Such Great Heights

Chapter 3 - - Such Great Heights

- - -

Draco bid his parents goodbye first thing the following morning. They traveled by Floo to the International Apparation Point in Diagon Alley where transport was arranged to take them to Spain.

Draco stared into the fireplace after they'd gone, wishing his father would return and ease his burden. When his stomach rumbled, he dragged himself to the office where he ordered breakfast and grudgingly opened his calendar. He had made appointments for his father for the entire week designed to reacquaint Lucius with the people he had once interacted with and to introduce him to the new partners Draco had cultivated in his absence. Most of the appointments he would keep, in order to inform everyone of the delay in handing over the reigns of the company. The extra workload made him scowl.

The week flew by, one appointment after another, and not a single letter arrived by way of a jet-black owl. Draco's spirits rose with each passing day, and when he sat down to look at his calendar Friday morning, he was stunned to see that the following day was his Quidditch appointment with Harry Potter.

Draco had the urge to write Potter and ask him who would be in attendance, but he fought it, not wanting to seem too interested. Friday afternoon, a letter arrived attached to the leg of a snow-white owl that Draco recognized instantly. Potter had been on the front page of the Prophet buying his new owl, saying the new one could never replace the friend he had lost in the war, but he looked forward to getting to know his new familiar. Draco remembered it well; it had been the same issue that had announced Lucius's sentence.

It was strange taking a letter from this bird, but he made sure to give her an extra treat. Herschel nuzzled Draco's hand in thanks before flying out the window through which she had come.

The letter was simply a reminder of the game the following day with the location: Briar's Field, near Manchester. It also included a reiteration of the invitation for lunch, which brought to Draco's attention the fact that he hadn't officially changed his plans with Pansy. He scribbled a note, telling her they would meet for dinner in Hogsmeade, and sent it off right then.

That evening before dinner, Draco went flying. At first he'd been slightly worried that he wouldn't remember how to fly, that the broom wouldn't respond to him the way it used to...that he might even fall off...but within moments it felt as though he'd never stopped. After taking a few laps around the Manor grounds, he went to the pitch on the property, set up a ward around it, and let loose a Snitch. He was fairly certain he wouldn't be asked to play Seeker the next day, but it was what Draco loved more than anything else. After an hour or so, the sun about to set, Draco got out a Quaffle and practiced dodging Bludgers and scoring.

He took dinner in the dining room, enjoying the thin line of sweat at his hairline and the way his blood rushed through his veins.

As he soaked in the bath, Draco pondered over the day to come. He knew it could end badly, but he wanted things to go well for a few reasons. His answer to Pansy about why he was playing had been truthful. Not being enemies with Harry Potter could only be a good thing for Draco's family. More than anything, however, the practice session earlier had lit a fire in his blood, and he was thrilled at the chance to fly, to play. He resolved to be on his best behavior and make the most of the opportunity.

ooo

The next morning, Draco Apparated a quarter of a mile from Briar's Field a few minutes after he was supposed to be there. He certainly didn't want to be the first person there and arriving late would give him a chance to see who else would be playing. Plus, the walk would help him steady his nerves. He had dressed in a traditional practice uniform and brought along something to change into for lunch.

He could hear people talking and laughing as he approached the field, and his stomach flopped nervously. He stopped on the edge of the woods and surveyed the scene before him.

There were thirteen people gathered in the center, all with brooms, and it looked as though they were sorting teams. A chest containing the game balls sat off to the side. He counted four redheads, spotted Potter, and recognized a few people from his days at Hogwarts.

"They're waiting for you."

Draco jumped, startled, and spun toward the owner of the voice.

Hermione Granger...at least he thought her name was still Granger...was sitting on an orange sofa about twenty yards away, her legs propped under her, and a book in her hands, watching him curiously.

He'd been so focused on the field that he hadn't noticed her, or the horrible sofa.

"I ... yes." He looked back at the field and took a few steps. Then the reality of what he was about to do crashed around him, and he couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. His vision started to get spotty on the edges, so he stepped back, closing his eyes breathing deeply until the tightness cleared.

"All right, Malfoy?" Her eyebrows quirked with concern.

He tried to say yes, but found he couldn't yet, so he nodded instead.

"Here, sit."

She was at his side, pulling his elbow toward the sofa. He sat, feeling much better now that he could breathe again.

"Nervous?" she said, her tone amused.

"A bit."

"Don't be. Everyone's agreed to be nice today." An amused smile touched her lips.

"Right."

