A/N:

Despite the title of this chapter, we have not reached the end. There are 8 more to go (I'm up to 32 now because I split one chapter in half plus added 'Fear,' which wasn't originally planned). The next chapter is most ominously entitled, "Relapse" and is more Draco-heavy than this one is.

Thanks for reading!

-AL

STAGES OF GRIEF

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:

ACCEPTANCE

Hermione did not move back into Malfoy Manor exactly two weeks after she suggested taking a break, much to Draco's disappointment, but she did ask to have lunch on Wednesday, 17 days after she left.

My lunch break is from noon to twelve-thirty, he wrote back. Could we meet near the Ministry?

Lunch break? She was confused but not unpleasantly so. Had he gotten a job? No, surely he would have told her! But she wrote back that noon was fine and she picked a restaurant within a five minute walk from the Ministry, one connected to Floo Network for those who didn't wish to travel the Muggle way.

She arrived a few minutes before noon, secured a table, and pulled out a book while waiting, unwilling to waste time. He hurried in at a couple of minutes past two.

"Hermione, hello!"

She stood and he kissed her cheek. She slipped her book back into her bag as they settled across from each other at the small round table.

"Draco, hi."

Both were thinking that the other looked particularly nice today. He was wearing obviously new wizard's robes, dark green with light gray accents, open over a crisp white shirt and dark gray trousers. She wore a pale pink blouse with a black pencil skirt borrowed from her mother, no robes. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail while hers was gathered into a French braid.

"I've been reading too." From a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, he pulled a thick tome. "It's a Muggle book about overcoming personal prejudices, but I'm not convinced the lessons transfer. Did you know some Muggles discriminate against each other based on skin color? Strange creatures, Muggles. Er... no offense."

She smiled, the nervous bundle in her stomach untangling. "None taken. I don't understand why some Muggles are bigoted against people of other ethnicities or colors either. But it's not so different from looking down your nose on non-magic folk, is it?"

"I suppose not." He shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Crookshanks misses you. He thinks I move too much in my sleep."

"He probably also thinks you steal the blankets."

"I don't do that."

"You absolutely do. So tell me, what's this about a lunch break?"

Draco shrugged as if to say 'it's no big deal,' but secretly he was dying to see her reaction to his new position. "I got a job, thanks to Arthur Weasley. I work in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office under Flora Florence."

"What?" Hermione's eyes glistened, her jaw dropped, and she very nearly threw herself across the table to kiss him. "How did this happen? When?"

"I had a long discussion with Weasley last Tuesday, was interviewed by Florence on Thursday, and started work on Monday. The pay's rubbish and there's no prestige, but it's honest work. That's not me being judgmental. That's verbatim what they said when they hired me."

"What prompted you to do this?"

"You and my mother. But mostly you." He glanced around and leaned across the table, unwilling to be the victim of eavesdropping lest their conversation end up in the paper. "I love you, Hermione. I listened to you. I... I may not be a good person yet, not by your standards anyway, but I don't want to be what I was. I don't want to be what the Prophet thinks I am, or what Ginny Weasley thinks I am. I want you to be what you want me to be."

"Oh, Draco!" She reached across the table to grasp his hand. "You are a good person and I want you to be yourself. I love you. And I love that you're on a path to personal betterment. I am too, actually. That's why I wasn't ready to return to Malfoy Manor on Sunday. It's not you, it's me. And that's not a line, it's the truth. After the war, I joined the Ministry Mentorship Program as soon as it was developed, and I put all of my focus in helping others adjust and heal and find themselves, but I completely neglected to do the same for me. I wonder if I made a mistake, if I shouldn't have gone back to Hogwarts for my last year... then with getting arrested..." She shook her head. "I believe in W.W.A.M.M., don't misunderstand, but..."

"I don't know who I am either," Draco said quietly, still taking care not to be overheard. "All I know is, I don't want to be who I was."

"I can't be who I was. But... maybe we can find ourselves together?"

"I'd like that."

Dining in the upstairs room of the same restaurant were Andromeda and Narcissa, neither of whom knew that Draco and Hermione were seated almost directly below them. They, too, were careful to avoid letting anyone listen in on them, but they did so with the help of Severus' Muffliato spell.

"I wish you'd tell me the identity of this 'mystery man,' said Andromeda, who was also on her lunch break, though she had an hour before she had to return to St. Mungo's.

