Chapter 29
“ Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
The night was not that restful for her, as she made sure to give Draco a set of the potions for pain and blood loss as soon as Theo brought them by in the morning. A night of rest made it so he could move, even if his muscles still ached. She helped him get to the shower and helped him clean up so that he'd be more presentable for breakfast with his mother. She got dressed and braided her hair back from her face. The date of their looming nuptials echoed in her head. She had weeks, a few short weeks, to get the things she had to get ready prepared.
Her sketch for a dress was going to be shared with Daphne at the very least to see if she had any input that might help with this. Colours had to be chosen. Invitations and the venue were likely being covered by Him. She'd have to keep her thoughts well protected, keep herself well protected, and hope that she could get through it as sober as possible. There would be so many people there that would rather her dead. And she wasn't about to leave the man who was going to be her husband without someone covering his back as well.
Wearing a pair of trousers and a nice blouse, she curled her legs beneath her on the couch in the study. Crookshanks, under the couch, batted lightly at the threads of a blanket that half hung off of the couch as she jotted down ideas in a small journal, letting Draco have some time to himself after breakfast with his mother. A breakfast she had not joined them for, needing to go walk in the gardens and have some tea to clear her head. Perhaps even Petrus was growing on her.
The elf that had been attending her came into the study, though. "A letter for you, Ms. Granger." She chimed before snapping out of the room. The letter was left on the table next to the couch.
She couldn't even question it. When she glanced up from her book, and froze at the scarlet envelope there. Her name was scrolled in familiar handwriting. The same handwriting that had been on every note that came with her jumpers and holiday sweets. Had the Prophet already run everything that morning? Of course, it had. A rumor of You-Know-Who agreeing to such a union was one thing, but seeing it confirmed with photographic evidence?
Her stomach sank. The longer she waited, the worse it would get. The louder it would get. Handling it now while the other Malfoys were on the other side of the manor and Nott and Zabini were elsewhere was the only thing she could do. She hoped Draco was asleep and a sounder sleeper than she was. Or that he wouldn't come in when he heard the yelling.
Taking in a slow breath, she opened the envelope, only for it to jump out of her hands and fold itself to look like a small talking face.
"Hermione Jean Granger! How dare you betray your friends?!" If this was the start, she was in for it.
Sleep had been like any relationship he’d had since his sixth year of Hogwarts. A push and pull that, more often than not, escaped him. Love, friendship, sleep, it all felt like trying to trap water between his hands. Intent and want, nothing in comparison to reality and the polarity of water. It wasn’t unlike people. Alone and resting on an emerald chaise lounge he had once enjoyed reading on, he had done his best to rest. With sleep evading him more thoroughly than she had, he’d settled for a book hovering just far enough to be comfortably read.
The voice alone had him shift. He’d never forget the shrill tone. Her last words to Bella rang in his ears as she turned it on another. Where loss had been easy to ignore with the likes of an aunt he had spent most of his life ignoring the existence out of his history, his current situation forced him up to speed. He was glad for the solitude because he’d found himself face-first into his book. With a curse and a shove, he began his march out of is chambers and into the adjoining room. Anger cloaked him and pulsed around him with a force of its own.
His entrance wasn’t as striking without his earlier clothes, replaced with more comfortable attire. Silk pajamas and a loosely fitting shirt. His wand was in his hand, expecting a person instead of an envelope. He faltered. Would cursing it make it worse? Howlers never made it to him. Always buried somewhere within the property or cast into a fire.
"Your friends have sacrificed everything to fight the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who. Ronalddiedto keep fighting. We are absolutely disgusted. You have cozied up to the enemy to save your own skin. Betraying Ronald's memory. Betraying Harry. We took care of you. Took care of each other. And now, you're taking the easy way out. Seducing or seduced by a serpent. Abandoning your friends. Abandoning your morals. Your parents would be so proud!"
The Howler shredded itself, and Hermione sat rigid on the couch. Her eyes burned as she attempted not to cry. Molly had been like a mother to her through the war. After what she did to her parents, Molly had looked after them all while the insurgency got its feet under it and leadership was established. She was a halfway house for those traveling between jobs where she lived now after they had all fled the Burrow, a safe haven. Some place they had likely moved once Hermione had 'chosen' the other side.