He looked at her then. She was wearing a white sundress that went just past her knees, thin straps over her delicate shoulders. Her feet were bare, but he saw a pair of sandals on the ground beside the sofa. Her hair was mostly the same, but the sun was hitting it just right, bringing out the different colored strands of gold, bronze and auburn. She was smiling, still amused at his discomfort, and he thought he'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Not in the way most men saw beauty...legs and chests and face...but in the way her pretty mouth was curved higher on one side, her eyes were radiant with life, and her face told the story of how happy she was.

"You sure you're all right?" she asked, a shadow of concern passing over her face.

Her question broke his train of thought and he blinked, thinking he'd been caught in a strange vortex. When he looked at her again, she was still there, still happy, still beautiful. His heart started pounding.

"Yes, I ... I'm fine."

"Can you walk?"

He nodded, though he wasn't sure he could.

"They're waiting," she said, pointing at the field.

Two teams had been formed and had Charmed their uniform tops to either red or green. The red team, Potter's team, was short one player.

"Right," Draco said, feeling surer of himself. He wanted to ask her why she was there, why she was sitting on a sofa so far from the action, what she was reading, but he couldn't. He stood, tested his legs, and started toward the field.

He didn't look back at Hermione, but an image of her was burned into his brain, as though he were staring at her. And then, without warning, the image blurred and he saw her seven years earlier, writhing on the floor of his drawing room, his crazy aunt pointing her wand and cackling. He shivered and nearly tripped, then stopped to look at her again.

She was sitting just as he'd left her, reading. It struck him that part of what made her so captivating, so instantly interesting, was her grace and poise following the events in his home.

He resumed his walk to his team, wondering how he could have forgotten about Bellatrix hurting her before his very eyes. He had never especially cared for the girl, had carried his usual prejudice against her and took every opportunity he could to ridicule and belittle her, but the hate, the spite was all borrowed. He'd never fully taken it into his heart for himself. His formative years were spent trying to impress his father, then the Dark Lord, and then suddenly he was all grown up, yet also a small boy, stuck in man's world. He couldn't even recall her face between the Yule Ball fourth year and that day in his drawing room.

Both memories were so different ... In the first, she was fetching with her hair under control and a touch of coloring. In the last, she'd been fighting against screaming and crying, her jaw and neck clenched, but unable to hold it in. Then her eyes were shut in pain. Once, when Bellatrix let up to interrogate her, she had looked at him, pleading evident in her eyes. She had wanted him to do something, but there was no way she could have known he was just as scared as she.

He'd been in her position a few times when his parents were gone. It didn't take much to set Bellatrix off, and she took pleasure in "teaching him lessons his mother should have." He knew inside that he should have helped Hermione, the same way he'd known he shouldn't kill Dumbledore. It was a deep, resonating knowledge that he felt in his bones to the very core of his heart and soul. It went beyond everything he had heard, everything his parents had ingrained in him, touching parts of his subconscious he had never known were there.

He had been too much of a coward to listen to the voice in his head, and Dumbledore had been killed and Hermione had been tortured. He didn't know how the outcomes would have been different if he had acted, but that was the thing. He would never know.

"Oi, Malfoy!"

Draco looked up and saw Harry waving him over and the rest of the red team watching him. He took a deep breath and went to Harry.

"What position do you want?" Harry asked.

"What's left?"

"You choose first."

Draco blinked. It was strange, being offered the chance to play Seeker by Harry Potter. "I'll take Chaser," he said.

Harry nodded and motioned with his head. "You're with Charlie then."

"All right."

"Don't forget to Charm your shirt red," Harry added.

Draco was still nervous, still felt as though he might pass out at any moment. He felt as though he were lifting a hundred pounds with each step he took toward Charlie and Ginny. They were talking quietly, but when Draco neared them, Charlie gave him a welcoming grin. It startled Draco.

"Hallo, mate. Welcome to the club." Charlie Weasley stood as tall as Draco, his straight red hair falling around his face in thick clumps. It was longer in the back and pulled into a ponytail.

"Er ... what club?"

"The 'Once-Seekers-now-Chasers-because-of-Harry-Potter Club,' of course." He grinned.

Draco was so taken aback that he just stared blankly at the other man. Charlie laughed and nudged his sister.

"You played Seeker, right?" he asked.

Draco nodded.

"So did Ginny, for a year, and I did for five. But now we'll forever be Chasers because of Potter. He's always Seeker."

"Oh," said Draco, feeling his nerves calm due to Charlie's infectious good nature and easy smiles.

"Hey, I wanted to be Chaser," said Ginny, crossing her arms.

"Sure, sure, so Potter could have his spot back." Charlie turned to Draco and said, "She always fancied him, you know."

"Oh, stop," said Ginny. "Let's get to work."

As it turned out, Charlie was very good at Quidditch, no matter the position. He outlined a few plays for Draco and Ginny before the game and, since Draco had never played with their Saturday bunch, told him the weaknesses of the opposing players.

