Vonne: Alright, decided to update this chapter fast! Hopefully that's a good thing. :)

Isabella120: Thanks, HA. If it is fitting to be thankful for describing something so sickly. :) Anyway, I'm glad that it seemed realistic to you. I hope you like this next chapter, as well.

Doni: Thank you, too. I'm glad (if that sounds sane to say) that everyone seemed to find the previous chapter a sad one. I definitely did what I'd set out to do in my descriptions. But I feel like the whole situation could be something that very possibly could have occurred in the books. I mean, Malfoy wasn't exactly too keen in the Manor in Deathly Hallows, anyway. So, why not? :)

Shining Bright Eyes: I'm glad you liked it, once again. :) I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much, too. It's not as intense as the previous ones, but either way, I hope you're fond of it just as much. HA!

Dramione1996: HA! He probably did, considering the circumstances. But hopefully things will pick up...

Jade2099: Exactly! That's why I feel like Draco's situation was, if anything, pitiable. I mean, he was really young when the whole thing was going on and was brought towards it by his parents. Besides, going in to it he did realize that he didn't have the stomach for it. I mean, that's not to say that book Malfoy wasn't at fault-- because he was. But as the book ended he did seem fairly close enough to redemption. ;)

Chapter Twenty:
Bliss

"So what are you going to do about it?" Hermione Granger asked the long pause that now only defined the being on the other end. He'd been breathing heavily, speaking slightly muffled into what seemed to be the palm of his own hands, and even so angry, she couldn't help but consider the immense pity she felt for him. What a life, an awful one at that, that Hermione hadn't even begun to consider. And whoever it was on the other end, whatever poor distraught soul, he was obviously not okay.

After the moment passed between them, Draco removed the palm he'd had hiding his pale face. He was laying on his back, face up at the evening sky. He felt like he'd run miles. Everything about his torso stung and ached and burned. He hadn't expected that telling the woman everything would be as difficult as it had been-- and he'd only informed her of two days. Two days out of a lifetime of many. Years and years and years, and now, he'd been living in only the aftermath; the sudden and hefty ending of the entire ordeal. But why couldn't he move on? Why did it take more to forget than he'd expected? "What am I going to do?" he asked the female voice, not bothering to hide the stress that ached behind his awful tone, "What do you mean 'what am I going to do'? I'm going to do what I'm supposed to do."

Hermione cleared her throat. She was frustrated for having felt bad for him, but what else could she feel? Still, annoyed, she said back, "what is it you're supposed to do?"

"Move on."

Finally Hermione let a little giggle escape from her throat. She'd spent a long hour listening to this boy tell her of his life, and now he was just being ignorant. "Move on," she joked, riveted, "move on, huh? And what would that require?"

Draco shrugged. His sore shoulders grazed the dewy grass and his lifted them up and back down again. "It only requires the basics. Simple. Get married."

"MARRIED?" So overwhelmingly high-pitched was Hermione's voice that, on the other end of the radio speakers, Draco Malfoy jumped up several inches. He stared back down at the little toy shocked; she'd been the first so opposed to this decision. Everyone else seemed to think that he was on the right right- going to the gold, so close they could almost taste it for him. So why was she so outraged? The angry breaths coming from her side of the toy were obvious and loud. She might have whipped herself up from her seat as well. Something about even the sound of her undaunted breaths was chilling and curious.

When he spoke again, he did so in a slow and calm voice. "Yeah..." he said tired and confused.

"You're getting married?"

Why did she care so much? The aching tone of her petrified voice was almost unbelievably serious. He could even picture her face without even knowing what it looked like. Didn't she hate him? Didn't she wish him to fall from the rooftops only moments ago? "Unfortunately," Malfoy said, slowly. It was the first time he'd heard himself admit his displeasure with the thing out loud. But that didn't matter now. Saying it out loud or saying it in solitude, either way it was the only way.

