This work is complete at 31 chapters and ~127,000 words. I'll be submitting a chapter a day through March until it's all up.


Chapter 25: To Be Vulnerable

The day had started off so well. Draco had absolutely no clue how it had derailed so suddenly. Despite all the information that Dagmar had unloaded on him, he didn't feel like he had a good grasp on what she was talking about. It just didn't make sense. The things she said didn't line up at all with the person Dagmar was. Maybe she and Draco hadn't been very close for very long, but he could tell enough from afar that she wasn't a naturally sadistic person. She'd never been a bully amongst their peers, and always fell to the complete opposite end of the spectrum when it came to empathy.

It wasn't entirely that Draco didn't understand what Dagmar described to him. There were people in his life much like that. He would just never classify them alongside Dagmar. They weren't even close to resembling each other.

Draco hoped as he returned to the manor and headed upstairs that Dagmar hadn't been serious about going home. He might even still manage to catch her and convince her to stay. Draco's bedroom door sat closed, just like he left it, but it was empty.

A scrap piece of parchment laid on his bed. It read: I have Heimdall.

Sure enough, Heimdall's basket was gone along with the toys he had been batting around the floor. Draco hardly had time to get attached to the cat yet, but it hadn't taken long for him to be used to a fuller room. Only just this morning, he and Dagmar had laid together in his bed. Draco had been what he almost deemed impossibly happy. Mere hours later, he was left hollow.

Draco sat down at his desk and pulled his messenger toward him. Given Dagmar's disposition he wasn't sure if she would check hers, but Draco had to try. On that thought, he wondered if the messenger was the best way to contact her. He could better guarantee that she couldn't ignore him if he sent Ulysses instead.

That depended on how badly Dagmar wanted—or needed—space right now. Since Draco had a weak idea of what was going on, he would be best suited to let her come back at her own pace. He hated not being more active than writing her in the messenger, and as he did that, started to feel annoyed. They hadn't been back together for a day and something else had come up. Draco had looked forward to seeing Dagmar again for two weeks after the last time she'd blown off like this.

Is this what it was going to be like every time there was a problem? Whenever Draco was the one to cock up, the two of them hashed it out and were better for it. Was this Dagmar's inexperience in relationships showing through? It happening once passed beneath Draco's notice. Dagmar had been leaving anyway to Nice, so it was just chocked up to bad fortune.

Draco crossed out what he'd written and decided on something else: You can't just run like that every time there's a problem. I'd appreciate it if we could figure it out instead. We just spent two weeks apart after another instance like this and I really don't care to do a repeat.

He sent it off before he had a chance to deliberate. To try and take his mind off the whole thing, Draco took his Firebolt out for a fly. He didn't return home until his growling stomach demanded dinner in the late evening. He had high hopes that Dagmar had either acknowledged what he wrote, or maybe had shown back up. She wasn't at the manor, nor did his messenger have anything new in it.

Dejected, Draco headed back downstairs to the dining room. He had half a mind to eat up in his room, but without Dagmar or Heimdall there it just wasn't as appealing.

Draco sat slouched over the table, his closed fist pressed up into his cheek. He poked his food moodily when the doors leading out into the terrace opened. His mother came in.

She took one look at him before her expression softened into one of pity. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Now, that's clearly not true." His mother took the chair beside him. "Did you and Dagmar have a fight? She looked pretty upset when she left."

Draco's fork stilled and he looked over at his mother. "You saw her?"

"Yes, but I didn't think it my place to ask her what had happened."

"I hope you're not going to ask me, because I'm still trying to figure that out for myself." An idea struck Draco, though. "Can I ask you something?"

His mother rubbed his shoulder. "Whatever you like."

"What was Aunt Bella like, growing up?"

She frowned, confused. "Bella? Why?"

Draco shrugged. "Just curious."