When the game started, Ron flew to his position at Keeper. George and another former Gryffindor, Dean Thomas, were the Beaters. Draco's nerves stopped bothering him the moment he was in the air. He was flying; he could fly almost before he could walk. It was the most natural thing in the world, the one thing in his life he could count on.

The game was informal and no one called fouls, though there were plenty. The opposing team was made up of mostly former Ravenclaws, with a single Hufflepuff as Beater. She was quite a force to contend with, as Draco soon found out, and he kept note of where she was at all times.

Draco had played the Chaser position as a child, but had craved the glory of the Seeker, who seemed to hold the game in his power. It wasn't until he learned more of the strategies of Quidditch that he began to appreciate the other positions as well. A Seeker might catch the Snitch but lose the game, as Krum had done at the World Cup the last time England had hosted it. Bulgaria had their star, but the Irish team as a whole had been solid. In the end, the stronger team had won.

In the air, Draco forgot about Hermione, he forgot about his parents, the week he'd been through, the letters that came with the jet-black owls. He focused on getting past the large Keeper, getting the Quaffle through one of the gold hoops, on the feel of the wind in his hair and the warm sun in his face.

Far too soon, Potter caught the Snitch, and everyone landed. They had won, 270 to 90. The other five members of Draco's team congratulated him on well-played game. They told him not to let it get to him, that Potter always won. Draco nodded and slowly walked to join Potter and the Weasleys.

A few members of Potter's team spoke to him as he walked, told him he played a good game, and they hoped to see him out again the following week.

Draco thanked them, feeling nervous again now that he was no longer flying. He hurried to join his team, anxious to be done with it.

Charlie grinned and clapped him on the back. "Nice flying, mate! Excellent hands with the Quaffle."

"Er, thanks," said Draco. "Nice catch, Potter," he called.

Harry grinned and nodded. George and Ron were trying to get the balls into the chest where they belonged but the Bludger was proving difficult.

Draco considered leaving then. He had never confirmed that he would stay for a meal, and he could always duck out, claiming work or other plans. He was debating it when Dean said goodbye to all of them and Disapparated.

"Right," said Ron immediately after the sound of the pop had faded. "Let's go eat." He looked at Draco. "Coming?"

Everyone looked at him then and he spoke without thinking. "Yes."

Ron grinned. "Excellent. Don't mind Mum; she'll think you peaky, but just nod and eat what you want."

"She'll try to force second and third helpings on you," said Ginny. She was holding hands with Harry. "But don't be afraid to tell her no."

"Sure," he said, wishing they would do something other than stand in a circle.

George joined them then. "Well, all, into the forest. Let's not keep Mum waiting, you know how she is." He started off without waiting for them.

Draco thought it strange seeing George without his twin and, for the first time, wondered about the Weasleys. How had they gotten on following the war? Their father was the Minister of Magic; had that changed them? How had they dealt with the loss of a son?

Harry, Ron and Ginny followed George, leaving Draco and Charlie. It might have been awkward, but Charlie, having never been the victim of Draco's childhood antics, had the least to forgive of any of the Weasleys. It appeared that he already had, because he started talking to Draco as though he were an old friend. Draco felt perfectly at ease around Charlie.

"What's it like?" he asked as they walked. "Working with dragons? I've always been fascinated that you do that."

Charlie laughed. "A lot of people are, though they wouldn't get close to the beasts themselves. It's wonderful, it's perfect. Exactly what I want to do."

Draco nodded and glanced ahead to make sure he was still heading the right direction. He saw Hermione walking toward them, the wind blowing through her hair and whipping her dress around her knees. Draco swallowed hard.

She spoke first to Harry, Ron and Ginny, and fell back to walk beside Charlie. "Good game, Malfoy."

"Thanks," he said.

Then Hermione grinned and linked arms with Charlie. "Nice flying," she said pleasantly.

"Thank you, mon cheri." Charlie bent down and placed a kiss on the top of Hermione's head.

Draco felt slightly ill. The thoughts that hadn't formed in his mind yet, of stealing glances at her, talking to her, making her laugh, running his fingers through her hair, kissing her, now bombarded him as he listened to her chat with her beau.

The force of the feelings shocked him. He barely knew the woman, hadn't seen her in years, and now she winds up in his day, taking his breath away with her grace, and then running off with the only person around whom he'd felt comfortable. Since when did he have these kinds of thoughts, anyway? True, he hadn't been in a relationship in a long time, but these thoughts felt so ... juvenile. He pushed them away and saw that they had reached the forest.

George, Harry, Ron and Ginny were waiting.

"Malfoy," said Harry. "You've never been to the Burrow, and there are wards up. You'll have to go with me."

Draco frowned. "Side-along?"

"Afraid so. All right?"

