way straight up the passageway towards them.

And she was livid. By the look of her, disappointed as well; but mostly mad enough to kill a grown man. Or two. Clearly she had learned of the fight somehow, and had come all the way to the Ministry to murder them both since they hadn't the decency to finish each other off before she could get to them. The visitor's badge pinned to her baggy sweatshirt said as much.

HERMIONE GRANGER

GELDING

Both of Draco's hands dropped protectively before his willy at the sight of it. He shuddered at just what she must have told the bloody Ministry Visitor's box was her reason for coming.

"It's all over the wireless!" she shrilled; planting herself directly in front of the intimidated men. "For hours, they've been going on and on about nothing else—two Aurors seen brawling at a crime scene today!"

She scanned both of their faces, seeing firsthand the evidence of their high jinks.

"One of Glinda's neighbors ran over with her portable wireless," she explained, telling them how she had heard the news. "The reporter didn't mention names, but I just had to come to make sure that neither was any Auror that I knew. Because none of the Aurors that I know would be half so foolish as to get into an altercation…WHILE AT A BLOODY CRIME SCENE!"

Her brutal salvo actually made Draco and Potter look to one another for protection. Both knew Hermione well enough to understand that if they tried to sell her the same cockamamie tale they had just pushed at Hanes, she would see right through it. So instead they instinctively drew closer together, as if physically forming a united front, and remained silent for the moment; their scuffle from earlier completely forgotten by now. There was safety in numbers, all things considered. And she was scary!

After peevishly staring down the two at length, something caught her eye.

"Your chin…"

As she murmured the words, a hand reached out to stroke Potter's bruised face. Her eyes softened as she caressed his cheek and inspected the man's war wounds closely. Her anger had burned itself out on its own.

"Your poor chin. It's all black and blue."

Indeed it was. No one had thought to take the two unconscious Aurors to the Infirmary before they were unceremoniously dumped in Hanes' lair. Potter's mug still bore the markings of the thumping Draco had handed him, while the Slytherin could only imagine what he looked like himself, especially since he could barely see out of one of his battered eyes.

It still worked well enough, however, to watch as one of Potter's hands closed tenderly around hers and squeezed. His lovesick visage nearly made Draco vomit the sausage from breakfast.

Hermione's reaction was to instantly pull away; snatching her hand back as if she had been scalded by the intensity of Potter's doting gaze.

"What happened to your face?" came her terse query.

Although her sudden impassivity seemed to hurt him at first, Potter's unhappiness soon gave way to disgruntlement as he replied in a flinty voice, "I was polishing my fist and it went off."

Not liking his cheek, she turned to the blond in a snit. "And you? What happened to your eye?"

She didn't like his response any better.

"Oh, I can't come up with anything half as good as what he said," Draco self-effacingly conceded.

The former adversaries had banded together against a common cause it appeared. Her. The woman fairly flipped her lid over their suddenly convenient camaraderie.

"WHAT ARE YOU TWO; A COUPLE OF COMEDIANS?! ANY PLANS TO TAKE THE ACT ON THE ROAD?" she waspishly seethed. "TELL ME, JUST WHAT DO YOU BLOKES DO FOR AN ENCORE?!"

Without thinking, Draco raised a hand. "Well I am surprisingly bendy."

The mistimed quip made Potter and Hermione, who had been eyeballing each other heatedly, turn on him.

"SHUT UP, MALFOY!" they both screamed, then started in on each other; squabbling animatedly. However, underneath all their yelling and finger pointing, was a simmering, fiery passion that seemed ready to consume them and anyone else unlucky to get caught in the crossfire.

Draco just irritably shook his head at the whole thing. How could anyone be so impossibly blind not to see how crazy these two were for each other, he marveled. Gingerlocks, the wife, the five hundred other interminable Weasleys—total and complete strangers on the street; how could they all have missed this?! For fuck's sake; Potter was all but pissing on her leg, marking his territory.

And as for Hermione…well, she looked like she wanted to just haul off and slap the tosser. Then fondle his tonsils with her tongue. Then slap him again. It was mind-boggling! Then again the Slytherin had conveniently forgotten that up until a few hours before, he had been just as obliviously in the dark as the rest of the horde.

"What were you fighting about?"

It took Draco a second to realize that the question had been posed to him. Hermione had finally wrested her eyes away from Potter and had turned them up at the blond, hoping to get a response out of him.

Oh, not much, went the imaginary conversation in his head. Just told the wanker that you were hot for him. Then took it back.

