Steeling himself, and mentally rehearsing the story of his unannounced return, Blaise made his way to the drawing room. He hadn't seen Draco since he had left a little over two years before, having gotten the fuck out of England after a rather explosive (and embarrassingly public) breakup with Daphne. He had vowed, over one-too many drinks with Theo and Draco, that he would never come back to England so as to avoid "prissy English purebloods and their archaic views on monogamy." Draco had cracked a smile, an expression that had not graced his face often since Hermione had left. It had broken Blaise's heart, just a little bit, to see it. He knew his decision to leave was selfish on the face of it, but it had been years since he'd gone abroad, and he needed a bit of levity. The dating (a term Blaise used loosely, given that he was not particularly interested in dating, per se) pool in London was just too damn small and even the influx of foreign witches to the Healer Academy near St. Mungo's wasn't enough to stifle his need for someone new. So Blaise had left, trusting that Theo and the others would be enough to keep Draco from slipping back into the dark place he had been in for so long. And now he was back, harboring the witch who had broken his best friend's heart. And, to be frank about it, harboring both illicit and foolishly romantic feelings for that very same witch. Shaking off the memories, Blaise made a concentrated effort to forget all the reasons this meeting could go wrong, and focused on how to make it go right as he stepped into the room.