His mother considered the question with a thoughtful hum. She crossed her legs. "Well, it's hardly a surprise that she's spent time in Azkaban and that she's one of the Dark Lord's favourites. She'd do anything for him. I do think though, that if Bella didn't have the Dark Lord, she wouldn't be doing anything different. Perhaps just unfocused, or for somebody else."

"But what was she like as a kid?" Draco pressed. "Or at my age?"

"She joined the Death Eaters when she wasn't much older than you. Within months of leaving Hogwarts," his mother said. "I think by the time I came home for Christmas that year, she had the Dark Mark. While she was at school, she kept a rough crowd. Dolohov, if you remember him, Uncle Rodolphus of course, and Amycus Carrow. The four of them were the bane of Professor Slughorn's existence. He was always trying to rein them in. Bella loved luring him into a sense of false security. It thrilled her to go weeks on perfect behaviour, and then really make a mess."

Draco's mother chuckled, but it wasn't out of humour. Her expression was tight.

"I don't think she was particularly close to anyone, other than what suited her for troublemaking," she continued. "I wouldn't have even called them all friends, more like cohorts. If Bella and Rodolphus weren't arranged to be married, I don't think Bella would've ever bothered otherwise. She's never been affectionate. I couldn't even honestly tell you if she loves me. She's protective over me, but I've never felt any sort of warmth from her. She's always been rough around the edges. More so after Azkaban, but taking proportion into consideration, she hasn't really ever changed."

Draco listened carefully, trying to reconcile this vision of his aunt to Dagmar. They didn't compare at all. It made him feel a little better for Dagmar's sake, since the temptation she mentioned toward sadistic tendencies so clearly upset her.

"There's no reason you wanted to know that?" Draco's mother asked.

"No," he maintained. "Just curious."

His mother hummed. Draco wasn't sure if she believed him, but she at least didn't press it. With another squeeze of his shoulder, she carried on toward the dining room stairs. Draco found a hint of his appetite again. He ate on auto-pilot, distracted by working on his personal problems. When he and Dagmar discussed this, Draco would have something potentially helpful to bring to the table.

Dagmar still hadn't responded in the messenger when Draco went upstairs. He'd hoped to sort this out tonight so that Dagmar could stay over again. Draco would give her until tomorrow before he pressed the matter. When it came to stuff like this, Draco believed he deserved a voice in how and when they worked on it. It had made sense at the time when they agreed to default to Dagmar's boundaries, because hers were more prevalent that Draco's. That didn't mean Draco didn't have any, and he was starting to feel left out in his own relationship because of it.

Taking the night for himself allowed Draco the same amount of time to put where he stood on the situation into words. The next day, he planned for a noon departure from home. He still hadn't heard from Dagmar then, so Draco shut the messenger on his desk and headed downstairs for the fireplace.

Draco stepped out into an empty great room in a silent manor. For all he could tell, nobody was even home. That was probably for the best when it came to her parents, in case this disagreement turned into a fight.

He headed upstairs. A draft came from underneath Dagmar's bedroom doors. That was promising, since that meant her windows were open. No sound came from within. Draco hovered outside the doors before biting the bullet and rapping his knuckles against the ornate wood.

An exhale sounded inside. Draco worried he'd woken her, which wouldn't be a great start for this.

"Dagmar?" he called.

Blankets rustled, and then footsteps padded across the floor. A shadow passed under the door. When Dagmar opened it, she was in the middle of stifling a yawn. Her hair had gone flat, and Draco suspected that she hadn't moved very far from her bed since coming home yesterday. Abashed, she leaned her temple against the closed door's edge. She looked up at Draco from underneath her eyebrow ridge, lips thinned into a line.

Draco folded his arms. "Can I come in?"

Dagmar opened the door all the way and gestured half-heartedly into the room before her arm fell back heavily to her side. She lingered as Draco turned to face her inside.

"Did you get the message I sent?" Draco asked.

Dagmar rubbed some sleep from the corner of her eyes. "No."

