Ginny stood in the reception area, the parcel containing Draco's personal things clutched under one arm, tapping a foot impatiently as she waited for him to change into his civvies. She frowned a little when he emerged from the bathroom, wearing the suit he'd had on the day of his trial; it was clear he had been keeping up some kind of exercise regimen, as his clothes, made for a thin, lean boy then, fit poorly now, as though they'd shrunken in the wash.
"Hm," he said, looking down at himself. Movement was awkward, and he could practically hear the seams of his shirt straining to hold themselves together. He wasn't sure if it was allowed to take the prison uniform out of prison, and he wasn't sure he wanted to ask, either. Having to keep wearing his prison garb on his first day out seemed like a bad sign.
"If you can lurch your way over here," Ginny said, walking to the wand check booth at the main entrance where she'd had to surrender her wand before going inside, "I can probably fix that for you. Wouldn't want you going around looking like the Incredible Hulk."
"Who?"
"Never mind; just try to get over here without flashing anyone, please."
Draco slowly made his way over to her, and once she collected her wand and they were both outside, Ginny cast several spells enlarging the clothes slightly so that he was no longer in danger of an involuntary striptease. As she considered the length of his sleeves, he gazed at her and their surroundings with a weird look on his face, which set her off talking just for the sake of it, a nervous habit she had developed over the years whenever silence was a little too uncomfortable. "Dead handy, these alteration spells. Mum taught me as soon as I was able to do my own magic, since I got a lot of hand-me-downs from my brothers, and I either had to fix them or go around with clothes that hung like tents off me," she babbled, cringing inwardly as her brain caught her up to the fact that she was talking about her upbringing to the one person who would deride her most for it.
He blinked at her, his brow furrowing slightly, as though contemplating the reason for her existence. "Do you mind?" he said finally. "This is my first step outside in three years. I ought to be having a special moment."
"Mm, right. Sorry, I forgot to bring my roll of red carpet for the occasion," she said, suppressing a scoffing noise and wondering whether he'd notice if she split the back seam of his trousers. Deciding that seeing his bum was not something she would like to experience, Ginny finished up his sleeves instead. Then, suddenly remembering the parcel she had collected on his behalf, she held it out to him. "Oh, here, it's the stuff they kept for you."
Draco opened it, a smile uncontrollably spreading over his face as he peered in. His wand was first to emerge, his fingers closing around the slender wood; it felt good in his hand, safe and familiar, like getting reacquainted with an old friend. His magic felt stiff and stale from years of being barred from using it, and he wondered if he even still had the knack for it. Taking it slow and easy, he levitated a pigeon feather off the ground. "Well, that's a relief," he said, letting the feather fall.
"Congratulations, you've achieved a first year charm. You must be so proud."
"You know, for someone whose job it is to be well-spoken, polite and diplomatic, you're awfully mouthy, Miss Minister's Office of Communications, Public Liaison subdivision."
"Oh, and here I thought you hadn't been paying attention. Do you want to go through more of your things or can we go?"
"I'll spare you the gory details of my personal effects. Let's get out of here. I never want to set foot in Scotland again."
"Good, that means I won't see you when the next Quidditch Cup's held here," Ginny said, and yanked her bag open to retrieve the Portkey that had been set to take them to Malfoy Manor upon activation. She held out a wooden ruler that had been snapped in half. "Hold on to this," she said, and when he touched it, she cast the spell to trigger off the Portkey.
Shortly, they appeared in the front gardens of Malfoy Manor. Even in its state of disuse, the property's attitude still remained haughty and imposing, but incredibly beautiful; the garden acreage was probably several times larger than Ginny's entire flat, and swirls of hedges and browning blossoms formed intricate, Victorian patterns around the paved walkway leading up to the main door. At the height of the Malfoys' good fortune, the sight would have been nigh on awe-inspiring. Ginny felt as though she ought to genuflect at the Manor's front steps, which were flanked by larger-than-life iron statues on high pedestals, of whom she assumed to be long-gone, revered Malfoy ancestors cast for posterity in some sort of ancient wizarding military garb.