"I will eventually," said Narcissa. She took a sip of the elf-made red wine both sisters had ordered, though both knew this selection was potentially threatening to their overall sobriety. "Have you ever prayed, Andromeda?"

"I don't understand the question." Andromeda cut into her lamb chop, perfectly cooked to medium rare, and smiled approvingly. She rarely allowed herself such a decadent lunch, but since her sister had offered to pay... "Have I ever preyed upon what? A smaller creature? Do I look like a predator to you?"

"No, not that sort of 'prey' – though for the record, yes, you do have a predatory quality about you - but I meant the sort of praying people with religions do. Where they look to the heavens and ask the gods for good fortune or guidance or... or whatever it is they ask for."

"Ah." Andromeda speared a small hunk of lamb with her fork. "No, can't say I've ever prayed like that."

"I did. Last night. It was my first time. I... I read about it in a book Draco left in the library. A Muggle book. 'Stages of Grief,' it's called. The book said after a loss, some people turn to prayer."

"For what?"

"I don't know!" Narcissa exhaled dramatically. "I was reading Chapter Four: Guilt, and it said some people overcome these negative emotions by writing in journals or speaking to therapists, while others pray. I don't have a journal and I'm not bloody mental so I thought perhaps praying..."

"I've seen a therapist," Andromeda said coolly. "And I'm not 'mental,' thank you. Personally, I think speaking to an invisible being in the sky sounds crazier than speaking to a person trained in a particular field..."

"Let's not fight!" Narcissa turned her attention to her own lamb chop, but she wasn't terribly hungry. "I was curious, that's all. Since you were married to a Muggle, and it was a Muggle book, I thought..."

"Ted was an atheist." Andromeda stared stonily at her younger sister. "It was a bone of contention between him and his parents. They were Catholic. They had a difficult time coming to terms with having a wizard for a son, but they did their best to support him, until he told them he was also an atheist. Then they disowned him."

Narcissa stared back at her blank-faced. "He was a what?"

"It means he did not believe in a god or gods, not modern ones, not ancient ones, not magical or Muggle ones."

"And this was a problem?"

"His parents were Catholic. They believed in one God and blamed Hogwarts for turning him into a heathen. He tried to explain to them that being a wizard and being an atheist were not mutually inclusive – that is to say, there were a number of Christian or Jewish or Hindu students at Hogwarts and magical people exist within all faiths – but they cast him out anyway. The wand-waving they could handle. The insistence that no such being exists they could not. They..." She shifted uncomfortably, as this was not one of her fonder memories. "They greatly blamed me, as a matter of fact. They did not want him to marry me any more than Mother and Father wanted me married to him and they were furious to learn I was expecting. If not for the obvious differences between them, his parents and ours might have gotten on remarkably well, but while I was largely unbothered by being disowned by the Blacks, being forced out of the Tonks family crushed him."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Meda."

"Don't be. It was over twenty-five years ago and he's dead now anyway, right?" Andromeda said this with a harshness that reminded Narcissa of Bellatrix, and though she missed their eldest sister, this sudden resemblance made her uneasy. Andromeda closed her eyes and took a long sip of wine as if to calm herself, and when she opened her eyes again the warmth had returned. "What is it you prayed for, Cissy? Guidance or good fortune?"

"Neither, not exactly. I... I prayed because I want to know how Lucius would feel about me and Se... my friend."

"If he were alive, I reckon he wouldn't approve."

Narcissa smiled. "That's precisely what my friend said! But you know what I mean."

"You feel guilty about moving on. I understand, Narcissa. Of course I understand." She speared another bite of lamb, but did not move the fork toward her mouth. "Last Friday night, I had dinner with that man I told you about. The one raising his grandson. We went out without the kids. After dinner, he... he kissed me."

"Oh!" Narcissa leaned in conspiratorially. "How was it?"

"Good enough that I jumped into bed with him half an hour later."

"What?!" Narcissa dropped her fork but caught it before it hit the floor. "You slept with him?"

"There was no sleeping."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "You shagged him, then?"

"No, but stopped just short of it." Her eyes sparkled and Narcissa could tell she was enjoying this attention. They truly were alike in many ways – all three sisters were. Andromeda expanded: "He left satisfied, for what it's worth, and he wants to see me again. I felt elated at the time, but once he was gone and I came down from my high, I felt sick. I vomited up a very expensive dinner that he paid for, then scrubbed myself in the shower until I thought my skin would wear away. I felt more remorse over having nearly been with him than I felt the first time I was unfaithful to my husband, as if cheating on Ted's memory could be worse than cheating on Ted himself. I know it doesn't make a damn bit of sense."