"Unfortunately? I... Are you... Are you completely insane? Marriage is-- marriage is a special pact between two people it's... it's not something you throw around because you're depressed!" Hermione paused, stopping instantly in her own babbling. She'd been going on frustrated and heated and all the while she could only think about this man's faltering sanity. Perhaps he was as much of a lunatic as he'd so desperately believed himself. She brought her hand up to her forehead, inhaled briefly, and then added, "why the fuck are you getting married?"

Explaining himself, with a newfound sense of frustration of his own, Draco Malfoy said back, "that's the golden fix, right? That's the way to do it."

"To do what?" Hermione spat.

"To wake up! To get out of all this delusion!" Malfoy's face flushed, unsure why she was so blatantly opposed.

"By brining someone down along with you?"

Malfoy laughed, the first time since he'd finished telling her part of his life's story. "Oh, trust me. You especially would think she very much deserved it."

Hermione leaned up against the side of her bedpost. She crossed her ankles and shut her eyes, finally feeling herself defeated. "You really don't. You really don't get it, do you?"

"At least I'm trying," Draco hissed, defensively.

"Well, you're doing a shitty job of it."

And then Draco could finally feel the heat rise up in his chest. Perhaps she wasn't too keen on the idea, but he was-- or, at least, everyone else was. Her input made everything else more confusing and difficult. He couldn't possibly please everyone, and this woman, this voice on the other end of this silly little toy that he hadn't met once in all his life... her opinion had come far, far too late. "Yeah, thanks," he spit back at her, pulling himself up from the ground. He wasn't too keen on further pushing the situation he was in with her, anyway, but something couldn't stop him from doing it. She obvious was still bitter, and nothing he could say or do could change that. And now, now it actually got to him. "So, I'm going to go now," he added, informing her with intense aggression.

Hermione grunted, pushing her hair back behind her ears. "Going to go, are you?" she retaliated, ignoring the fact that she'd regressed to being as bossy as she'd always been expected to be. "Okay, right. Going to go where?"

Malfoy was hastily loosing it. Quickly he could feel himself drain of everything left. She could push him all she wanted but that wasn't going to change anything. He stammered over himself for a moment, pushing his sweaty hand through his head of light blond hair. Trying desperately to think of something fitting to say, he stuttered only momentarily before announcing to her decisively, "---to go and get a best man."

Hermione tossed her head back. "HA! Alright, go. Go and find your best man. Go get married and live one, great, big satisfactory life."

Draco huffed. It was their most explosive and real fight, and at the moment he could feel the anger begin to bubble inside his heaving chest. He was hot and sweaty and yet, something made him not want to throw the radio down. The thought of walking away somewhat terrified him-- and the thought that it terrified him, terrified him. Part of him wanted to keep fighting until they weren't fighting anymore. And part of him wanted to wring her neck. "Fine!" he shouted back, immature and childish, and then added, "and just so you know- I am completely okay with 'satisfactory'."

"Oh, well, then you are even more mental than I'd initially thought."

Draco grunted, half laughing and half exhaling. "That is the millionth time you've informed me of such, darling," he swooned, drunk with the idea of pissing her off. He wanted her angry, and at the same time desired nothing in the world than for her not to be mad with him.

"I just find it funny. How content you are with living a satisfactory existence. Since when is satisfactory ideal?"

"It's not ideal," Draco came back. His hand was still pitted on his forehead, sweating back into his hair, "but it's all I've got."

Hermione didn't waste a moment telling him what she'd thought of his comment. Sighing hysterically, she was angry and frustrated and about ready to toss the radio against the wall. Finally, giving up heatedly, she spat, "you're mental."

And then, Draco let himself do it. He yelled back into the speakers, "Fine!" and then thrust the damned thing back into his coat pocket before getting up and leaving the clearing of emerald altogether.