Annoyance coiled in Draco's gut again. "I said I'm tired of you running off whenever something like this comes up. I never get to run away. So why do you?"

"I was ashamed."

"You think I wasn't ashamed when I said—" Draco stopped himself, "—when I used a slur our first afternoon in Bergen and you went from happy to absolutely appalled at me?"

Dagmar bunched her lips off to one side.

"If you can tell me how it's different, I'll hear it," Draco prompted her when she didn't say anything.

"Using that word is something you could help," Dagmar said. "I don't feel like I can help this."

"Help what, exactly?" Draco asked. "I find it really hard to believe that you could compare yourself at all to someone like my Aunt Bella. You want to talk about sadists, it doesn't get much more extreme than her. That's why I was so confused. You're saying you feel like you could act anything like her at all, and yet you feel so bad about it. How can you be like that when you have such a strong conscience?"

Dagmar shrugged, unwilling to meet his gaze.

"Bloody hell, talk to me," Draco demanded. "You have to realize how absolutely silly this is, on some level. I get that you're upset. You wouldn't be upset at all though if you were truly like that. You either would've kept it from me or twisted it into a justification. So what's the problem?"

"From the sounds of it, that I have a conscience."

"Why?" Draco replied. "Because then you wouldn't have to feel bad about it? Why's that a problem?"

"It's a problem for whatever's wrong with me."

"Good, then." Draco waved a hand. "I'm glad you have a problem, the exact same one as everyone else. We wouldn't have much of a civilization without any consciences, would we?"

"No."

"So stop acting like it's the end of the world," Draco told her. "It's not. You could've literally never mentioned this and I wouldn't be any the wiser. Why'd you tell me then, if you're incapable of feeling bad?"

"It's not that I'm incapable of feeling bad."

"So what's the problem, then?" Draco asked. "You're capable of feeling bad, so you know the consequences of stuff. It'll stop you from doing anything."

Dagmar rubbed her right forearm. "Most of the time, ja."

"If it takes getting cornered by three strange men before you're pushed to your limit, I've got news for you, love. You probably jumped to it slower than any ordinary person would. I would've been throwing hexes, myself."

Dagmar glanced up at him. "Ja."

Draco studied her. "Anything at all you'd like to say?"

"I don't know," Dagmar replied. "I've always tried to ignore it. Pretend like it didn't exist. Talking about it makes it real, and that's really scary to me."

"Maybe it'll seem less scary now," Draco suggested. "It's like saying the Dark Lord's name. When you say it, he doesn't seem so scary, does he?"

"Wouldn't know." Dagmar shrugged. "But you're probably right."

Hearing that didn't make Draco feel much better. There was still such a wall between them, and unless Dagmar met him halfway Draco didn't know how to get over it.

"I want you to trust me with this," he tried. "I get you're ashamed about it, and that's fine. I just want to understand why. I don't know how to help you if I don't know what it is. There isn't really such a thing as your stuff anymore. I don't have my own stuff either. We have our stuff."

Dagmar's eyes glistened. She looked so tired that Draco wondered if he hadn't only woken her up, but robbed her of a real potential for sleep after a night devoid of it.

"I'm scared you'll think it's too much." Her voice quivered. "I don't want you to think I'm not worth it. I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you either," Draco replied. "Especially not over something like this. I don't mean to play down how much this obviously bothers you, but it's nothing to me."

"I'm too young to have baggage like this."

"I have baggage too," Draco said. "At least some of our baggage is in common, right?"

Dagmar managed a smile, however fleeting.

"Can we sit or something?" Draco asked. "You almost look like you'd prefer to lay down."

Dagmar laughed weakly. "Honestly, ja. I barely slept."

"Me too."

She approached Draco, shy about it, and studied him after slipping a hand into his. Even though Dagmar remained quite clammed up, Draco's frustration had dwindled now that they were back on the same team.

