She followed him back up the stairs, then up the next flight as well. Once they reached the landing, she noted that there was another flight that went higher yet. "How many floors are there, Draco?" She asked somewhat incredulously.
"This is the top floor." He told her. "But there's an observatory upstairs."
"An observatory?" The idea of someone having such a thing in their own home was nigh unbelievable.
"Do I need to define it for you?" He commented.
"No, I-" She began, now trailing after him as he walked down the hall. "Draco, this is hardly a house. It's-"
"A manor, Remington." He elaborated with a sardonic amusement.
"Excuse me for growing up like a relatively normal child." She returned. He cast her a scathing look over his shoulder. "Don't give me that look, Draco Lucius-"
She was abruptly cut off when he finally pushed open a door and dragged her inside by the arm, shutting the door immediately after. "What did I say about using my middle name?" He asked. He had her backed against the wall next to the door. "It's not your house anymore, Alvers. It's my manor, my rules, now."
"I'm not sure it's meant to be literal-" She said as his mouth met her neck. Her eyes took in the room they were in. The ceiling stretched at least twenty feet high, with windows all around the top. They must have been in a corner of the building, she realized, remembering seeing the towers that stood at each of the four corners when they'd walked up to the manor. There was a fireplace in the corner, a wardrobe against the far wall, an enormous bed a few feet ahead of her. "Is this your room?" She asked, sounding mildly breathless.
He retreated enough to give her a look. "Honestly, Remington."
"Well?" She pressed.
"Yes, for God's sake, it's my room." He said, then flashed her a biting glance, "Any more questions?"
"Can I explore, or are you just going to make up for what you missed out on a couple hours ago, right this second?"
He rolled his eyes, but stepped away from her, "Be my guest, Alvers." He said with his back towards her as she strode closer to the bed, pulling loose the tie he had around his neck.
"Am I not already?" She prompted, pacing away from the door and deeper into the room. The floor was dark lacquered hardwood, but there was an abundance of rich rugs. There was a chaise and armchair by the fireplace, and a desk against the wall to her left. She suspected that a person could live in the room quite easily if they were provided food. There was one set of doors that lead outside, to what she suspected was a balcony, and another door that was likely to a bathroom.
"You make yourself at home nearly anywhere you go." He returned.
She elected to ignore the comment. "Why would your parents turn away the chance to have this room?" She inquired, looking back at him. He'd shed his suit coat as well by now, and stood leaning against a post on his bed, the sleeves of his button-up pushed up to his elbows. It hardly bothered her to see the Dark Mark on his arm anymore. Of course, she'd be happier if it was gone, but she'd grown so used to it by now that it hardly registered. It was easy to ignore in the face of everything else Draco was.
And at that moment, he was unquestionably alluring.
"My father kept the room he grew up in, while my grandparents' was on this floor." Draco remarked. "This is the room I grew up in, and therefore I'm keeping it." He added, "Not to mention, I'd much rather be on a separate floor from my parents, for… unsubtle reasons." He was wearing an allusive smirk. She cast him a withering look, but his attitude did nothing if not grew more connotative. "Alvers, I fully intend to break you of your reservations in bed."
Her skin crawled at his convictions, but she couldn't say for certain that it was in any way bad. "The way you say it doesn't make it sound at all like what you mean."
His smirk only grew more pronounced, darker. "I'm going to make you scream, Alvers."
Just because she wanted to irk him enough to knock him off his self-assuredness, she replied, "In frustration?"
He growled something about her being a 'damned shrew' and took the couple strides it required to reach her and drag her to him, and claim her mouth in a demanding kiss. But she merely laughed against his lips and pushed his chest with her palms.
"C'mon, Draco." She said, running her nose across his cheek. She didn't have to open her eyes to know that he had a look of supreme annoyance on his face and was glaring at her with the irritation of a rejected egomaniac.
"You really should see someone about bipolar disorder." He retorted.
She maneuvered out of his grip and moved towards the bed, pulling her sweater over her head as she went. Once she was at the bedside, she turned back to see him, sliding his own shirt from his arms and walking towards her.
The fire that had been in his eyes moments before had faded, replaced in part by something softer. "Alright Alvers, we can do this on your terms." He murmured, his thumbs slipping into the waistband of her leggings. "But don't let it go to your head."
She gave a quiet laugh, "I'm not the one with that problem." She responded, kissing him. Surprisingly enough, he didn't attempt to rush her, keeping the kiss soft and measured. She wasn't sure how long it took before she crawled back onto the bed and coaxed him to join her. After the kissing had subsided, Rem was sitting on his hips, looking down at him.
She ran her fingers over his chest, with all the scars from the Sectumsempra of the previous year. Snape was right in his assumptions, however the dittany couldn't erase all of the evidence of that day. There were white lines, short ones, long ones, all over his chest and his stomach, even on his collarbones, and if one were to look hard enough, his neck. At least, the dittany had cured any gashes that may have been on his face and spared him from those scars and therefore any obvious signs of the incident.
Remington, however, was not so lucky.
She could feel her eyes growing warm and damp. "We're both in pieces, aren't we?" She said, not moving her gaze.
He reached up to press his palm to the side of her face, but she merely grasped his forearm, her hand wrapping right over the Dark Mark, as she leaned down, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
"Rem." He breathed, as she clutched his arm to her chest and held on to his hand. With his right arm free, he cupped the back of her head.
This hadn't been what he was expecting, but he knew he should have been. She'd pushed herself, and the main way she dealt with that was through claiming she was fine and arguing with him to burn off her stress. Neither were good coping strategies, and it seemed that they'd caught up with her, as she cried into his shoulder.
He didn't like her tears any more than he would've liked his own. At least now, it was something he could handle, being there for her to hold on to and cry. The night in fifth year was still fresh in his mind, when he was patrolling as a newly-appointed prefect and Rem came charging around the corner just to fall to pieces, arms clamped around his neck like a vice. Then, he was damn near terrified by it. This girl – this Gryffindor girl – was clinging to him and bawling like a broken record. And he, Draco Malfoy, was supposed to do what about it, exactly? Comfort her? Unlikely.
He ran his hand down her back. There was remorse between all of her vertebrae, in the way he could feel every one of her ribs even beside her spine. Remington was being consumed by the war, just like the majority of the wizarding world. For a moment, he wished she wouldn't've left America, thinking for a moment that she'd be safer there. At least she wouldn't have gotten tangled up with him that way.
Thank you to everyone who's reviewed on any and all of the installments of this story. You kept Remington on my mind and guided me back to Microsoft Word! I'm sorry I didn't send some of you personal thank-yous like I usually do, but I fully intend to pick that tradition back up again. I won't bore you with excuses, but I hope my writing doesn't disappoint you.