Draco's feet reflexively propelled him up the white marble steps, breathing in rather than looking at the surroundings in which he had grown up. His hand curled around the front door's golden doorknob, Draco pushed the door open, feeling deteriorating magic settling over his shoulders like a damp blanket as he stepped over the threshold. The house seemed darker somehow; it had never been an altogether cheerful place, of course -- any building with that much history living in its foundations naturally exuded the sort of sedate air that made people talk in low whispers and look over their shoulders warily in the dark of night -- but devoid of any inhabitants and with much of the furniture gone, either taken to Normandy or confiscated by the Ministry during a zealous raid, Malfoy Manor now seemed more like a mausoleum than a home. Clearing his throat just to fill the oppressive silence, Draco heard his cough reverberate off the cold, stone walls and echo back to his ears, mocking his solitude. He stepped backwards and shut the door. He wouldn't live there again.
"What's the matter?" Ginny asked, looking at him curiously as he descended to join her at the bottom of the stairs.
"I'd rather not live here," Draco said, somewhat stiltedly.
"What? Why not?" she demanded.
Draco inhaled deeply, watching out of the corner of his eye a garden gnome scurry across a dry patch of lawn. "It's a bit large for one person, don't you think?"
"Since when do you have a problem with excess?" Ginny asked, a hand on her cocked hip.
"Now," he said, rubbing a finger along the base of one of the statues. The water repellent charms had started to wear off, leaving a light patina of rust. Draco brushed his finger off on a trouser leg.
"That's very nice for you," Ginny said dismissively, "but according to my notes, your family has no other properties in Great Britain. Where do you think you're going to stay?"
"I'll get by," he said vaguely. "Now, as much as it would warm the cockles of my heart to have you constantly at my beck and call, I don't actually need you to babysit me, so you're free to go back to doing whatever it is you normally do on a Friday morning."
Ginny cast a suspicious glance at him, and wondered if she should argue the point -- she was under orders from the Ministry, after all, to look after him -- or just let him be and take the easy excuse he was giving her -- he was a grown man, and who was she to say he couldn't take care of himself?
"Well, it's been fun. Bye," he said, making a gesture that strongly resembled a shooing motion.
When she was finished rolling her eyes, she narrowed them at him. "Yes, thanks, I can take a hint. Don't forget the press conference. Or at least --"
"I'll inform the Minister that I won't be attending."
"Fine. But don't tell him I gave you the choice," she said, fishing another Portkey out of her bag to get back to the Ministry. Along with this, she pulled out Draco's copy of the pardon and shoved it into his hands.
"Are you saying you were being nice?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. But I also happen to think that you don't deserve the attention, so it works out really well for both of us that you don't go."
"You're a very bitter woman, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't call it 'bitter' so much as indignant that someone like you is given a second chance that you didn't earn."
Draco shook his head and let out a soft, mirthless laugh. "Comfortable up there on your high horse?"
"Quite."
"You want to get off my property now?"
"I'm dying to." She tapped her wand on the Portkey and disappeared.
Draco let out a loud breath of irritation. Dealing with the Weasley girl was exhausting; he remembered it now from the handful of run-ins he'd had with her during their school days, which seemed at once like a past lifetime and just yesterday. She was one of that group of people too caught up in their own goodness to notice that they, too, looked down on those unlike themselves; she had, however, if he recalled correctly, some iota of good sense to know when fire was called for and when to back down, unlike her brother, who would shout himself blue at a brick wall for standing in his way.
Putting thoughts of school nemeses aside, he Apparated himself across the garden for practice. Once he had enough successful tries under his belt and was reasonably satisfied that doing it at a longer distance wouldn't get him splinched, Draco looked up at the sprawling manse he'd once called home, making a mental note to check up on the current property value, and Disapparated.
