A/N:
Long chapter, some short Lemony bits, and drama, but I tried for a little humor too, to lighten it up. Please let me know your thoughts, good, bad, or indifferent. The last chapter really seemed to drop off both in terms of number of views and reviews, so I'm worried it wasn't terribly popular with readers. Hoping this one makes up for it! Thanks!
-AL
STAGES OF GRIEF
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:
RELAPSE
When asked about the incident later, both Draco and Narcissa would state unequivocally that the fault was Andromeda's... but only because neither was quite willing to take the necessary personal responsibility.
"I am highly disappointed in all of you," lectured Hermione. With her arms folded and her lips pursed in a McGonagall-worthy thin line, she stared down the three people on the couch, all of whom looked guilty and uncomfortable. "I am officially implanting a new rule: no alcohol of any kind anywhere at Malfoy Manor – not inside the home, not on the grounds. Not for anyone, not for any reason... not even for guests who bring their own." This last part was directed toward Andromeda, who had the decency to look guilty in response. "And to be certain this rule is followed..." She snapped her fingers three times and for each snap a different house-elf appeared. She quickly informed them that no alcohol, not even cooking sherry, would be permitted going forward, and directed them to get rid of any they should find.
"This is the order of Master Malfoy." She shot a sharp look at Draco. "Isn't it?"
"Yes. This is... this is my order. Which you must obey." Though he hadn't moved into the Master Bedroom, as was customary of Malfoy sons after the deaths of their fathers, being the patriarch meant he technically outranked his mother, which Hermione knew... and Narcissa hated. "You will not provide alcohol even if my mother orders it from you, and if you find it in her possession, you will relieve her of it. Not even guests may indulge. Understood?"
"Yes, Master Malfoy," the tiny trio squeaked in unison. He gestured, giving them permission to go, then eyed his girlfriend critically. "I thought you were adverse to the owning and ordering about of house-elves, Hermione. What about SPEW?"
"Spew is what I wanted to do when I heard about what the three of you had done. You are all mature adults who know better, and now I have to do damage control. How do you think that makes me feel? Draco? Mrs. Malfoy? Mrs. Tonks?"
"Sorry," mumbled Draco.
"Sorry," echoed Narcissa and Andromeda, though the apology sounded less genuine coming from them.
"What will Severus say when he returns?" Hermione asked Narcissa, placing one hand to her hip, unintentionally mimicking her own mother. "Well?"
"He won't be happy."
"He won't be happy? That, Mrs. Malfoy, is an understatement, I'm sure. And you." Her gaze shifted to Andromeda, whose pouty expression increased her resemblance to Bellatrix. "I've sent for Harry because, honestly, I have no idea what to do with you! I hardly know you! What shall I tell him when he arrives?"
"You could tell him if he takes life as seriously as you do, he's liable to die from a stroke before he's thirty."
Narcissa sniggered behind her hand. This reminded her of her teenage years, when all Andromeda and Bella wanted to do was rebel. She'd have to sit on the couch between them, just as she was between Andromeda and Draco now, and listen to her parents' stern lectures and threats, as they wanted her to absorb whatever messages they were trying to impart to the others even though she hadn't misbehaved. Hermione's eyes snapped toward Narcissa.
"You find this funny, do you?"
"No!" Narcissa quickly put on her serious face, folding her hands in her lap. "Not at all, Mother Granger."
Now it was Andromeda hiding a snicker.
"Stop it! I realize, of course, that I have no power over either of you – quite the opposite, in your case, Mrs. Malfoy – but I am furious! This is no laughing matter! The Ministry is considering bringing you all up on charges!"
"For a little... prank?" Andromeda scoffed. "Please, Hermione. You work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, don't you? Simply tell them you investigated and discovered it was nothing. No harm, no foul. Nobody died."
"I work for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes! I'm an Obliviator. I lost my law enforcement job when I was arrested! Remember being arrested?"
This darkened Andromeda's expression. While she'd spent very little time in Azkaban, every moment incarcerated was a moment too many.
"Hey," said Draco suddenly, turning to his mother. "You're the only one of us who's never been in prison."
"Yet!" snapped Hermione. "We shall see what Minister Shacklebolt says when I tell him–"
"You can't tell him!" Now Narcissa felt slightly panicked. The girl couldn't be serious... could she?
"It's better if I tell him than if he finds out some other way. I cannot believe this. I cannot believe this!"
"We promise to never, ever drink again." Andromeda held up her right hand as if officially swearing to this. "In exchange, isn't there anything you can do... or anything Harry can do... to keep us out of trouble?"
"The completion of an alcohol rehabilitation program may be enough to save the two of you," she said, indicating the witches. "But Draco, there's absolutely no possibility Arthur and Flora will be able to let you continue working in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, and you'll be lucky if the Wizengamot doesn't send you straight back to Azkaban to await trial."
"No!" Narcissa leapt up, got dizzy, and put one hand on Draco's shoulder to steady herself. She had mostly sobered but her hangover remained; she pinched the bridge of her nose as she spoke. "No, he had nothing to do with it. It was all us. Me and Andromeda. And I'll swear to that in front of the Wizengamot. Please, Hermione, you cannot let him go back to Azkaban, not after all he's done and been through, and after..."