"It makes perfect sense to me. It's been over two weeks since we became intimate and several months since I realized there was more than friendship between us, but I still shift between wanting to tell Severus I love him and asking to live together and wanting to tell Severus I've made a terrible mistake and asking him not to visit me again."

"Severus?" It was Andromeda's turn to drop her fork, but it landed on her plate with a clang. "Severus Snape? Your mystery lover is Severus Snape?!"

"I... oh." Narcissa's cheeks blushed deep crimson. She thought about lying, about pretending there was another wizard in their world named Severus, but she knew her sister would see right through it.

"Narcissa?"

"Yes, Severus Snape is my mystery lover," she confessed, adding defensively, "What of it? There's nothing wrong with him!"

"Did I indicate I thought there was something wrong with him? On the contrary, I think he's a fine man. Nymphadora always spoke highly of him, despite his history with her husband. She never doubted which side he was truly on. I wish she could have lived to see the proof he wasn't a traitor to us and to Dumbledore." Andromeda shrugged. "But then, I wish she could have lived to see a lot of things. I imagine she'd be furious with me for dating so soon after her father's passing."

"As is Draco," admitted Narcissa. She poked her rice with the prongs of her fork but had hardly eaten any of her meal, whereas Andromeda's was half-gone. She had, however, consumed nearly all of her wine, while Meda was careful to drink more slowly. "He threw Severus out of the Manor a week before Halloween. They haven't spoken since. I think he's disappointed in me."

"Severus?"

"Draco. He sees his father and me as these near-perfect people – that's one thing that's caused chaos in his relationship with the Granger girl – and we're simply not. I love Lucius as much now as I did a year ago, five years ago, fifteen years ago, and nearly thirty years ago, but I cannot sit in front of my son and pretend his father was perfect. They executed the man for a reason."

It hurt Narcissa to utter these last words, but nearly a year of despondent soul-searching had finally resulted in some recent clarity, as she forced herself to confront the fact that her husband, while a loving man who treated her well, had committed crimes up to and including murder against those the Dark Lord considered their enemies, and most of their world considered his liberal use of Unforgivable Curses literally unforgivable.

"Does it bother you? That Draco doesn't approve?"

"Honestly? Yes. But Severus makes me happy and I'm desperate to be happy, Meda."

"Me too." Andromeda took a bite of her rice and did not comment when Narcissa stole a gulp of what was left of her wine. "His name is Barnaby. My friend. His grandson is Grayson. Grayson and Teddy get along very well but I was afraid without them underfoot Barnaby and I would have nothing to talk about. I was wrong. We talked for hours. If he hadn't had to return home to relieve a sitter, we might have talked – or more – all night. But he's not Ted. He will never be Ted."

"And Severus will never be Lucius."

"Perhaps that's a good thing," said Andromeda thoughtfully. "We cannot seek replacements for them, because to us, they're irreplaceable – yes?"

"Yes."

"But we shouldn't have to deny ourselves happiness forever – right?"

"Right."

Andromeda sighed. "Then why do I feel like a slag?"

"For the same reasons I do." Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose. "I didn't know dating as a widow would be quite this complicated!"

Downstairs, Hermione and Draco were also discussing what could never be.

"I'll never be my father," Draco was saying. "And that used to bother me. As a kid, I wanted to be him. I wanted to make him proud, and to have his reputation and influence, and to look and act exactly like him. My mother used to call me 'Lucius in miniature' and she said it with such pride... but Ginny... she might not be completely incorrect." His expression clouded. He hated admitting this even to himself. "My father had faults, the greatest of which was ambition, and that led him to doing unforgivable things, and I reckon I'll just have to accept that no one but Mother and I – and maybe Severus – ever knew him for who he was, or would care to remember him fondly."

"It's difficult to accept that our parents aren't the people we thought they were." Hermione kissed his palm before releasing his hand, sitting back to let the waiter place their entrees in front of them. She'd gotten the roast duck and him, the same lamb chop special as his mother and aunt. "Mine are on the brink of divorce and have been for years, it turns out."

"What?! You said your parents were one of the happiest couples you've ever known. What happened?"

