Hullo lovelies!
I was determined to get this chapter out today, so here we are. There's some plot and some fluff. It also sets up the next chapter. I do feel a bit terrible about what happens next, so, I am sorry in advance.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Wednesday, May 2nd, 1979
Undisclosed Location Along Wales's Coast, UK
There was only so much the plethora of books they'd found could help them. This venture was quickly morphing into a miniature disaster.
"Are you sure we can't have some Muggle builders come and help us…we can obliviate them later," Draco grumbled.
Draco'd visited The London Library in February and found some old drawing sets for various buildings. From there he'd attempted to recreate his own drawing set (figuring out the dimensions, layout and how to draw it all properly took almost two weeks). He had to purchase several instruments like a t-square, set squares, a compass, and different pens in a shop in muggle London. An expedition that took practically all day because he kept getting turned around.
Draco borrowed some examples, and burnt the midnight oil attempting to create a drawing set that was legible. When he finished, he was proud of the end product. It may not be to a professional standard, but it was competently drawn, and all they really needed was a basic outline. At least that's what he thought.
Hermione took it upon herself to consult with a muggle contractor: she scheduled a consultation, and brought Draco's drawings with her, and the pair of them spent almost two hours highlighting and adjusting them from a practical standpoint. He needed to know where they were going to put in the utilities, if there was any natural drainage on the site, and a bunch of other things neither of them had even considered.
Thusly, In the first week of April, Hermione took the Project Manager and owner of the small contractor's company, Thomas Thatcher, (from a town several kilometres away from the bluff) to the site. He'd looked at her strangely when she'd held his elbow as they crossed the threshold of the blood wards. The man looked momentarily sick to his stomach, but did not make that fact known as he made his initial observations; he was a sickly green colour the entire time. Thomas informed her that building on a cliff was trickier because the amount of rock they would have to dig through to level out where they were building for the foundations.
Thatcher was a fair, middle-aged man: he possessed narrow features, a crooked front tooth on his bottom row of teeth, freckles across his nose, a slightly receding hairline, and a pointy Adam's apple. He was of average height, but he was stocky from years of working in construction.
Thomas Thatcher also had an easy smile, cracked jokes every so often—funny ones that drew out unexpected small laughs—and he was a seemingly kind man. He took great care in explaining things and let her ask questions to her heart's content, his own eyes lighting up as he spoke about his life's passion.
Hermione had done far more morally questionable things in her time, but after they'd crossed back over the blood wards' threshold, she tampered with the man's memories. Removing any trace of her, while delicately supplanting false memories of how Thomas had spent his afternoon.
"Using more magic would make this far easier," Draco grumbled. He'd collapsed onto his arse five minutes ago, hammer in hand and hadn't done anything useful since.
Draco was running a hand across the freshly mown grass. The first thing the pair did was cut down all of the tall grass on the side of the bluff in order to prepare the site.
"We are using magic for certain things," Hermione shot back. She was standing on the edge of the vast hole in the earth before her. A hole they'd carved out by using the gouging spell. Something Draco seemed to have forgotten.
Even with magic, carving through the earth and stone was a strenuous, tedious process. After they'd gotten to the depth they needed, and obtained the rough shape, Hermione had climbed down into the hole. She used the wooden ladder she'd purchased in the closest town. Hermione deftly refined the edges—especially in the corners—to make sure it was level and even all around.
"What are you even doing with that hammer?" Hermione asked. She peered at her significant other over her shoulder; her thick plait flipping over her shoulder. Draco shrugged languidly.
"In case it wasn't abundantly obvious before—I haven't the foggiest idea what I am doing," Draco said, his tone spiked with acidity.
"I don't really know what I am doing either, love," Hermione admitted, turning towards him and taking a few steps in his direction. "How do wix normally build various structures?" There were some impressive architectural feats throughout the wizarding world, and she'd never really considered how they were erected before.
"It was a lot easier before indoor plumbing was invented—"
"Because they would simply use chamber pots?" Hermione asked.
"Well, some still do," Draco said, his nose crinkled in disgust. He let the hammer drop from his hand, he sat up straight, crossed his legs, and gripped the front of his shins as he continued to speak. "I'm not quite sure how wix go about building things," Draco said honestly. "It used to be a more widespread skill, and using magic makes it leagues easier…but there is a whole profession dedicated to it. Mainly it's a few families who have passed the skills down for generations. Creating temporary structures or repairing things is much simpler."
"Like the gazebo we made for James's proposal," Hermione hummed.
"Exactly. We are trying to create something that is going to withstand the test of time, and will keep Riley safe for practically two decades," Draco said, there was an austere heaviness weighing him down, his shoulders slumped.
