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"If there ever comes a day when we can't be together, keep me in your heart, I'll stay there forever."
~Winnie the Pooh
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"Go home, Alan, I'll take care of this," Draco said over his shoulder to his assistant head. 

"Good night, Mr. Malfoy," the young man answered, then shot away to the stairs. 

Draco took care of all the loose ends before he thought of going back home. He put the empty bottles back into the 'Reuse' crate for Wax Nose to pick up the next day, shut the cabinets and locked them, then cast permanent sticking charms on the Vitamax (one particular old woman had thought it would be a good idea to gulp down ten whole bottles). The Blood Replenishing Potions were sent off to their respective wards, the blinds pulled down, the candles lowered. Draco finally took off his stuffy Healer's robe and shoved it into his bag. 

He had long since gotten used to walking through the silent hospital at night. In fact, silent hospitals were better than when the air was filled with the groans of patients. 

Draco nodded in acknowledgement to Alby, the pretty night receptionist with several ear piercings, who had once asked Draco out on a date which he had denied. She nodded back, the pink tinge of her cheeks not going unnoticed. Draco walked out through the glass into the night. 

Normally he would apparate back to the Manor, but he had promised Pansy to see Atlas once that day. 

Grabbing his wand, be twisted on the spot. 

Blaise and Pansy had moved to a small house near the country, surrounded by rolling grassy hills and large stretches of land between neighbouring houses, to give Atlas a good environment to grow up in. They frequently came to see the others though, so Atlas, at a year old, knew city life just as well as he knew life in the country. He was a charming child, with deep green eyes and dark hair, and bore a strong resemblance to Pansy, while his antics resembled Blaise. Blaise had already gotten him a toy broom for when he would be older.

Draco was relieved to find the light of the kitchen window on. He knocked softly on the door. 

"Ah, it's you," Blaise said, smiling lazily. He looked slightly ruffled.

"Hello to you too," Draco said, smirking and walking inside. He placed his messenger bag on the table by the door where the house keys and such were kept, "Is Atlas awake?"

"I think you mean to ask 'Does he ever sleep anymore'?" Blaise corrected, and Draco followed him down the hall, "His sleep schedule is so messed up...I go to work every morning looking like a troll."

"Draco," Pansy said from where she was sitting on the couch in the living room, with Atlas in her lap, and a story book held in her hands. Pansy yawned hugely, and Atlas giggled and placed a small hand on Pansy's cheek, to which she smiled and kissed his palm.

"Hello, Atlas," Draco said, kneeling down in front of the couch. 

Atlas's grin grew wider, and he surged forward in Pansy's lap, stretching his arms out and wriggling his fingers, "Maffie."

Draco's heart filled with warmth as he picked the little boy up in his arms, "How are you today?"

"Pway," Atlas said instantly, wrapping his small arms around Draco's neck. 

"No more playing, Atlas, it's bedtime," Blaise said firmly yet gently, and Atlas instantly pouted. 

"He's going to start crying again," Pansy said irritatedly, and she stood up, "Give him here."

Draco shook his head, "I'll read him a story."

Pansy worried her lip, hesitant, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, hand me the book," Draco said, and Blaise gave him The Tales of Beedle the Bard, "You both get some rest. Atlas and I will have some fun, won't we?"

"Read me Babbitty Rabbitty?" Atlas asked in a persuasive tone, widening his eyes. 

"Yes, yes, you menace," Draco sat down on the couch Pansy had been occupying and placed Atlas in his lap. He opened the book to the story of Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump, and cleared his throat theatrically. Atlas giggled. 

Draco had to read the story four times before Atlas's head fell limp on his chest. He placed the book carefully down on the centre table, and picked the sleeping boy up. Draco placed a protective hand over Atlas's little head, and went up the stairs to put him in his small bed beside Pansy and Blaise's. 

Pansy and Blasie were sitting on the back steps, looking utterly worn out. 

"That tired, are you?" Draco asked, sitting down next to them. 

"Has he gone to sleep?" Pansy asked, laying her head on Blaise's shoulder. 

"Yes," Draco said, leaning back and bracing himself against his arms. The sky was clear and cloudless, the stars visible. He wondered whether people in America saw the same stars. 

"Has Herm-"

"No," Draco said instantly, and clenched his jaw. 

Pansy sighed, "I wonder how she is."

"I don't care," Draco said, the lie ringing through the night air. 

"Maybe she's ill, Draco," Blaise said, "Maybe she can't-"

"She could have written," Draco snapped, his eyes filling with the tears that always came when he thought about her, but which he never allowed to fall, "She could have sent word in some way. Face it, she doesn't care."

Draco turned away from his friends to look up at the sky, his nostrils flaring. His heart beat a dull tattoo against his chest, and he sniffed. 

"We can't say that for sure," Pansy said, straightening up, "I don't think I know her well enough to judge her, but I do know that she would never bail out on anyone."

"She's changed, then," Draco sniffed again, then said in a slightly desperate sort of way, "It's been nearly two years since she said anything, Pans."

Another sniff. 

He was briefly reminded of a day at the apothecary, the day that had sparked the friendship between himself and Hermione. 

