And here I thought the pandemic would make more time to write, not throw up more obstacles. Writer's block (and writer's self-doubt and self-criticism) are great foes, I tell you. But it's here. Finally. And I hope you enjoy. Thank you for those who wrote notes of encouragement in the past many weeks! They help me believe that what I'm writing isn't terrible, even on the days I'm convinced it is.

We're getting close to a time where I'm unsure whether to wait for my Part I to catch up a bit, or to reveal the spoilers here and let the Part I stand on its own. This definitely seems to be the more popular of the two, so maybe it's only natural the story unfolds here first.

Oh and yes, there's a lemon. Enjoy.

Chapter 9

She could feel his eyes on her, challenging and full of anticipation. Here goes nothing, she thought. Taking a page out of Draco's book, she vanished her sweater and trousers with a flick of her wand.

It had taken her far too long to decide exactly what to wear. She'd never thought of herself as particularly 'sexy'; that was Daphne's claim to fame. No, she was skinny and gangly, and her forehead was massive, and her top lip was tiny. And she hated makeup; her current stained lips had been an out-of-character decision. But she was a Greengrass, so she'd learned to be graceful, subtle, tasteful. She owned lingerie - she loved pretty things - but this was the first time she'd worn it to be seen by anyone other than herself. The lace that hugged her chest and hips was the colour of black cherries, and the silk stockings that came up just over her knee were like shadows. She stood tall, a cascade dark indigo falling over one shoulder, and hoped for some kind of reaction from him.

He didn't disappoint; his mouth actually fell open. It gaped. She even thought she saw him clutch the quilt slightly which made her smile with satisfaction. He didn't even have anything clever to say.

See? You're sexier than you think, she assured herself. You have him right where you want him. With her practised grace, she moved closer towards him.

He was still fully dressed, a fact that excited Astoria. There was something rather… pervy… about being so exposed while he was completely covered. She couldn't wait to peel those layers of crisp fabric from him. As she came close enough to touch, he extended a hand towards her. But she stopped short of his reach.

"Oh, I don't think so. It would be best if you don't try to move for a while. I'm sure you'd agree." Her carefully chosen words were enough to make Draco smirk.

"We'll see," he didn't promise. But his hand dropped back to the bed.

She began to move closer again, and Draco kept his arms beside him. His expectant grey eyes - they really were the most beautiful shade - held hers like a snake's. Feeling an unexpected wave of tenderness, Astoria stroked his jawline gently. His skin was like ivory, warm and smooth. Below the tenderness, there was a fire coursing through her again. Every time, she thought, amazed. Every time I touch him it's like this. It would be all too easy to become addicted.

Her hand traveled down his neck to the collar of his shirt. Before she began unbuttoning, she hesitated and then plucked his wand from his side, reached over to the bedside table, and set both his and hers down.

"I don't need magic to make you want me, do I?" The words were hardly more than a whisper.

"No, you don't," he replied in a voice just as restrained.

Her hands returned to his collar, and she brought both hands to the first button. "I think of doing this almost every time I see you," she told him. "I think you know that."

"Is that so?" The words were full of confident, but Astoria heard the arousal in them. It was tinder to her inferno.

"Certainly you know." She slowly undid the black silk, pausing between each button to smooth her thumb along the crease of fabric and flesh. "You probably do what I do, lie on your bed and touch yourself, thinking of us together."

Draco's muscles clenched, and Astoria hid her smile by looking down at her fingerwork. "Or maybe it's just me. Maybe you think about having that power over me - making me want you even when you aren't around."

She was intentionally stroking his ego as much as his chest, but there was a truth at the heart of her words. She did think of him and touch herself. She did wonder if he revelled in the power of it. She knew the thought of it excited her; perhaps it did the same for him?

"Were you thinking of this all day?" She undid the final button, and the shirt fell open to reveal his impressive torso. It also made his desire that much more apparent. "How it would end up with me," she slid her hand over the bulge, "pressing against you?"

He swallowed. "Yes."

"You're very hard."

"Yes," he said again.

"Such candour." Her fingers worked to undo his belt and the buttons beneath it. "That should be rewarded, don't you think?" She pulled him out gently.

"Be quiet and suck it," he hissed.

She was not generally a fan of Draco's imperious demands, and she had no intention of being a mindless slave to his pleasure. But underneath the crass command, Astoria saw that Draco's control was slipping. At last, she exulted. So she did as he ordered.