"I'm sorry," Dagmar said, "about all of it. I don't want to be too much when we've barely even gotten started. I shouldn't have run off like that, either. It shouldn't matter if I'm overwhelmed. It isn't all about me."

"There's nothing wrong with being overwhelmed. You can't help that," Draco replied. "I don't like being shut out, is all."

"I won't do it again."

Draco leaned down to kiss Dagmar's temple, but she moved away. An apologetic smile crept over her.

"If I'd known you were coming, I would've washed up," she told him. "I could definitely use a shower after all this laying around feeling bad about myself."

"I didn't want to just show up like that." Draco shrugged. "I don't think it's fair I don't get a say though, on when we sort things out."

Dagmar furrowed her brow. "Why don't you get a say? This is your relationship as much as it's mine. I shouldn't be the only one making decisions like that."

Draco tried to think of a time when they'd explicitly decided that to be the case. They hadn't, but a lot of other little decisions had left that impression on him. He'd fallen into a habit of being passive for the sake of Dagmar's comfort as she navigated her first romantic relationship. The level of intimidation she'd shown in the beginning seemed to have dwindled now, thanks to time and slowly bridging the gap in experience between them.

"I'll shower and then we'll talk about it?" Dagmar rubbed his arm.

"Sure."

Dagmar smiled. "I'll try not to take too long. Make yourself comfortable."

She headed over to the bathroom, the door closing quietly behind her. Draco had only been here once before, so he wasn't as familiar with her space as Dagmar was with his. He slipped his hands into his pockets and ambled toward the bed. Heimdall laid at the end, his eyes half-open. He made a noise in his throat when Draco scratched his head, then started to purr.

Draco's fatigue caught up to him in such a sleepy atmosphere. Dagmar's bed looked so comfortable with a fluffy duvet and big pillows. The cross-breeze from the windows passed by it perfectly. Draco took a seat on the side Dagmar hadn't been lying on earlier and propped one of the pillows up against the headboard. Heimdall watched him and once he'd settled, meowed under his breath before coming further up the bed for more attention. His tail twitched as Draco scratched the small of his back.

The breeze on Draco's cheek made his eyes tired. He closed them to rest and was a little disoriented when he opened them again. Heimdall laid against his side, his chin rested on Draco's thigh while he snoozed, and the scent of Dagmar's shampoo wafted out from the now-open bathroom door. She was on the other side of the room looking through her closet. She wore a fuzzy white robe and her hair wrapped up in a towel.

Clothes in hand, Dagmar headed back toward the bathroom. She stopped with a glance in Draco's direction.

"I hoped I wouldn't wake you," she said. "You and Heimdall looked so sweet together."

Draco rubbed his eyes. "It's okay."

Dagmar closed herself back in the bathroom long enough to get dressed. When she emerged again, she wore what Draco figured were closer to pyjamas than actual clothes for the day. Even though her shorts fit high, the top didn't meet them. In his lingering fatigue, Draco had a hard time keeping his gaze away from the visible sliver of her upper stomach, especially when Dagmar had to lift her arms in order to braid her wet hair.

"I was just going to crawl in beside you." She lowered herself onto her favoured side of the bed and pulled her braid over her shoulder in order to finish it.

"Still could." Draco shrugged. "Honestly, the things we need to talk about could wait until we're both a little more rested. I feel good enough about us right now to put it off for a couple hours."

"I do too." Dagmar secured her braid with a tie. "I started to think in the shower it might even be better if we did. We can come at it fresh."

Heimdall didn't much appreciate being moved. Draco stood in order to pull the covers back for himself, but slowed when he noticed the thoughtful way Dagmar regarded him. He rose his eyebrows in question.

"I think you'll regret wearing pants during an afternoon nap," Dagmar said. "It's cool in here now, but it'll warm up soon enough."

". . .Right."

Draco didn't really know where they were in regards to dressing or undressing in front of each other. He'd seen Dagmar in her robe earlier, and the night before last he'd slept only in his underpants next to her. That felt different than this.

