Draco was facing away from him, serving himself from the tea service that Daisy had somehow managed to set up in the forty seconds it had taken Blaise to reach the drawing room. From the back, Draco appeared almost entirely unchanged. His signature platinum blonde (nearly bloody white) hair was swept back at the ears and temples, cut short in the back; his posture was perfect, as expected of a wizard of his lineage; the well-tailored charcoal suit he wore showed off long legs and wide shoulders. The air around him seemed more... settled. Before, especially after Hermione had left and Draco had gone off the deep end (losing himself in drink and dark tracking magic), the air around him had fairly crackled with desperate energy, so potent that it nearly shocked the skin of anyone who stood too near. The energy abated only after Draco took his tracking efforts a step too far and nearly blew up Pansy's house in the process. The melancholy had set in after that, stifling any and all who approached or spoke to Draco. But now... he seemed better, truly. More settled in himself, more at peace. At least that's what Blaise hoped he was feeling. He'd love nothing more than to learn that Draco had well and truly gotten over Hermione and that her impending reappearance in his life wouldn't cause a shit storm.