The brunette didn't even notice that Draco had come in as guilt clawed at her. Ron would be horrified. Harry was going to hate her. All of the Weasleys likely thought her a traitor. And wasn't she? Crookshanks hissed at a few scraps of the Howler and clawed the pieces smaller there on the floor.
It took a few beats of his heart to set his wand down and sit beside her on the couch. This wasn’t something he knew how to deal with well. Usually people cried because of him, not because of some yelling envelope.
“I’ll make sure whoever had this delivered up is dealt with,” he said quietly, a coldness to his tone that would chill most to the very marrow of their bones. It didn’t remove the fact that it had happened. Didn’t fix anything.
Where her tears and tense body had been a turn-on the other night, it now made him want to destroy the world for her. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he reached for her hand. He’d find the woman and end her himself if he had to.
Hermione took in a slow, shaky breath, closing her eyes to try and compose herself. She wasn't supposed to have cracks in her armor here. Not where people could see and exploit it. Not after last night when he had gone through it for whatever perceived slight had happened. "...Likely just the first of many," she tried to wave off, though her voice wavered.
Her parents would be horrified. Angry. Hurt. Her parents would have been killed. The only ones who knew what she did with her parents were Harry and Ron. Harry wouldn't tell. Ron couldn't tell. That last part was only said to hurt her. It couldn't and wouldn't mean anything. Her shoulders remained tense as she tried not to cry, those knots in her stomach feeling more like a devil's snare trying to strangle everything inside of her.
Letting him take her hand, she squeezed it a little tighter than she intended to, hands almost shaking. "She wouldn't show up here...Knows it would be a death sentence...her children would be devastated…I'd be surprised if someone from the insurgency didn't try to gate crash..." She tried to focus on that, but her voice was hollow. Traitor. Coward. Disgusted. Traitor. Snake. Betrayer. The words circled in her head and made it feel hard to breathe.
“Let them come,” he supplied cooly. “Anyone that tries will meet a fate worse than death,” he squeezed her hand. He wouldn’t allow anyone to touch her. This teetering she held made him see flames. For a moment, he didn’t care that he was still healing.
Reaching for her chin he met her gaze. “In a few weeks, you will be Mrs Malfoy,” he told her simply yet firmly. “You can be as involved as you want,” he reminded. “But their words don’t mean anything. They’re as powerless as He was last night. And that loss of power over a person or situation, it causes ugly outcomes,” he whispered. “Don’t let their lack of control make you lose focus. Unless you want me to hunt down that howler’s origin and avenge your distress.”
"I'm sure they will," her stomach feeling like someone had settled a rock in it to try and kill the devil's snare, but it only made the problem worse. She gripped his hand as if it was an anchor. As if he was. Something she'd despise herself for later. He was healing. She shouldn't be trying to find comfort in this. In his threats. If this had been some sort of whirlwind romance, his protectiveness would have been endearing. Sweet. But instead...more obsession. Or possession.
Letting him guide her gaze up, she opened her eyes, a few more tears rolling down her face in the process. "...They don't change anything...I don't think that's the same as them not meaning anything," she disagreed without smiling. Molly hadn't had power over her. No more than a parent did their adult child. They had grieved deaths together. She'd helped guide people for the Weasleys to look out for. The woman had tried to still celebrate each of their birthdays for them if she could. Tried to make the struggles less.
"No...I don't want you hunting down Mrs. Weasley..." She closed her eyes, trying to compartmentalize and shove it all back down. Her words still swirling in her mind. What was she doing here? How had she let all of this happen?
More tears. Tears she tried to push down and cast away. The same way many tried to push the clouds in the sky. He wanted to take that storm of pain and force it onto those who had brought it on.
“A meaning they used to attack you,” he said flatly. “That was a choice,” he added. They could have been silent. Instead, they chose to go on the offensive. It was strategic—a way to insert doubts and the slightest glimmer of hope. One seldom sent out such a manipulation without wanting control. His mother had had her share of it towards him.
“We hurt the ones we love,” he kissed her hand. She’d seen his mother, his father, hell, even his friends—the intricate push and pull of their relationships.