Draco was not sure when exactly he'd lost the upper hand. Here she was, in whispers of lace and silk, with her berry red lips wrapped around his cock, like something out of a fantasy. Surely, he was the winner of their little sparring that evening. But she had commanded him not to move - actually, she hadn't; she'd simply suggested it - and now, even though he wanted to bury his fingers in her monstrously blue hair and pull her closer, he couldn't. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

Astoria felt him twitch and start in her mouth, particularly when she would pause in her rhythms. His hands would bunch the comforter, but he didn't try to touch her again. Though his breathing was ragged and uneven, he didn't say a word.

He did help her when she stopped to pull his trousers and pants from him, and when she wished him to lay back down in the centre of the bed. And briefly, when her attempts to straddle him and take him into her did not go as smoothly as she'd hoped. But his hands returned to their clutching the sheets again as Astoria rode him, slowly and steadily.

It was magic. It was a whole branch of magic, one she'd read all the textbooks on, but never had a chance to practice. Until Draco. He was inside her, but letting her be in charge, and she'd never felt more powerful in her life. She closed her eyes in rapture, letting the pleasure build and fold until it felt like she swore she radiated light. Near the edge, she took one of Draco's hands and pressed it against her throbbing centre.

Just the lightest brush of his fingerpad had her shattering into pieces. She writhed and moaned as she shook and fractured. She hardly noticed when Draco's hands found her waist and flipped her on her back and slammed himself into her, desperately seeking his own end.

He was lying on top of her, damp with perspiration and panting breathlessly. Astoria found herself running her fingers through his hair without any memory of when she'd started doing it. Through their ragged breaths, the city sounds trickled back into her hearing.

Draco was feeling similarly rattled. He rolled off of her slowly, as if he were unsure of his balance. "Where have you been all my life?" he said without thinking.

"Generally hiding from the world," she answered with equal candidness. "Usually in the library."

He guffawed. Draco 'Poshpants' Malfoy actually guffawed. It sounded strange and delightful. "You didn't learn that from a book."

"That's technically true. There were magazines as well." She was rewarded with a proper laugh.

"They can't possibly publish that kind of thing in Witch Weekly."

"Not without using preposterous metaphors and alliterations, anyway." She grinned and pitched her voice upwards into a nasally whine. "Pleasing your partner by placing your pucker precisely parallel to their… Peter." She finished between giggles.

And there Draco lay beside her, laughing again. How could this possibly be the same boy who, barely hours before, had confessed dark secrets to her? Did sex always come with wit and humour? It wasn't exactly something she had expected. Witch Weekly definitely hadn't mentioned it.

As if he'd been reading her mind, he said "It feels too easy to be with you. It's never felt like this for me."

She fought to keep a smile on her face. "Is that so? Have a multitude of experiences to compare it to, do?" Now he's going to think I'm a jealous bitch.

But he sounded unphased by the prodding. "Not particularly."

Not particularly? It wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. Inflated claims and boasting, sure. A much more predictable response. Instead she'd received honesty and… humility even?

"That doesn't seem to match with all those rumours about Slytherin shenanigans." She couldn't help it. She was too curious.

"That's because most of those rumours were started by randy pervs."

"So basically all of Hogwarts."

"Exactly."

She turned on her side to face him. "Which ones are true?"

He looked over at her, mischief in his eyes.

"Actually, I think it's my turn. Question or Command?"

She sighed overdramatically. "Fiiine. But prepare yourself for this conversation to circle back. Question."

"Excellent. Who'd you hook up with at Hogwarts?"

She blinked. "Hook up with? You mean date?"

"I mean shag." The expression on his face was unreadable. She was tempted to lie, to make up some salacious story just to see his reaction. But he'd been honest with her.

"No one."

His eyes were sharp, as if he were trying to bore the truth out of her just by looking. "No one? Not even fool around with?"

She shook her head. "I'll remind you that I was fifteen the year Hogwarts… when I left Hogwarts."

"When I was fifteen, at least half my year in Slytherin were shagging each other."

Her eyes widened. "So the rumours ARE true."

"Some of them," he confirmed.

"You were with Pansy at the time, yes?" He didn't seem bothered by her interrogation, but she kept wondering how he really felt about her interest in his past.

"Yes. Since before the Yule Ball."