Maybe Dagmar realized that too, since she busied herself getting back under the covers. She only rolled over to face Draco once he'd joined her. Draco hadn't been sure either about removing his shirt, although would've liked to. He reasoned that if he got too hot with it on then he'd remove it, but since a conversation pended about their boundaries this didn't seem the time to test them.

Dagmar gravitated toward him anyway, meeting Draco near the middle of the bed. She laid an arm over his middle and settled with a contented sigh against him. Her skin was so soft and cool where Draco trailed his fingertips up toward her shoulder. Her cheek was no different, nor were her lips when Draco kissed her. He wished now that they'd had their conversation already. Draco would love nothing more than to see if the exposed skin on her stomach was as soft as the rest of her.

They were too tired right now anyway for anything to really happen. Dagmar's reactions were slow to anything Draco did and they both gradually tapered off in their affection. Dagmar eventually rolled over to face the other way, but rather than mark the complete end, Draco managed to slide his arm underneath her pillow while she readjusted, and held her about the shoulders as he carried on kissing and nuzzling her upper back. She ran her fingers lightly over Draco's forearm. As Dagmar's breathing evened out, her touch faded. Draco rested his cheek against her upper back and inhaled deeply the coconut-vanilla scented hair products she used.

The cross-breeze and sleepy atmosphere did it for Draco again. He wasn't sure how long he slept this time, but Dagmar remained like a rock beside him. He'd gotten warm, as predicted, from a combination of too much blanket and his body heat pooling with Dagmar's. As carefully as he could, Draco slid his sore arm out from underneath Dagmar's pillow, then removed his shirt before resettling on his back without any blankets on top of him. He drifted again. The only reason he knew was because quite suddenly Dagmar had gravitated over to his side of the bed. One of her arms haphazardly laid over his middle.

Draco's stomach growled underneath it. He hadn't bothered to eat yet today, and now that he was rested with pressing issues no longer on his mind, Draco was starting to feel that.

Were he in his own house, Draco would've headed to the kitchen for something. He tried to go back to sleep instead, but his body had had enough. Before he could get too bored laying there, Dagmar's breathing started to get heavier with more sighs. She drifted closer to Draco yet, cozying up with her head on his shoulder. She yawned while Draco squeezed her and kissed her forehead, smiling afterward.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"Mhm." Draco's stomach growled again. "I don't mean to be a rude houseguest, but I'm starving."

Dagmar chuckled. "Me too. What're you in the mood for?"

She herself wasn't in the mood to leave her room, which Draco agreed with. Dagmar headed downstairs to the kitchen to pass their requests along to the house elves. She returned with a plate full of snacks to tide them over in the meantime.

Draco helped himself to the meat, cheese, and crackers. The crisps looked good too. A strong waft of vinegar came off the one he took to try when it passed by his nose, making his mouth hurt from how quickly and how much he salivated by it. He took another one in succession, his stacked cracker temporarily forgotten in his left hand.

"Good, ja?" Dagmar took one too. "I have to force myself to forget the elves will make them whenever I want."

"I would too. Bloody hell."

The salty crunch on top of the vinegar flavour was completely irresistible to Draco when as hungry as he was. He had to stop himself before Dagmar didn't get any beyond the first she'd picked. He still eyed them while taking a bite from his cracker. The flavour was different than what he expected, so it took his attention as he studied it with a furrowed brow.

"This isn't pork," he said.

"Reindeer," Dagmar replied. "Don't like it?"

"No, it's fine. Just different."

"That's bread cheese too." Dagmar took a piece of it on its own. It squeaked audibly when she bit into it.

Draco had recognized everything else on the plate as hailing from Scandinavia. He liked the brunost when he tried it in Norway, and took a piece of that next. He was almost hungry enough now and feeling adventurous after eating reindeer sausage for the first time to finally give pickled herring a shot. He took an onion first from the bowl with the small provided fork, decided the white wine vinegar marinade wasn't bad, and then tried the smallest fillet.