Somehow, she didn't think that Molly had meant it as a manipulation. It was her impulse to show her emotions. None of them could say they didn't know what the woman was thinking. There had been no return address on the Howler. They had hidden again. "Molly thought I'd be her family once. When we're hurt, we lash out. If it had been more tactical, she'd have gotten Ginny involved," she tried to brush off as her free hand wiped away her tears as she tried to calm down.
It was only natural that she lash out. Only natural that she said the things she could only guess that Hermione was feeling if she wasn't being controlled. Or if this was a ruse. Couldn't falter now. The only way to survive was through. They'd thank her later when more of them were alive than dead despite this change in allegiance. "We also push them away. For their own good."
She'd noticed why he had kept his mother away. Why his friends were kept back rather than the banter they had in their school days. Why she was here, willing to submit herself to this plan in order to save who she could by keeping them away from her.
“Pushing people away doesn’t stop them from hurting,” he reminded. He saw the resentment in his parents. “And then there are some people who are so insistent they hardly can be pushed away,” he added keeping her gaze in his, refusing to move.
She offered a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes even as her tears dried. "...You should still be resting."
He knew she was right. He did need to rest. “You going to march me back to bed?” He asked gently. A tone that even surprised him. He blamed the pain potions and draughts. There was a reason he avoided them.
Looking at him with a slightly sterner look, she honestly wasn't sure if he was saying that he couldn't be pushed away or if he was trying to make her think more. Similar tactic to what Theo had done to try and distract her perhaps? She wasn't sure.
"Is that going to be what it takes to get you to go and rest? " She still had to work on planning their wedding. Or at least what she could out of it. She supposed she could ask him a few questions that would help with that. Colors. How many groomsmen he actually planned on having. That way, she knew how many people she actually required on her side.
Draco made no motion to move. He knew she’d been busy, and though he had hoped it was all a distraction to what he’d likely have to do, he figured he could help her. Even if it gave him hives.
“So, are you taking me to bed, or is the couch suitable?” He asked wishing he could be offering more. Soon enough, he’d be back to making her cry out in pleasure. He just needed to get strong enough again. He had to let potions and spells do their thing. He was just grateful for better cures than the muggles had.
Hermione sighed as she moved a little bit closer to him and seemed to consider. "The couch is suitable. As long as you're actually resting...Your body needs the rest. And I likely need to apply more murtlap essence before you go to bed tonight...Or you can, I suppose," she offered, not wanting to baby him. If he could handle doing it, then she'd let him be. But she didn't want that date to scar on his chest.
Carefully, he shifted and plucked a cushion to set it on her lap. Extending himself, he rested his head on it and peered at her from his new vantage point. Everything was upside down, but he didn't focus on it too long.
"I'll neglect it if you don't do it," he said truthfully. He wouldn't deny her hands on him, and he didn't care if the date remained. It would be a day worth remembering either way to him. It would matter in his timeline, perhaps for all the wrong reasons, but it would.
A soft sigh left her lips as he took up space in her lap. She had a distant memory of him lounging on Parkinson this way back in school. She looked down at him and rolled her eyes with a bit of exasperation before she ran her fingers over his short hair. "What am I going to do with you, Draco Malfoy?"
"Many things," he drawled, his gaze a bit more playful as he watched her. All he wanted to do was bring her down into a kiss. Different from their usual exchange, and just the fleeting thought had him pleased with a distraction.
"Not a single one of the things you're likely thinking of until you've healed more, Malfoy," she shot back and glanced at him over the notebook, but there was a small hint of playfulness in her eyes before she looked back at the notebook.
It was a pity, but that just meant it was postponed. He could deal with that. "Of course, darling," he settled comfortably and looked over despite the shift in conversation. He knew it was something they had to discuss.
Regardless of the comment, she picked up the notebook and flipped through it so she could see what she'd written down. "I am going to ask you planning questions while you're here. Sure you wouldn't rather be in your bed?" Didn't most men abhor any sort of wedding planning? She was rather certain that Bill hadn't helped Fleur other than making sure the invitations went out.
Instead, he closed his eyes and shifted to turn towards her array of things. "I should reconsider my torture tactics," he said lightly, bracing himself for whatever she had in mind.
"Remind me to make you help me plan something if I wish to torture you then." It might not be the best torture, but it would be allowed within their vows.
"Which reminds me, your dress designer is in the dungeons. We'll have to give her some...place to work," he shrugged. It was a tight deadline, and she couldn't do much where she was.