Blaise awoke to an unearthly commotion coming from somewhere in the area of the living room, which did not bode well for the hangover he was sporting. The sunlight happily pouring in through his east-facing windows did not much help matters either. Groaning as he felt his way to the bathroom, Blaise stuck his head under a faucet and ran cold water until he felt somewhat alive enough to then find the stash of potions he had brewed for just such mornings. He rinsed his mouth out to get rid of the feeling that a furry animal had set up camp and died on his tongue, and then downed the contents of a vial, perking him up instantly.
Hearing a loud squeal just outside his bedroom, he remembered why he had woken up in the first place. "Elba?" he called out tentatively, and yanked on a pair of pyjama bottoms that happened to be in reach. If he was being attacked somehow, he'd at least have the dignity of dying clothed. He had just grabbed his wand off the nightstand when the elf he had called for appeared in his room, her bottom lip quivering, yet somehow managing to exude joy at the same time.
"We're not under siege, then?" Blaise asked, his posture relaxing a little.
"Master must come and see!" said the elf, hopping from foot to foot, her hands waving excitedly.
"Did I accidentally order a girl in a cake again?" he murmured to himself and followed Elba out into the living room. His jaw dropped upon seeing Draco sitting comfortably on the couch, idly flipping through a magazine. "What the hell?"
"Hi," said Draco, setting the magazine down.
Blaise took a small step backwards, his mouth still slightly agape. "No," he said, twisting his wand between his fingers. "Who are you?"
"Draco," said Draco.
"Prove it," said Blaise, raising his wand.
"Try me."
"All right." He thought for a second, and came up with, "What's your middle name?"
Draco cocked his head to one side, shooting his friend a withering look. "That's it? That's the question you're going to ask to prove that I am who I say I am? Oh, come on, Zabini. Anyone who'd go through the trouble of looking exactly like me, breaking into your penthouse and waiting for your drunk arse to wake up would have done at least some basic research first before embarking on such a shoddy plan."
Blaise grinned widely. "Well. So it is you after all." He strode swiftly over to the blond and wrapped him in a quick hug. "And may I say again, what the hell?"
"I'm out of prison."
"I can see that. And how much time do you think I have before the authorities descend upon my house and accuse me of harbouring an escaped convict?"
"Do you really think I figured out how to escape from jail?"
"Well, if anyone was going to beat the system, it would be you. Breakfast?"
"It's almost eleven."
"All right," Blaise said, taking this information in his stride. "Elevenses?"
"Please."
"Elba," said Blaise.
The house elf came into view, practically shaking with delight. "Yes, Master Blaise! Elba will prepare snacks for the masters that is Master Draco's favourites," she sang, and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Hey," said Blaise, and slid onto the other end of the couch.
"It's because she likes me better," Draco explained rather smugly. "Possibly from that winter fourth year I holidayed with you and your mother in Switzerland, and I made her launder and iron my bed sheets every time she came to turn down the bed."
"Yeah, that'll do it. Now," he said, gesturing in a sweeping motion Draco's unlikely presence, "explain."
"It seems Minister Trench has been convinced that my trial was not much more than overzealous agitprop --"
"Too right."
"And he's seen to it himself to reverse my fortunes," Draco finished, and showed his friend the official pardon. He considered mentioning the visit from the representatives of the Unit, but thought better of it -- not only would he come off looking slightly crazy, but he wasn't entirely sure the organisation wouldn't disembowel him for talking about it to someone who wasn't in the know.
His mouth curling up into a smile as he read the decree, Blaise shook his head in incredulity and handed the parchment back. "That's --" he said, struggling for once for the right words. "This is bloody fantastic."
"Yes, I rather thought so myself," Draco said, matching the grin on Blaise's face. He let the sentiment linger while Elba emerged from the kitchen with tea and cakes enough to feed a large contingent and laid everything out for them before making herself scarce again with a happy squeak. Pouring tea for them both, Draco went on, "Well, other than sharing that bit of news, I do have a few favours to ask."