He chewed thoughtfully. "I guess it's not bad for raw fish. I thought the texture would be awful."

"It's a little slimey," Dagmar admitted with a shrug and smile. "Still, kudos for trying it."

With some food in his stomach now, Draco felt able to focus on other things. The atmosphere was pleasant enough between himself and Dagmar after their nap that Draco actually looked forward to figuring some stuff out with her.

Dagmar slowed down in eating too, now that the edge had been taken off her hunger. She moved the plate, careful not to lose any of its contents, further down the bed. Heimdall eyed it out of the corner of his eye. Draco took a piece of sausage to draw him closer with.

"So where should we start?" Dagmar asked. "You don't feel like you have as much say in our relationship as I do?"

"At times," Draco confirmed. "Like yesterday. I don't like being shut out, and when you refuse to talk about anything all the terms are yours."

"I'll do my best not to do that anymore," Dagmar reiterated her promise. "When I feel like that it's really hard for me to step outside myself, so if I do it and I'm not stopping it on my own, don't be afraid to call me out on it."

"I'm a little torn because I still want to respect that you might need time to process what's going on." Draco pinched some sausage off for Heimdall. "I didn't get why you had to go home. Why, if you were upset, you didn't want to be around me at all."

"I have a hard time being vulnerable, especially about that." Dagmar's mouth worked. "I always thought it was something all purebloods must deal with, that we have this innate barbarism. It's why we tend to think we're better than others, why we're drawn to people like the Dark Lord, and why there's such a line drawn in the sand for purebloods that refuse to be seduced by that. You're either bad or you're not. I've done like what I thought families like the Weasleys do. I silently acknowledge there's something wrong with me and I consciously stay away from anything that might tempt it. Muggles maybe aren't like that because they're not magical, so half-bloods and Muggle-borns don't have such an issue with it. I thought if anyone would understand that, it would be you. No offence, and this has no bearing on how you've been this summer, but you're one of the cruelest people our age that I know."

Draco wished he could argue against that—he certainly wanted to—but that was a reputation he would carry for probably the rest of his life, no matter what restraint he'd learned.

"You said you don't, though." Dagmar sighed. "So to me that means I'm alone on this. Except maybe your aunt, and she's not somebody I could ever ask for advice on how to handle this. She wouldn't exactly be a shining example of self-control."

"I still think you're the best example for yourself," Draco said. "Sure, maybe you have to think about it more than other people, but the thing is, you do. You've chosen not to let it control you. You're surrounded by Death Eaters at home. Your parents are right up there with the Dark Lord. It would be so easy for you to say you want to serve him. Doing that would be the perfect way to give in to something like that. You don't, though. You're choosing to keep it at a distance. You're choosing to leave the country at the end of next year. You're choosing to go into Healing because you'd rather help people than hurt them."

Dagmar rubbed her right forearm. "Ja, I guess."

Draco realized something. "Does it have anything to do with why you told me you wouldn't marry a Death Eater?"

"Partly." Dagmar drew in a long breath, her eyes shining and shoulders stiff. She wouldn't look at Draco. "And to be honest, it's why I won't have kids. I don't want to risk passing it along, and I'm not entirely sure if I trust myself with them."

Draco wasn't sure what to say or think about that. Was it really that serious? Or did Dagmar just treat it like it was out of excessive caution?

"You trust yourself with animals, though?" Draco asked.

Dagmar hesitated. "Sort of. They don't rely on you for everything like a kid does. They aren't helpless."

Draco ran his hand down Heimdall's back in a mindless pet as the cat settled on his pretzeled legs. He guessed, given how sensitive Dagmar was about this whole thing, that she would've outrightly declined getting a new cat if it was an issue.

"I won't hurt him." Dagmar's voice was scarcely louder than a whisper. "You have my word."