"If you want to tell the Minister you and your sister alone are to blame, I will not speak to the contrary." Hermione looked down upon her boyfriend with annoyance and pity, but also with love. "I don't want to see Draco back in prison either."
"I'm never drinking another drop of whiskey again." Andromeda buried her face in her hands, so her next words came out muffled. "If Nymphadora were alive, she'd be furious with me. She might even ask that they take me to Azkaban to teach me a lesson. If I have to return to rehab, that's what I'll do."
"Not me." Narcissa plopped back down. "I'm staying right here in my home, thank you. But I promise not to drink so much. No more than one glass of wine in a sitting and no spirits."
"Not good enough, Mrs. Malfoy."
"All we did was get a bit pissed and send a–"
"Is that all you did?" Hermione interrupted. "I don't think it was. Push up your sleeve and look at your arm. Just look at it!"
Narcissa obediently pushed up her sleeve, taking in the damage. She sighed.
"You've been burning yourself again, haven't you?"
"It's not that bad."
"Your skin looks like the wax dripping down a melting candle."
Narcissa clenched her jaw tightly shut as her nose twitched. While Hermione's description was not far off, she hated to have anyone comment negatively on her appearance, ever. She was far too vain and, frankly, secretly insecure to handle such criticisms, no matter how true they may be. She pulled her sleeve down over the newest scarring and blinked back tears.
"It's Andromeda's fault," mumbled Narcissa. "She provided the alcohol."
"Me?! I didn't force you to drink it."
"No, but you–"
Before Narcissa could complete her sentence, one of the house-elves reappeared.
"Mister Harry Potter is at the gate, Master Malfoy," she squeaked.
"Show him in," said Draco, though he wasn't happy about having the man in his house. They had not spoken since that disastrous dinner, though they did nod at each other whenever they had to share a lift at the Ministry. The elf disapparated to do as told, and moments later, Harry Potter was standing inside Malfoy Manor for the first time since he'd come as the prisoner of Snatchers, over a year and a half ago.
Potter looked about as happy to be there this time as he had last time (though this time his face was free from the effects of a stinging hex).
"Well," he said, staring down at the trio on the couch, arms folded, the mirror image of Hermione. "Who wants to start?"
No one jumped at the chance.
But it started forty-eight hours earlier, on the seventh of December, one day before the first anniversary of Lucius Malfoy's execution.
Severus sat in his sitting room, staring at a piece of parchment in his hands, one that had just been delivered.
"What is it?" Narcissa snuggled up beside him on the couch, her toes tucked under his thigh, content when he put an arm around her. She kissed his cheek.
"I have the opportunity to procure a plant I've been seeking for months. I want to experiment with it in order to create a better, less bitter Skele-Gro.
"Then why do you look as if your cat died?"
"I hate cats, remember?"
"You know what I mean."
"In order to obtain it, I would have to leave straight away. Today. Before lunch."
"But you're not hurrying out the door."
"I would be gone overnight. At least two nights. Possibly a third." He folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket before pulling her close. "Another opportunity will arise. There's no rush."
"This is because of me!" She detached herself from his grip, putting some distance between them. "You're afraid to leave me alone. I am not a child, Severus. I don't need you to nanny me."
"Tomorrow..."
"Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of my husband's death. I know. Trust me, it's been at the forefront of my mind for weeks. What are you afraid of?"
"A relapse."
Her eyes narrowed; she was clearly insulted. "I do not intend to drink, nor do I foresee self-injury."
"Still, I do not feel it would be prudent to abandon you now, when..."
"I am a strong woman, Severus. I know I've had a difficult year, but... what wife wouldn't? But I hate that you feel you can't trust me. It's insulting."
"The day before Valentine's Day, you burnt your arm to blisters and broke your nose when you fainted onto the floor."
"That was ten months ago."
"You got pissed with your sister in August."
"That was four months ago, and all that resulted was a slight hangover. I am fine."
"Let me worry about you, damn it."
"Stop worrying about me, damn it!"
Severus sighed. He reached across the couch to Narcissa, taking her arm and guiding her toward him until she was straddling his lap with his hands on her arse and her arms around his neck. He briefly kissed her pouting lips.
"Do you not worry about Draco? I seem to recall you coming to me sick with worry only three and a half years ago. If I remember correctly, you were willing to do anything to keep him safe. Why was that?"
"Because he's my son. Because I love him."
"And I love you." He kissed her again. "Let me worry."
Also worried, back in Wiltshire, was Hermione.
"I've just gotten a letter from George." She handed the parchment to Draco. "He heard a rumor that the Wizengamot will be coming to a decision about whether to resume the planned executions or suspend them indefinitely within the next few days. It was sent the day before yesterday."
Draco felt sick as his heart sunk into his stomach. Both Goyle and Zabini's fathers were scheduled for executions that got delayed after the debacle at the Ministry on the anniversary of the Final Battle. He settled on the sitting room couch beside her, opposite a roaring fire.
