In the time of the Order of the Phoenix, a mysterious transfer student from the United States of America comes to Hogwarts. With hair to rival Hermione's, and a tongue to rival Draco's, the suspicions and tensions rise in Professor Snape's classroom. And we thought Dolores Umbridge was the problem...
This story will be told in many different parts, in many different times. It will jump from the years at Hogwarts to the years after the war, and it'll be up to you to figure out the puzzle.
Ella 21
"Have you ever woken up and forgotten who you are?"
"What?"
"Not forgotten entirely...maybe just become aware of the fact that you aren't awake enough yet to realize that you're you?"
There was a very long pause for deep consideration. "Maybe I have."
"It's kind of like a stillness. Almost like a moment where I think that, hey, this is who I am, before any sort of societal pressures or external forces were placed upon me, the moment where I'm conscious but not fully aware." There was another long pause. The clock struck midnight, and each chime rang through the corridor below and flew up the air by way of the staircase, creeping beneath the closed door of the bedroom. Ella looked to her right, and Draco's head was still there on the other pillow, after the last chime. He didn't turn into a pumpkin and disappear forever. His pale skin was glowing beautifully in the light of the waxing moon. She brushed his cheek, whiskered from not shaving; he reached up and laced his fingers with hers.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered.
Ella blinked. "Did you read my mind?"
His expression was unreadable. "Do you like those moments when you forget?"
She shrugged against the satin of her sheets. "I don't dislike them," she answered. "But I'm not sure if I like them, either. I do look for them, though, and think about them here and there. I've never been in that moment long enough to realize if I like it or not."
"There must be something about them that you like." A beat. "Perhaps the feeling of no obligation?"
"That's likely," she agreed. "Maybe I just wish that I could get to them at will? Find those moments where nothing matters?"
"You can go into that Mind Palace of yours when you want," he said with a tiny laugh. "Maybe one of those rooms has that feeling in it?" Part of her wanted to poke him in the ribs for making fun of her Mind Palace, but the other parts of her were truthfully tickled that he remembered that she even had a Mind Palace, or even what one was that she didn't mind it. He must have seen her smile in the dark room, for his hand let go of hers and his long arm came and snaked around her waist, sliding her towards and against his naked body. A sharp chill went up her legs and she let out a squeal.
"How are your feet so cold?!" she gasped and turned around, wrapping his arm over her to spoon her from behind, tucking both of her feet between his ankles. He laughed softly and kissed the junction of her shoulder and neck. She felt his lungs swell as he inhaled the scent of her hair; she could tell that he liked her new shampoo with how he sighed into her ear. His long fingers came up and grazed over her scalp, through her hair, then kissed her ear again.
"Sleep, darling," he whispered.
"You don't have to stay awake until I fall asleep, you know," she said, patting the top of his hand with her fingertips.
"I know, but I love the feeling of it," he cooed softly in her ear. "I like feeling you fall asleep in my arms; feeling you relax and go limp, your breathing slow." He kissed the junction of her jaw and neck. "I love it when you're sleeping in my arms, and turn over and reposition yourself against me and sigh. It's a bit like the sea, and listening to the waves gently kiss the shore."
He just had to be a poet, didn't he? Ella reminded herself that there were many girls out there that would give their left eye to have someone so poetic and romantic and loving in their bed. "You've written me a lot of poems over the years," she mused quietly. He nodded, his lips curling into a smile against her scalp.
"Several hundred, at this point," he agreed.
Sweet Jesus, I think he's actually right, she thought, recalling all of his love notes from school, the owls she'd received from him over the years, not counting the lyrics to the songs he'd written."Recite me one," she said, deciding to accept a tiny bit of romance into her American, romance-intolerant diet. Perhaps if she ingested a bit at a time, every once in awhile, she'd learn to not wretch when an excess of it came.
"Which one?" Ella had given back every single poem he'd written her when they'd broken up in their sixth year, but the ones sealed in owl after owl after owl were still sitting, mostly-unread, in a shoe box in her closet. She didn't want to admit that most of them were a mystery to her.
"The one about my freckles," she said, taking the a safest guess she could.
