I got real big plans, baby, for you and me
So love me for who I am and for who I'm gonna be
Ain't got everything you want, but got everything you need
So take a chance, take a chance on me
I got real big plans
Big Plans, Why Don't We
"Draco, you have to." The little pout on her lips and the spectacular jut of her hip as she scolds me is quite adorable really. I doubt she means it to be, but I know by now that unless I've done something truly horrendous she's all bark and no bite.
The snort that escapes me makes her eyes darken. "Not bloody likely. I was out of my mind when I wrote that, and besides, I've nothing to apologize for."
I try to walk away, but her tiny little stomps round me too quickly, and she's standing in front of me with her attempt at a menacing glare. "I think it'll be good for you both."
I shrug. "I don't." I try to sidestep her, but her hand reaches out for my wrist, and she peers up at me with that look that she knows I can't fucking say no to. She might be part Slytherin after all.
"Please? If you and Ron can just… coexist." Her voice fades off as she decides to try another tactic. "He'll never make the first move, but it would mean a lot to me if you did."
Fuck. Studying the sincerity in her face makes the ice around my heart thaw infinitesimally, and I shake my head. "What am I supposed to be apologizing for exactly?" I ask, pulling her against my chest and burying my face in her curls.
"Just your general prattiness ought to do." She chuckles, and my fingers find the spot under her rib cage that makes her squeal; soon she's thrashing as she's caught in my arms. As her laughter quiets, she looks up at me with a bright playful look before winding her arms behind my neck. "If you do it—and do it nicely—I'll wear that thing you like."
My lips curve into a wicked smirk as I press her back into the counter where we shared our first kiss all those months ago. The counter where we've since cooked at least half a dozen more lasagnas and where she let me bend her over not but three nights ago. "Now this is a negotiation I can get on board with."
My hands slide down the dip of her waist and grip under her rear to pick her up and deposit her on the tile counter. I find my place between her thighs and latch unto her neck, pushing the curls over her shoulders.
She lets out a tiny little gasp, squeezing her thighs on my hips for a moment before lightly pushing me away. "Draco!" she chastises. "We're due at the Burrow, and you've got one more name on that list before you get to see me in that little number again."
With a tiny hop off the counter, she makes her way to our Floo, and I watch with a desperate hunger at the way her denims perfectly cling to the curve of her arse. She turns before tossing the powder in and throws me a cheeky little wink before disappearing.
My vision darkens as the green flames die down, and I storm towards the Floo myself, growling "Fucking Weasley" before announcing my destination.
The Weasel and I are sitting across from each other at the table sharing narrowed glares and curled-lipped grimaces as Molly and Hermione stand guard over us.
"One of you has to say something eventually," Molly says with an exaggerated sigh.
"I'm just waiting for his apology, mum," Ron says with a smug raise of his brow. "He's given them to everyone but me, and you can't expect me—"
"Yes, we can," Molly and Hermione chime in perfect unison but only Molly continues. "I absolutely expect you to be pleasant and well behaved. Maybe you should apologize first, Ronald."
The ginger twat releases a loud bark and shifts in his seat. "For what? Arresting him? Not likely. It's my job as an Auror—"
"Junior Auror," I chime in with a smirk. The way his mouth transforms into a ugly glower delights me.
Ron's palm opens in my direction, and his eyes blow wide. "Do you see what I'm saying, mum? He's impossible."
Hermione lets out a delicate little cough, and my gaze flickers up to meet hers—which is self righteous as fuck, and if I wasn't guaranteed the opportunity to fuck her in that little green corset I love so much, I'd already be through the Floo.
My lips pull back, baring my teeth slightly as my jaw clenches. "I'm sorry," I manage with a tight throat.
Ron's face flickers in amusement, and he leans over the table with a hand perched obnoxiously behind his ear. "What? I could have sworn— Oi! Mum!" Molly's hand shot out to slap the back his head, and he's rubbing at his "injury" with his fat palm. "Fine. I'm sorry, too. Kind of…" He ducks the next swat with a laugh.