He considered telling Potter that he would rather go a month without a meal than get close enough to Side-Along Apparate, but he'd sworn to behave. He gritted his teeth and nodded. "Make it quick."

Ron sniggered. "Merlin, Malfoy. It's not like Harry's gonna pull a tooth out or something."

Ginny rolled her eyes and Hermione scowled at Ron.

Draco ignored them and waited awkwardly for Harry. "Potter?"

The bespectacled wizard went to him and held out his arm. Draco took a few deep breaths, stared above everyone's heads, and lightly put his hand on Harry's arm. Almost immediately, he felt the pull at his navel that signified Apparation, ten times worse as a passenger.

When they landed on solid ground, Draco let go of Harry's arm as though burned. Harry just gave him an amused look.

They were standing outside what appeared to be a house with another house stacked on top of it, and a few extra rooms thrown on top for good measure. It would appear that becoming Minister of Magic had not affected Arthur Weasley in the least.

Draco glanced around the yard and saw an open shed with a car sticking out, a pair of men's legs extending from underneath it. It looked as though the car had rolled over the man, which couldn't be possible, because the car was tucked halfway into a shed.

Harry saw where Draco was looking and explained to him that Arthur had always been fascinated with Muggles and their cars. After the disaster with the Ford Anglica, he had promised his wife he wouldn't purchase another car in order to magically enhance it. Instead, he found an old Volkswagon and liked to spend part of his Saturdays 'tinkering under the hood.'

"I see," said Draco, catching the faint sound of whistling coming from the shed.

"Look, Malfoy. Thanks for coming out," said Harry. "I'm sure you didn't know what to make of my inviting you, but I'm glad you came."

"I had a great time," he said truthfully.

"So great that you'd agree to come out next week too?"

Draco looked at Harry skeptically. "Why?"

"We're one man down. Bill...that's Ron's oldest brother...and his wife, Fleur, are in France for a month visiting her family. We could find someone else, but if you want the spot, it's yours."

"Why did you invite me in the first place? Was that a show for all those reporters?" What Draco really wanted to know was why Potter had kept a box safe for his father while he was in prison. He didn't think it was the right time to ask, and he should probably be asking his father. Still, he was intensely curious.

"No," said Harry. "No show. I had just got to thinking, with your father's impending release. It ... seemed like the right thing to do."

Draco waited for more, but the others were arriving. Charlie and Hermione appeared closest to the house and walked together toward it, still arm in arm.

Ron came up beside Draco and Harry and scoffed. "Disgusting, isn't it?"

Harry chuckled.

Draco glanced at the redhead. "What, are they together?"

"Who knows?" said Ron. "They've been off and on for years. One week they're not talking, the next they can't live without each other. Bloody obnoxious. Wish they'd just get married and be done with it."

"Ron, you're always saying that," Harry chided. "She isn't going to marry Charlie. They're good friends."

"I heard Charlie's got a girl back in Romania," said Ginny, catching up to them and taking Harry's hand.

Just as they reached the house, Charlie emerged, his wand in hand. "We're eating outside. George, help me with the tables?"

It wasn't long before Draco felt completely ill at ease. After the Quidditch players had changed their clothes, all of the Weasleys, plus Harry and Hermione, were rushing about being productive. Some of them carried things, others chopped, and poured, and stirred. Draco tried to be as unobtrusive as possible and ended up standing alone near the tomato bush, watching a garden gnome sneaking through the rows of vegetables.

"Ready!" cried George.

Everyone descended upon the table like locusts to a field of wheat. Draco approached slowly, worried that if he made any sudden movements, he might lose a finger. Harry noticed him first and scooted closer to Ginny, pushing Ron away, to make room.

The meal was unlike any in his home, but reminiscent of Hogwarts. They sat at a picnic table in very close quarters, passing food every which way, talking loudly and over everyone else.

"Ooh! Draco, dear," said Molly when she spotted him. She smiled and waved pleasantly. "Nice to have you! Stay for tea?"

He groaned inwardly, the limits of his patience already expended. He could not make it an entire Weasley day. Fortunately, someone spoke to her, so he ducked out of her sight and tried desperately to think of something to say that would get him involved in a conversation. By sheer luck, he was seated across from Hermione.

She was sandwiched between Charlie and George, and neither was speaking to her at the moment. She was eating her meal, chewing slowly, and had a far-off look in her eyes, as though she was thinking deeply about something.

"Why did you come?" he asked her, hoping she would hear him over the ruckus around them.

"Hmm?" she said, her gaze dropping to meet his eyes. "To Quidditch?"

"Yeah. All you did was read."

"I watched," she said in mock indignation. Her eyes were dancing with mirth, the sun hitting them in such a way that they seemed to stretch for infinite. "That move you did, where you had the ball, and were flying at the other team."