Blaise spread his palms, as if to say, 'Anything.'
"I need a place to stay for a bit, while I sort myself out."
"Guest bedroom's all yours, and you're welcome to stay for as long as you want. Here's the one house rule," he said, holding up a finger. "What's mine is yours, except for girls, my toothbrush, and my secret stash of Belgian chocolate."
"Just like old times, then."
"Well, yes, except this time I actually expect you to not pilfer my sweets."
"It's not my fault you didn't choose a more secure location than the secret compartment in the back of your desk drawer. Besides, it was Goyle who did the pilfering."
"Yes, and it was Goyle who discovered how to unlock the drawer, release the hidden spring catch, and lift and slide the correct panel away."
"He was a man of hidden depths," Draco said, taking a sip of tea. "Full of surprises."
"And you're full of something else entirely," said Blaise, amused.
"So they say. Well, if I promise to keep my hands off your chocolate, can I borrow a few changes of clothes?"
"Have at it. My tastes run a lot more to the colourful side, so you might have to stop dressing like you're going to a funeral everyday."
"Oh, you know, reflects the state of my soul and all that."
Blaise tilted his head, feigning surprise. "You have one?"
"If conditions are favourable," Draco replied lightly. "You have stationery handy? I need to compose a heartfelt and gratitude-filled letter to the Minister, and tell him why I can't come to his press conference today. Care to help? You always fit the bill of silver-tongued serpent more than I."
"My god, a compliment. How could I resist?" Blaise said, hand to his heart, and eased himself off the couch to fetch the necessary items. Returning shortly with parchment, quill and ink, he asked, "And are we going for sincere, or so saccharine he thinks it's sincere?"
"Does it have to be one or the other?"
"Since when do we do middle grounds?"
"Good point. Listen, when we're done with this, there's just one more thing I need to ask of you."
"Yeah?"
"I don't think my mother knows I'm out yet."
"Oh," said Blaise, stretching the sound out.
"Come with me to Normandy for a bit? I think there's going to be a lot of crying."
"Hm," he said, looking down at himself. Movement was awkward, and he could practically hear the seams of his shirt straining to hold themselves together. He wasn't sure if it was allowed to take the prison uniform out of prison, and he wasn't sure he wanted to ask, either. Having to keep wearing his prison garb on his first day out seemed like a bad sign.
"If you can lurch your way over here," Ginny said, walking to the wand check booth at the main entrance where she'd had to surrender her wand before going inside, "I can probably fix that for you. Wouldn't want you going around looking like the Incredible Hulk."
"Who?"
"Never mind; just try to get over here without flashing anyone, please."
Draco slowly made his way over to her, and once she collected her wand and they were both outside, Ginny cast several spells enlarging the clothes slightly so that he was no longer in danger of an involuntary striptease. As she considered the length of his sleeves, he gazed at her and their surroundings with a weird look on his face, which set her off talking just for the sake of it, a nervous habit she had developed over the years whenever silence was a little too uncomfortable. "Dead handy, these alteration spells. Mum taught me as soon as I was able to do my own magic, since I got a lot of hand-me-downs from my brothers, and I either had to fix them or go around with clothes that hung like tents off me," she babbled, cringing inwardly as her brain caught her up to the fact that she was talking about her upbringing to the one person who would deride her most for it.
He blinked at her, his brow furrowing slightly, as though contemplating the reason for her existence. "Do you mind?" he said finally. "This is my first step outside in three years. I ought to be having a special moment."
"Mm, right. Sorry, I forgot to bring my roll of red carpet for the occasion," she said, suppressing a scoffing noise and wondering whether he'd notice if she split the back seam of his trousers. Deciding that seeing his bum was not something she would like to experience, Ginny finished up his sleeves instead. Then, suddenly remembering the parcel she had collected on his behalf, she held it out to him. "Oh, here, it's the stuff they kept for you."