"If you're waiting for me to be jealous, you'll be disappointed."

His only response to this was to arch an eyebrow. The imperiousness of it made her smile.

"Unless you want me to be jealous," she flirted.

"Pansy was always jealous," he said and frowned. "It was a bloody pain the arse."

"I'll take that as a no, then. And you, Draco Malfoy? Are you the jealous type?"

"Depends if I have a reason to be," he muttered. And she could sense something in it that made her wonder if Pansy had played games with him like her sister had played with Theodore Nott.

"Fine. Iain Bradley. But there's nothing to be jealous about. We only went on a few dates… if you call my watching him play Quidditch a date. And one rather mundane visit to Madam Puddifoot's. Kissing him was… interesting."

"Interesting - what a fascinating choice of adjective."

"Well, it was my first time kissing anyone that way, and all the books in the world couldn't prepare me for the wet strangeness that is having one's mouth explored by someone else's tongue."

He laughed. "Wet strangeness. You do have a way with words, Miss Greengrass."

She scrunched up her face in embarrassment. "It wasn't unpleasant… it just wasn't very exciting. He went on to date…" her voice faltered. "Another Ravenclaw. After me, I mean."

He was watching her carefully. "And were you jealous?"

"No," she said sincerely. "They were better suited to each other." And feeling like she had held back long enough, she turned to him. "You're the only one who I've ever been… intimate with."

Silence. Heart-stopping, nerve-wracking silence. His eyes hadn't widened in shock or surprise, he hadn't moved or twitched or started. He simply stared at her blankly. So of course she started babbling.

"Oh good grief, you knew, didn't you? You could tell. Of course you could tell. I know learning things by book isn't the same as doing, but I thought I'd managed at least a basic-level competency." She could feel her face blooming with heat, so she covered it with her hands in utter mortification.

"You truly learned how to shag from a book?"

She couldn't answer. She wanted to roll over and get out of bed, but the idea of fishing around for her wand, her clothing… it would triple the embarrassment.

"And magazines," she whimpered from behind her fingers.

And then she heard him. Laughing. Laughing like she'd never heard him laugh before.

"You are… unreal." And he whooped some more.

"What?" Why was he laughing?

"That's the most Ravenclaw thing I've ever heard in my life. Oh, Merlin, you are adorable!"

Adorable, was she? She dropped her hands to his shoulder and shoved, and he rolled over still laughing. "You can stop laughing at any time," she suggested with mock anger.

It took another minute before he rolled back to face her, a grin splitting his face in two.

"That is some Hermione Granger-level nerdity."

She sprang up to a sitting position. "Take that back right now. I'm nothing like her. She's cruel." He seemed amused. "She permanently scarred Marietta Edgecombe."

Obviously delighted by her reaction, Draco stretched out and tucked his hands under his head. "I can't tell you how happy I am that you and I are of the same mind about that Mudblood."

It was like a Dementor had shown up in the room. Any feelings of levity and happiness vanished, drowned by a wave of sadness. She clenched her hands into fists and turned away from him.

"Please. Don't ever use that word around me again." Her voice was quiet and grave, but it didn't shake. "About anyone."

He didn't answer, but the silence was enough for her. She looked back to him to find him staring at her with a serious, intense expression. Was he angry? Annoyed? Confused? Waiting for an explanation? Because she couldn't give it to him, not yet.

Instead she reached out to touch his arm, taut and smooth. Her thumb traced along his bicep, and she let herself be distracted again by Draco's epically beautiful body. He watched her as though she were a snake about to pounce.

"You couldn't tell? That first night?"

"No," he said, just as quietly. "I could tell you were a little nervous, but I thought it was because you'd never snuck a bloke into your room before."

"Yes, well, that was rather the case." She lowered herself back down, still stroking his arm. "You were awfully intimidating, standing in the middle of my bedroom, looking damned sexy, waiting for me to pull you into bed."

He smirked. "What can I say? I'm a gentleman." He released the arm she wasn't groping and ran it up her naked thigh. "I think it's my turn again. And I expect you to choose 'Command'."

She'd been so sure she'd 'won'. After all, it had all gone to plan. Mostly. He'd begged, and she had indulged him. The twilight hours had passed in snatches of rest and lust. And then, at dawn, he'd silently roused her with lazy strokes and kisses while the room glowed around him.