"That doesn't narrow it down. Each of your freckles happen to be a separate muse for me, beckoning me to write and compose. They appear to me as notes on a sheet of music, appearing in eighths or sixteenths, flying up and down."
Ella rolled her eyes with a grin, suppressing the inherited cynicism of a ninety years of New Yorkers. "Isn't there one of the freckle poems with stars in it?" He inhaled deeply and squeezed her tight. He recited quietly into her hair.
"'Drops of rain, akin to spattered summer
Upon the pavement, or are they just a sea
Of stars in a hundred shades of brown?
Sprays of baby's breath, the yellow-speckled
Yarrow's bloom, against a meadow, curled,
With ebon clouds, in skies turned upside-down.'"
"Oh my God, you used iambic pentameter," she muttered to herself, shaking a bit with laughter. His arm went out as he gestured the rest of the poem, now reciting loudly and clearly into the canopy of her bed curtains.
"'A countless count of constellations form
On blushing cheeks, across the galaxy
That is your skin, your caramel-colored nose,
A breath of joy, exuberance, all red -
Oh, how the lilting song does seem to dance,
With every laugh you laugh, my freckled glimmerrose.'"
"OH MY GOD, DRACO I AM AN AMERICAN." He laughed out loud, the hardest he'd laughed all week. She reached over and smacked him hard in the face with a pillow, which only caused him to laugh more. Draco then jumped straight up and knocked her with his own pillow, causing the goosedown to burst out and go everywhere, flying all over like Christmas snow. "Wow—you are strong!" Draco was laughing too hard to apologize for ruining her things, but Ella retrieved her wand from the nightstand and—with a flick—mended the pillow and sent everything back into its place. She hated to admit how handsome he was when he smiled, all gorgeous white teeth. He sighed happily.
"I love you," he said.
"Thank you," said Ella, obviously not ready to say anything back yet. His eyebrows tilted up, his face a bit crestfallen. "Don't rush me," she snapped.
He sighed through his nose. "Ella, it's been five years."
"You're speaking as if we've been together for five years straight."
"Well, no, I suppose that we haven't—"
"—Then you have no right to expect anything of me." His jaw tightened and he looked away. Her chest swelled in anger. "It took you a year to kiss me! Y-You didn't even kiss me, you just—attacked me!" He shot her a tired look.
"This is different," he said simply. He then sat up straight and swung the covers off his half of the bed. He took his wand and accio'd his clothes from the drawer. Ella's jaw tightened, and she flicked her wand to send them back and put away. Draco snapped his head around, incredulous. "What are you doing?"
"What are you doing?!" A beat. "Get back in this bed." He frowned. "Please?" she then asked, a little more softly and more timid. When he didn't seem to budge, she threw the covers off her own body to reveal her nakedness beneath. His eyes widened, and she saw the internal struggle between his emotional resolve and his newly discovered sex drive, which was—frankly—phenomenally sensational. She saw his Adam's apple move up and down as he gulped. "Come back in this bed and warm me up," she beckoned, smiling. "It's cold in here."
"Oh, who am I kidding?" he sighed to himself, rolling his pale eyes. The mattress creaked when he crawled back in, pulling the covers over both of them and coming close. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and kissed his shoulder. His long arms snaked around her shoulders and held her tight. She truthfully didn't know what to say next, or what to do. It had been over two weeks since the last full moon, and since he'd officially called off the wedding to Astoria. She still wasn't sure why Hermione hadn't brought up the whole thing, but she hadn't. Perhaps she was still hoping that Ella would get back together with Neville? Either way, the night she was over for dinner marked the same night that she decided to not owl Viktor Krum and instead send word to Draco's hotel. He showed up on her doorstep and hadn't left since.
Ella laid silently, feeling his heart pound through his chest against hers. The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, The New York Ghost's page Seven—all of them were buzzing about the trial and the scandal that was going on between them, and she didn't even want to think about the slander that was going on about poor Astoria's family. How the curse on the Greengrass's was even discovered was beyond Ella—it's not like she'd ever told Daddy about it—but there it was, black and white, all over every possibly wizarding publication known to man:
"Draco Malfoy Calls off Engagement to Greengrass Heiress", "A Curse on All Your Houses, the Darkness of Blood Purity", "The Grass isn't so Green; Astoria Barren, Jilted at the Altar."