She launched into the story, not only the whispered arguments she'd overheard and the conversation between herself and her mother, but the information she'd gotten from her father the following day, when he confirmed that he'd had his own place but had been evicted while they were in Australia (his belongings were placed in storage for six months, then sold).

"Bloody hell," said Draco when she finished. "What now?"

Far from the Ministry and St. Mungo's, Severus Snape was deep in his own lunch date, with Minerva McGonagall in her office at Hogwarts.

"You seem happier, Severus. Doesn't he, Albus?"

The former and current Heads of Hogwarts had their plates on her desk and were chatting amiably with the portrait of Dumbledore, who was content to be involved in conversation that wasn't about the war or the running of the school. "He's more relaxed, don't you agree? What is it? What could be the cause of this change? Could it as simple as being away from the classroom? No longer having to play a role? The post-war settling into civilian life? Or...?"

"Or?" Characteristically, he lifted one eyebrow. She smiled. Dumbledore smiled. Their smiles deepened his frown. Testily, he pushed, "Or what?"

"Show him the Prophet, Minerva," prompted portrait Dumbledore. She reached into her desk obligingly and handed Severus the morning's edition.

"You were spotted together again, this time holding hands."

Severus went Gryffindor maroon with both anger and embarrassment. A reporter had indeed captured a moving image of him with Narcissa, holding hands, walking out of a Muggle restaurant in the village nearest to Malfoy Manor, where they'd met for dinner two nights before. His spy skills had apparently fallen by the wayside since the war ended; he'd had no idea they were being observed.

"You were quite the gentleman," said Dumbledore, and Severus could've sworn his painted blue eyes were sparkling mischievously. "The article says you pulled out her chair, placed her napkin in her lap, poured her wine, sampled her pudding..."

"It was a non-alcoholic substitute for wine," snapped Severus, knowing this was inconsequential information but at a loss for anything else to say.

"Holding hands," said Minerva teasingly, shaking her head. "Severus Snape is not only in love, he's an unapologetically public romantic."

"I am no such thing!" He slammed the paper down on the desk, though he couldn't help being ever-so-slightly comforted by the fact that Narcissa was looking at him in the picture in a way he'd never imagined any woman ever would. Damn it, he loved her. He wondered whether that was as obvious to the reporter as it clearly was to the current and former Hogwarts Headmistress and Headmaster.

"Any intentions of marrying her?" asked Dumbledore all-too-casually.

Severus scowled.

"Lucius hasn't even been gone a year, Albus. She's still in mourning. A marriage proposal would hardly be appropriate at this venture."

"Does she know that you're in love with her?" asked Dumbledore, unbothered by Severus' clipped tone.

"What makes you think I am?"

"Please, Severus." Minerva tucked into her shepherd's pie, which was starting to go cold. "A blind Blast-Ended Skrewt could see that you're in love with her. Don't you think Albus and I know you well enough to see it too?"

"No."

"Accept it!" said Dumbledore cheerily from his portrait. "You are undoubtedly in love, and this time with a woman who appears to feel the same. This is good. There's always room for a little more love in the world!"

"Why do I put myself through the pain of joining the two of you for lunch?" He dug into his own meal, eager to end this line of questioning, but at the same time he couldn't fight the warming sensation in his chest, which had started when they suggested she felt the same. It was far too soon to be thinking of marriage... he wasn't even close to ready to (soberly) confessing to have fallen in love with her... but the prospect of a future together made him happier than he'd thought possible, even if he couldn't quite admit it out loud. Not yet.

"I think you're a romantic, Severus," said Minerva, a subtle smile on her thin lips.

"Narcissa said the same," he admitted gruffly, glaring down at his plate. "She was as wrong as you are."

"I disagree. Furthermore, I believe Tom Riddle's demise has been particularly good for you," said Dumbledore. "Do you know why?"

Severus snorted. "You think it's been good for me? Shocking, as it's been simply awful for most everyone else. Please, though, tell me why. I'd like to be enlightened."

Minerva rolled her eyes and helped herself to another bite but Dumbledore was beaming in his frame.

"I think it has been particularly good for you on a personal level because with his defeat and your near-death, you have been freed. You are no longer indebted to anyone, you have no master, and your life is your own. You did all you could for Draco at his mother's request and you did all you could for Harry in his mother's memory and both made it out of the Final Battle relatively unscathed, at least physically. Between wars and during this second one, you could not truly love another before not only because of the self-loathing consuming you, but because you were entirely fixated both on what you had done and what you hadn't been able to do, in regards to Lily Evans Potter. Now, the obsession is over, and you are able to move on, to live the life you've been denied all these many years."

