With a racing heart, Draco approached the Zabini mansion. Like his own family home, Blaise's was dark enough to scare the living daylights out of any who approached. But his friend had answers, answers he so desperately needed. His fear of large, ancient mansions would have to wait. He approached the door and knocked, praying that Blaise would be home.
It seemed luck was finally on his side.
"How are you not hungover?" Blaise asked in lieu of a proper greeting.
Draco shrugged and let himself in. "I don't think I drank that much last night," he replied. "Hermione said I didn't seem drunk when I got home."
Blaise smirked. "So you and the wife have made up then?" he inquired, taking a seat on the sofa.
Taking in his friend's boxer-clad appearance, Draco asked, "Could you please put some pants on?"
Rolling his eyes, Blaise summoned a pair of jeans and slipped them on. "Pardon the smell," he said. "Elfie's been a bit behind on the wash. So, what's going on then?"
Sitting down, Draco exhaled a deep breath. "Do you remember getting drunk in my office?" he asked. "Because that's the last thing I remember, and Hermione said that had to be seven years ago."
Dark brows furrowed. "Maybe you are hungover, mate," he replied. "We went out last night and you had maybe two drinks. You don't even work for your father anymore. There's no way we...well, you got drunk there. Hermione's right - you were completely sober when you left last night. Must have been all that water you were drinking. Might consider trying that myself one day."
Running a frustrated hand through his blond locks, Draco stared at his best friend. "I'm not talking about last night," he stated. "I'm talking about something that supposedly happened seven years ago. It just feels like yesterday to me."
Blaise shrugged and moved to the bar cart to pour himself a drink. He offered one to Draco, but he refused. "We used to drink in your office all the time," Blaise recalled. "And then you got married, and we started doing it less and less. It didn't stop, it just became less frequent. We'd still go out after work to drink though. Why are you acting like you don't remember any of this? I didn't think sobriety killed your brain cells."
"It isn't an act," Draco tried to explain. "It's not amnesia. I don't know what it is. All I know is I woke up next to Hermione Granger this morning, found out I have two kids, and I'm thirty. Oh, and apparently, the woman I thought was my wife might soon be my ex-wife."
With a chuckle, Blaise replied, "So much for my toast."
Blond brows knit together. There was one toast he remembered clearly, but he needed to know if it was the same one his friend had mentioned. "To living the lives we want?" he asked.
Blaise nodded. "Glad you remember my toast from your wedding," he replied. "I thought for sure you were too distracted by Hermione to notice anything around you. All you did was stare at her that night. Can't say I blame you. She is pretty nice to look at."
An overwhelming wave of angry jealousy washed over him. "Never speak of her that way again," he said through clenched teeth. "I may not remember much, but she's still my wife."
Holding up his hands as a show of surrender, Blaise asked, "Why did you really come here?"
Sighing, Draco sat down. "You're the last person I can remember seeing," he explained. "I was hoping you could tell me what happened."
"Sorry mate," Blaise replied. "I don't know."
After his discouraging conversation with Blaise, Draco made his way to the park closest to their home. He found Hermione on a bench near a large playground, smiling and waving as Ayla and Leo played on the jungle gym. When he sat down, she told him what Leo had said before they left.