Before she could start asking her questions, she actually grimaced. "I shouldn't be surprised...Unless there's another designer that you and your mother think would be up to the task. I'm still struggling to find a balance between something I would like to wear and something opulent enough for this," she groaned at the admittance. She would have wanted something more simple. What she wanted was going to matter very little. "Are you just having Theo and Blaise or are you naming more groomsmen? Preference on colors for our wedding party?" This wasn't the situation she thought she'd be in to ask any of these questions, and yet here they were.
"The moment you spoke her name, I couldn't finish the task," he said carefully. "I had every intention of having a...chat and then figuring out what was needed. You named her. She's the designer." It was simple, and there was no changing it. Now he just had to figure out the where, or perhaps his mother could.
"You'll figure it out," he nodded. "Might feel more comfortable with Madeline," he reminded.
"As for groomsmen, I only need Blaise and Theo, but if you find more bridesmaids, I can find more," he assured. "No white for me," he recalled his father's robes. "I do favor darker colors, but otherwise, I'm not too bothered."
Well, that was one person she had saved for the moment. And would at least cover up the fact she was missing for a little while. Clearly, she wasn't in any trouble. She was just helping with the wedding of the century. No big deal.
"I might...I'm going to end up coming up with ideas for dresses for galas soon after our wedding, so I'm not frantically trying to figure something out within a few short weeks or days," she muttered with a slight wrinkling of her nose. At least the galas weren't going to have her on display like the wedding would.
"So you're telling me she requires her own atelier and a handler," he sighed. He could make it happen. "Consider it done," he missed her fingers in his hair but said nothing of the sort.
She shook her head with a slight smile. "I think the only one expected to wear something white or white adjacent is me. So you'll be fine...Darker colors...could easily do emerald or sapphire. If you only have them, then I'll only have two. I can't imagine that I'll want more bridesmaids than the ones I require..." If it had been a wedding of her choosing, she knew she would have asked Ginny, Luna, Katie, and Angelina. Hannah, even. A number of people that she couldn't have here now. It had her get a slightly more far-off expression for a moment before she jotted a few things down.
"You can wear any color you want. Some, like my parents, went with white," he shrugged. "I don't think there was a single pastel absent from Andromeda's, which would have been reason enough for her mother to X her out. Of course, the Lestrange wedding was red. He'd seen pictures. And they filled his mind with the tasks at hand.
"Thank you," she offered and looked back down at him a moment, oddly considering how...attentive he was in all things honestly. What did he get out of this? What did he want out of this? She'd ask again once they were married.
"Reassuring. Something light to contrast...sapphire, black, and white could work. Or emerald black and white," she offered. However, if they went with a sapphire blue, it would imply they were hinting at their colors with their engagement. Act like it was all according to plan. Thinking of Andromeda pulled at her heart a little bit. "....I'm not shocked that Andromeda had pastels..."
"Sapphire," he echoed. "Green is..." he wasn't sure how he felt about the color anymore. There was so much of it in his life still, remnants from his days at Hogwarts. There were a lot of things he wanted, among them to find a new place to live, but for now, this Manor suited his needs.
"At least we don't have to worry about the ruffles of the eighties," he shrugged just thinking about it. Some images from his family had left him scarred.
"Sapphire works. Can easily have it that we were teasing that with the engagement then, too," she stated as she jotted a few more things down. "If we had to put me into ruffles on top of making this opulent, I might have preferred death." it was mostly a joke, but there were only so many things she could handle before she would snap.
Putting the notebook down, she let her fingers trace through his hair gently as she leaned back into the couch, taking a break for the moment. There wasn't a lot of this that was going to be left up to her. "Any other wizarding wedding traditions I should be made aware of?"
Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the feel of her fingers through his short locks. If he'd been a cat, he might have purred. He tried to think of a ceremony. He couldn't remember going to many. One or two. He'd gotten a caning at one of them, but that was a different story.
"You'll be brought over to me at the altar. We'll seal our vows before witnesses," he continued. "I'll kiss you," he smirked. "Then we'll have a feast, some dancing..." He sighed. It didn't sound horrible. "Our guests will all have rooms to go to at whatever venue we buy out for the night, and then you and I will...continue to seal those vows," he looked up at her with a hungry look. "Hopefully, we'll be portkeying to a remote location after..."