"The obsession is over, isn't it," mused Severus, softening slightly. "I love Lily, and I say I always will, but I no longer feel that she was the only woman I could ever..." Catching a glimpse of Minerva, who was leaning forward on her hand, engrossed in his words, he immediately cut off, cleared his throat, and sat up straighter. With a hard look at Dumbledore's portrait, he added defiantly, "My Patronus remains a doe."

"Is it?" asked Dumbledore. "When was the last time you cast a..."

"It is," insisted Severus, though truthfully, he couldn't remember the last time he'd uttered the words 'Expecto Patronum.'

"She was your friend," said Minerva. "There's nothing wrong with mourning your friend, but it's been eighteen years. Even the happiest of married couples don't typically produce widows or widowers who remain faithful to a memory for over eighteen years. Not that you were a widower, but I trust you understand what I–"

"It was different with Lily." He stabbed at his food but made no attempt to continue eating.

"Of course it was," said Minerva gently. "But she's gone now, and your debt has been repaid, and for the love of Merlin, you deserve your own happiness. Does Mrs. Malfoy love you, do you think?"

"Please do not call her 'Mrs. Malfoy.'"

"Excuse me, Narcissa. How does she feel about you?"

"I... She is nearly as capable at Occlumency as I am, thus she is difficult to read, though I've tried."

"Do not utilize Legilimency on her, Severus!" scolded Minerva.

"Then how shall I know how she feels?"

"Talk to her! Ask her how she feels, tell her how you feel, have a conversation about the state of your relationship and where you'd like it to go! Talk to her about whether or not you're in love."

Severus' face screwed up in horror. "I'm not going to talk to her about that!"

Dumbledore chuckled in an almost fatherly way, but Minerva's lips formed a thin line, one her former Transfiguration students knew well. "You can share a bed with the woman, but an intimate conversation is too much to handle?"

"Who said we've shared a bed?!"

Between Dumbledore's muffled chuckles (hidden behind his painted hand) and Minerva's stern scolding expression, Severus felt like a teenager again, but one with the sort of parents Lily Evans, James Potter, and Remus Lupin were surely raised by: the sort of parents who cared, who lectured, and who got a kick out of watching their progeny suffer through the trials and tribulations of first love.

It was a feeling he both secretly liked and absolutely abhorred.

"Let's change the subject," he demanded. "Minerva, I heard Longbottom returned this fall to apprentice under Pomona. Has he destroyed any of the greenhouses yet?"

Meanwhile, at the restaurant, Narcissa and Andromeda were ordering dessert.

"You're a terrible influence, Cissy. I have a job, remember? If I'm late returning to work..."

"What's the worst they can do? The Cruciatus Curse is illegal again." She said this without a hint of humor, but Andromeda couldn't help laughing.

"Employees who make mistakes at work do not get Unforgivably Cursed, you out-of-touch animated porcelain doll! If they fuck up, they get fired! I can't afford to get fired."

"I'm sorry!" Narcissa wanted to return the insult but for an odd change, nothing came to mind. "I didn't... do you want to cancel the treacle tart?"

"No, of course I don't want to cancel it. I can't afford to eat this well usually, and I therefore intend to enjoy every bite for which you're willing to pay."

"I'm sorry you're poor," said Narcissa. "But it's your own damn fault. You should have had the foresight to marry money."

"Fuck off."

Narcissa flashed her a satisfied smile. They'd been getting too serious... and too nice. She couldn't handle it.

"So tell me, Andromeda Tonks, now that you've had an experience with a pureblood to compare to your past partners, is it true what they say about Muggleborns being... you know..." She tried to look sympathetic as she held her thumb and forefinger only a biscuit's width apart. "Small?"

"That's an old wives' tale, I'm afraid." Andromeda's face relaxed into a sly grin, thus Narcissa knew whatever was to come out of her mouth next would be biting. She was not disappointed. "But if you'd like my sisterly advice, take care to shower after foreplay with Snape – oily hair can cause acne and I'd hate to see you struggling to sit due to an unpleasant breakout along your inner thighs."

There was a tense six second silence before Narcissa cracked up.

"You're positively vile! That was considerably more vulgar than what I said! If Mother were here to hear the things that come out of your mouth, Andromeda! You are not funny!"

"If I am not funny, why are you laughing so hard you have tears in your eyes?"