"Right. That one," he said, teasing her.

She quirked an eyebrow. "You spun around on your broom to fake the other person out. Then dodged the other two between you and the goal. Scored. I saw it."

He hated the swell of pride that bubbled in him at the knowledge that she had paid special attention to him, if only for a moment. Juvenile, it was. He reminded himself that she'd probably seen all of Charlie's moves, good or not.

"So you glanced away from you book for half a second."

"It's a lovely place to read, very relaxing. I go every week." She smiled at him as a basket was passed in front of her face.

"What's with the sofa?" he asked.

She laughed. "It's the most comfortable thing you could ever sit on."

"But it's ... orange, it's hideous!"

"I'll have you know I rescued that delightful piece of furniture from certain doom and restored it to health. Cleaned it, refluffed the cushions, and brought it back into its prime."

It was his turn to laugh. "In other words, you nicked it from the rubbish pile."

"I ... well ... you sat on it. Is your only complaint the color?" she challenged.

"I reckon so ... though the fabric was scratchy. Probably had fleas," he teased, finding it rather natural to flirt with her.

She laughed again, and then George called her attention away. Though Draco was unhappy that she was no longer talking to him, it gave him the opportunity to stare at her a bit. He wanted to see if he could pinpoint the source of her radiance, to find some tell that would give away her secret. All through lunch, he watched her talk to her friends and laugh; he noticed that she constantly tucked her hair behind her right ear. Near the end of the meal, he became enamored with her hands. They were thin, but strong, worn from hard work. She held her fork with a serene grace that pureblooded witches would sell their kidneys for.

Harry tried to make conversation with him a few times, but it was stilted and inevitably they fell to silence, and Harry was swept into another conversation.

After the dishes had been cleared and everyone remained at the table, talking, Draco stood to take his leave.

"No, no you don't," said Molly, getting up and going to him. "We haven't had pudding yet, young man."

Arthur smiled at him kindly from the end of the table, as though to say he was sorry for his wife's persistence, but that he really should stay for pudding.

"Really, Mrs. Weasley, I've lingered long enough. I should be going."

She looked as though she might force him back into his seat, but Harry stood up and clapped him on the back.

"Good having you out, Malfoy. I'll walk you outside the wards."

Molly sent a short-lived glare Harry's way and returned to her seat. The rest of the Weasleys waved goodbye and he returned it, glancing at Hermione as he did. She was smiling at him like the others and gave him a small wave.

They walked out of ear-shot of the table, and Draco let out his breath. He was nearly free; though his day hadn't gone as badly as he had feared, it had still been awkward and he could sense all of the things that remained unsaid between him and them. One Quidditch game and lunch couldn't erase the past and he knew it.

"That was ..." he began.

"Interesting," Harry finished, walking into the woods on one end of the property, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Could've been worse."

"No kidding."

"I think George and Charlie had a bet going about you and Ron, which of you would physically assault the other."

"Well, neither of us did."

"I have a feeling Ron got wind of it and had Ginny bet that way for him. Charlie and George's bets are famous for approaching ludicrous. I think that's one reason Ron didn't interact much with you. Which means, now that I think of it, that Ginny and I should have a neat little sum headed our way. Maybe we'll go away for a weekend."

"I'd like to have been in on that," Draco said, his boots crunching twigs with a satisfying snap on every step. "Might have made the occasion more interesting."

Harry chuckled. "I don't think we needed any help with that."

Draco stopped walking and looked at Harry. "So, what gives, Potter? When do we talk about this?"

Harry frowned. "About what?"

"About ... that time in fourth year we tried to hex each other and ended up hitting Granger and Goyle. About you pummeling me after beating us in Quidditch fifth year, me constantly cracking on Weasley and his family, Granger ..." He didn't like to think about that because, always, it ended with images on her writhing on his drawing floor in agony.

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "No need."

"Are you sure?"

"We've all talked about it," said Harry. "Ron, Ginny, Hermione and me. If you're willing to overlook the past, so are we."

Draco pursed his lips and considered Harry. "We were kids, but I was more at fault than any of you."

"You had some stupid ideas, but you inherited them. So long as you aren't spouting off that ignorant rubbish, we'd like to think we might get along with you."

Draco wasn't ready to let it go yet. He had said and done a lot of terrible and stupid things as a child, and over the years, he'd come to recognize that. He'd repeated the things he'd heard at home, but after being forced into a man's role at the age of sixteen, he quickly found he didn't know what he believed. He remained in a state of constant fear, hoping that no one would notice him or ask him to do anything. After the war, he'd again been put into a position usually reserved for someone much older than he, and childish insults, pranks, spells, and words hadn't been a part of his life since.