"When was the last time you wrote to her?" Blaise asked. 

For a long time, the sound of insects buzzing was the only thing to be heard. Somewhere, far away, a few dogs were barking. 

"Last Christmas," Draco said at last, and he felt the pain all over again. 

It never went away. 

She had ruined him. 

~~~~

"Malfoy, are you still with us?" 

Draco snapped out of his thoughts, and blinked at his surroundings, "What?"

Harry frowned, "I was asking you about work."

"Oh," Draco shrugged and leaned back, sipping butterbeer from his bottle, "Work is fine."

Blaise was out cold on the table, and Ron was on the way. Currently he was tipsily singing something which Harry informed Draco was a muggle song. 

"We should really bring someone else along with us when we come out for drinks," Harry said, looking at Blaise's snoring form.

The Leaky Cauldron was almost empty, except them and a group of loud Warlocks who were engaged in a game of levitating empty bottles. Tom the Barman was beginning to put away the chairs for the night. 

"No, Pansy and Ginny and Everhard need their time to themselves as well," Draco said, taking another sip. 

The women spent Fridays at Pansy and Blaise's, so that they could take care of Atlas if need be, while having their own time as well. 

Ron had finally slumped over the table, which put an end to his godawful singing. 

"When did the world come to this?" Harry asked to nobody in particular. 

Surprisingly, Harry was no lightweight. More often than not, Draco and Harry would be the ones to remain slightly more sensible than the other two. Draco, who had learnt his lesson about drinks, mostly kept to having Butterbeer. 

"No idea," Draco muttered, and sighed. 

Narcissa had called some of her friends over for dinner that day, and Draco really wasn't in the mood to face any of the rich, blood-prejudiced women then, for even though his mother took no part in such conversations, her friends did, and it raised Draco's temper.

"How's work?"

"You already asked me, and I said it's good," Draco scowled, and took the bottle from Harry's hand. Harry didn't protest. 

~~~~

"Yes?"

Draco pushed the door open a little wider, to find Genesius Ridge, his superior, seated with none other than Dorian Hailen. 

Draco couldn't help but feel a little bitter towards the man who was the reason Hermione had gone away.

"Take a seat, Malfoy," Ridge motioned to the empty seat, and Draco sat down, looking cautiously at the two elder men. 

"A team of potioneers and medicine handlers are required," Ridge got to the point, as always, "To help with the promotion of the Bloodroot Antidote in the States."

Draco swallowed. 

The Bloodroot Antidote, Draco's own creation, which he had developed for his father a long time ago, had gained popularity. In fact, a whole newspaper column had been dedicated to it the day Draco had had it patented. 

"You are to select a team of no more than five other people," Dorian Hailen spoke, considering Draco over his glasses, "We require only two days of your time."

Draco glanced at Ridge, who was looking expectantly at him. 

Th States…

Hermione...he could see Hermione… his heart gave a pang of longing, and his feelings roared back to life as if they had been waiting for an excuse to do so. 

"Do you accept?" Dorian asked, holding his hand out. 

Draco nodded, and briefly shook his hand.

~~~~

The team of potioneers left three days after the deal had been made, and the two days after that went by in a blur of visiting the various Wizarding hospitals, private practitioners, apothecaries and also Ilvermorny. The first hours had been spent at the RHMC, and Draco kept imagining that there was someone with bushy brown hair around the corner, or that someone sounded like Hermione. He had been so paranoid of running into her and having nothing to say that he had made a point of always looking carefully up and down corridors before taking turns.

On the second day, after the last apothecary had been visited, Dorian had let the team off for exploration. 

Draco was more than a little apprehensive when he apparated to Albany. 

He knew her address. She had told him of it a long time ago, and unless she had moved in the time that had elapsed, Draco realised with a pang, he would soon be standing in front of her. 

He found the apartment building. It was smaller than the one she had in London, but it wasn't dingy or dirty or anything. Corresponding to ber letters, the large lantern of the Chinese takeout place on the next street added its light to that of the streetlights.

Draco was directed to her house, which was on the third floor. 

The nearer he drew to seeing her, the heavier his steps seemed to get. And when he was finally standing in front of her door, he found that he could barely breathe. 

Oh come on, he scolded himself, it's no big deal...you're only seeing her after two long years…

He raised a hand and knocked much louder than he had wanted. 

The door opened a few moments later. 

A girl who could be no older than five or six stood blinking up at him. She had golden ringlets of hair that fell over her shoulders, and pretty, dark eyes. There was flour all over hands, and she had an apron that said 'Cook at Work'.

"Who is it, darling?"

"I don't know, Mama, come see," the girl said in a voice that suggested she was a little afraid. Draco mentally assessed his appearance, and he didn't know why his shirt, scarf and coat should alarm a child.

Child.

All the will to see Hermione disappeared. 

But she appeared around the corner, with flour covering the best part of her hair, messy hands, dressed in pyjamas that Draco had seen her in very often. She stopped dead when she saw him. 

His heart hammered away, nearly bursting out of his chest in its tizzy. Draco waited with bated breath for the first word.

"Malfoy?"