How the hell it was found out was beyond her, but Ella's father had dragged the Greengrass's name through the mud, and even convinced them to pay the Malfoys a fine for causing them so much trouble, for lying about the fact that their family was cursed from the beginning. She frankly couldn't believe that her father was willing to take them to court for the whole thing, but they paid a settlement and the contract of their engagement was ripped up and seen as invalid because of it. There wasn't going to be any sort of penalty for him; it was as if nothing ever happened, even though the fate of an entire family—including one of Ella's dearest friends—had been ruined forever. Daphne would never forgive her...not that she'd expect to ever be forgiven.
"Draco?"
He pulled away to look at her. She struggled to find the words that she wanted to say. He kissed her instead, gently at first, then harder; a pleasurable shiver went up her spine. She felt him smile and he backed up just enough to look her in the eyes. His spindly fingers curled through her hair.
"How did my father find out about the Greengrasses?" she asked when he pulled away.
His bony shoulders shrugged. "I can't be sure. He just said he did some digging." He didn't seem to want to talk about it, but he didn't seem especially uneasy at the same time.
Ella's head hit the pillow and she stared off into space. "He really seems to like you, doesn't he?"
Draco smiled, or at least Ella felt him smile from the corner of her eye. "I expect I'd know if he didn't." He squeezed her hand. "I like him, too." She turned her head and smiled at him.
"I'm glad he does."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," she said. "My father's important to me."
"You're important to him." A beat. "You are very, very important to him." She narrowed her eyes a bit, wondering what he'd meant by that. He took her hand in his and kissed it. Damn, he really loves me, she thought to herself as she looked into his eyes. This sucks.
"I need to tell you something," she said quietly. He frowned. "I..." She gulped, unsure if the Fidelus charm would allow her to say it. "It's possibly a secret that I'm not allowed to say." Ella paused, then puffed her bangs off her forehead. "Okay. I don't know how to say it, so I'm just going to blurt it out."
"Darling, just tell me."
She sat up and bit him sit up straight; she faced him and closed her eyes, then took in a deep breath through her nose. "The Christophes are the family that cursed the Greengrass's long ago." She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes to see his face. Her brow wrinkled as she continued. "There's a box on my grandmother's mantle. Every newborn of the Christophe line has their finger pricked and offers a drop of blood into the red velvet of the box...and if they're not a real Christophe, by some virtue—or lack thereof, usually—they're cursed...cursed so that their family tree will be a barren one." Ella's chest tightened, and felt as if it would collapse. She began to shake, sure that this would be the real nail in the coffin, and that everything would crumble around her, and that it would be her own fault, like always. Every decision she'd ever made turned out to be horribly wrong; the decision to tell him this wouldn't be any different. She'd tell herself that it was because her feelings told her to, but her feelings were—historically—wrong and caused a great amount of anguish for all of those involved. "It's this horrible kind of blood magic that goes beyond pureblood fanaticism, and straight into fucking insanity. The Greengrass's are a descendant of a family that we cursed. That's why I said that Astoria couldn't handle you leaving last August. I know that curses like that only come up every other generation or so, but it's a curse nonetheless." She gulped. "I'm sorry."
Part of her wondered if it all was in fact a secret kept via the Fidelus charm and that—in an attempt to do right and come clean about something—she'd had a brain aneurysm and died, and this was the moment before Lucifer Morningstar took her to the afterlife so that she could be in Hell with a clean conscience for one person. Let's face it; if she were to die, right at this moment, she'd be in Hell for sure. She was guilty of vanity, of envy, of wrath, of lust...oh my god, so much lust. The sheer amount of sex she and Draco had been having in the passed two weeks were honestly mind-boggling, and yet somehow it was still just as satisfying and amazing as the first time. She expected it to die down in excitement and just let it go through the motions and die down naturally, like how most relationships went, but it just didn't. It was still goosebump-giving, headrush-rushing, toe-curling sex that was so good she felt like her clitoris had turned into a shooting star. You're thinking about sex right now? What? What is wrong with you, you nasty cow?!
Ella couldn't bear the silence anymore, so she opened one eye to look at his face. He looked crestfallen, but not angry or disgusted, or anything she had been expecting. Draco gulped, then looked away and sighed through his nose.
