I spend the next day, Sunday, alone in my vacant dorm doing homework, studying -- anything to keep myself busy without having to go into the common room and deal with Pansy and her she-goblins.

The next two weeks mirrored the previous; detention and more detention. Draco sat in his usual spot for dinner, but Pansy was a noticeable few-feet farther from him than usual, still annoyed at his telling her off the other night.

I felt like I wanted to say something to him, talk some more, but maybe that was wrong of me. Perhaps September thirteenth's events meant something different to me than him. I had thought I was making another friend, but I suppose he was just being nice. After a lifetime of only being close to a sister, I think I was getting a little ambitious in the 'friend making department'. After all, just having Holly's acquaintanceship was more than I'd ever expected.

Going around the school and anticipating everyone to suddenly find me interesting was ridiculous. Still, I'd thought Draco did. How naive.

My suspicions were proven correct when September changed to October, and still, not a word from him.

I tried to brush it off, it was all good -- who needed Draco Malfoy anyways? I'd gone five years without holding a real conversation with the kid, why did it matter now?

When the months changed I realized my travel-ban to Hogsmeade was thereby lifted. I thought about maybe inviting Holly, that Joss girl, and her brother, Caleb, out with me, reprising our suspended plans.

But after much mental debate, I'd decided maybe that wasn't the best idea.

With Draco's half-refusal of friendship in mind, it dawned in me that perhaps Holly was just exceedingly nice, that's all. She wasn't looking for a life-long friendship. Boundaries, Astoria.

So, the first friday of October, I headed over to the Three Broomsticks by myself. It was crowded, full of Hogwarts students and teachers among the ordinary wizards. I squeezed into a seat at the bar, not wanting to take up a whole table for myself.

"What'd you have, las?" the waiter asked, a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.

"Just a Butterbeer, please," I said.

So I sat there with my Butterbeer.

Wow. This was boring. Maybe I should've just stayed at school, or invited Holly. I was staring off into space, tuned out from the world, leaning on my palm, when the chair next to me scraped along the stone floors with an obnoxious, grinding screech.

"Oh, sorry about that," said the voice of whoever caused the noise, now sitting. I turned to look at him, and a hurricane of thoughts all marked with abrasive question marks flooded my mind.

It was Draco. Draco Malfoy. Sitting next to me.

So did September thriteenth's events actually mean something? Did he even realize who he was sitting next to until I turned around? Was this a coincidence, or did he purposely sit by me? Was he taller? He looked taller. Was he smiling? That was unusual, I mean, he smiled that day on the balcony, but no one was around -- I didn't know Draco Malfoy smiled in public.

Was he even the same kid that I used to know? Slytherin king, ferret-faced, Potter-hating, Draco Malfoy, or was he different now, for good? Was he always like 'Balcony Draco', was that his new default, or was he still the same swaggering jerk? If he was this new and improved Draco 2.0, then why didn't he talk to me for three weeks? Did he forget? What was it? And why did I always refer to him as 'Draco Malfoy' even in my thoughts? AH! Why are my palms so sweaty?

I was going in circles. Oh God, he was staring at me. It was probably glaringly obvious that donuts were being made in the drag race of thoughts coursing through my head. Say something, Astoria. What did he say to you again? 'Sorry', he said 'sorry' about the noise. How do you respond to that?

"Oh, It's okay," I said.

A small smile lingered on his face before the bartender asked him what he wanted.

He asked for a Butterbeer. I almost commented, saying, same!, But realized just how lame that would sound.

Just relax, Astoria. Deep breaths. He'll either talk to you, and your suspicions of him avoiding you will be proven false, or he'll keep quiet, and at least you'll know; his kindness was just that; kindness. Just trying to be nice, friendly.

The affirmations my self-coaxing brought helped me suppress the rising nerves. When I glanced at him again, a Butterbeer was placed in front of him.

He was tapping his fingers on the table, uncomfortably. Hm. This could mean many things.