Still, he was aware of the effect his behavior as a child had on those around him, and he was willing to accept that some damage was too deep, too thorough to be forgotten. With Potter and Weasley, it had been words, Quidditch, mildly harmful curses in the halls. With Granger, it had been far worse. He'd not only attacked her for her house and friends, but for her very nature, her essence. And he had watched her be tortured and done nothing.

"No ignorant rubbish. I've been extra-educated in that regard."

"Good," said Harry. "Then, friends?"

"Why?" asked Draco. "Why now, why ... friends?"

Harry shrugged. "Why not?"

"It's not done for no reason. What made you invite me here, what makes you want to ... be friends? And don't give me some empty cliché that means nothing. I'm not looking for a new gaggle of mates, so there had better be a really good reason for me to accept this."

Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Malfoy. What's wrong with wanting to set things right? You offered friendship once, and I spurned it. Now, I'm trying to fix it. If that's not a good enough reason, then ..." Harry stopped then and looked at Draco intently, searching his eyes so hard he was squinting. Then he continued. "Don't take this any way, and don't even bother asking questions; I can't answer them. You may not need friends right now, this moment, but you might, someday."

At once, Draco thought of the box Harry had stored and remembered the way Lucius had looked when Harry had returned it to him. Potter knew something.

In two quick strides, Draco was in Harry's face, looking down at the slightly shorter man, anger evident in his sneer. "Tell me," he said, his voice shaking with fury. "Tell me, or so help me, I will..."

Harry pushed Draco away with surprising force, his face set but not angry. "I told you, I can't answer your questions. Malfoy, just think about it, all right? Come back next week if you'd like. You are welcome."

"How much farther?" Draco demanded.

Harry pointed. "That tree with the red leaves. You'll be able to Apparate beyond it."

Draco was already walking, his blood pounding in his ears. He heard Potter sigh. Once he reached the tree, he Disapparated without a look back.

He arrived in his bedroom and took several deep breaths to calm himself. Then he went to the window, threw open the curtains and sat in the window seat, leaning his forehead against the window.

It irked him tremendously that Potter knew something about his family, something that would one day affect him...from the way Potter spoke, negatively...and he had no clue about it. His father had refused to speak on the subject, and it appeared that his mother knew about the box and its significance as well. Why was he being left out? Why was Potter let in? None of it made any sense.

Potter's offer of friendship was insane. How did the man think they would ever be more than acquaintances? Did he envision Draco joining them for meals or inviting him to parties? What could they talk about? Their lives were completely different; in the seven years since school, they had only intersected on a few occasions, all of them war-related. Draco donated money, publicly, and then Potter thanked him, publicly. That's how it had gone.

The others ... Weasley, Ginny, George ... He hadn't seen them since the end of the war, and he didn't assume that Potter's invitation came from them as well. He knew better than that.

Charlie, on the other hand, Draco could see himself actually talking to.

But Granger ... she was completely different. He felt uncomfortable twinges in his heart when he thought of her and knew that he wanted to apologize to her. He hadn't admitted regret or sorrow at his previous actions to very many people...perhaps only Greg...but he had wronged her most egregiously, and to her he wished to make it right. Or, rather, better; he could never make right what he had and hadn't done in the past.

Slowly Draco's blood cooled, and he made a point to pin his father down about that box when he returned. Then he decided that if the chance ever came up, he would speak to Hermione and make things better.

ooo

"You look awful," said Pansy Parkinson as Draco slid into the seat across from her. She was wearing a revealing, dark blue dress that displayed her chest in such a way that all the men who passed their table glanced over. Her hair was pulled back with a sparkling barrette and done in an old-fashioned finger-wave.

"Nice to see you, too," Draco said, barely glancing at her as he reached for the wine menu.

Pansy inhaled on her cigarette and blew the smoke to the side.

Draco scowled and reached over, took the fag from her hand, and put it out in the ashtray. "You think I'd ever want to kiss you? That's so disgusting, Pansy."

She pretended to be upset and opened her menu. "Why are you late?"

"Busy," he said, still reading the wine list.

"Draco?" she said in a strained voice that made him look up. "Why do you hate me so much?" Her eyes were full and bright, as though she might cry at any moment.

He closed the menu, forcing a steady stream of air through his nose. "I don't hate you, Pansy."

"You do," she pouted. "Here we are at a nice restaurant, and you're late, in a bad mood, and you haven't even seen what a pretty dress I'm wearing."

Draco gave her the once-over and forced a smile. "You're smashing, as always."

"You're such a liar," Pansy said, reaching into her purse for more lipstick.

The waiter arrived then and they ordered.

"Well?" Draco said. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"I'm sure there are places you'd rather be," she simpered. Then she was all business. "Why don't we just get married, Draco? Things will be so much simpler. Think what an asset to your business I would be."