Draco opened it, a smile uncontrollably spreading over his face as he peered in. His wand was first to emerge, his fingers closing around the slender wood; it felt good in his hand, safe and familiar, like getting reacquainted with an old friend. His magic felt stiff and stale from years of being barred from using it, and he wondered if he even still had the knack for it. Taking it slow and easy, he levitated a pigeon feather off the ground. "Well, that's a relief," he said, letting the feather fall.
"Congratulations, you've achieved a first year charm. You must be so proud."
"You know, for someone whose job it is to be well-spoken, polite and diplomatic, you're awfully mouthy, Miss Minister's Office of Communications, Public Liaison subdivision."
"Oh, and here I thought you hadn't been paying attention. Do you want to go through more of your things or can we go?"
"I'll spare you the gory details of my personal effects. Let's get out of here. I never want to set foot in Scotland again."
"Good, that means I won't see you when the next Quidditch Cup's held here," Ginny said, and yanked her bag open to retrieve the Portkey that had been set to take them to Malfoy Manor upon activation. She held out a wooden ruler that had been snapped in half. "Hold on to this," she said, and when he touched it, she cast the spell to trigger off the Portkey.
Shortly, they appeared in the front gardens of Malfoy Manor. Even in its state of disuse, the property's attitude still remained haughty and imposing, but incredibly beautiful; the garden acreage was probably several times larger than Ginny's entire flat, and swirls of hedges and browning blossoms formed intricate, Victorian patterns around the paved walkway leading up to the main door. At the height of the Malfoys' good fortune, the sight would have been nigh on awe-inspiring. Ginny felt as though she ought to genuflect at the Manor's front steps, which were flanked by larger-than-life iron statues on high pedestals, of whom she assumed to be long-gone, revered Malfoy ancestors cast for posterity in some sort of ancient wizarding military garb.
Draco's feet reflexively propelled him up the white marble steps, breathing in rather than looking at the surroundings in which he had grown up. His hand curled around the front door's golden doorknob, Draco pushed the door open, feeling deteriorating magic settling over his shoulders like a damp blanket as he stepped over the threshold. The house seemed darker somehow; it had never been an altogether cheerful place, of course -- any building with that much history living in its foundations naturally exuded the sort of sedate air that made people talk in low whispers and look over their shoulders warily in the dark of night -- but devoid of any inhabitants and with much of the furniture gone, either taken to Normandy or confiscated by the Ministry during a zealous raid, Malfoy Manor now seemed more like a mausoleum than a home. Clearing his throat just to fill the oppressive silence, Draco heard his cough reverberate off the cold, stone walls and echo back to his ears, mocking his solitude. He stepped backwards and shut the door. He wouldn't live there again.
"What's the matter?" Ginny asked, looking at him curiously as he descended to join her at the bottom of the stairs.
"I'd rather not live here," Draco said, somewhat stiltedly.
"What? Why not?" she demanded.
Draco inhaled deeply, watching out of the corner of his eye a garden gnome scurry across a dry patch of lawn. "It's a bit large for one person, don't you think?"
"Since when do you have a problem with excess?" Ginny asked, a hand on her cocked hip.
"Now," he said, rubbing a finger along the base of one of the statues. The water repellent charms had started to wear off, leaving a light patina of rust. Draco brushed his finger off on a trouser leg.
"That's very nice for you," Ginny said dismissively, "but according to my notes, your family has no other properties in Great Britain. Where do you think you're going to stay?"
"I'll get by," he said vaguely. "Now, as much as it would warm the cockles of my heart to have you constantly at my beck and call, I don't actually need you to babysit me, so you're free to go back to doing whatever it is you normally do on a Friday morning."
Ginny cast a suspicious glance at him, and wondered if she should argue the point -- she was under orders from the Ministry, after all, to look after him -- or just let him be and take the easy excuse he was giving her -- he was a grown man, and who was she to say he couldn't take care of himself?