"Goyle's been sick over this since last October. Thirteen months of waiting and wondering."
"I wish I didn't have to work tomorrow." She rested her head on his shoulder. "I wish I could spend the entire day with you."
"I'll be alright, trust me." He patted her knee the way his father used to do when reassuring his worried mother during the war. "My father has been gone 364 days already and I've managed to cope. What's another day?"
"Draco, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm worried about you. I feel like you haven't gone through the grieving process yet. Not for your father, not for Crabbe... You suffered two significant losses last year, and because you had to spend the aftermath seeing your mother through her own process, I fear that you–"
"I've read the book now too, Hermione. It says right there on the first page of Chapter One that all people grieve in their own way; the stages are merely a guide. I'm fine, truly I am! I skipped from shock to acceptance faster than most because I had to, because of my mother, sure, but there's absolutely no reason you shouldn't go to work without worrying about what's going on here. If my mother is with Snape, I'll spend the day reading or I'll bake something, visit Goyle maybe. I don't understand why they insisted upon giving me the day off in the first place. I didn't ask for it. Bit presumptuous of the boss, really."
"I trust you." Hermione placed a quick peck on his cheek. "I'll come by after?"
"Please. You know, since it will be a difficult day for me, perhaps you should plan to stay over. Just to ease my pain, to keep me company... I'm sure we can find a way to keep my mind off..."
"I don't know if you're being a Slytherin right now or just being a man, but using your father's death to get yourself a little sympathy sex is positively abhorrent." She swatted at his chest and he laughed, but the truth was, he wasn't hoping for sympathy sex as much as he was a distraction... and something to look forward to. Because he hadn't been entirely honest with Hermione in regards to his feelings about the anniversary of Lucius Malfoy's execution. Far from being fine, he'd been having nightmares, increasing both in frequency and in terror-level, over the last two weeks leading up to it.
They started one night in mid-November. Hermione was at her parents' house, as she'd been for a month, and he'd had a particularly difficult day at work. The Hand of Glory, which he'd once seen on display at Borgin and Burkes, had somehow ended up in the possession of a Muggle man who'd claimed to have paid a hefty sum for it, but instead of helping him thieve in the night (as it gave light only to the beholder) it had attempted to strangle him in his sleep.
That night, while tossing and turning unable to succumb to sleep, Draco's mind drifted back to the summer before second year, when he first saw it on display. Borgin told him of its powers and he was intrigued, but his father coolly informed the proprietor of the Dark artifacts shop that he rather hoped his son would amount to more than a petty criminal, and Draco had felt his face go hot with humiliation. His father had high standards for him, but did not hold him in high esteem, and when they returned home to Malfoy Manor Lucius was angry that his son had embarrassed him.
"I only asked about it!" Draco protested. "I didn't say I was going to use it!"
"When you are in public, boy, you are representing the entire Malfoy line and name, and it is a name we who came before you do not wish to see marred by scandal or muddled by rumors of wrongdoing."
"You commit acts of wrongdoing!" shouted Draco. "You got in a bloody row with Weasley's father right in the–"
"Do not talk back to your father, Draco," Narcissa said calmly, taking her husband's side as she always did. "If he says you embarrassed him today, the correct response is to–"
"Shut it, Mother!" snapped Draco, immediately regretting this. She was visibly taken aback, as he's never spoken to her this way before and he wondered if it hurt her feelings, but before he could apologize her palm connected with his cheek.
Not counting the couple of times he'd had his hand slapped or his bottom spanked as a small child, this was the first time she'd really hit him.
"To your room, Draco," ordered Lucius. "Now."
He obeyed begrudgingly.
The summer before sixth year, it was his mother who brought him back to Borgin and Burkes, where he purchased the hand, hoping it would help him in the completion of his task. With his father in Azkaban and his mother barely hanging on, there was no one to lecture him on the preservation of the Malfoy family name.
He left it in his Hogwarts dormitory and did not return after the Final Battle to collect it, nor did he ask to be reunited with his other possessions, though most were eventually mailed to him. He had no idea whether it had been misplaced, reclaimed, or stolen, nor did he care.
But seeing it again after it nearly murdered a man turned his stomach. He felt responsible, even though he'd had nothing to do with it ending up in the Muggle's possession. He felt responsible for a lot of things. If he'd done a better job of testifying on his father's behalf, maybe the man wouldn't have been sentenced to death. If he'd gotten involved with W.W.A.M.M. earlier, maybe he could have prevented the previous fall and winter's executions. If he'd taken up Dumbledore on his offer to hide him and his mother while his father was in prison, maybe none of them would have fought on the side of the Dark Lord at all, and all three would have been spared their post-war trials. Or he could have been a spy, like Snape. He could have told Snape his plan sixth year. He could have asked Snape to help his mother. He might have learned that Snape and his mother had made the Unbreakable Vow... he wondered if it would have been a relief to know he didn't have to kill Dumbledore, or if he would have been furious with both of them (and his aunt Bellatrix) for going about their little plan behind his back, as if he wasn't capable.