We stare at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up the way we've done for nearly a decade now, and with a tight lipped smile, he thrusts his hand towards me in an offering. I take it tentatively, and after a few quick shakes, we both rip our hands back to our sides.
"Oh, I know!" Hermione exclaims brightly, clapping her hands together before bringing her wand out and flourishing it through the air. A wizarding chess set appears on the table between us, and we eye it and then each other with a tentative awareness.
"There." Granger grins. "You two fight out all your aggression over this game, and then when it's over, you stand up as friends."
Weasley sits back with a smug smirk that I'd like to smack off his ugly face. "Not bloody likely, 'Mione."
"Scared, Weasel?" I challenge, leaning my elbows on the table.
Ron's eyes narrow at me, and he matches my posture, staring at the pieces of the chess board in front of us. "Fat chance, Ferret. You're up first."
The game stretches on for the better part of two hours but in the end, he fucking wins. It was a stupid oversight on my part, and I'm growling at the shattered remains of my king when Weasley again offers his hand to me.
"Good game, Malfoy."
I manage a grunt even as my shoulders are slouched over the board. I'm not used to losing. "You too, Weasley."
"Tentative friends?" he offers with an arched brow.
I consider his offer with a bob of my head. "Conditional acquaintances."
"Deal, you fucking wanker." He whispers that last bit since Molly and Hermione are just on the other side of the kitchen watching us with wide, hopeful eyes, and I chuckle as I stand from the table and clap my hand on his shoulder.
I disappear outside and pull the tattered parchment from my trousers. It's tea stained and fraying past the point of being acceptable. I remember the day I sat down to write the names. I study them and the moments they all represented in the months following the war. Each one of them was an open ended story that I can finally say has finished its arc.
Madame Rosmerta
Katie Bell
Pansy
Goyle
Crabbe
Snape
Dumbledore
Molly
George
Weasel (shite...maybe?)
Potter
Granger
Using the tip of my wand, I cast an inking charm and cross out the final name. I can't help the grin that spreads across my face as I stare down at my list, marveling at how far I've come.
I hear the back door slam shut, and Granger's arms are winding around my middle seconds later.
"Thank you," she mumbles into my shirt, tightening her arms around me.
"Yeah, yeah. Thank me with that little green thing I like." I chuckle, turning my face so I can stare over my shoulder at her.
"Maybe I'm already wearing it," she teases, and I feel her words between my legs.
Cheeky little witch.
"I just don't think I'm going to be any good at it, Draco. Maybe I'll just stay home?" Granger is shifting in her corner of the couch but she's not getting off that easily.
"Nope." My lips pop around the second syllable as I shrug the silly muggle hoodie over my shoulders and grab my velvet bag of die. "You promised me all your Galleons, and since I've made the executive decision not to pauper you, you will be joining me for tonight's adventure. What are you going to roll as? Rogue? Ranger? Wizard seems a bit obvious."
"Well, I did technically promise that, dear—" she says the term of endearment like a hex "—but I never anticipated you'd have such enthusiasm for fantasy roleplaying games with Muggles."
I shrug and run my tongue over my teeth as I stare back at her.
Granger nearly jumps from her seat with an idea. "What if I wear the green thing again?"
I respond with a scrunched nose and a shake of my head. "I nearly destroyed it last time, and you can't expect that little piece of satin to get you everything."
Her bottom lip juts out, and she crosses her arms over her chest. I'm tossing my die bag up and catching it midair when another thought dawns over her.
"What if—"
"It better be really good, Granger," I cut her off with a bored roll of my head.
Her teeth cut into her bottom lip, and when she releases it, I'm all ears. "What if I offer you another kind of roleplay?"
My chin quirks at the thought, and I find myself considering all the different versions of Granger I'd like to fuck.
"Now you're talking, Granger," I say, tossing my die bag on the counter.