"His hair is fine!" Narcissa dabbed the corner of her cloth napkin against her cheeks, to catch the escaped tears. "Merlin's beard! Inner thighs... Well, at least that's something I've been getting on the regular. Jealous?"

"Should I be?"

"Yes. Yes, you should be."

"In that case, lucky you." Though Andromeda tried to maintain a cool façade, she couldn't hold back an amused snort. "In all seriousness, though... how is he? Really? Compared to your husband?"

"In all seriousness... not as refined and rarely rough enough, but he's enthusiastic and good with his hands and he takes direction well. Yours?"

"Difficult to say, but I wasn't complaining the other night. Give it a couple of weeks and I'll be able to better assess."

"I know you still hate me, but I'm happy to have you." Narcissa grasped Andromeda's hand under the table. "I've missed having a sister, all these years, and Bella... it wasn't the same after Azkaban. She wasn't the same. I was... I was a little afraid of her sometimes. And she's not you, she was never like you. We were close once, remember? You and me?"

"Of course I remember, stupid." Andromeda placed her other hand over Narcissa's. "I only ever had one baby sister. And even though you were vapid and whiny and self-involved... I loved you, I suppose."

"Did you?"

"Yes. Just a bit."

"Just a bit?"

"The tiniest bit."

"I loved you too. A bit. I still do."

"As do I, I suppose."

"You do?" Narcissa's blue eyes shone, making her look very much like the baby sister she'd been forty years ago, begging Bella and Meda to watch her twirl or tumble, desperate for their approval. Andromeda nodded but withdrew her hands.

"Don't go getting emotional on me, now, you attention-needy Muppet. I don't care how many galleons this lunch sets you back, I absolutely refuse to hug you when it's over."

Narcissa smiled.

Downstairs, Draco and Hermione were paying their bill. She insisted upon splitting it in half, even though his food had been more expensive, and even though he had more money.

"Please, let me be an independent woman," she said, and finally he acquiesced. They returned to the Ministry together.

"Tomorrow, after work, want to get dinner together?" he asked before they parted to head to their respective departments.

"I'd love to." She glanced around quickly to ensure no one was around to catch them, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "See you tomorrow."

That night, Hermione crawled into bed feeling better than she had since before the temporary boyfriend break. Better about everything, including her parents' situation, thanks to the lunchtime conversation. She was excited to go to dinner with him the following evening... and wondered whether she should warn her mother she might not make it home tomorrow night.

Draco, meanwhile, spent bedtime chatting with Crookshanks, as had become routine. The cat curled up beside him seeking scratches and pets and in exchange he 'meowed' frequently enough to let the wizard think he was engaged in the conversation. While Draco was not convinced the life of a working-class wizard was for him (long days, little pay, no prestige!) he was glad it had impressed Hermione... and he found he didn't actually hate the duties the job entailed. It didn't feel as meaningful as working for W.W.A.M.M. had, though. But there was no reason to worry on that now... tomorrow night, he'd be out with his favorite witch, with any luck winning her back.

"Maybe this time tomorrow, it'll be Hermione's head on that pillow instead of yours," he said to the cat.

"Mroww?"

"No offense."

In the bedroom down the hall, Narcissa was trying to concentrate on what Severus was doing, but her sister's 'advice' from the afternoon lunch popped into her head at a most inopportune moment, making her laugh. Severus stopped his ministrations and propped himself up to look at her.

"What? What's funny?"

"Nothing! Just... Andromeda... it's nothing. Keep going."

"I can't keep going if you're thinking about Andromeda. That's... disturbing."

"It would only be disturbing if you were thinking about Andromeda," she countered.

"No, that would be inappropriate, but certainly not as disturbing. Am I... am I boring you?"

She could hear the vulnerability in his voice, though he had tried to ask the question without any inflection or emotion. She instantly felt guilty.

"No! I promise, I love what you're doing, and if I didn't, I would tell you. Something she said earlier came back to me and I... please, trust me, I like what you're doing. Keep doing it. And then, maybe I'll do something special for you. Any requests?"

He smirked and kissed her inner thigh. "A few."

"Go on, then." She guided him back into position. "And while you're – Oh! – working, think about – Mm, yes... – think about what you'd like in exchange."

Though he was typically the early riser and she the one to prefer a lie-in, she awoke before him the next morning. She sat up against the headboard to watch him sleep, almost unable to come to terms with the fact that this was her life.