Of course, the truth was, he wasn't capable. He wasn't any more cut out to be a killer than he was a thief or plunderer... or his father in miniature, despite his mother's pride in declaring him such.
That night in mid-November he dreamt he was in Azkaban, trying to break his father out using the Hand of Glory to light his way. But when he found his father's cell, the man refused to come with him.
"You've destroyed the Malfoy name, Draco," Lucius said coldly. "You've shown the world that Malfoys are weak. You couldn't best Potter in Quidditch at twelve and you couldn't end the life of a tired old man at sixteen. As an adult, you couldn't stop your mother from burning herself, and you can't save me from being executed. You gave my wife to that traitor Snape and you gave a place in our home to a dirty Mudblood. You're a failure, Draco. You disgust me. I'd rather be dead than leave here with you. Do you hear me, Draco? I said I'd rather be dead!"
At the barking of that last word, the Hand of Glory crashed to the floor of the cell, which fell into darkness. In the distance he heard the familiar cackling of his aunt Bellatrix, echoing off hollow walls.
"Who's there?" called a woman, and even though he'd never actually heard her voice before, Draco recognized it to be that of Nymphadora Tonks, his only cousin. The hugely-pregnant Metamorph rushed into the cell wearing the robes of an Auror, her bubblegum pink hair barely visible in the dim light from the tip of her wand. "You!"
"I can explain!" Draco threw up his hands in surrender. Behind him, his father muttered something that sounded like, "A disappointment." Bellatrix's cackling grew louder, madder.
"You're just like the rest of them!" exclaimed Tonks. "Evil!"
"No! I swear, I'm reformed! I..."
"Reformed!" his father spat. "He shags a Mudblood!"
Bellatrix's cackles were all around them, overlapping, as if six of her were laughing all at the same time.
"You could never be reformed!" said Nymphadora, holding out her wand. She swished it and he knew what was coming before she even uttered the incantation. "Avada Kedavra!"
Draco sat bolt upright in bed, jarring the cat, who purred beside him. His heart was racing. He'd never had such a vivid dream. It had been as if they were there, truly there, as if he'd been truly there, but of course such a thing was impossible.
The dreams became a regular occurrence, getting increasingly dark, which he wouldn't have thought possible after that dismal first one. He thought about requesting Dreamless Sleep from Severus, but as he hadn't spoken to the man since throwing him out, he wasn't eager to go asking for a favor. And he couldn't go through his mother without telling her about the nightmares, thus he simply tried to get by on as little sleep as possible, skipping it completely some nights.
He kept telling himself soon Hermione would return and the dreams would cease, even though they hadn't started on account of her leaving. But he didn't seem to have them when she was curled up in bed beside him.
"Draco? What are you thinking about? You seem... far away."
Her voice jarred Draco. He'd almost forgotten she was there, that he was in the sitting room, that he wasn't in bed fighting off a nightmare right now. Exhaustion was playing with his mind.
"It's nothing," he assured her. "I'll be fine. Go to work, come here after. We'll have dinner."
"Alright," she agreed, but the look on her face told him he'd not assuaged her worries.
Back at the home on Spinner's End, Narcissa was employing a distraction tactic she'd often used on her husband during their twenty-five year marriage.
Sex.
"Yes... fuck... yes... Narcissa..." groaned Severus and she bounced up and down in his lap, facing him on the couch. They'd only partially undressed – she was topless with her skirt gathered around her waist, and his shirt was unbuttoned while his trousers were only removed enough to grant her access to his erection, on which she'd already used her mouth, quickly progressing from there. He kept his hands on her thighs, encouraging the movement as she lifted herself until he was nearly out, and then fell back down, taking him completely inside her.
She grabbed his throat, applying just-enough pressure, and whispered harshly in his ear, "Tell me you love me, Severus."
"I love you, Narcissa."
She tightened her grip on his throat, making it difficult for him to comfortably breathe, and sped up her pace. He was close, she could tell, but she wasn't ready to be done.
"Tell me why. Tell me why you love me."
"I... oh... oh, fuck."
She squeezed his throat even more. "Tell me."
"I love you," he managed to say, despite the pressure against his larynx. "I love you because you're beautiful, you're witty, you're... you're... fuck, you're hurting me."
"Do you want me to stop?" she asked innocently, ceasing all movement, but not removing her hand from his throat.
"Don't stop." He placed one hand over hers, encouraging her to resume choking him, and gripped her thigh with the other, urging her to continue. "Harder."
A grin grew across her lips. He was generally such a tender lover – enthusiastic, as she told her sister, but gentle and giving – so realizing this was turning him on as much as it was her increased the delightful throbbing sensation between her legs. She pressed the backs of her thighs to the tops of his as she switched from bouncing to grinding over him in slow circles. She placed a kiss just under his ear before whispering in it.
"Sometimes, Severus, I want you to hurt me. Hold me down, pull my hair. Slap me, bite me. Leave bruises. Make me scream."
