A/N: um, hello? It's been...a while. Like, years? I'm so sorry. For a while there I thought maybe I'd given up on this, and decided to move on. I'm not actually sure what brought me back to it, but yeah. I'm working on this again! I don't know if anyone's actually still interested in this, and I'm so sorry to anyone who's been waiting since 2011, you are amazing. So yeah, here's the next chapter! Hopefully I'll actually get back into the swing of writing, and it won't be years (or even months, hopefully) till the next update comes out. I'm going to start working on the next chapter now, and I hope you enjoy this one!

Disclaimer: They're not mine, of course! Harry and Blaise and Draco as well as all the rest of these characters don't belong to me!

Harry had been avoiding Cassandra, it was true. He knew that eventually he'd have to face her, to conduct an interview for Blaise's case—mostly a formality, since Harry knew all the answers to the questions he was going to ask, but there had to be a record of the interview. That wasn't the way he wanted to see her, though. But now, with Cassandra sitting in front of him, in Grimmauld Place, he didn't know how he had made it so long without seeing her. She was right—they were family. As small and broken as they were—smaller, and even more broken now—it was still true.

She didn't ask him how he was, and he returned the favour. There was no point; they were both painfully aware of how they felt. Blaine's absence was so glaringly obvious that it felt like a tangible hole in the room, and they both seemed to be making tremendous conversational leaps to avoid bringing him up. Instead, they spoke about everything, and nothing—what Cassandra's book club was reading, what they had had for meals this week, how their correspondence with mutual friends was going. It wasn't until they had migrated to Harry's kitchen to cook something that Blaise was mentioned at all.

As they entered the kitchen, Harry hurried to pack away the photographs, papers, files that were strewn across the room, trying to get everything out of sight before Cassandra realized what they were, but he had no such luck.

"Harry," Cassandra began, her voice deadly neutral, "is that Blaise's case?"

"…yes?" Harry replied cautiously. He knew as soon as the words were out that it was the wrong answer. Cassandra's face closed off with anger.

"Why do you have those files? And why are they spread out all across this place?" she asked angrily. "Do you think it's fun to torture yourself?"

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face. He had known that he would have to justify himself to Cassandra at some point, but hadn't braced himself for it today.

"No, of course not," Harry answered tiredly. "I'm not torturing myself – I'm not," he added when she raised an eyebrow at him. "I just…I needed to do this, Cassandra, I needed to." Harry collapsed into a seat and dropped his face into his hands. "I couldn't bear the thought of someone else being the one to do this. I…I just…I needed to be the one to find his killer, to make sure that he pays. I have to find who it is."

Cassandra didn't reply, and when Harry looked up, her expression was pinched and worried.

"I'll be fine, I swear," Harry told her.

Cassandra reached across the table and clasped Harry's hand in hers. "You're going to kill yourself this way. You can't do everything, Harry. Sometimes, you need to take a step back and realize that you're human, too."

Harry looked down at the table, tracing the grain of the wood with his eyes, trying to will back the tears.

"I don't know how to be without him anymore. I don't know who I am without him. I can't just let him go," Harry whispered.

"I don't either," Cassandra admitted honestly, surprising Harry into looking up at her, "but we'll figure it out together. You're not alone in this, Harry."

…&…

Draco pushed his food across his plate absently, not really focused on eating, but on Potter. It had been a week since Blaise's death, three days since Draco had discovered their relationship, and Draco had been doing his best, but Potter seemed to regress further into himself as time went on. Draco needed a new game plan. Bringing Potter food and forcing him to take the occasional break hadn't done anything. There had to be a way to bring him out of his protective shell and make him see that there's more to him than Blaise.

A noise from across the table drew his attention and he looked up to see his mother staring pointedly at his plate as she delicately cut her food.

Draco sighed and put his utensils down. He wasn't eating anyways.

"Something bothering you, Draco?" his mother asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"No, Mother," Draco replied, "it's just that…" Draco trailed off and Narcissa set her cutlery down across from him and focused her whole attention on her son.

"How…" Draco started again, "how well do you know Potter?"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "What brought this on, Draco? What are you thinking?" she asked. Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm not plotting anything, if that's what you're worried about," Draco replied. "It's just that…he's the one working Blaise's case," he shrugged, faux-casually, "I'm concerned, is all."

If Draco hadn't been watching his mother's face carefully for any reaction, he would have missed the flash of concern that passed through her eyes before she dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.

"I'm sure Mr. Potter has more knowledge of his own limits than you," she said in reply, and rose from the table.

Draco was left staring absently across from him at her plate, lost in his own thoughts until his musings were interrupted by a house elf trying to clean up.