He scoffed and took a sip of his wine.

"I'm serious!" she said, upset at his dismissal. "I have taken my father's money and increased it by over fifty percent, and you know how much traveling and shopping my mother and I do. I'm really very good with making money, although I much prefer spending it."

"We don't love each other," he said, tired with the same argument. "Never have, never will."

"Oh, don't be such a romantic, Draco. There's no need to bring love into this equation. We'll both make do. It will be a mutually beneficial partnership, one where we are both accepting of each other's dalliances."

"Perhaps I am something of a romantic, Pansy, but I don't want a partnership. I want ..." He had no idea, really; all he knew was that it wasn't what she was describing so flippantly. "Something else. I wouldn't be opposed to loving the woman I marry."

"But think, will you?" She leaned closer, talking quietly. "You'll always have me, and I you, but we'd be free to seek out and find love in other places."

"Yes," he said, getting annoyed. "I grasp the concept. What you fail to hear is that I don't want that sort of arrangement. I ... fine." He leaned forward as well. "Let's discuss your arrangement. What if I agree, and we ... dally, and one of us falls in love? What if I want to be with her, or you with your lover? What then?"

"We won't let that happen. But if it does, then, you can be with her," said Pansy stiffly. He could tell she didn't like the idea one bit.

"Not just be with her, but make her my wife. What then?"

Pansy glared at him. "We would be married. You would have to settle for having a mistress."

"Would she move in with us?" he bit out. Draco's words were laced with ire and his tone venomous. "Share the bed? Better yet, we'll take the bed, give you a cot. Or you could have your own room, find someone for yourself."

"Stop it!" she cried, banging her fist on the table.

Draco leaned back, aware of the looks they were getting. "No. I wouldn't risk it. If I accept your proposal, I will have no intention of seeking a woman to love. If it happens anyway, well, we would cross that bridge when we got to it."

Pansy was breathing very hard, her chest heaving. Draco wondered for a moment whether she was trying to catch his attention, but her expression was one of frustration and hurt. Unfortunately, she caught the waiter's attention instead, and he tripped, spilling their meals all over the floor right beside their table.

Draco rolled his eyes and finished his glass of wine. Pansy, on the other hand, shrieked and jumped away from the mess, her hand flying to her heart. The waiter apologized profusely, and Pansy berated him for nearly spilling something on her dress. made a show of having him help her see if anything had gotten on her or her dress.

Meanwhile, Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose at the minor scene Pansy was making. By the time the waiter left, he was muttering apologies with every breath, backing away like a puppy with its tail between its legs. That was Pansy; she could chew a man up just as easily as she could seduce him.

"That could have ruined my dress," Pansy said when she finally sat down.

"That would have been a tragedy," said Draco in a bored tone.

"The meal should be free," she muttered, scowling at the empty spot where her plate should have been.

He chuckled. "The man dropped our food. I should hope we'd get some sort of compensation."

"We've gotten sidetracked." Pansy raised a well-groomed eyebrow, as though daring him to be the one to resume their discussion.

Draco let out an exaggerated sigh. "Call me a romantic if you will. I want more than what you're offering. It's as simple as that."

"You see?" she said, her eyes blazing. "You do hate me."

"I don't hate you. I don't love you the way you want, and I don't understand why you want to marry me. You barely tolerate me as it is!"

Tears welled in her eyes, and Draco knew he had finally hurt her. He hadn't meant to, at least, for the most part. He had wanted her to understand why he couldn't accept her proposal, and he never really knew how far he could push before she'd feel it.

"Merlin, Pansy, I'm sorry," he said, reaching for her hand.

She snatched it away and pulled a handkerchief from her purse. "Don't touch me, Draco. I don't see why you'd want to. Since you hate me."

Draco growled quietly in frustration. "Pansy..."

"You know what? I'm not even hungry anymore." She stood up, tossed her napkin on the table, drank what was left in her wine glass, and stormed through the restaurant toward the door.

She'd never resorted to such dramatics before, and it took Draco a few seconds to react. He stood, apologized to the waiter who was bringing them a second bottle of wine, tossed down a handful of coins, and went after her. He caught up to her at the door where she was putting on her light cardigan.

"Pansy," he said, taking her elbow.

"Don't, Draco," she said, her tone dangerous. She flashed him another glare and burst through the door onto the street.

Again, Draco followed her.

"Honestly, Pansy, I don't get it. I..."