"I... I can't hurt you..." He tried not to think about the fact that this was probably what she'd done with Lucius, and tried to pretend there was no connection between the anniversary of his execution coming up tomorrow and the fact that she suddenly wanted him to engage in rougher coupling.
"I like it." She kissed him, hard, and released his throat. She let her teeth scrape his bottom lip before pulling away, only to grab a fist full of his hair, jerk his head back, and run her tongue over the spot on his throat where she'd just been pressing with her palm. She nipped at his Adam's apple before dragging her tongue along his neck to the scar from Nagini's bite. She sucked over the raised skin here, then kissed his lips, before adding innocently, "Please?"
Against his better judgment, he responded by repositioning them so that she was on her back. He grabbed her wrists and pinned both above her head, holding them in place on the arm of the couch with one of his hands.
"Like this?" he asked, grabbing behind her knee under her skirt with the other hand. He thrust into her unforgivingly over and over, never tearing his eyes away from hers. She smiled. It felt incredible... and it reminded her of all she'd been missing since they locked Lucius away. He used to bind her wrists above her head using magic, he used to pummel into her with such force... he used to leave her throbbing and aching and weak...
"You like this?" Severus asked, still seeking reassurance.
"I love you," she replied, trying to push from her mind that word her son had uttered just over a month before... 'Transference.' She cried out with pleasure as Severus tightened his grip on her wrists and bent his body to bite down on her shoulder. His chest pressed against her bare breasts, his open shirt caused friction against her nipples, and when he suddenly slapped her thigh, hard enough to leave a welt, while his mouth connected with hers, this small action was enough to send tremors of sheer bliss through her body.
"I love you," he reiterated, just before his own release took from him the ability to form coherent thought. He collapsed on top of her, spent, and she closed her eyes, closed her mind, and... for just the tiniest second... let herself pretend it was her husband's weight on top of her.
Narcissa returned to Malfoy Manor shortly thereafter, as there was no reason for her to stay in Cokeworth with Severus gone for several days. She ate a small house-elf prepared dinner alone, though her son had asked if she wanted to join him and Hermione Granger at a restaurant (she politely declined) and she crawled into bed early, after a long, hot bath, during which she let herself mentally travel back in time to the aftermath of the Final Battle, when she and Lucius should have been taking care of their confused and broken son, but were showering together and making love instead.
Fuck, she loved him. She loved him. And even though he'd cheated on her nearly a decade ago, she knew he loved her too. He was the love of her life, her soul mate, made for her. He was beautiful pristine perfection, even better looking naked than he was clothed, though he looked good in whatever he wore. He was her Peacock and she was his Feather and Severus...
What was Severus?
A friend. A lover. Something more?
She loved him too, didn't she?
Did she?
Or was it... transference?
"I'm so sorry, Severus," she whispered into the darkness. Whether she truly loved him or not, he clearly loved her, and he'd never been in love before, not really. If she broke his heart, she'd be worse than Lily Evans Potter, so much worse, because she let him believe...
But no, she did love him, didn't she?
Did she?
"And I'm sorry, Lucius. And Draco. I'm sorry, Draco." She wiped her nose on her nightgown sleeve, furious at the tears welling up in her tired eyes. "I'm not a good wife, I'm not a good mother, and I'm not a good... whatever I am to Severus. Can any of you ever forgive me?"
For the first time in a long time, she draped Lucius' dressing gown over her body, and cried herself to sleep.
The following morning, Draco woke well-rested, for a nice change. He'd slept through the night without nightmares, presumably due to the fact that he had Hermione sleeping beside him.
"Are you awake?" he asked, sliding his hand across her abdomen under her pajama top.
"What time is it?"
"Half past six."
"I can sleep another half hour. I don't have to be into work until eight-thirty today."
"You could sleep another half hour..." The tips of his fingers made their way just under the band of her pajama bottoms. "Or you could wake up early."
"Didn't we just do this last night?" she asked, but she tilted up her pelvis, encouraging him as his hand slipped lower.
"Yes. And now we can do it this morning." He was inside her knickers now, but paused, awaiting permission to continue.
"Draco!" she said his name as if annoyed, but her own hand joined his, as he guided his fingers to where she wanted them. "Very well, so long as you don't make me late."
He made quick work of readying her, rubbing and flicking at her clitoris in the ways he knew she liked, until she was slick and gasping and bucking her hips. His tongue met hers as she pulled him over her – she liked it best with him on top – and they quickly divested each other of their nightclothes.
"You're the best lover I've ever had," she teased as she stroked his hard cock with one hand, digging her short nails into his shoulder with the other.
"Funny." He positioned his tip between her folds, massaging her clit with it as if it were a toy. "Every witch I've had has said the same. I must be incredible."
"Every witch? You mean both of us?" She wrapped her legs around his waist as he entered her, crossing her ankles behind his back.
They kissed and rocked and touched and moaned, and when they changed positions so that she was on her stomach with him behind her, still on top, he kissed the back of her shoulder and said the words he'd been longing to ask for over a month.
"Please move back in. Move in with me."
"Oh, Draco, I..."