As his eyes closed, she continued to stroke her fingers through his hair slowly, watching as he seemed to relax. This would at least have him staying still. Listening to him list off what they would need to do, she gave a nod of her head—sounded pretty standard other than the magic binding their vows. "Similar to a Muggle ceremony then. Aside from the magic."
Bought out an entire venue. That was more than she thought a ceremony would be like for her. That hungry look he gave her actually had her cheeks flush a little bit as she met his gaze. "So, an actual honeymoon," she murmured, trying not to imagine what all he could do to and with her with more time. With less interruptions.
He had never really considered what muggle ceremonies entailed. He seldom thought of life outside of the immediate. He knew of elements of the muggle world to navigate the falling of the secrecy statute in the UK. They now politically held a situation similar to what the world considered most countries with dictatorships. That the absence of a presence on the web or whatever they called it had to do with power and not magic. Other ministries were intrigued. Some had already followed, but there were more to fell.
"That's the idea," he snatched her hand and kissed her palm. "What sort of honeymoon would you like?" he asked, bracing himself to turn to face her without wincing.
As he snatched her hand and pressed a kissed her palm, she actually blushed again as she looked down at him. That wasn't something she had actually considered. The idea of this being a marriage of convenience, despite their physical chemistry, had her focused on getting through the ceremony with the Dark Lord rather than what would happen after. At least as far as they were concerned. There were options, she supposed. But she had to focus, not to fidget.
"I'm...open to suggestions. I'll admit, I doubted we'd have one. How long are you going to be spared from your duties?" Because if it were a weekend just a nice getaway would be nice. How long would he have? Would he want to travel further away or be able to? "Further away from the public eye would be preferred."
He held his breath every time she blushed, enjoying the sight of her being flustered by him. "No big cities then," he noted, trying to card through a number of locations. "Private island?" he asked. "A villa near an old ruin to explore..." How did one even begin to tempt Hermione Granger to forget the world that existed around her?
"No big cities," she agreed easily enough. The last thing she wanted was to notice people paying more attention to them. Let the Prophet speculate on where it was they went. "A villa near an old ruin sounds fantastic..." and if it rained while they were on their honeymoon, she could read. Curled up, watching the rain come down with such a feeling of tranquility, she could turn off all of the worries.
"I'll make arrangements," he kissed her hand again, this time the smallest wince pulled from an unthought move.
That kiss to her hand had her smile gently, a little bit of warmth coming to her eyes before he winced, and she frowned. "....How much pain are you in right now?"
“Could be worse,” he tried to excuse it. As if brushing it off would make it go away. He was certain worse was dead, and he had sworn he’d seen the light for half a second at one point. “Potions wearing off,” he admitted. “Probably doesn’t help that I…” he had heard the screaming and come in. Who knew just how much he had exerted it...
“Marching me to bed then?” He grinned. He could at least enjoy the silver lining. It was easier than summoning the courage to move. Everything that he’d been suppressing was willing itself back into the present. Pressure and tightness mingling with roaring heat.
"Could be getting actively tortured," she grumbled as she shook her head, staring at him. "You're a very stubborn man." It wasn't meant as a compliment, and yet she was certain he'd take it as one even as she let out a slow breath. Her expression, a little softer. Didn't help that he got up to race over here and make sure she was okay. "I appreciate your willingness to come protect me from Molly Weasley while injured. But yes. Marching you back to bed."
At least there, she could get him settled and get him another dose of both potions to help him heal. She carefully guided him up and moved with him, keeping his arm around her and one arm around him as she walked him back into his room.
The moment she had described him as such, he had thanked her. He might have used a different descriptor for it. He was willful and critical, but then she had softened, and he’d been none the wiser. She had a way of scolding him like a child, and though he was by no means small, he carefully sat up and sighed in resignation.
He paused to say something but couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he slowly made his way back to his chambers.
Walking him back to his chambers, she noticed he had been about to speak, her brow furrowing a little bit as she guided him back to his bed rather than the chaise. She sat him down and moved to the vials that Theo had left in his room. One for pain and one to help continue the recovery process. She passed him both vials.