An hour later, I'm sitting in that same stupid little hoodie on the edge of our bed and practically vibrating with anticipation. Lucky for me, Granger had everything she needed for our little roleplay in her trunk, but she has been taking a painstakingly long time in slipping into character.
"Maybe we ought to go to Dungeons and Dragons after all?" she calls from the bathroom, and I shout back my disapproval before she can even continue her argument.
Her curly little head pokes out from behind the door. I must look like a child on Christmas morning because I swear I'm dancing in my seat.
She steps out, hidden by her large black Hogwarts robes, her hands clasped behind her, and she trudges up to stand in front of me.
This has been a fantasy of mine for almost as long as I've noticed that witches had tits but she's ruining it with her hesitation .
"Granger, if you don't want—"
"I want to," she cuts me off. "But I want something too."
My brows raise in question, and from behind her back she withdraws my old Quidditch jersey and shoves it into my chest. I smirk at the worn fabric in my hands and stand to full height, shrugging off my hoodie and undershirt. Her eyes study the lines of my chest, and I can see her cheeks twinge with a pink blush.
Wetting my lips with the tip of my tongue, I pull the emerald green shirt over my head, noticing the way it stretches over my chest a little more snug that it used to.
Her cheeks flush as she smiles shyly down at me and my hands grip her robes and rip them open to expose her uniform below.
My jaw drops as I stare down at my naughty little witch; she's taken some creative liberties with her old uniform. The hem of her skirt falls just at the crease below her bum, and the buttons of her oxford are strained from working far too hard to hold it together. She still has those ugly wool socks pulled up to her knees, and her tie is loose and disappears into her cleavage.
"Fuck," I breathe as my hands push the robes from her shoulders and then slide down to grope her arse while my fingertips slip under the hem of her skirt.
She stiffens and furrows her brow in a scold at me. "Ten points from Slytherin for foul language."
I chuckle as the blood rushes to my prick, and I pull her down into my hard on, her breath catching. "Surely there's something I can do to make up the points, Granger." My hands continue exploring under her plaid skirt, and when I discover she's without knickers I fucking growl.
"I might be able to think of something," she says with a proud tilt of her chin, a look I've seen grace her face in class a hundred times.
She moves around me and sits on the edge of the bed, and for a moment, I'm not quite sure what she means—until her knees spread and her jaw falls open. I swear to fuck I'm the luckiest bastard in London, perhaps the world.
I sink to my knees in front of her, and her hands tangle in my hair as I kiss her kneecaps and then the soft skin of her inner thigh. I push the hem of her skirt up around her hips; I can see her wet slit from here.
I wrap my fingers around her delicate hip bones and tug her closer to the edge of the bed before I grip the collar of her obscenely lowly-buttoned shirt and rip it, the buttons flying around us.
She gasps, her back arching as her red tie settles between her exposed tits, and I tease them mercilessly as I push her back and bury my face between her thighs.
It has been nearly eighteen months of sitting on this little chaise, and against all odds, I think I've come to like this odd little Harry Potter look-alike.
Our sessions have become less about healing and more about moving forward. We still discuss everything that has happened to led me here, but it hurts less now.
"I have something for you," Brenner says with a gleaming smile and tosses a folder on the table.
I eye it carefully before gingerly taking it into my hands and flipping it open.
Release from Care #M8952
I, Dr. Harold Brenner, do hereby release Draco Malfoy from my care. Over our time together, I have come to find that he is of a sound mental state and, in my professional opinion, is of no threat to society.
It is also in my professional opinion that he be granted an early release from his probation with the Ministry of Magic.
Signed,
Dr. H. Brenner
My eyes study the innocuous words for a few long moments before I peek up at him over the folder. "What's this?"
"You're done." Brenner grins, gesturing at the space between us proudly. "You've come a long way, Draco. And I can see no reason why you need to continue with weekly court-mandated therapy."
My vision darkens as my fingers grip the papers in my hand too harshly. "You're kicking me out?"