Possibly, it could imply he has realized his mistake in sitting next to me, for, he was in fact trying to avoid me.

Or, perhaps he also felt the awkwardness here, balancing between us in equal increments of unease, which could coexist with my first theory, or mean something else entirely.

Maybe he was feeling the same sort of awkwardness I was, not sure what to say, but wanted to say something. I liked that idea better, him wanting to talk to me. It made the whole debacle more approachable, feeling I atleast wasn't alone in my apprehensiveness.

He cleared his throat. I sipped my Butterbeer.

Uh-oh, kink in the operation. That was the last drop of Butterbeer in the cup. An obnoxious slurp ripped through the silence between us as I sucked the last drops through the straw.

"Another Butterbeer, las?" the toothpick guy said, extending his hand for my glass.

Decision time. Do I stay here, suspended in the awkward limbo, or make this easier on both Draco, and myself, and just leave?

No, no. I would see this through. I wanted answers, some concrete confirmation from him. Were we friends, were we not? No. I would stay.

But then my mouth betrayed me.

"Er, no. I'd, um, better get going," I said, fishing around in my bag for money, anything, I didn't care -- I just had to get out of there. I handed the man a coin, and collected myself, wrapping my scarf tightly around my neck.

The man's eyes were wide, jaw dropped.

He looked up at me. "Thank you, miss!" He beamed. A golden light glinted from his palm. Oh, bloody hell, I gave him a galleon. Well, that was by far the most expensive trip to the Three Broomsticks I'd ever had.

"Oh, um, your welcome," I said, pushing in the horribly loud stool. I stood up tall, trying to mirror Daphne's old stance. Shoulders back, chin up, chest out. Got it. As gracefully as possible, I turned around. CLANG!

A warm sensation spread down my chest to my feet.

I was covered in Butterbeer.

"BY MERLIN -- I'M SO SORRY!" The gangly waiter shouted, beet red, an empty tray which held three Butterbeers tilted in his hands. The three glasses lay shattered on the floor. I couldn't bring myself to look back at Draco's expression. "ARE, ARE YOU OKAY?" The waiter sputtered, still shouting.

"Uh, mh-hm, yeah, I'm, I'm good, it's fine," I said in a quick whisper. The whole restaurant was staring at me, dead silent, until a piercing laugh penetrated the web of eyes boring into me.

I knew that laugh. Ugh, I knew that laugh all too well.

Oh, oh of all days, of all people to be there, why did it have to be Pansy? The boy was sputtering apologies (the only other person making noise except Pansy and her brood of gremlins) and grabbing handfuls of napkins, flying and cascading through the air in his frantic wake. But before he could hand any to me, I ran out the door, the little bell ringing furiously from my quick escape.

I walked as fast as I could, which wasn't very, until I was a sufficient distance from the building, and found a little bench in an alley between two shops; hidden enough from the public for me to fully grasp my supernatural nack for the unbelievably embarrassing.

I was gasping, my body shivering from a combination of the liquid turning to freezing moisture with every whip of the frigid wind, and my hardly speedy getaway, my body chastising me for the ridiculously small, yet far too ambitious, over exertion.

It was bad enough I embarrassed myself in front of Pansy, but Draco too? Both of them in the same room when that happened? Burying my face in my hands, I replayed the event over and over, groaning with more embarrassment each time.

"Astoria?" someone called. No not someone. I should've been used to automatically assuming whenever 'someone' was calling for me, sitting next to me, or finding me somewhere, it was Draco.

His shoes crunched in the snow at the opening of the little alley, and the bench creaked under his weight. I removed my hands from my face, placing them on my knees.

A beat of silence.

"That was um," he cleared his throat, " 'you okay?"

I groaned. "Was it that bad?"

He shook his head. "No, I think the waiter was loads more embarrassed than you," he said.

I nodded, my face still all scrunched up with chagrin.

"Well. . . that's. . . something, at least." I said. He looked at me, a grin on his lips. Unable to refuse, I mirrored the grin, mine however definitely showing my humiliation.