…&…

During the next week, Malfoy popped up almost everywhere Harry went. He couldn't seem to get away from the man. He was waiting outside Harry's office with pastries and coffee when Harry got into work in the morning, and he had started to join Harry on his coffee break now, too. His Monday coffee break had been the most awkward fifteen minutes Harry had experienced since joining the DMLE. Neither man had known what to say to start a conversation, not wanting to bring up Blaise or the case – the only things they knew they had in common, and Harry was completely bewildered by Malfoy's presence anyways. Next, Malfoy started following Harry back to his office after coffee. He never said a word, but would casually lounge in the chair opposite Harry's desk with a case file in hand, and proceed to go to work without a word. Harry rarely found himself alone these days.

By the end of the week, though, Harry found that he was growing accustomed to Malfoy's presence. That wasn't to say he understood why Malfoy had suddenly attached himself to his former enemy, but if he was being honest with himself, Harry didn't mind. He could still get his work done while Malfoy sat opposite him and, although he'd never admit it out loud, it was almost comforting some days not to be alone. He had noticed that Malfoy was good at noticing when Harry had lost himself in memories or thoughts of Blaise that hurt. He could tell when Harry was really being productive and when he was faking. Malfoy even seemed to have a sixth sense for when Harry really needed a break, needed to get away from Blaise's case files.

Today, Harry barely spared Malfoy a bemused glance before immersing himself in the files in front of him as Malfoy situated himself in what had somehow become 'his' chair across from Harry.

The office was silent except for the sound of paper flipping and the occasional scritch of a pen, and Harry continued to work until he noticed Malfoy had stopped flipping through his papers.

"What do you do for fun, Potter?" Malfoy asked, breaking their customary silence.

"Excuse me?" Harry replied, surprised, raising his head to look at him.

"You heard me," Malfoy replied persistently, "What do you do when you have time off? Or your Friday nights? Blaise…" he hesitated before continuing, "Blaise always spent Friday evenings with me, so what did you – do you do?"

Harry closed his eyes briefly against the now-familiar flash of pain deep in his chest that came with the mention of Blaise.

"Why do you want to know?" It was a bizarre subject to bring up when they'd been doing so well at not mentioning what had started their tentative companionship.

Malfoy shrugged. "Curiosity."

Harry studied Malfoy's face closely. Over the last week he had consistently searched for some remainder of the boy who had tormented him in school, but whatever had happened over the last few years had changed Malfoy. Fundamentally, he was still the same person Harry remembered. He was still cunning, quick-minded, sly, but he had changed, too. He no longer acted with the entitlement he had worn like a cloak in Hogwarts. He had started thinking his actions through. His work with the DMLE was flawless, and he had worked hard to earn his position. Right now, though, he seemed genuinely curious about how Harry spent his Friday nights.

"I just…" Harry began before he stopped and shrugged. "Usually I spend Fridays with Hermione and Ron, mostly. Sometimes we go out with Seamus, Dean, and Neville for drinks. Sometimes we stay in. Nothing too exciting, really."

It was a vague reply, but nothing that wasn't true, and nothing that explained the look of surprised glee that had come across Malfoy's features.

"Are you going to be with them tonight?" he asked, and Harry paused.

"I...forgot it was Friday," he said evasively. He had actually planned to go back to Grimmauld Place tonight with Blaise's file. It had been two weeks now, and he still couldn't figure out what he was missing. Malfoy's eyes narrowed at him.

"Go hang out with your friends tonight, Potter," he said, standing up. Harry gaped at him.

"Why do you even care?" he asked. The question came out harsher than he had intended, and he winced a little. Malfoy had been good to surprisingly good to him, he didn't deserve Harry's anger. "Nevermind," he said, "don't answer that, it's fine." Malfoy had paused at his door when Harry snapped at him, so he turned to face him now.

"Just don't stay at home tonight," Malfoy said with a small shrug. "You should be with your friends."

"I'll…I'll think about it," Harry replied. It was about as close to a real answer as he was going to get, and Malfoy seemed to realize it. He nodded sharply and left the room.

Harry slumped down when the door shut. He didn't understand what was going on, or why Malfoy was hanging around him now, or why he even cared.

He checked his watch and started packing up his belongings when he realized what time it was. He paused as he began to reach for Blaise's file, though. Harry ran his fingers over the cover, thumbing at Blaise's name before tapping the folder and picking up his bag.

When he closed and locked the office door behind him, Blaise's file was still sitting on his desk.

A/N: So yeah. I hope that this was okay, sorry it's shorter than I meant it to be! I'll get right to work on chapter 5, and I hope you guys still love me!

Reviews would be amazing!

All my love.