Draco swallowed hard at the daydream; more like nightmare. Just the notion of telling the already disagreeable woman something like that made his stones shrivel in his shorts. So instead he did something he rarely ever managed to pull off that well. He shut the hell up!

Getting nothing from the Slytherin, she raised the same question to her best friend.

"What were you fighting about?" she asked. The inquiry came out gentler than the last; sweeter. It was coaxing this time. Subtly persuading, almost.

Potter didn't fall for it. He just continued to stonewall; driving her bonkers in the process.

"You should know better than to keep things from me, Harry James!" she piously snapped; frustrated that nothing she had tried seemed to work on either of the two men. However for Potter, the seeming mendacity of her last remark had pushed him a little too far to be ignored.

"ME?! KEEPING THINGS FROM YOU?!" he protested incredulously. Dragging his fingers violently through his hair in aggravation, he barked, "ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

The outburst made her jump out of her skin and Draco nervously cut his eyes to his partner, fearful that he was about to be sold down the river. He knew that eventually he would have to clue Hermione in on just what he had done, but he hadn't yet figured out how he was going to break everything he had learned that day to her. However Potter looked like he was mad enough to blow the lid off the whole thing (or at least the parts he knew) right then and there. Draco didn't know whether to run or cheer him on.

"'Keeping things from you'…you know, you really ought to rethink that statement, Hermione," Potter darkly suggested. The look on his face said the same. A quick survey of it seemed to convince her to take his unsolicited advice.

"I think…I think I should go," she squeaked, then turned as if to flee the building. Or the planet.

As he caught her by the elbow, he said, "Oh no you don't." And swung her right back around to face him; pulling Hermione close against his body and encircling her with his arms.

Although Hermione stood rigidly within his embrace at first, eventually she relaxed somewhat; letting her guard down for the time being.

"I thought you were dead, Hermione."

Draco heard his partner mumble the words into her frizzy hair; no longer the sleek, fastidiously crafted creation it had been a mere two weeks before when she had first gotten back to town. It was as if it had started to stubbornly revert to its original form as soon as she had come home, the Slytherin theorized. Even the artificial color had started to grow itself out. The wiry, wild tendrils seemed to perfectly reflect the flustered woman's prickly emotional state as Potter began to pour out his heart.

"For one whole minute…" he haltingly began, searching for the right words to go on as a tremor almost robbed him of his voice. Trying again, he said, "For one whole minute I thought you were dead." His arm seemed to impulsively tighten around her as if to moor the woman to him. "For one whole minute I thought I had lost you all over again," he breathed out softly…sadly. "It had nearly killed me, Hermione."

As if finally understanding what Potter must have gone through when he had gotten to Blaise's, she placed both of her hands on the man's face, soothingly cooing, "Shh, shh…I'm here. I haven't gone anywhere. I'm right here." She threw her arms around his neck as if to assure him of that fact.

Although Draco could have reminded the maudlin pair that he too had thought Hermione was a goner there for a tic, he decided against it. Not that it would have really mattered anyway, he sulkily recognized. The two of them were so engrossed in each other that they had apparently forgotten that Draco was even in the hall with them. Luckily with the late hour the building was practically deserted, and besides the three of them, the corridor had remained deserted; allowing them some privacy.

When he had sufficiently gotten his fill of the embrace, Potter let her go and took a reluctant step back. "We need to talk, Hermione," he said.

The entreaty put her on panicked alert straightaway.

"About what?" she agitatedly asked, eyeballing him nervously. The shift in her demeanor seemed to vex Potter.

"We need to clear the air," he unsmilingly answered. "We owe each other that much. It's time for some honesty here. The two of us have a few things we need to say to each other, I think."

Hermione scoffed at that.

"Well I think you've said a good deal too much already," she retorted bitingly, making Potter turn red. "I think I heard enough of it back at the Hollow this morning. I think…I think I heard enough to last me several lifetimes, in fact. And I think I never want to hear it again!" she said with shaky conviction.

Judging by the man's reaction to what she threw at him, and the comment Potter had edgily made back at Carregbryn earlier, Draco was able to deduce that something big had transpired between the two friends some time after the Ball. However whatever it was, Hermione looked distraught just bringing it back up again. Not wanting to talk about it further, she quickly changed the subject.

"I shouldn't have come." Hermione's voice was tinged with shame and regret. As if trying to convince herself, and having a hard time of doing it, she feebly said, "Glinda needs me now. My friend needs me right now. I shouldn't be here…with you."