"Live with me. Live here. Share my bed. I hate sleeping without you." He moved his right hand between her body and the mattress to pleasure her, even though, especially in this position, he liked it better when she did this herself.
"Christmas," she answered, tilting up her arse to grant him better access. His slid in and out of her quim with rapid speed; each thrust made her gasp between words. "If we're still happy together at Christmas, then... then... then..." Her impending orgasm distracted her from her proposal.
He abruptly pulled out, flipped her over, and kissed her hard on the mouth, an action she heartily reciprocated. She then took his length in her hand and guided him back inside her, her knees bent on either side of his hips, and arched her back as he fucked her erratically, a sure sign he was close to coming. She used her own fingers to continue what his had started in the previous position, causing her own impending release to rebuild. For the first few months they'd been sleeping together, she hadn't been comfortable enough to do this with him, or in front of him, but eventually – oddly, once they were living apart – sex became so natural between them she no longer felt inhibited, much to their mutual satisfaction.
When she finally hit her high, her body trembled, and her half-closed eyes and parted lips were too much for him. He immediately pulled out, spilling himself on her lower abdomen, as she struggled to catch her breath and regain her mental faculties. He collapsed beside her and reached for his wand to Vanish his seed.
"Thanks," she said weakly. "Have you got past your animosity toward Professor Snape?"
"Not exactly." Draco closed his eyes and concentrated on the quickened pace of his heartbeat, waiting for it to resume normal speed. "But even if I had, I can't ask the man who's shagging my mother to brew us a birth control potion."
"Ask your mother, then." Hermione rolled onto her side, placing her palm in the center of his chest. "It's too dangerous to do it this way and we can't trust the Diagon Alley Apothecary anymore, not since..."
"I know."
Just after Halloween, quite the scandal had been broken by the Prophet, when it was revealed that the nearly hundred-and-thirty-year-old potions master who ran it was losing his touch – and, the reporter surmised, his mental faculties. Several of his potions had to be recalled, and at least seven women reported having become pregnant while on his contraceptive potion, including Angelina Johnson, George Weasley's girlfriend, who wasn't happy about it being the potential end of her Quidditch career (though Molly was thrilled about future grand-motherhood, an uncharacteristically melancholy-sounding George told Hermione).
"I'll ask him if you won't," said Hermione. "Or I'll ask your mother."
"You ask my mother." Draco smirked. "Should be an interesting conversation."
"Don't think I won't! I'm not afraid of your mother."
"I think you will. I think it'll be hilarious." He opened his eyes, rolled toward her, and grinned. "Let me know how it turns out."
"Perhaps I'll ask her for a few tips and new techniques, too. See if she can teach me to–"
"No!" Draco's grin disappeared faster than a banished house-elf. "I don't want her teaching you anything! I don't want... forget I said... That's disgusting. I'd rather have you pregnant than have you trying out any techniques learnt from my mother!"
"Well, I'd rather not have me pregnant, so talk to Professor Snape, won't you?" She leaned over and kissed his cheek without awaiting an answer. "And keep your mother company today. She may not be as far along in the grieving process as you claim to be. I'll see you after work."
With that, she extracted herself from the bed and headed to the shower, leaving Draco feeling cold, lonely, and sick. He'd woken up so happy about not having had any bad dreams he'd actually forgotten what the day was, and now that he remembered, he wished she hadn't mentioned it.
Two hours later, Narcissa and Draco sat for breakfast together, but neither felt much like eating. Then she dragged him into the library to look at photo albums – not one of his favorite activities.
"Why do we have so many bloody pictures?"
"Because I've always been very beautiful and therefore thought it necessary to have evidence of that picture permanently, in case I should ever lose my looks."
"I must have inherited my modesty from you," Draco quipped, but he did so without a shred of humor in his tone. She opened another book, this one with the words "10 Years Married, Dubai" on the cover.
"This was the first trip we took alone after you were born. Left you here with both of your grandmothers. I was terribly worried about being apart. My mother was never... maternal... and I was afraid she wouldn't give you the love and attention you were used to while we were gone, but your Grandmother Malfoy spoiled you enough for the both of them.
Draco had been about three when his parents spent that week in the United Arab Emirates and he had very little memory of being without them, save for a vague recollection of having been brought to Hogsmeade to try on new dress robes with Grandmother Black, who slapped his face when he complained about the itchy collar. This was years before his mother ever did so, and he'd sobbed so hard they had to leave Diagon Alley, for which he received another slap once they returned home. Grandmother Malfoy's affection did not make up for Grandmother Black's quick temper, as far as he was concerned. He'd been thrilled to see his parents return.
"Look, there we are on the beach. Do you think I was pretty?"
"Ask Snape if you were pretty," Draco said bitterly. He knew he wasn't being nice and didn't understand why. His mother hadn't done anything to hurt him. Perhaps it was the thought of having been abandoned by them for eight days, or perhaps it was the realization that they'd always loved each other more than either of them loved him...
But no, that wasn't fair. They loved him. They both did. Especially his mother. She'd made the Unbreakable Vow for him.