"Oh -- here," he said, taking out his wand.

He waved it in a complicated little circle, and all traces of Butterbeer had been dried from my clothes, a warm, fresh feeling placed over the now dry areas.

"Thanks," I said

He nodded.

Awkward silence. So awkward. Both of us, staring at the gray brick wall in front of us, biting our lower lips, unsure of what to say.

I was sure of what I wanted to say. 'Why haven't you spoken to me? Are we friends? Is that what this is? Are you nice now, or still the same old Malfoy, who just so happened to let me see a glimpse of what is under a false exterior?' The pit of my stomach willed words to form in my mouth, my whole body trying to string together a coherent sentence. But my mouth stayed shut tightly, swallowing down the questions.

He cleared his throat. He cleared his throat a lot when he was uncomfortable. Clapping his hands on his knees, he said, "Well, I'd better be going. . . . I mean -- you said you needed to go earlier before the whole Butterbeer thing, so I'll leave you to that. . . ."

I nodded. "Oh, yeah, yeah sure," was probably what stumbled from my mouth.

"Well, goodbye," He said, standing, making to leave. My hand was raised in a wave goodbye.

A crunch, now three, of his shoes in the snow. Maybe the distance is what gave me the unwarranted surge of unfiltered confidence. Before my mind could review it, my mouth was saying it. "Are we friends, Draco?"

Out of all the possible iterations, that's what I came out with? I said it so eagerly, I sounded like a desperate school girl. Well, okay, I suppose I was a desperate school girl, but I didn't want to sound like one.

This threw him off guard. He stood, half turned, frozen like a candid picture. His eyes were wide, eyebrows raised, and lips parted. He stayed that way for a beat too long, and must've realized himself and his surroundings again when he said, "Uh,"

Just that small 'uh' made me well up with apprehensive anticipation. My heart was beating painfully against my ribs. Why had I asked? What was he going to say?

I longed to be a Legilimens, read his mind, know exactly what he was thinking.

"I-I don't know. . ." he said. I couldn't read his tone.

"It-it's just, I wasn't sure, so I just figured I'd ask, but I don't know why, that, that was weird," I said it all very, very fast, shaking my head and putting my hand on my forehead, standing up and getting ready to dash away, and never look back at the knot of embarrassment I caused in my path.

"Oh," he said. Just oh? What kind of an oh was that? What did anything he say mean?

"Because we haven't really spoken so. . ." I tried to clarify, but quieted at the sound of my own words.

He was thinking, thinking intensely, widening the silence.

"I just thought because of the, you know. . ." he said, his voice trailing off, looking up at me with yet another unreadable expression.

My face must've shown my confusion, because his expression softened and he leaned to the side a bit, choosing his words carefully "The Dark Mark." He cringed at his own words.

Snap -- All the puzzle pieces fit together in my mind. It was his Dark Mark, not me -- but what about it? I suppose not all the puzzle pieces fell into place, but at least the edges were filled in.

"What?" I said bluntly.

He bit his lip, tapped his foot, and gave me pleading eyes, as if to say 'Don't make me say it'. But I wasn't caving, my expression still hard and confused.

He sighed and looked down at his hands. "Because it was Daphne's birthday and, given how she died. . ."

Oh. Oh. I think I said one of the 'ohs' out loud. That's what this was about. I didn't know what to say -- I wasn't prepared for this answer.

An out of place happiness began to bloom in me. That was bizarrely considerate, him thinking of feelings of mine I hadn't even thought of. I smiled to myself. He caught the smile.

"That's not your fault," I said. I meant it. The words tread out slowly.

We locked eyes. A pause. I smiled.

There it was again, an expression that I (think I) can read: Gratitude. I wish he'd stop with that expression, like he has to thank me for tolerating him, when only minutes ago I thought he was avoiding me.

"That's not your fault," I said it again, softer, less power, more meaning.

Now he was the one smiling. He nodded to himself and said, "We are friends."