Draco stepped out of Potter's Floo and into his cozy little sitting room. Dusting himself off, he looked up as Susan stepped into the room, drying her hands on a dish towel. Her hair was wet and she was in loungewear and, for a moment, Draco felt guilty. It was early afternoon on a Sunday, a day he knew was one of Susan's only off-days, a day she used to spend with Potter, whose own schedule was so wild it often made Draco's head spin. The guilt doubled as he looked at her kind, wide eyes, knowing what he was about to ask of her fiancé. What he was about to ask of them all.