"Do I want to know what you stopped yourself from saying?" It wasn't judgmental. Just sounded a little tired. The next few weeks were going to go by in a whirlwind.
Draco took the first potion and swallowed down as she spoke. He was grateful it was too far down to come shooting out of his nose. He considered answering but then took the second. "Things I probably shouldn't be saying," he admitted. Things that could land him into a lot of trouble. Flipping her, claiming her, even shagging her was all fair game, but there wasn't too much room for any kind of feeling. "Nothing bad," he held her gaze a moment.
Turning, he began climbing into bed and paused to strip his shirt. She had promised to tend her invitation to their wedding personally. It reminded him he hadn't given her many gifts since the party. He'd have to rectify that as well.
Raising a brow, she just let out a slow sigh. At least ,it was nothing bad. That was reassuring. Going over to the table that still had the murtlap essence and bandages, she watched him take off his shirt, her gaze looking him over slowly. He was healing slowly. Already, he looked a lot better. "I'll refrain from asking until the vows are in place then," she said simply with a shrug, not taking it personally as she sat on the edge of the bed and carefully took off the old bandage.
Picking up the murtlap essence, she wetted the center of a new bandage and placed it over that wedding date on his chest, trying not to shudder. "I'll make sure I'm ready for the fifth..."
The cool detachment of the potions was settling in, dividing body and mind, compartmentalizing in ways he could only hope to achieve stone-cold sober. "Are you going to ask me everything on our honeymoon then?" he asked. Although he held amusement in his tone and the way his lips curved, it brought on another question altogether.
"Quite possibly. Depends on how occupied I am during our honeymoon," she said honestly. While she was rather certain she could still lie to him for now, she would rather get in the habit of either being honest or telling he she didn't plan on answering a question. And that one was easy. Securing the bandage, she thought about that, a small smile curving her lips. "No, I don't suppose it is. Not that an elopement has ever been in my plans either."
Then she pulled him back to reality, and he looked at her. "I'd offer to elope, but I don't think it's possible," he tried not to laugh at the idea. It would have been the coward's way. "Tell me your fears." It was more offer than question, perhaps he could alleviate some.
It had her remember what she had wanted when she was younger. Something in a garden. Bright and light and with her friends and family. Laughter and a celebration of love. A dance with her father after he had 'given her away'. Your parents would be so proud. It made her stomach knot, and she shoved that back down as she closed her eyes. "Him, for one. I haven't been around the...Dark Lord more than twice. I know he'll be there for this. I still expect people to make comments about my parentage...And if people I fought alongside don't gate crash, I'll be shocked." What would she have to do if any of them did gate crash?
Though he merely shifted to face her, he didn't move to touch her. "People won't talk with him there. You saw them preening like a bunch of peacocks, and you'll be able to tell the ranks just from being in the room. The cocky ones, like my father, will tuck tail and feign pleasantness. Those too deep will likely feel more confident but won't dare speak out of turn. Not in front of Him, not with how he treats me." Draco swallowed down, needing a moment to process how to even explain that.
Hermione nodded, still keeping her eyes closed for a moment before she opened them to look at him. Facing him at all was going to be difficult. "And that brings up the other fear. How often He'll be close." She admitted quietly. It had her heart racing at the idea that he would actually stick around to see the celebration. Pretending to be happy and having a good time when it was just the more entitled group of witches and wizards was easy. With Voldemort actually around? She wasn't sure how to handle it.
Draco considered it, and though he could lie, it was best to be honest. "Come to bed," he asked. He wanted to be close, to hold her, but mostly not to have her run away. "I have things to tell you, things I rather you know before the fifth, but not like this," he said quietly.
That gentle request rather than a demand had her sigh softly as she looked at him, running her fingers through his hair. "Not like this?" She asked gently, letting him open up as he could. It was tempting to curl up with him and just not think. It was still early. She could still get things done. But no one would fault her for crawling into bed with her fiancé to make sure he rested. Would they?
"You're not going to like any of what I have to say, and I don't have it in me to chase you," he huffed, settling an arm around her. Not that he could do much with his wand still in the other room. A few silent spells could remedy that. Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers, trying to figure out how to even begin. "I also sort of like this," he motioned between them.
She kicked off her shoes and used a quick spell to change her clothing into those she slept in so she could at least get comfortable. Shifting closer, she let him rest his forehead against her own. Closing her eyes, she trailed her fingers along the back of his hand. "Sort of?"