Quite literally glowed. She blinked in disbelief. The walls of the room were actually changing; instead of inky black and twinkling stars, the rising sun was throbbing through them. Apricots and golds and ambers, bleeding out of the floor turned horizon. As she stared open-mouthed at the diffusion of rosy light, Draco continued kissing her neck lazily.

"It's… ethereal," was all Astoria could come up with.

"It's a joke." Draco said between kisses. He stroked behind her ear. "Grandfather used to assign these rooms to guests he didn't particularly like - especially after a late night. It's unbearably bright even on the foggiest of London mornings."

Astoria couldn't help it; she grinned devilishly. Draco stopped his kisses, and she saw surprise on his face.

"What? I'm a morning person," she boasted. "And I think I'd have liked to meet your Grandfather."

"I think you've got a nastier streak than I realized," he said with a smirk. "Especially taking last night into account." And for an unending moment, she just stared into his eyes, the rising light making them gleam like silver. This beautiful, broken boy who seemed to see parts of her no one ever noticed.

They didn't get up right away, but sleep had disappeared with the dark walls and they found other ways to pass the early hours. After a very enjoyable shower, Astoria and Draco made their way back down to the dining room, still full of French desserts.

She selected a small strawberry tart and demolished it. "I should go home soon," she admitted. "Just to avoid any suspicion."

"I have to get to St. Mungo's in a few hours anyway." Draco tapped his wand on the sideboard and a potion bottle appeared. "You'll be needing this." He passed the familiar vial to her.

"I certainly will." She popped the top off and grinned wickedly. "It's rather handy that you're such a dab hand at potions, I must say." With a large swallow, the potion was taken. He watched her with his own smile, and she suspected he was admiring her talents again.

"I'll write you later, though," she promised. "Perhaps after a few hours of sleep."

He pressed her up against the sideboard and ran his hands possessively down her slim figure. "Didn't sleep last night?"

"No," she looked up at him innocently. "Hardly a wink." She then kissed him until her head swam.

When they finally separated, she felt like she'd just been Stupefied. It's a good thing I'm used to feeling lightheaded, she thought. Through her mental fog, she smiled at him.

"See you soon, Draco."

It didn't take long for Astoria to realize something was very, very wrong. She'd apparated home safely, and had climbed the side stairs to her room, only to nearly collapse onto her bed in exhaustion. After barely an hour of sleep, she woke up in pain. And blood.

No, no, no, no, this can't be happening. A wave of panic began to rise, so she shut her eyes and took three deep breaths. Then staggered to the bathroom to deal with the crimson stains that wet her thighs.

The walls of the private room in St. Mungo's were calming, not for their colour or texture, but their familiarity. She associated them with safety, with the feeling she was where she needed to be when things went wrong. The bleeding hadn't stopped, but it was staunched. Healer Lyra Hiddlestick had been summoned, and Astoria knew she'd feel much better when she at last arrived.

"Miss Greengrass," the familiar voice said as Lyra walked briskly into the room. Astoria didn't bother sitting up, knowing that it'd only cause her to have to lie back again. "Tell me what's going on."

Astoria explained about the bleeding and exhaustion, being sure to include the fact that her monthly cycle wasn't due for another week at least.

At that, Lyra looked up from her notepad. "You're certain about that?"

"Yes. You know I've been charting it for years."

Lyra frowned, her brows furrowing. "And nothing else has changed with your health? You haven't skipped any of your potions, or shifted their timing?"

Potions! Astoria couldn't believe she'd been so stupid. She had been taking her potions regularly, but she'd also been taking the ones Draco had made for her.

"Well," she stammered. "No. I haven't skipped any potions. But I have taken… other potions."

Astoria had always appreciated Lyra's no-nonsense attitude because it was honest, kind, and positive. But her healer's lips now were tight, and there was a fierce gravity to her stare that confirmed she'd made a terrible mistake.

"What other potions?"

"A… prevention potion. Potions," she corrected hastily. Damn, damn, damn!

Lyra's eyes didn't budge from her as she scribbled. "Which one?"

Were there more than one kind? "I… I don't remember the name. But it has silphium seeds in it."

Lyra exhaled and clenched her eyes closed in… frustration? Disappointment?

"How many of these potions have you taken?"

She couldn't help it. Tears sprang unbidden from her burning eyes. "Three?"