Hermione strolled over to him, and knelt in the grass beside him. She placed her hands over his and smiled encouragingly, "we'll figure it out, gorgeous."
"We have to figure it out."
"I don't think we should impose that kind of pressure on ourselves," Hermione said reticently, kindly, her voice a soothing lullaby. Draco's sharp grey eyes locked onto her, and everything faded away around them. She was losing herself in his eyes; it was like she was strolling amongst a garden of clouds as she gazed into them. She took measured breaths, trying to reason her way through the predicament they'd found themselves in.
"We can read more about the subject, and using a mixture of magical and muggle methods, I believe we'll manage," Hermione said finally. Draco blinked, and the illusion was broken.
"How about we try and figure out where all the plumbing is supposed to go, mark it out, and then call it a day?" Draco suggested. They simply needed to take their time, gauging things as they went and adjusting to suit. Hermione nodded, squeezing his hands.
"Pull out your drawings," Hermione instructed. She relinquished her hold on him, rose to her feet, and dusted off the grass and dirt clinging to the front of her faded blue jeans. One of Draco's eyebrows rose. The wizard nimbly jumped to his feet, dusting off his arse before withdrawing a thick, folded up piece of parchment from his back jeans pocket.
Draco held the parchment out to Hermione, who grasped the other side and smiled reassuringly at him. The pair locked eyes, held in place almost like statues by an unknown force as they gripped the drawing. A silent agreement shot from their fingertips like lightning, traversed the pale, caramel yellow bit of parchment, up the other's wrist and slammed into the crook of their elbows. A promise was made in that moment, like the many they'd sworn to each other over the years.
"Together?" Hermione prompted in a teasing tone, stepping closer to him.
"Together," Draco swore as he closed the distance, and in a swift movement he'd tugged her into him. Their hands—holding fast to the parchment—were raised between them; just above Hermione's collarbone. Draco's free arm slid down to grip her waist, his fingers toying with the rough material of the waistband of her jeans.
With a downward sweep of her voluminous eyelashes, Hermione's eyes fluttered closed. Draco pressed his lips against hers. As gentle as a feather, and with a tenderness that made her heart squeeze.
Several minutes later, after the pair untangled themselves, they examined Draco's drawing and drew glowing lines in the earth where they thought the plumbing should go. The sun had largely concluded its lowering when they accomplished their task, and they conceded that they should come back on Friday to continue their project.
Twilight approached, the sky predominantly occupied by midnight blue, the stars faded yet their presence grew with each breath. Hermione hugged Draco round the middle and with a loud crack—that rebounded along the bluff, raced down the dirt path carved into the side and sped out across the sea—they apparated.
Hermione's only regret of the day was that she'd been deprived of the joyous sight of Draco attempting to wield the hammer with actual purpose. She placated her disappointment with the thought that there was plenty of time for that yet.
Thursday, May 3rd, 1979
Brighton Beach, Brighton, UK
Peter used a weedy stick he'd found on the pebbly beach to poke and prod at a burnt umber stone that was wide, smooth and had cracklings of white threaded throughout it. He was crouched on the shore, several feet away from where the water was lapping at the stones. It was high tide.
James was squatting beside him, elbows resting on his thighs; his emerald green swimming trunks pulled tight across his muscular thighs. James adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. A light breeze hit the wizards, and caused James's loose, long-sleeved, cotton, white shirt to undulate backwards, brushing against his abdomen. The man's back was curved.
The promise of warmer days was held just out of reach, the crispness of Spring persisting. It was a rare day where most of their friend group was free of any obligations, and so, late in the afternoon—as the sun was beginning its daily descent and the sky was ablaze with oranges, pinks and purples—they opted to go to the beach.
Draco, Hermione, Lily, Sirius, Marlene and Mary were frolicking a few feet away at the water's edge, boldly entering the frosty water equipped with a few warming charms they'd cast before they all left the Manor (it was their rendezvous point).
They were relatively alone on this stretch of the beach—despite its proximity to the pier—there were a few passersby strolling on the pavement adjacent to the pebbly beach. In the distance, bobbing along the surface of the fiery waves were a few rowboats.
"James?"
"Peter," James replied with an easy smile, rubbing a hand through his windswept, raven hair. He inclined his head in Peter's direction, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.
"I know it was a long time ago, and you are ridiculously happy with Lily—" Peter paused as he drank in the soft quality that brushed over James's features with quiet mirth. Peter sucked in a harsh breath, prodding the same stone once again before he found his remaining words. "You already gave me your blessing to date Mary—obviously—but…I need you to tell me it's okay to ask her to marry me."
If James was surprised by Peter's statement, it didn't show. Instead, his tranquil happiness burst into buoyant joy. "Following in my footsteps, eh, Wormtail?"