Brenner laughs, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his jumper. "Not in the slightest. But it is quite the accomplishment and you should be proud. My door is always open, Draco. I haven't filled our Thursday appointment; if you'd like to come back, you will be doing so as a free man. No one is forcing you to be here anymore."
I try to swallow through my impossibly tight throat. I haven't felt forced here in months.
"I'm proud of you, Draco. I know it doesn't mean much coming from me—"
"It does." I cut him off, refusing to meet his gaze as I examine the paper in my hands again. "It means a lot."
I close the folder and toss it back on the table between us. Finally meeting his gaze, I offer him my hand and watch as Brenner's face flickers with an unnamed emotion before taking it.
Standing, I make my way towards the door but pause just past the threshold, tapping my closed fist on the doorframe and looking back over my shoulder. "I'll see you Thursday, then?"
Brenner's lips quirk up in a lopsided smile, and he nods back at me. "Thursday, then."
"Sorrysorrysorry," Granger rushes, pulling the hood of her cloak down as she pushes through the throngs of people to meet me.
I've been sitting staring at a glass of water for the better part of half an hour. When she finally makes her grand entrance, I breathe a sigh of relief. I wonder if that part will ever go away, the anxiety that something awful is going to happen to the people I love.
She brushes her lips on my cheek, but I capture the side of her face and pull her in for a deeper kiss. "I missed you," I mumble against her lips when we part, and I love the way she smiles against me.
"I missed you, too. And I do love you in that suit." She winks at me, taking her seat and grabbing her food menu. "I think it's my favorite part of you being at your big fancy job; you look so dashing dressed up."
We must look quite the pair: me in a tailored suit and her in denims and a rosy-hued blouse with cap sleeves. She's taken over Flourish and Blotts with a fury, changing the cataloguing system as well as updating the events, bringing in fresh new authors and even writer workshops.
Watching her thrive in this role has only driven me to excel in my own. There are nights it seems like we are just passing in the night, finding each other in the sheets just to tangle around each other and pass out before a few minutes have passed.
But when I look at her, I see all the plans I have for our future. Big plans. Plans that include continuing to prove to her the man I'm going to be, and I can't let up on working towards those.
As she searches the menu for something to eat, she twirls the ring on her left hand—the one that's sat there for only six weeks—and I watch her with quiet amusement.
"Mister Malfoy?" The server interrupts my trance and I blink up at him.
"Yes?"
"This was sent over for you." The wiry little man sets down a tumbler of Firewhisky near my hand, and my vision blurs for just a moment. "From Mister Zabini, at the end of the bar." My gaze follows the direction he points and sure enough, at the end of the long bar is my old friend.
He's leaning back with a smug slouch, and his lips are quirked up in knowing smile. He lifts a matching tumbler in a greeting before touching it to his lips.
My fingertip grazes the side of the glass for just a moment before I blink back to reality and shake my head. I offer him a quick nod, my lips forming a tight line as I pick up the glass and tip it back in his direction.
Blaise's cocky grin widens, but when I place the Firewhisky back on the server's tray, it fades instantly, and I turn back to my soon-to-be wife.
Her eyes are twinged with worry, and she reaches out to grip my fingers. "Are you okay?" she whispers, squeezing my hand in hers.
I take stock of myself for a moment, my hand lifting to the tendon in my throat that often screams back at me, but it's dull, barely even there, and my finger slides down it before falling back to the table.
"Actually, I am," I grin back at her and it feels fucking amazing—because I know I mean it.
A/N: The fic wouldn't here without the devotion and love of so many people. Thank you to everyone I've mentioned a hundred times and to every single one of you have read, favorited, kudo'd, reviewed, messaged and anything else I might have missed. I wrote this for me, but knowing how many people have connected with the struggles I've tried to depict has been truly the greatest thing I could have hoped to achieve in writing fanfiction.
I adore you all.
I'll have some fun pieces coming up this summer and as always you can find me on Tumblr. I love getting one shot/drabble/aesthetic requests, they keep my muse content.
Until next time.
LK