"I see..." he said. He licked his lips.
"I'm really sorry," Ella insisted. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
"It's not your fault," stated Draco with a shrug of his bony shoulders.
"What?" she balked. "How can you be so nonchalant? My family ruined this poor girl's life—"
"—Do you know how many lives my family has ruined?" he asked, turning to look her square in the eye. "Any idea how many died because my family was greedy and cunning and ruinous? You have some old great-grandparent to blame; you don't have your father. You don't have anyone in your direct memory that could lay claim to genocide." There was a very long pause as Ella realized that he was possibly the best person in the world to talk to about this.
"Oh." He was right. There was not a single shred of evidence that he would be the wrong person to understand what was going on inside her head. Something clicked, and a familiar scent of movie popcorn and white violets came from...somewhere. There was a rush, the smell of cigars, possibly from Draco's suit jacket, which had been flung on the dresser. She knew that he didn't smoke, after all, but he had spent an awful lot of time around her father, who did. Ella felt...moved, and she didn't quite know what to say next.
"My darling," began Draco, who then turned to face her and took her hand in both of his. "You cannot be the one of us to harbor such guilt, you don't have the constitution." She cringed a little, feeling almost a little insulted. "Between the two of us, I must be the one to shoulder the responsibility of horrific familial pasts because the Malfoys have about eleven centuries of such. You, my love, care too much. You have a giant heart and a deep well of emotion from which you draw compassion and empathy. I, however, have the capacity to shut it down entirely, swallow and bury any ill-feelings that may ever come, and one day I shall die."
"Dude, you can't be okay with that—"
"—I can and I am 'okay with that,' darling." He took her hand and pressed her palm upon his bare chest. "Allow me my own penance, my Catholic lamb, and let me be the lightning rod that draws in from the storm of your caring heart."
"Uh... I don't know if I can...trust anybody that much."
"Mmm," grumbled Draco, looking down a bit, pursing his lips in thought. "I, too, have problems trusting." He looked up. "That being said, I'm willing to try."
"Really?" gasped Ella. He nodded with a sincere grin. "I mean...really? After everything we've been through and done with and to each other, you're honestly willing to trust...me?" Draco nodded again, smiling wider. "Wha—? Why?"
He shrugged. "I suppose I have nothing left to lose except for you," he said. "You see, I've realized something: I can lose quite a bit and still survive. I'm phenomenally resourceful. Life is short. The one thing I'm truly afraid of at this point is dying without being with you."
Ella's brow furrowed in concern; she didn't like the way he was speaking, not at all. It must have been the trial and all of the stress that was causing him to act so oddly. She then came upon a realization. "Are you afraid of being killed?" He looked away and closed his eyes, pained. Her heart cracked straight in half with the realization that he was acting out of fear for his own mortality. He must be manifesting his grief in this kind of behavior; poor thing! "Oh, papi, listen—you're safe! This killer is going to be caught and they're going to rot in Azkaban for the rest of their days." Her arms quickly snaked around his waist and she held him tight as she could. "Nothing's going to harm you, not while I'm around." Draco felt stiff in har arms, and then sighed and wrapped his long arms around her in a tight embrace. "I'm not afraid to throw myself into danger for those I care for." He stiffened again and held her tighter, and his breath began to quiver.
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," he whispered in horror, and Ella felt tears dropping on her naked shoulder.
"Papi," she whispered in the most-soothing voice she could. "I promise you that nothing bad is going to happen to me."
"You can't promise that," he sobbed, shaking. Ella gripped him to her tightly, feeling unsure, just deciding to let him cry. She remembered what it was like when her own mother died, and the more and more time passed, she realized that she and Draco were more alike than she was ever willing to admit, even though she was quietly admitting it to herself now.
It was true, though; you couldn't promise something that you couldn't control. You can't control when you'll die, nor can you control how the world will choose to be around you. You can't choose your fate. It all sometimes seemed hopeless, pointless to even try. Just because the world was hopeless, however, didn't mean you couldn't have a little fun along the way. Didn't the Bible say something about forgetting times of prosperity in times of famine? Or was it forgetting about famine in times of prosperity? Ella was dealing with a great deal of prosperity before the murder of Draco's father, and it all seemed so far away, now.