"Of all the…" Lyra caught herself mid-expletive. "Astoria, darling, how could you be so careless?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

"That's not an excuse, girl. I'm sorry, but it isn't. You don't have the privilege of trying out any potions without checking first." Lyra squeezed her temples with one hand.

Astoria was as mortified as she was enraged. She was mad at herself and at the world. The mild scolding had felt like a jinx to the face, and suddenly it just seemed so utterly unfair to be her. Why? Why can't I just have a normal life like everybody else? Another sheet of hot tears washed over her cheeks.

Feeling absolutely miniscule, she wiped her face. "Did I make things worse?"

Lyra looked her straight in the eyes. "Honestly, Astoria, I don't know. I can deal with what it is right now, but I have no idea whether it will cause problems in the long run."

Astoria couldn't even nod. It was her fault. She'd probably carved another few years off her short, useless life. It was as if the world around her had been coloured another shade darker.

"The jist of it is, this potion works by encouraging your body to start the menstrual process. Your particular cycle's balance is so precarious that it didn't just nudge it into action, it bombarded it. So we'll need to stabilize that first." She rose to her feet, flipped her notepad closed, and stuck the quill in her front pocket. "I need to start on an antidote now. You need to rest and stay warm. I've seen ghosts with more colour. Do you need another blanket?"

Still unable to form words, she nodded. Lyra conjured a mint green quilt and tucked it around her. Before she opened the door to depart, she turned back. "One last question - do your parents know where you are?"

"No," Astoria confessed. Sweet Salazar, my parents. "Please… I don't want them to know about this. They'll only worry."

"Not to mention have questions about why you might be taking prevention potions," her healer added shrewdly. "Fine. You're of age now, so they're not privy to anything you don't wish to share." There was a faint tug at her mouth that might have been a smile. "I'll send them a note saying you came in at my request for some extra tests. But when I get back, we're going to talk about potions. And sex." Astoria may well have blushed, if she had had enough blood in her system to change her colour. Instead, she let out a moan of discomfort which pulled harder on Lyra's lips before she whipped through the door.

A conversation about sex with her healer, who'd just agreed to lie to her parents. Fantastic. Bloody fantastic. At least she didn't have to worry about her parents showing up at the hospital, in a full-out tizzy…

A memory of the morning cut through her internal rant. Oh no. Hadn't Draco said he was working at the hospital today? Could he possibly be here at this very moment, walking down the corridor outside her room? What if he were to find out she was there too?

What a mess. How had she bunged things up so badly? Easy. You've been distracted by a bloody boy. She'd been so preoccupied with Draco and being with him that she'd wilfully put thoughts of her illness aside. And she'd ended up paying for it. It felt as though she always payed for it. For this stupid, bloody curse that ruled her life. Couldn't she just have one day where she didn't have to think about it, worry about it? To pretend that she could actually do all the things everyone else could, like summer in France, or fly on broomsticks south of the Thames, or shag a boy she fancied.

A few tears ran down her still-damp cheeks. I'm sick of being sick! I'm just so. Bloody. Sick of it.

But she knew the truth: it wasn't going to go away. It was silly for her to have even considered getting close to someone else. Because she was already in a relationship - with the curse.

What if you told him? It was a thought that had come to her before, multiple times, but she'd just dismissed it with the ease of someone who'd been lying her whole life. He'd think differently of her. It would become public, and she'd attract unwanted attention to both her and her family. He'd want nothing to do with a weak, useless girl who'd be more a burden than an object of desire.

But last night, he'd opened up to her. He could have lied to her, and he didn't. And she'd… well, she hadn't lied to him. But she'd been keeping parts of herself closed up and locked. She'd done the same with Tullia… Tullia, whose name she couldn't utter either. Merlin, she was a piece of work.

It'd be easy to stop now. She'd already given herself an out; they'd agreed that if the situation changed, they each had the power to end things before someone was hurt. And he'd already been hurt so much, she could tell. Even if he hadn't put it into so many words. Pouring out all these secrets - these accumulated, fermented secrets - wouldn't be fair to anyone. Including herself. Because she still hadn't dealt with it herself. Wasn't sure she was ready to. Does wanting to keep it a secret mean I'm ashamed to be with him?

No. No, she wasn't ashamed of him. He deserved more. She needed to give him what he'd given her - honesty. And if he ended things, well, that would be that.