Gregory Goyle was only half asleep when he'd first heard the knock at the door or, at least, thought he'd heard it. He lifted his massive head, looking around uneasily, and waited for it to come again. When finally it did, he staggered upwards, moseyed over to the front of his small house, and pulled open the door with slow apprehension. He yawned before his eyes adjusted to the features of the figure standing before him and his face fell. Looking slightly disillusioned he looked up minutely from his poor postured stance and said with a raised eyebrow, "Draco?"

Standing straight on Goyle's front porch, Draco shrugged forcing his face up into a polite smile. "Evening, Goyle," he beamed because he was sure that he was supposed to.

The bigger of the two men leaned backwards. He gripped the side of his house's doorframe and tightened the belt on his robe. "Evening? Don't you mean night?" Goyle looked around outside; it was, after all, completely black out. "It's almost ten thirty, Draco."

"What?" Draco asked, face melting, "you don't look like you're too happy to see me." His entire visage fell into that of a timidly hurt child. But of course Draco had always had gotten that look down- the look of a wounded stag. This time Goyle could see that he was truly serious and, feeling slightly guilty for not being more pleasant about Draco's visit, he shook his head solemnly.

"No, not at all." He responded, stepping aside. He welcomed his old friend into his house with a sweeping gesture of his beefy hand and shut the door behind them. "I was sleeping, that's all." And with one look through Goyle's house it was quite obvious that he was telling the truth. The throw blanket that was usually tossed across the sofa had been brought to the table seat, and the cup of cold tea nearest him had only been half consumed. In the light the tiny splotch of drool was made apparent on the side of Goyle's round face.

Malfoy breathed in. "Well," he exclaimed, "long time no see."

"Uh," Goyle started, trying to get a more proper look at his friend in general. There was something slightly sloppy behind his perfection, telling him that something wasn't right. But he'd missed his chance to analyze Draco's facial expressions further; Malfoy turned his back towards Goyle, ran his hand purposefully across his face, and plunged his hands into his trouser pockets. Still, he managed that business man like smile that he'd learned from his father. "Yeah, mate. It has been... what... three, four days?"

Draco shook his head, keen on lengthening the small talk, "surely, a whole week."

Goyle stood, dumbfounded. He felt slightly uneasy, even in his robe, and shifted there on the grounds of his own house. He ran his own hand through his short hair and raised an eyebrow. Then, swallowing, he nodded, deciding only not to make the situation more unsettling. "Ah," he agreed simply, rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels. He wasn't tired anymore and, quite frankly, Draco had captivated all of his current attention. He could sense that something was amiss, though could only bring himself to dodging immaturely around the subject. Instead he wrapped his mind around a different approach, settling with simply asking, "how have you been?"

His place seemed to work more quickly then he'd planned. Despite having watched Draco squirm at his spot across from him, his friend finally seemed okay with the notion of actually speaking up. "Actually," he said, looking up from the single spot he'd been so apt to staring at which was, after all, the floor boards, "that's what I came to tell you about?"

For a moment, Goyle considered the circumstances. He analyzed Draco Malfoy's face, trying to find some sense of sadness, but he could only sense such a feeling. Otherwise, there was nothing physical about this notion. In fact, Draco's smile only widened. He even managed to show his white teeth, beaming with such intensity that Goyle even felt proud of him for a moment. "Well," he said, growing more than only a little curious, "what is it, mate?"

"Goyle," Draco said, almost too quickly, "I'm getting married."

At once Goyle could feel his own smile brighten his face. He wasn't even slightly thinking of sleep anymore. "Married?" he beamed, "Draco-- that's... oh, wow, mate-- that's excellent! That's brilliant!" Stumbling over his own words, Goyle could hardly contain himself. He'd waited so long for this moment for his closest friend, wanted so long for him to move up and on with his life. "I... congratulations!" He thumped his chubby fingers over his forehead, breathed in heavily. "Who is she? I've not talked to you for a week and you're already making such progress!"

