Had Katie gotten away at the Final Battle? Who else had escaped?

She pondered the information, rereading the front page article for hints and subtext. Her eyes blinked quickly at the date. It had already been one month since the Battle of Hogwarts.

A weight dropped over her as she realized that today was June 4. She burrowed even further into her chair, awash with shame that Draco would be still mending broken bones on his birthday.

~*~

The next day, she wandered the library, bravely pulling the Horcrux text down and reading it for the thousandth time. She looked up Fiendfyre again. She looked into Basilisk venom.

She found nothing else useful.

When she climbed the stairs back to her room, she thought she'd try Draco's door again. She'd forgotten to try it on her way down to the library, even though it was a force of habit by now—

The handle turned. She pushed open the door and entered the room before it barred her.

Knocking hadn't even occurred to her. She shut the door swiftly once she was through.

"Granger?"

He laid against his pillows looking deathly pale. When her eyes met his, he began shifting, attempting to sit up, possibly saving his dignity.

"Don't," she cautioned, moving toward the bed. "Don't injure yourself further. I'll be quick." She wrung her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry, Malfoy."

His eyes grew wide, and the color returned to his cheeks as she came closer.

"I had no idea that my magic wasn't being suppressed. I thought—I thought I was being given the potion—which, actually, I'd like to ask about, but—no, another time."

She was stammering and she felt a blush rise from her chest. He pushed his limp hair off of his forehead, raking his fingers through it.

"I would never have—have injured you further on purpose. I promise that wasn't my—" She swallowed. "I mean to say, I was just very angry, and I felt out of control—"

"Granger—"

"Please let me finish." She stepped forward again, and for a wild moment she thought about taking his hand, sitting at the edge of his bed— "It was unintentional. And—and of course I don't blame you for what happened at Dover. I disapprove of your fath—your family's position in the war, but I'm aware that things could be much worse for me. I know you're just doing your best—"

"Granger, we have company."

She froze, heart stopping. Spinning to the other side of the room, she found Blaise Zabini reclining comfortably in Draco's wingback chair, sipping merrily from a glass and smirking.

"Granger. So good of you to drop by."

Her lips parted uselessly, staring into Zabini's dark eyes as he smacked his lips, drinking in the brandy and the show.

"Zabini," she said cautiously. She calculated all the words she'd just said aloud, combing them for mistakes and terms too intimate.

Of course he was here. It was Draco's birthday, wasn't it? She looked back to him, a strained look on his pale features, and she felt so foolish for rushing in here, for forgetting everything she'd worked so hard to compartmentalize and hide. The anticipation of seeing him again had been too great, and the need to apologize had overwhelmed her logic.