"Two years." The admission was barely audible and it took Draco an unnaturally long time to correlate the answer to the question asked. Surely he had misheard? When neither Theo nor Blaise moved to clarify Blaise's statement, Draco allowed the truth to sink in. His friend, one of his best friends, in fact, has been flatmates with the girl who had broken him for two years. His best friend had, for two years, withheld information regarding her whereabouts, despite knowing how desperately Draco had continued to search for her up until the last year. They had all tried to convince him to stop looking for her several dozen times throughout the years. It wasn't until what would have been Hermione's 25th birthday, that Draco had finally listened. Little did he know that his best friend was living in the same fucking house as the woman he had been desperately looked for at that time. Two fucking years. Draco understood now why Blaise had not come back to England once in the last two years - not for a single birthday or holiday or event. It was because he couldn't face Draco. Because he knew what living with Hermione would mean to Draco, how it would flatten him. The rage was a living thing in his body, mixing with an excruciating amount of despair such that Draco nearly choked on it. Not able to look at the face of someone he had trusted for so long, Draco turned on his heel and strode from the room.