The sight of Goyle's instantly brightened atmosphere made Draco feel slightly more comfortable. For the first time in the night he'd forgotten about his fight with the woman on the radio, forgotten about all his worries about the arrangement in the first place. Goyle was right-- this was what was best for him, and everything was going to be alright from here. And, besides, he much enjoyed feeling uplifted and reassured; he hadn't felt such things in an admittedly long time. "You know her, Goyle," Draco laughed, excited for the first time.

Laughing, Goyle paced past Draco over to the cupboard, pulled out a bottle of wine and opened it with fast aggression. He poured two drinks, finally alright with the idea of permitting Draco, the addict, to do so. Because this, this time was a situation to celebrate. "Know her?" he chuckled, handing Draco his glass of wine before taking a sip of his. "Who is she?" Draco's eyes twinkled prematurely with the sparkle caused by the alcohol. He swallowed the wine spastically and lifted it higher as if to toast. Instead, he took a second swig, almost still uneasy. Though Goyle couldn't even slightly sense it now. He was certain that Draco was as happy and thrilled as ever. Standing opposite him, watching him smile for the longest time Goyle could have ever imagined, Goyle shook his head, still beaming, at his friend's anxiousness. "Well," Goyle asked again, excitedly curious, "who is she, mate?"

Draco nodded. "Pansy."

And all at once Goyle could feel the rush and thrill fade from his torso swiftly. No longer did he feel happy and excited for his friend. All he could manage to do was stand in front of him, dumb and stiff. For a moment, not even Malfoy noticed the drained appearance of his friend. He stood staring into the surface of his wine glass before finally looking back up at Goyle. "Pansy?" Goyle heard himself ask, his tone quivering and slightly on the timid side. "Like... Pansy- Pansy?"

Once again, Malfoy nodded.

"I..." Goyle said, though he could only hear himself say it, "I... wasn't aware that the two of you..."

"Neither was I!" Draco responded back. He stood still, taking to downing the glass of wine with quick intention. His face was beginning to drain, his nose brightening red as he drank the remainder of his already considerably large glass. "It just sort of happened. Just like you said, Goyle." When he looked up he was still smiling, even if it was false. "Just like you said since the beginning." Malfoy leaned forward, still blissfully unaware of Goyle's uneasiness, and poured himself a respectable amount of wine back into his glass. When the wine reached almost the very top of the glass, only then did he set it back down.

Gregory Goyle was, in all aspects, fading. He couldn't quite bring himself to drink the rest of his wine, couldn't even imagine doing such an act. Instead, he placed his glass aside, turned away from Draco and positioned himself at the countertop, his face away from Draco entirely. "I didn't mean that you should," he started, only stopping momentarily to consider if he should, in fact, bring himself to continue. "I didn't mean that you should... should marry Pansy."

Malfoy glanced up from his glass. "Yeah," he started slowly, "I didn't expect it either. It just happened."

"These things don't just happen," Goyle quipped. Then, laughing bitterly, he spat to himself, "Pansy."

The sense of pride seemed to leak from Malfoy's entire being. "I... Goyle? Goyle, aren't you... aren't you supposed to be... excited or happy? Or--"

"Or what, Draco?" Finally Gregory Goyle whirled around from his position against the counter top. And whatever had happened to the two of them moments ago, when they were both so thrilled for one another, had completely vanished. Goyle's face was so red that he looked like a tomato. His eyes were glazed and slightly wet with what Draco hoped wasn't tears. What was going on? What had gone wrong in a little time of only a few moments? "I'm supposed to feel what? Please, enlighten me."

But Malfoy didn't understand. He placed his glass back down and looked immensely hurt, "Goyle, what's wrong? Did... did I do something wrong?"

"Yeah," Goyle nodded, not wasting any time to point it out to Malfoy, "yeah, Draco, you have done something wrong." He noticed Malfoy open his mouth, ready to ask what he was talking about in an innocently meek tone. But before he could stand to hear his voice again, Goyle etched forward, cutting him off with instantly angry aggression. "You and... and Pansy?" he started, shaking his head. He was flustered and anxious, but he could barely control his anger. "Pansy? Why... why Pansy, Draco, huh? Why her?"