He wasn't being rational.
He felt dark inside.
He felt the way he had in Azkaban.
Narcissa ignored his comment, choosing to turn the page instead. In the top picture on the left, she and Lucius were in a hotel room, her back against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on her arse, kissing.
"Who took these pictures?" asked Draco, pulling a face.
"Dobby. He used to go with your father everywhere, the big-eared traitor."
"You made him take pictures of you – oy, no!" Draco quickly slammed the book closed. On the next page, onto which she'd just turned, they were still kissing... but wearing considerably less clothing.
"I forgot that one was in here. Don't worry, the rest are fine."
"No, Mother, please." Draco put a hand on the cover of the book, keeping it closed. "I cannot spend the entire day with you doing this, looking through old photographs, ripping open wounds. He's been gone a year, sure, but it's just another day. One day more than yesterday and one day less than tomorrow. Let's do something to distract us instead. Let's go shopping. You enjoy shopping."
"We're not going shopping on the anniversary of the day they killed your father, Draco. What is wrong with you?"
"I can't think about it. I can't think about him, I can't think about the execution. You weren't there, Mother. You didn't see it! You didn't see him! You don't know what it was like when–"
"I know that!" She stood up quickly, letting the heavy album fall to the floor with a clunk. "I was too weak to be there, alright? I was too... too broken, too damaged, too in denial. I wasn't there for him and I wasn't there for you and there's not a damn thing I can do about that now, can I? Why won't you stop hating me for it?"
"What?" He jumped up too. "I don't hate you for it!"
"Of course you do! You must! You had to watch the execution alone, you had to grieve your friend Crabbe alone, you had to live half a year alone, all because I couldn't get myself out of bed or–"
"Where is this coming from?"
"Tell the truth, Draco. You resent me. You're angry with me for not having been there for you! Deep down, you hate me!"
"At the moment, I can't say I like you," he snapped, surprising even himself. Seeing the hurt across her face, he quickly softened and added, "But I love you. I always love you."
"I'm sorry." She sniffled, hugged the album to her chest, and avoided his eye. "I'm sorry."
Before he could apologize too, a house-elf appeared to inform Narcissa that Andromeda had arrived.
"Were you expecting her?" asked Draco as Narcissa returned the album to its shelf.
"No. I have no idea why she's come."
Andromeda was at the door looking a bit worse for wear. There were melting snowflakes in her wild hair and her eyes had deep purple bags underneath. Draco did a double-take upon seeing her, as she looked so much like his Aunt Bellatrix for one panicked millisecond he thought the sadist had come back from the dead.
"You look like hell," said Narcissa as a house-elf took her sister's coat.
"I feel worse than I look," replied Andromeda wearily as she tapped her wand to her glasses, drying the water dripping down the lenses. She was dressed like Hermione would on her off-work days, in short-heeled boots, blue jeans, and a heavy dark gray pullover, an odd contrast to his mother, who was wearing a long black witch's robe over a gold dress with a tight bodice. The elder Black sister wore not a stitch of makeup, whereas his mother was rarely seen without it. They not only looked unrelated, they looked as though they were from entire different worlds.
"You wear glasses?" asked Narcissa. "Since when?"
"I've needed them for distance since I was pregnant with Nymphadora. She made me fat, stole my eyesight, and left me with an unsightly scar when she wouldn't come out properly thus I had to be cut open."
Draco shuddered, not at mention of the scar, but because it brought to the forefront of his mind that awful recurring dream, featuring pregnant cousin Nymphadora, telling him he'd never be reformed. He was relieved to bid the two women adieu when they headed into the sitting room. As soon as the door was closed, Andromeda grabbed Narcissa by the wrist.
"I fucked a man."
"You what? Barnaby, you mean? That little boy's grandfather?"
"No." Andromeda pulled her sister toward the couch, gestured for her to sit, set down her heavy bag, and settled beside her. "Another man. His name is Robert."
"Robert what?"
"How the fuck should I know, Robert What? Just Robert. I met him last night in a bar."
"You met a man last night in a bar and–"
"This is not easy for me to talk about, Cissy, so I'm going to have to ask you to shut it until I give you permission to speak. If I don't get it all out quickly I may have to live with it inside me, festering, for the rest of my life."
"Go on, then."
"Last night, Barnaby had a schoolgirl taking care of his grandson, while Teddy is staying at Harry and Ginny's for a couple of nights while she's recovering from a Quidditch injury. Hit hard in the head, can't play for a week. I was excited to have this alone time, as I thought Barnaby and I could use it to become better acquainted. We met for dinner last night in London, after work. Midway through starters, he got a phone call from the girl–"
"He got a what?"
"A phone call. It's a... a phone is... it's like..." Andromeda let out an exasperated burst of air. "He has a cellular phone, which is... imagine you could send messages through a small box, the way you can via Owl or with a Patronus. The point is, she contacted him and said Greyson was sick, vomiting, had a fever, and Barnaby needed to rush home. I was depressed to call it a night and... here is where I made my tragic mistake... I went to the bar for just one drink before heading back to my empty house. Halfway through my second whiskey I met Robert, presumably a Muggle, who offered to buy me a third. I ended up taking the tube – that's like a Knight Bus for Muggles, but underground – back to his flat, where I let him fuck me."