He shouldn't answer; he knew he shouldn't, and whether it was the contented hum of his ring or the potions loosening more than his muscles, he let out. "I like having you close," he admitted. It didn't matter who held who, it was a fleeting pleasure, one he couldn't rely on having forever. "I like the warmth," he continued, though his brain demanded he stop. "This," his fingers traced her cheek. Tomorrow was another day. He liked the intimacy of it, but even with more potions, he would keep that under wraps.
A small smile curved her lips at that. At least she'd have a husband who wanted her around. She wasn't sure how much of this was him just desiring to flip her so he didn't have to kill her, how much of it was possessive greed, or if there was anything past it than that. He had promised she wouldn't want for anything, and their physical chemistry was fantastic. Some people never had that. "We're both probably very touch-starved." He was being open with her; couldn't she do the same? "I sort of like this too." When she didn't think she should hate it and guilt herself over not hating it.
"Sort of?" he returned her question. Would it hurt to just remain in this for a moment longer? To delay the weight of what he was going to share. It made him feel guilty. Though he kept her close, he didn't try to touch her, not in that way. Didn't even lean in to kiss her, no matter how much he wanted to. He would never recover if he did. Instead, he just sighed a moment longer.
"...There are times, like now, where it's a comfort. It helps keep my mind from racing....and it's warm. There were many nights where I wasn't warm," she admitted, still tracing lines across the back of his hand with her eyes closed. She was terrified of actually being vulnerable with him. While he did go through more than she would have imagined, evidence of that last night was clear. She didn't know if that mattered with what he believed or did. It made this hard. He was so...attentive. "Would you be insulted if I pointed out that you can be surprisingly gentle considering the number of times we've very nearly killed each other?" At least that didn't imply he was soft or a weakness. She was careful with what she said.
Draco shivered with every trace of her fingers. "I'm a gentleman," he reminded in a hushed tone. "We've both had our more...violent moments, but at the end of the day, it's not all we are." There were nights where he certainly doubted that statement, but right here, in their bubble, he felt safe. No one would burst through his door anymore. He wanted to kiss every one of her fingertips, to gently nudge closer, but his reality didn't allow for flights of fantasy. He had to keep steady, not get lost in the moment, and yet, when was a good time to ruin it?
"I'm starting to believe that," she teased just a little, meeting his eyes. He could be a rather proper gentleman. But she wasn't sure how much she believed that. How comfortable she had gotten with torture and killing for the idea of a greater good could not mean that wasn't all she was. Survival had been all she was for so long. Anger. Bitterness. Yet here she was, curled up with Draco Malfoy, trying to get him to rest and wanting him to open up. "I'm not going to run off, you know." In part because there wasn't anywhere she could go.
Draco kept her gaze as she made that claim. He felt his own color drain slightly. Sometimes, it was hard for him to fathom. He tried to consider a number of ways to deliver the blow but settled for draping his arm around her, his palm to the small of her back. "Not even when I tell you He has taken to calling me his son?" he asked, letting the words sink. Most he called servants, humble servants.
That one admittance made her shudder. Contemplating why he had started calling Draco, that didn't take a lot of imagination to figure out. Not when she knew of a lot of the things people claimed that the Death Eaters had done. With how Draco had come back covered in blood trying to smash his Death Eater mask? It didn't take a genius to piece together that a lot of those rumors likely had to be true. "I can't say that isn't disturbing..."
There'd been no reason not to tell her. If only to stop her from gaping and shuddering as the words would likely be spoken the day of their union. "After my father's failures..." he began and clenched his jaw and closed his lips. No, he didn't have the strength. "His anger should be in check. I don't think he'll try to hurt you," he tried to be reassuring. "No one in their right mind would attempt it, is where I'm getting at."
If Voldemort called her his daughter because of all of this, she might not be able to contain her shudder of revulsion. She'd have to brace herself for the possibility. "There are worse things than being hurt," she said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. Countless things were worse than simple physical pain. The war had taught her that. The insurgency had hammered it into her mind and state of being. "And no offense...but I don't think many people are in their right minds these days..."