Malfoy was sick with strangeness. He shifted, feeling himself loose any bit of happiness that he'd had previously. "I... Goyle... I don't know. She-- s-she j-just... proposed."

Upon hearing this, Goyle's face seemed to redden even more. He nodded, allowing his face to completely fall, and then took to shaking his head. He tossed his hands up in the air, as if blatantly giving up, and looked completely mad with despair. "Oh," he coughed, half between hysterics, "wonderful."

"Goyle," Draco started forward, finally pushing his wine glass to one side. "Goyle, please... what's going on?"

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know!" Goyle yelled, this time with a voice so harsh and hurt that Draco felt guilty without knowing exactly why. "Don't you dare pretend you don't know."

"I don't," Malfoy informed him, timidly.

But Greg held up a hand, stopping Draco from approaching him any closer. "I have always felt something for Pansy, Draco! Fuck..." he gripped the hair nearest his head, spun around slightly, and then paused, dropping his hand from his head bluntly. "And... and you knew that!"

Draco's head spun. He'd knew knew anything of the sort, never even suspected it. But the look in Goyle's sad eyes told him that Goyle was not lying, that he truly was... was in love with Pansy Parkinson. "Goyle, I didn't know. I- I had no idea. I--"

"No, don't fucking---" once he'd yelled it, Goyle seemed to regret his decision at once. He drew himself back, shook his head bitterly. Then he lifted a fat finger, directed it at Draco's chest. "If you took your attention off of liquor for once you might have noticed how I look at her! How I... I speak only good of her. Which... which you don't even do! All you ever--" Goyle caught sight of his friend's face, how it fell with every spat word. He retreated backwards once again, cocked his head towards the front doors, and said nothing more.

But Draco didn't move an inch. Instead he let his shoulders sink, looked as if he still didn't fully understand. "But this... this is what you wanted. I-I'm doing e-exactly what you prescribed! You said I should move on and that's what I'm doing. G-Goye I'm starting a new life, remember? I'm growing up, moving on... g-getting married!"

"To the woman I love!" Goyle bellowed, lifting his glass of wine and whipping it in Draco's exceedingly pale face. The red color of the drink dripped down Malfoy's white button up, and yet blended in so well with the purple bruise on the side of his head. For a long while, Malfoy stood frozen, allowing himself to be drenched. He glanced down at his ruined clothing, surely shocked at Goyle's actions, and then finally breathed out.

When the passing moments seemed to drag on, he opened his eyes, blinked out the stinging presence of alcohol in his eyes, and tried again unsuccessfully, "Goyle, all I'm trying to do is be happy. All I'm trying to do is move on!"

And all Goyle could manage to choke was, "Draco, I need for you to leave. Now, okay? I need for you to leave now."

"No," Draco tried, stepping forwards, "no, please, listen to me."

"Draco, get the hell out of my house!" Goyle merely stated. He was past yelling, past aggression. Simply, he thrust his finger towards the front of his house and waited. And Draco was merely lucky- lucky Goyle didn't sock him in the face, didn't add on to his already ample amount of heavy bruises. He stood across from Goyle, breathless, his arms loose and limp at his sides. For a moment he was useless and furthermore his legs couldn't move. Everything was falling apart and it wasn't supposed to be happening this way. This was all wrong, because everyone was supposed to be happy and congratulating him and smiling nonstop.

But this wasn't even slightly according to plan. This was the exact opposite. This was worse than he'd possibly imagined. So, because he was more numb beyond belief, he nodded, for it was all he could do, and made his way towards the front door, leaving Goyle and the wine glass utterly alone. And as he walked the certain pacing steps of shame, he could feel the world go to shit and the radio poking his side through his pocket.

Vonne: REVIEW! :)