As if drawn by some magnetic force; her eyes slowly drifted up and met his. Potter took a resolute step forward. The look on his face determined, yet hopeful.

"But Hermione," he said, brushing the backs of his fingers tenderly against the plane of her cheek, "don't you see; I need you too."

The confession was so earnest, so heartfelt that Draco watched his friend closely; curious to see what her reaction would be. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment that she would finally unburden herself and end this thing, he hoped.

Hermione's tear filled eyes held with Potter's, mesmerized as if by some form of enchantment it seemed, and her lips parted to speak.

"I…I…"

Potter held his breath. Draco did too. The only sound that seemed to fill the air was her ragged breathing.

"I…"

Unable to speak, the woman nearly lost her footing as she stumbled back to escape Potter's touch. Both he and Draco moved promptly as if to catch her, but she only edged further away to avoid them; especially Potter. She numbly shook her head back and forth.

"I can't," she mournfully bawled. Her rasped words were pronounced as if they were an invocation of protection; a spell to ward Potter off. Although the battle within her had played itself on her face for all to see, the Discordium had clearly won out. Of course only Draco realized this.

Taking the two men by surprise, Hermione turned quickly and bolted down the hallway.

"HERMIONE!" Potter fervidly shouted, before chasing right after her.

Draco was left behind, forgotten in the rush. He unexpectedly felt a stitch of pity for Potter in that moment. Not that she could help it really, but Merlin was Hermione dragging the poor sod around by the ring in his nose.

At the stray thought, Draco's eyes widened anxiously. The ring?!

He quickly shoved both hands in his pockets; turning out the linings in his frenzied zeal to make sure Luna's ring was still on him. Getting his fingers around the box, he exhaled with relief; comforted by the knowledge that it hadn't fallen out of his robes when Potter had been using him as a human yo-yo, and left in the grass behind Carregbryn when the two of them had been shanghaied back to HQ.

Stuffing the ring box back where it had come from, the blond's thoughts had drifted to his Loony Love for a moment. As he observed Potter turning the corner that Hermione had just rounded, he suddenly felt a deep and all-consuming devotion for his girlfriend, and just what they had together, swell in him. Sure Luna was unconventional, her manner and ways unorthodox, and had the unnerving habit of saying things at times that were so far off the wall that they defied all comprehension or laws of accepted logic, but she was his. And just as important; he was hers. They always knew where they stood with each other. There was a sweet simplicity in that truth that he had never fully appreciated until just then. But by watching the Harry and Hermione drama unfold before him, all he could contemplate was one thing: thank Merlin, he wasn't Potter! All in all, he had really dodged a bullet on that one.

When Draco was finally able to drag his tired body to the lifts, he found Potter standing there, all by his lonesome; his forehead resting against the wall nearby a cracked, webbed indention someone had punched right into the plaster. Bits and pieces were still crumbling to the floor. Hermione was nowhere to be seen. One look at the bloody knuckles on Potter's right hand easily answered Draco's unasked question.

"Hermione told you that she was in love with me."

Although not really a question, Draco still understood that Potter was asking for some form of confirmation from him. The blond leaned passed him to punch the call button for the lifts and gave his partner a cheeky grin.

"Suck my cock," Draco's singsong voice replied. With Hermione gone, their armistice was officially ended.

Potter dryly chuckled as he turned around and supported himself against the wall.

"That's as good as a confirmation as any," he said with just a hint of a smile.

Although he was finally starting to show the wear and tear of the day, his tone was astoundingly light. He might not have gotten a confession out of Hermione, but he had seen and heard enough to fill him with drive and purpose.

"She's still in love with me." Potter spoke the words with unwavering certainty. "You can deny it all you want, but I know it's true," he told Draco. "The proof's been staring me in the face all this time. The looks, the smiles, the little things she does and says that drive me absolutely crazy insane…Glinda."

A burst of maddened, uproarious laughter erupted from Potter at his sister-in-law's name, bewildering Draco.

"GLINDA!" Potter exclaimed again, hand to head, as a look of wonder crossed his face. "Why, that clever, little minx! She figured it all out, didn't she? How on Earth did I miss it?!"

The Slytherin shook his head at his partner's nonsensical ramblings and muttered under his breath. "I have a few theories," he said with a snide snicker, grateful for the series of tinkling chimes that signaled the arrival of several lifts.

As the golden grill pulled open to the one nearest him, Draco prepared to enter the carriage and depart. The hour was late and all he wanted to do was go home and sink into a hot bath right before sinking into his Loony. However Potter's arm shot out and blocked him from entering it. The blond bristled at the imposition, but Potter indifferently ignored Draco's peppery language as he stared at his partner with unblinking eyes.