"Well, it's been fun. Bye," he said, making a gesture that strongly resembled a shooing motion.
When she was finished rolling her eyes, she narrowed them at him. "Yes, thanks, I can take a hint. Don't forget the press conference. Or at least --"
"I'll inform the Minister that I won't be attending."
"Fine. But don't tell him I gave you the choice," she said, fishing another Portkey out of her bag to get back to the Ministry. Along with this, she pulled out Draco's copy of the pardon and shoved it into his hands.
"Are you saying you were being nice?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. But I also happen to think that you don't deserve the attention, so it works out really well for both of us that you don't go."
"You're a very bitter woman, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't call it 'bitter' so much as indignant that someone like you is given a second chance that you didn't earn."
Draco shook his head and let out a soft, mirthless laugh. "Comfortable up there on your high horse?"
"Quite."
"You want to get off my property now?"
"I'm dying to." She tapped her wand on the Portkey and disappeared.
Draco let out a loud breath of irritation. Dealing with the Weasley girl was exhausting; he remembered it now from the handful of run-ins he'd had with her during their school days, which seemed at once like a past lifetime and just yesterday. She was one of that group of people too caught up in their own goodness to notice that they, too, looked down on those unlike themselves; she had, however, if he recalled correctly, some iota of good sense to know when fire was called for and when to back down, unlike her brother, who would shout himself blue at a brick wall for standing in his way.
Putting thoughts of school nemeses aside, he Apparated himself across the garden for practice. Once he had enough successful tries under his belt and was reasonably satisfied that doing it at a longer distance wouldn't get him splinched, Draco looked up at the sprawling manse he'd once called home, making a mental note to check up on the current property value, and Disapparated.
Blaise awoke to an unearthly commotion coming from somewhere in the area of the living room, which did not bode well for the hangover he was sporting. The sunlight happily pouring in through his east-facing windows did not much help matters either. Groaning as he felt his way to the bathroom, Blaise stuck his head under a faucet and ran cold water until he felt somewhat alive enough to then find the stash of potions he had brewed for just such mornings. He rinsed his mouth out to get rid of the feeling that a furry animal had set up camp and died on his tongue, and then downed the contents of a vial, perking him up instantly.
Hearing a loud squeal just outside his bedroom, he remembered why he had woken up in the first place. "Elba?" he called out tentatively, and yanked on a pair of pyjama bottoms that happened to be in reach. If he was being attacked somehow, he'd at least have the dignity of dying clothed. He had just grabbed his wand off the nightstand when the elf he had called for appeared in his room, her bottom lip quivering, yet somehow managing to exude joy at the same time.
"We're not under siege, then?" Blaise asked, his posture relaxing a little.
"Master must come and see!" said the elf, hopping from foot to foot, her hands waving excitedly.
"Did I accidentally order a girl in a cake again?" he murmured to himself and followed Elba out into the living room. His jaw dropped upon seeing Draco sitting comfortably on the couch, idly flipping through a magazine. "What the hell?"
"Hi," said Draco, setting the magazine down.
Blaise took a small step backwards, his mouth still slightly agape. "No," he said, twisting his wand between his fingers. "Who are you?"
"Draco," said Draco.
"Prove it," said Blaise, raising his wand.
"Try me."
"All right." He thought for a second, and came up with, "What's your middle name?"
Draco cocked his head to one side, shooting his friend a withering look. "That's it? That's the question you're going to ask to prove that I am who I say I am? Oh, come on, Zabini. Anyone who'd go through the trouble of looking exactly like me, breaking into your penthouse and waiting for your drunk arse to wake up would have done at least some basic research first before embarking on such a shoddy plan."
Blaise grinned widely. "Well. So it is you after all." He strode swiftly over to the blond and wrapped him in a quick hug. "And may I say again, what the hell?"