"I trust you," Draco said. "I'm just thinking. Not wanting to be at all affiliated with the Death Eaters is pretty understandable. I'm starting to see just how big this is to you, if you're making decisions like not having kids around it."

"I just don't want to risk it." Dagmar sniffled. "I'd never forgive myself if I hurt somebody that has no choice but to be around me. If it's inheritable, I don't want anybody but me to deal with this."

"I still respect that decision. It doesn't really matter why you don't want kids. You never had to justify that to me. I just worry about you, is all. I wish you wouldn't let it eat at you like this."

"What you said earlier about maybe feeling better after talking about it," Dagmar said, "I do feel better after thinking it over that there'll be another set of eyes on me. It's comforting. I don't notice it as much either when I'm at school. It only really started getting bad after the Dark Lord came back and my dad took his mark. When I come home for holidays, being close to that is like a reminder. It's like a temptation."

"Then we'll stay at Hogwarts for the holidays," Draco suggested. "I'll stay with you. And then when we're done school, we'll be gone anyway."

"Ja." Dagmar sighed. "This summer's been harder than usual too, because so much of it revolved around things to do with the Dark Lord. We were raided, there was that whole thing with that Auror in Paris, and even our marriage. . .I asked my mum after you told me about the change, and she said it had something to do with him. Something about keeping their own close. I asked her if the Dark Lord wanted us to join him, and she didn't exactly say no. And she said that there are ways to serve him that don't include getting the Dark Mark. I haven't been able to figure out what that means."

"Probably having pureblooded children," Draco said. "It all kind of backfired on them, didn't it?"

Dagmar managed a watery smile. She shifted on the bed, still being mindful of the plate of food, so that she could sit pressed up next to Draco. She laid her head on his shoulder when he put an arm around her.

"Even if I'm the only one that deals with this, it's nice not to be totally alone," Dagmar said.

"See what happens when you don't run off?"

Dagmar nudged him with her shoulder.

"I've never really been vulnerable before this," she said. "It's getting better, at least."

"I think that has something to do with me feeling kind of left out on making decisions," Draco replied. "Remember we decided back in Bergen that you would be the one that made the first move whenever we did something new?"

Dagmar lifted her head. "Ja."

"Things have sort of changed since then." Draco mindlessly scratched under Heimdall's chin. "There isn't as much of an experience gap between us. I think we're both a little more comfortable too."

"Definitely," Dagmar agreed. "Everything seemed like such a big deal back then. I still shake my head when I think about how long I put off even just kissing you. That was stupid."

Draco couldn't help but smile. It certainly wasn't a problem now. In honour of how much things had changed now, he leaned in to her. Draco certainly didn't take for granted after that excruciating period how soft and pillowy her lips were. He loved it when she touched his cheek or neck during, as if she tried to hold him there but was either too shy or too gentle to be forceful about it.

"Besides," Dagmar said when they broke apart, "you've proven to me this summer that you have excellent self-control. You stop when you know we've reached the point where I'm comfortable. I think I could trust you not to push me or pressure me into going beyond that."

Draco shrugged, although he was happy for that. "You're not hard to read."

"I try not to be." A fresh grin took Dagmar over, and her glance at Draco's lips was certainly telling. Draco kissed her again. "I'm also tired of being the only one taking initiative. Not that it's a problem once we've done something new, but I think now it'd be more exciting than intimidating if you took lead once in a while."

"Okay."

Dagmar kissed his lips then cheek before pulling away. She got off the bed and picked up the snack plate at the end of the bed. "Our dinner should be ready. I'll be right back."

Rather unabashedly, Draco watched the swing of Dagmar's hips as she left the room. He was excited to be unrestrained in such a way, but Draco had to be all the more careful for it. Dagmar had clear boundaries before that left Draco with little room for mistake. While he thought he was good at reading her, that would be put to the test now, especially when arousal became a factor.