Narcissa looked utterly repulsed. "But why, Meda? Why would you–"
"I was pissed, I was depressed, I wasn't thinking. And it was awful. He was rough."
"Oh?" Now the blonde leaned forward slightly, unable to hide her curiosity. "How rough?"
"He threw me down, pulled my hair, and hit me across the face."
"You had me intrigued until that last one!" Narcissa's expression had changed into one of appalling. "I used to love it when Lucius threw me around or pulled my hair, but he never, never would have hit my face, not ever."
"Yes, well, I told Robert that he was never, never to hit my face again either, and he didn't, but he did belittle me for being a prig."
"Fuck him, then."
"I did!"
"That's not what I–"
"When he was done, he told me if I wanted to shower before leaving the loo was down the hall on the left, and then he rolled over and fell asleep. Passed out, maybe. I don't know. He'd been drinking too. I apparated home right from his bedroom, took a shower in my own bathroom, and thought quite seriously about hanging myself."
"Ohh, Meda..." Narcissa took her sister's hand between hers and nearly started to cry when the first tears escaped down Andromeda's cheeks. Cissy had always been the most emotional of Cygnus and Druella's three daughters. Even as children, no matter what happened, Bella and Meda rarely cried.
"Even when I was cheating on Ted, even when I was nearly with Barnaby, I've never in my entire life felt so dirty and... and... and... I don't even know his bloody name! I don't care about him, I don't want to see him again, but now I feel like I've been unfaithful to two men in one go, Ted and Barnaby, and I don't even know why I did it!"
"Because you were drinking," said Narcissa, enveloping Andromeda in her arms. Andromeda, for once, did not fight back against this tender physical contact, she didn't even try to remind Narcissa that hugging is not something she does.
"The only reason I didn't hang myself, Cissy, is Teddy. It wouldn't be fair to him to lose me after losing his parents, though I have to say, I think Harry and Ginny – despite being so young – could do a better job of raising him than I can!"
"That's not true! But I know how you feel. This time last year, the primary reason I didn't kill myself is because it would require getting out of bed to take the initiative, which I couldn't seem to manage. I told myself, Draco is grown now, you're only holding him down, you're hurting him, he'd be better if you were gone, and then I thought perhaps I'd see Lucius again. It's possible, isn't it? We can't know what exists 'beyond the veil.'"
"It was this time last year, wasn't it? Narcissa, I'm sorry, I forgot!" Andromeda pulled herself up, wiped her eyes, and tried to regain control of her emotions.
"One year ago today, yes."
"You need this as much as I do, then." Andromeda reached for her heavy brown suede bag, placed it on the couch between them, and opened it. "Whiskey and wine. Which would you like? I'm partial to the former but–"
"It would be cruel for me to make you drink alone." Narcissa reached in and pulled out one of three bottles of elf-made red wine, featuring Severus' favorite label.
An hour later, Draco joined them.
An hour after that, he, too, was pissed.
An hour after that, an Owl arrived carrying the Quibbler. The front page broke a story the Daily Prophet had wanted to report on first, but they were too late.
All Executions Suspended Indefinitely.
Minister Shacklebolt Expected to Call For New Sentencing Hearings.
Apologies to Families of Those Already Put to Death Expected.
"Too fucking late," said Draco, reaching for what was left in the second whiskey bottle. "Fat lot of good that does us now."
"Fuck the Ministry," said Andromeda. "A fortnight ago I finally received word regarding Nymphadora's Auror payout. What they estimated she was worth, awarded to Teddy because his mother was killed while doing her job. They determined because she was murdered by a relative, it could fall under the category 'domestic dispute,' thus they're on the hook for nothing. Not a sickle. If anyone else had killed her, he would be able to collect from their Auror War Orphans Fund, but because Bella bloody did it..." Andromeda snatched the wine from Narcissa, since no whiskey remained. "They're the same monsters they were when the Ministry was under You-Know-Who's control. Fuck them and fuck Shaklebolt."
"We ought to send them a message," said Narcissa furiously, slurring her words. "Teach the Minister a lesson."
"Yes!" Draco, who was slumped in his chair, having consumed too much alcohol too quickly to handle it, lifted his hand in agreement. "Teach them all!"
And it was this discussion that led to their subsequent actions that resulted in Hermione's lecture and Auror Harry's presence in Malfoy Manor the following day.
"What should I tell Teddy?" asked Harry, staring sternly down at Andromeda. "That his grandmother's headed back to Azkaban because she got pissed and wanted to send a message?"
"I'll go to prison," offered Draco. "I'll take the fall."
"You most certainly will not!" snapped Narcissa. "It's my fault! Arrest me, Potter. Leave them out of it. Send me to Azkaban."
And, because he had to arrest someone and she had both the cleanest record and the least to lose, that's precisely what Harry Potter did.