"There's just one thing I don't get. Why didn't she ever say anything?" asked the Gryffindor concernedly. "Why would she tell you and not even think to tell me first?"

Draco was torn on how to respond. He had already told enough of Hermione's secrets, he believed. It just didn't feel right giving away information that the woman didn't know herself. And yet he feared that she couldn't go on much longer the way she had been. There was no telling how much time she had left before the Discordium finally robbed her of all total reason. Hermione needed to tell Potter that she was in love with him. And fast.

And yet…Draco just couldn't bring himself to play Cupid for the git.

"Look, Potter, maybe I'm not the one you should be discussing this with," Draco grumpily told him; barreling past the man to force his way onto the empty lift. Turning himself around he added frankly, "You need to talk to Hermione. Ask her these questions. See what she says. Listen to her. Make her listen to you. If you don't…you'll regret it. Both of you will."

Although the advice was grudgingly given, Potter's meditative expression showed that he was listening intently and had appreciatively absorbed everything his partner had said. Draco was satisfied with that; he had played it safely down the middle, helping Hermione as best as he could, without giving Potter too much of a hand in the process. He was a Slytherin, after all.

"Then again," chimed the blond with a devilish smirk as the lift began to slowly descend, "I suppose you could always go home to the Missus. At least you know for sure that she still wants you."

Draco rumbled with laughter as Potter's peeved face disappeared from view.

Arriving at Lovegood House minutes later, Draco found the place darkened without a single soul stirring. He smiled to himself at the discovery. Knowing his girlfriend, she was probably already in bed, waiting up to tuck him in for the night. Heh. Luckily Linus was a heavy sleeper and wouldn't hear all of the things he was about to do to the man's precious, little girl.

Draco skipped up the front parlor's staircase at a clip, ring box in hand; happy to put the day finally behind him. Thanks to Luna and her father's firm aversion to allowing a wireless in the house (according to her, while you were sleeping, they transmitted secret, coded directions to orgiastic Umgubular Slashkilter bacchanals), he felt confident that there was no way his Loony would have heard about the fisticuffs with Potter. But when he got to his and Luna's bedroom, he was surprised to find the door locked; barring him from entering. Worse yet, there was a note, bearing his name in Luna's looping, unique hand, Spellotaped to the wood panel.

Toodles made a pallet for you in Daddy's study. I'm not sure what exactly it is you did today, but something tells me that you deserve a timeout tonight.

Love,

L

For all of his ridicule of Potter and the Gryffindor's complicated predicament with his woman, Draco had to concede that having a Precog for a girlfriend came with its own set of drawbacks as well.

A/N: Next up is Harry's POV. He knows! YAY! Full steam ahead!!!! Things to look forward to: a couple gets a little too frisky at a party, Ginny puts her plans into action to disastrous results, and the Potters go BOOM! And yeah, that means exactly what you think it means. ;^)

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Cato Sweet, Cicero Sweet, Clytemnestra Sweet, Churchill Fitzroy, Auror Cohen, Auror Romero, Auror Bradshaw, Auror Whalebridge, Gilligan Pilliwickle, Archie Banks, Xerxes Cosgrove, Maude Avery, Balthazar, Barnaby, Bartleby, Balthus, Chutney Gupta, Suchindra Gupta, Gimlet, and Ragastaadt are canon.

2) From what I understand the U.K.'s Home Office is the equivalent of the U.S.'s Office of Homeland Security. The head of the Home Office is the Home Secretary.

3) The first civil partnerships in the U.K. didn't happen until December of 2005, but for the purposes of the story I had the Banks/Cosgrove union happen earlier in March.

4) The Harry and Draco duel is a shout back to the scene in Chapter 03 when a teenaged Draco finds the Order at Hermione's house. If you recall they were unarmed and stunned back then too. LOL!

5) Way back when a reviewer suggested the idea that it would be funny if at some point Harry and Draco banded together and turned against Hermione for a change. I loved the idea so much that I had to find a way to incorporate it into the story somehow. If he's still reading, I hope that reviewer liked how it turned out. Also I once got a review that was curious as to just how and the heck Blaise wound up married to a Muggle. Although I hadn't intended on incorporating that back-story at first, when this chapter started taking shape and Draco and Blaise's relationship became more fleshed out for me, that flashback just happened. I hope it answered your question.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review. Check out my yahoo group, insidepandiesboxx, to see timelines and other ARLB goodies.