He wasn't able to finish his sentence, however, because Pansy spun on her heel, closed the short distance between them, and kissed him. Her lips moved fiercely against his, desperate, insistent. She prodded his lips with her tongue, and when he didn't admit her, bit gently on his lower lip. Draco didn't know what he was supposed to do. Should he kiss her back? Would that help the situation? Or would she think he was responding to her because she had ignited something inside him? Stuck in indecision, Draco merely stood there for the few seconds it took Pansy to get out of her system whatever had propelled her to kiss him.

She backed away from him and sighed. "Well. That was awful. You're a rotten kisser."

Her words jolted Draco from his shock and he leveled his gaze on her. "I am not a rotten kisser."

"Yes, you are. I just kissed you, and it was terrible." She sniffed and pulled her cardigan around her. "This dress is so impractical, what was I thinking?"

Draco stood rooted in place, and his hands felt oddly out of place. He had no idea what to do with them, so he finally shoved them in his pockets. "Pansy ...."

"I love you," she said, laughing lightly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Doesn't that count for something?"

He stared at her, stunned into silence and inaction. She wiped her nose on the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, a futile exercise since she was still crying.

"Merlin help me, I do, Draco. Did you really not know?"

Slowly he shook his head, his mind frozen, locked in panic.

"I've tried so hard to get you to n-notice me, pay attention to me as a woman. I do things I think you'll like, buy clothes that are supposed to help me. Remember when you said you liked the way dark purple looked on me? I spent almost a thousand Galleons on dark purple clothes. I hate purple. And you never noticed any of it."

Draco was desperately trying to form a coherent thought that he could turn into something useful to say. All he could do was wonder how she thought sleeping with every man she came across would make him notice her. "I ... Pansy, I didn't know."

"Now you do," she said, her anger deflating. "I finally decided the only way I could get you to listen to me, to consider being with me, was through an official proposition, drafted by a lawyer."

"Pansy," he said, still not knowing what he could say. "I've never felt that way about you. I'm sorry. I thought you fancied the life you'd have with me; I thought it was a phase." He nearly slipped and told her that the only reason he hadn't said no yet was because he needed the money. Not only would that have made her feel even worse, but she would have demanded to know what he meant.

"I guess ... that's a no, then," she said, sniffing.

Bugger, it would have to be. His chest tightened at the idea of losing a way out of his financial difficulties, but a moment later it relaxed and he felt better, though only slightly, than he had since he'd received the elaborate document by official post.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She looked like she might cry again, then she sucked in her breath and gave him a small smile. "I think this might be the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Draco was still recovering from her declaration and her comment confused him. "How's that?" he asked gently.

"I have wanted to kiss you for years," Pansy said, pulling a cigarette and her wand from her purse. With a flick, she lit the end and inhaled deeply. "Years, Draco."

"I'm sorry it was so terrible then. What a disappointment."

She laughed and started walking. "It really was. I thought there would be ... sparks, fireworks. I thought the world would stop and that you would finally see me, see what we could be together. I think I've been in love with an idea for so long that I'd come to imagine it was the only way I could possibly be happy."

He still didn't know what to say, so he walked beside her, comfortable for the first time in years.

"I think I'll take a holiday," she mused. "Alone. It would do me some good, I think. I need to remember me, I think. Instead of the me-who-is-waiting-for-you."

"Pansy," said Draco. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Really. I feel like a whole new woman already."

Draco scowled and, after a few moments of silence, muttered, "I'm not a terrible kisser. I've never had any complaints before."

"Fine, fine," she said impatiently. "Your ego must be soothed after that egregious wound it suffered. That was a terrible kiss. Better?"

"Mildly." He smiled slightly.

They stopped outside an alley from which they would both Disapparate, and Pansy smiled at Draco in a way he'd never seen before.

"Pansy, I'm confused. What happened tonight?"

She sighed dramatically and tossed the butt of her cigarette on the ground, then snuffed it with the heel of her shoe. "My world...at least, what I thought was my world...got turned inside out, but it was okay. I'm going to be okay. I'm going to travel somewhere I've never been, see what I can see with new eyes."

"Do you ... still fancy me?" Her demeanor was so serene now, so calm, that if he hadn't been with her the entire time, he would have bet she'd taken a Calming Draught.

"I'm not sure!" she marveled. "Even if I do, that kiss doesn't exactly pique my interest. How about I come over when I get back? We'll have tea, and talk. Like we did, once."

"Sure, I'd like that."

"Night, Draco," she said and stepped into the dark alley.

Draco waited for the characteristic pop and then continued walking down the street in search of something to eat.

ooo

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed Hermione's entrance into the story. I'd love to hear any and all theories you have so far on what's going on. Many thanks to my betas: manda, zoe, pokeystar, & drcjsnider. Chapter title belongs to The Postal Service.

Art Credit: The faboluous manip for this chapter was done by silverotter1 of LiveJournal.

Don't forget to check out the music! Playlist by inadaze22.