A shy smile tugged at the corner of Peter's mouth while light pink blustered its way onto his cheeks and dabbed blotchily at the tips of his ears. "She saved me, Prongs,"
James's expression sobered instantaneously. His fingers laced together, and he pressed them into the backs of his hands; the tips burning pink and white. The laughter of their friends tickled Peter's eardrums, and he peeked at them. He immediately honed in on the petite witch with auburn hair pulled into two low pigtails dressed in a bright yellow two-piece. Mary splashed Marlene who was sporting a baby blue and white one-piece; there were cutouts by her waist.
Peter recalled the day Mary'd brought the purchase home after she'd swung round the shops in Muggle London to run a few errands. Eyes alight as she held up the short, skirt-like bottom.
"I was in a dark place for a long time, and I won't lie and say she is solely responsible for my salvation— you lot helped pull me out of the hole…but she cast a fucking beam of light down into it. And it wasn't so dark and lonely anymore, and then she leapt straight in without a spare thought to keep me company."
James was giving him a peculiar look, a mix between wonder and bewilderment; almost as if he was truly seeing Peter for the first time. His hazel eyes were crinkled by the corners as a cautious smile pulled at his mouth. "You really love her, don't you?"
"I really do," Peter replied wistfully, dropping his stick amongst the pebbles. Peter rose on shaky legs, his muscles had coiled tightly and were twitching after being stuck in the same position for such an extended period. James followed suit.
"There is one thing you are wrong about though, Wormtail. You don't need my permission to marry Mary. Although, I will walk you down the aisle if you need me to." James slung an arm round Peter's shoulders, tugging the shorter man into his side.
"That won't be necessary, as you're supposed to walk the bride down the aisle," Peter chortled, poking James's side in between his ribs.
James was undeterred. "Don't worry, I'll walk you down the aisle first and then we'll wait for Mary at the altar. There will be plenty of gold and yellow about, you'll both look exquisite. It will be magical, just you wait."
"She has to say yes first."
"She will."
Peter sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth pressing into the skin below it. He breathed in and out, and dragged his teeth upwards until they sank into the soft flesh of his bottom lip; he worried it back and forth. James was always so certain things would work out, it was an indisputable fact for him, and there was no room for doubt in his mind.
James appearingly sensed Peter's reservations. He cleared his throat and with irrefutable conviction said, "Mary adores you, Peter. There is no world in which she says no."
Peter nodded dumbly, and all his worrisome concerns washed clean from his thoughts. He raised his chin, eyes fixed on the witch ahead, his friends blurring into vivid colours against the backdrop of the setting sun and gently rolling waves. Mary splashed Hermione, whose features sparked with a playful challenge as she returned a gush of water Mary's way.
The pebbles were digging into the soles of his feet. Peter didn't think much after that, he mustered up all the courage he was able; letting it balloon inside his chest. He gave James a determined nod before he strode towards the water.
Peter barely registered James's footfalls behind him as the pebbles shifted, clinking against one another as they collided. There was only one person dominating his attentions with her maddeningly jovial aura and smile that'd bewitched his heart. His magic grew warm against his fingertips whenever they were together, their magic liked one another. A golden thread was tugging him in her direction. The cold shock of the water against his feet as he reached it almost tore him from his trance.
Peter's legs faithfully carried him forth. The water quickly rose to his middle, and was to his chest when he reached Mary; it'd soaked through his black t-shirt, and the fabric clung to him.
"Hello, lovely," Mary greeted, sending a small splash his way as she waded over to him. Most of her auburn pigtails were darkened by the seawater—dragged down by the weight of it—but her hair above her jawline was still dry.
Peter's hand stretched towards her right pigtail, his fingers tangled in the wet strands. Mary slipped her hands around his neck and her legs around his waist. Peter bent partially at the knee, and the pair floated in the water, weightless, worry-free. Mary nudged his nose with hers.
"Glad you could join us. I was just about to—"
"Marry me." Peter blurted. His words were a bit louder than he expected, and he saw his friends all freeze in his peripherals, all holding their breath.
Mary's eyes widened, her lips pursed to speak but no sound came out. Unmistakable elation exploded on her features and she squeezed his hips with her thighs, bouncing up and down with glee as she exclaimed, "yes!"
Mary was grinning brightly as she kissed him, and his heart nearly burst in euphoria at her response. She said yes. The cheers and raucous roars from their mates were drowned out in the background, and Peter revelled in every second. He was going to marry Mary McDonald, and nothing else mattered. The darkness that had shadowed his heart for years was swept away when she came into his life; she kept his demons at bay. As long as he had her, nothing else mattered.