One year before on this date, she'd been in bed alone, sick with the knowledge that the Ministry intended to execute her husband. She'd spent much of that time the way she spent her time after his death: drunk.

One year before that, she and Lucius were going through the worst time in their marriage, during which they rarely held each other or made love, as both were too consumed with fear and stress, anger and anxiety, knowing the Dark Lord was inhabiting the entire floor above them, fearing their son would be killed to punish them for their repeated failings.

The year before that, Lucius had been in prison.

The year before that, they'd known the Dark Lord had returned, thus there was tension in the air, but Bellatrix and the others had not yet been broken out, and it was easier to pretend away the reality.

During the four years prior, their marriage was relatively solid, despite the rough patch when Draco left for school and what she now knew to have been the period during which Lucius was cheating.

She kept going back and back and back in her mind, as Lucius grew younger and younger, until she was deep into the memory of the first time they'd slept together in this bed. It was November 1987, almost exactly twelve years ago. Abraxas Malfoy, patriarch, had recently passed away, thus Lucius' mother had decided to move into one of the smaller bedrooms, leaving the master bedroom to her son and his wife. Narcissa was thirty-two years old, mother of a six-year-old son, and eager to embrace her new status as Lady of the Manor, rather than the wife of the son of the Manor's Lord. She and Lucius had the entire bedroom and bath redone to fit their taste, though the ornate framework of the bed could not be altered in any way, having been in the room for over a century.

"Most Malfoy babies were probably conceived in this bed, Narcissa," Lucius had said that first night as they changed into their nightclothes. "Perhaps it shall bring us luck." He wanted another child, as did she. There was, according to an expert they'd seen, no obvious reason Narcissa couldn't conceive again. She simply... hadn't.

That night, Lucius was sweet and gentle and patient and giving, so much so it reminded her of the first night of their honeymoon, and though she typically enjoyed their sexual encounters a bit rougher, she was content. Nearly a year later, they did conceive again... only to lose the baby to a miscarriage, which also started right here in this bed.

When her husband was killed, she spent whole days in bed, whole twenty-four hour periods, crying and screaming and hurting herself, drinking and throwing things and wanting to cause unbearable pain to every single Wizengamot member who voted in favor of his execution. There were days she considered the possibility she would never again get out of this bed, never again smile or laugh or love or even glimpse the outside world.

She hadn't been a good mother during that period, she realized now. Thank Merlin for Draco's Mentorship program. The poor boy had lost his best friend and his father in a matter of months, and he'd probably wondered whether he'd end up losing his mother, too. No wonder being apart from Hermione Granger was so difficult for him now. For months, she'd been all he had.

But they'd pushed through. Severus had helped her push through. And things were getting better... though she couldn't help picturing her husband in bed with her sometimes, especially on those nights that she and Severus were not together. But he was gone. Lucius was gone, and never coming back, and she would never see him or speak with him or give herself to him again. And she had to accept that. This was her life now.

And it wasn't all bad.

She had her son, her sister, and Severus.

She wasn't sure prayer had helped her, but she genuinely felt if Lucius could see her now, he wouldn't hate her for falling for his friend. He'd understand, she thought, that she needed to not be alone. That she needed to accept his loss and let life go on.

"Your thinking woke me up," Severus mumbled. He rolled over, facing her but with his eyes closed, and rested his hand on top of her bare thigh under the covers. "You know, Minerva thinks we should have a talk about the way we feel for each other."

"Oh?" She wriggled back down under the blanket then snuggled up to him, comforted by his embrace. "How did you tell her you feel about me?"

"I didn't tell her, but she knows anyway."

"Knows what?"

"How in love with you I am."

A fluttering sensation filled Narcissa from gut to chest. "Are you, Severus? Are you in love with me? I ask because I'm in love with you, but I was afraid to say it, afraid you couldn't love me the way you love her, afraid you..."

"I love you in a way I've never loved anyone, not even her." Now his eyes were open. He pulled away from her just enough to make eye contact. "I've never been in love like this, Narcissa."

"Severus!" She brought her palm up to his cheek and kissed him after each sentence. "Severus, I love you." (kiss) "I'm in love with you." (kiss) "I love you." (kiss). "Make love with me." (kiss) "I love you."

"I love you, too."

As he positioned himself to oblige her request, it occurred to him Minerva McGonagall had been right. He didn't need Legilimency to know how Narcissa felt.

He simply had to talk to her.