He laughed at that, and his expression contorted into pain. Not because he felt anything beyond the numbness version of it, but knowing it would be that much worse once the potions wore off. "Are we even in our right minds?" he asked honestly. "Even the most deranged won't tempt the fates on the 5th. He might be old and recluse now, but he and I are rarely seen together. Even at summons, it's uncommon." It was sensitive information, and though he could give her more, he knew better than to overload her. Especially with a strong natural legilimens attending their union. There weren't many of those in his entourage, but enough to make him cautious.
The laugh was a wonderful sound before he contorted, and she almost sat up, grimacing in sympathy as her fingers reached up to brush through his hair. "Probably not," she answered honestly with a shrug of her shoulders. He had to be mad to have this idea and she had to be just as mental to go along with it. While he might think that it would take someone deranged to do it, she knew how desperate the insurgency had been getting. She wouldn't put it past them. "You have a point...But if you're rarely seen together, at least I won't have to interact with him much..." Just had to get through the ceremony. How likely was it that he'd stick around?
"He's grown untrusting," he told her. "It's why he keeps away, but never his presence, never allows anyone to forget that." It was complicated, the constant push and pull. Even he had trouble voicing it. "I think you might be safe beyond a few handshakes and a picture," he offered gently. He doubted the Dark Lord would remain long. Even if he did, he wouldn't stay in the same place too long.
"He's not the only one...Amos isn't the only one in leadership, and they all move constantly." Not to mention moving Harry near constantly so no one could track him. Just in case. Closing her eyes, she nodded her head. A few handshakes and a picture. She could get through that. "Just that. Then we get away for a while." How long awhile was, she wasn't sure. But if she could get away from prying eyes and actually exist as just a person for a few days to two weeks, she'd be happy.
"I can try to mix business and pleasure, make it a longer affair," he offered. "Months abroad for all I care," he met her gaze. Anything to be away. Even better if she was with him. He'd take some time with her, as much as he would be allowed. Part of him wished he had set a length in that interview, but he wasn't suicidal. Not normally. "It's just an evening, and then I'll make it all melt away," he promised, his eyes molten. He wished he could back it up, show her what he meant, but until then, she'd have to trust him.
"Don't tempt me," she said with a sigh, actually resting her forehead back to his. It was a nice illusion. A doting husband who was doing this for some deeper affection. She could pretend this for a little while with no problem. It helped. More than it had helped with anyone else, she had simply tried to feel things with. Opening her eyes to look back at him, the way he looked at her again had that blush dust her cheeks. "...Good." She believed him. If it was anything like the other times they'd been in bed, she could trust that.
He would make up for all the lost time. Ravish her until sunrise and then continue doing so long after until they were a mess of breaths and limbs. It was the thought that would get him through healing.
“It’ll be more than good,” he teased.
She chuckled at that, giving him a bit of a look before brushing her nose against his briefly. "Better focus on healing then. Or our honeymoon will be spent with me reading," she teasingly threatened.
“Give me a couple of days, and I’ll brew my own stock,” he grumbled. Theo and Blaise had done great; most would be pleased with their work, but Draco had Severus’s notes. Great was good when you knew amazing.
“I’ll make some to help keep us going, too,” he chuckled. Endurance and refreshing potions. It most certainly wasn’t the intended use, but it worked.
"I'd have brewed it myself, but I wanted to make sure you were properly looked after," she muttered, trying not to blush more at the implication. Theo had come to get her, so clearly, they weren't nearly as skilled in healing as she had been.
Rolling her eyes, she closed them before shifting her forehead off of his, moving to rest her head very gently against his shoulder. "You're insatiable."
“You sound so pretty when you’re falling apart. How could I not be?” He asked. He’d taken women to bed, but nothing like this.
“We should sleep before I need a cold shower,” he sighed. Just thinking about had rerouted his blood between his thighs. He thought of anything he could think of to bring it down.
That had the blush burning in her cheeks at that, and she had to take in a slow, deep breath. It had never been that intense with anyone else. "...We should...I have tea with the girls tomorrow and get to pick bridesmaids," she muttered with a slight wrinkle of her nose before she nuzzled against his shoulder. "And you need more rest."
Busy days. And now he had an audience to impress. With a nod, he inched closer and closed his eyes, thinking up gifts to send her in the next few days. Eventually, a dreamless night overtook him.