"I'm out of prison."
"I can see that. And how much time do you think I have before the authorities descend upon my house and accuse me of harbouring an escaped convict?"
"Do you really think I figured out how to escape from jail?"
"Well, if anyone was going to beat the system, it would be you. Breakfast?"
"It's almost eleven."
"All right," Blaise said, taking this information in his stride. "Elevenses?"
"Please."
"Elba," said Blaise.
The house elf came into view, practically shaking with delight. "Yes, Master Blaise! Elba will prepare snacks for the masters that is Master Draco's favourites," she sang, and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Hey," said Blaise, and slid onto the other end of the couch.
"It's because she likes me better," Draco explained rather smugly. "Possibly from that winter fourth year I holidayed with you and your mother in Switzerland, and I made her launder and iron my bed sheets every time she came to turn down the bed."
"Yeah, that'll do it. Now," he said, gesturing in a sweeping motion Draco's unlikely presence, "explain."
"It seems Minister Trench has been convinced that my trial was not much more than overzealous agitprop --"
"Too right."
"And he's seen to it himself to reverse my fortunes," Draco finished, and showed his friend the official pardon. He considered mentioning the visit from the representatives of the Unit, but thought better of it -- not only would he come off looking slightly crazy, but he wasn't entirely sure the organisation wouldn't disembowel him for talking about it to someone who wasn't in the know.
His mouth curling up into a smile as he read the decree, Blaise shook his head in incredulity and handed the parchment back. "That's --" he said, struggling for once for the right words. "This is bloody fantastic."
"Yes, I rather thought so myself," Draco said, matching the grin on Blaise's face. He let the sentiment linger while Elba emerged from the kitchen with tea and cakes enough to feed a large contingent and laid everything out for them before making herself scarce again with a happy squeak. Pouring tea for them both, Draco went on, "Well, other than sharing that bit of news, I do have a few favours to ask."
Blaise spread his palms, as if to say, 'Anything.'
"I need a place to stay for a bit, while I sort myself out."
"Guest bedroom's all yours, and you're welcome to stay for as long as you want. Here's the one house rule," he said, holding up a finger. "What's mine is yours, except for girls, my toothbrush, and my secret stash of Belgian chocolate."
"Just like old times, then."
"Well, yes, except this time I actually expect you to not pilfer my sweets."
"It's not my fault you didn't choose a more secure location than the secret compartment in the back of your desk drawer. Besides, it was Goyle who did the pilfering."
"Yes, and it was Goyle who discovered how to unlock the drawer, release the hidden spring catch, and lift and slide the correct panel away."
"He was a man of hidden depths," Draco said, taking a sip of tea. "Full of surprises."
"And you're full of something else entirely," said Blaise, amused.
"So they say. Well, if I promise to keep my hands off your chocolate, can I borrow a few changes of clothes?"
"Have at it. My tastes run a lot more to the colourful side, so you might have to stop dressing like you're going to a funeral everyday."
"Oh, you know, reflects the state of my soul and all that."
Blaise tilted his head, feigning surprise. "You have one?"
"If conditions are favourable," Draco replied lightly. "You have stationery handy? I need to compose a heartfelt and gratitude-filled letter to the Minister, and tell him why I can't come to his press conference today. Care to help? You always fit the bill of silver-tongued serpent more than I."
"My god, a compliment. How could I resist?" Blaise said, hand to his heart, and eased himself off the couch to fetch the necessary items. Returning shortly with parchment, quill and ink, he asked, "And are we going for sincere, or so saccharine he thinks it's sincere?"
"Does it have to be one or the other?"
"Since when do we do middle grounds?"
"Good point. Listen, when we're done with this, there's just one more thing I need to ask of you."
"Yeah?"
"I don't think my mother knows I'm out yet."
"Oh," said Blaise, stretching the sound out.
"Come with me to Normandy for a bit? I think there's going to be a lot of crying."
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