She recalled Percy and being with him, with it all feeling so...different and grown-up. There wasn't any puppy-dog eyes or silly giggle-fits with him. Everything with him felt mature, like it was two adults making the decision to be together. Did she want that, though? Was there a love that she wanted in particular? She hadn't thought about it much. She supposed that she purposefully avoided the thought of real relationships because she disliked how it made her classmates and friends speak, as if it was the end-all, be-all. Part of her wanted the happily ever after, but another part of her was too jaded to even think that it was remotely a possibility. Everyone dies, everyone leaves everyone behind, in ruin. Too many parts of her were thinking: what's the point?
"I want to be with you for as long as I can be," came Draco's voice. "I'm done with making the wrong choices." Ella felt her heart squeeze under a strange pressure, almost as if it were about to crack. "I'm not being afraid anymore. I'm choosing us." Her vision blurred, and her cheeks felt hot, beginning to sting her eyes. He pulled away and held her face with both of his hands. "Ella. I am choosing us. Do you understand?"
Honestly, no.
"I am staying. I have seen your triumphs and your pitfalls, your great joy and your anger and resentment and what it can do. I've felt your wrath and felt your love. It's not that I'm overlooking your bad temper or the fact that you're obsessive or unbelievably annoying, it's that I love all of you, enough to say that the whole is far more important than the parts. I accept your demons because you accept mine. You are willing to accept and live with the worst of me, so why in the world shouldn't I do the same thing for you? The love I feel for you is not this happy-lovey-dovey fairy-tale love, but the kind of love decides to work for it. I admit that I'm not accustomed to hard work the way you are, but that doesn't mean I can't make the effort to love you every day. I swear to you that I will never stop trying, never stop working for your love, to never forget to cherish you."
"I..."
"Do you believe me?"
Ella frowned, and paused to think for a very long time. "It's just..." She sighed through her nose. "You're saying so much and..." She shook her head again. "Would you believe you?"
Draco scoffed a bit. "I suppose I wouldn't, no." He sniffed a tear back and smiled. "I suppose you think it's selfish of me to ask you to trust me again."
"Among other things," she admitted. "Then again, I can't deny that I..." She looked away, smiling. "I can't deny that I've kind of...like having you here." She glanced back at him, watching a real smile creep on his face, his gorgeous gray eyes light up with joy. "I..." Ella gulped, trying hard to find the exact right words. "I really like coming home and finding that you're here. Or me being home and you coming. I..." She laughed. "You're like the best roommate ever; you keep clean, you don't hog the covers, and the sex is honestly phenomenal. I can't believe I'm saying this—and, like, I know it's only been two weeks—but I really like you staying here."
He squeezed her hand. "I like me staying here, too." He meant to say so much more than that, but the fact that he was willing to be quiet over it and be patient meant quite a bit to her. Ella puffed a sigh through her lips.
"Get dressed. We're going somewhere."
Draco frowned. "But it's in the middle of the night," he protested.
Ella flipped the covers off her naked body and accio'd a simple gray tea-length skirt and a white tank top. "If we don't go now, then I might lose my nerve." She chose a pair of sandals. "Now hurry." Confused, Draco quickly dressed, or as quickly as one can dress when you wear a suit everywhere, tie and all, and decide to comb your hair to be impeccable. It took nearly 20 minutes to get out of the house, but once they did, they found themselves apparating in London, just outside of Clerkenwell, off Bowling Green Lane.
"What are we doing here?" demanded Draco. Ella snaked her arm through his and walked, with conviction, to the Tall Brother's Locksmith, its neon 24-hour sign glowing bright orange. The electric ping of the store only made the yellowish fluorescent lights seem somehow less...fake. It was just like in the movies, just as it should be, with its grimy linoleum floor and pasty, pasty clerk. "Ella?"
She sorted for the right key on the ring. "I'd like a copy of this one, please?"
"Sure," said the clerk, the sound of her chewing gum making an awful smacking sound, which obviously offended Draco very much. He looked so out of place, such an extraordinary being in such a rather ordinary place. He didn't let it show too much, even when the key was being cut. The machine was so loud, but Ella liked watching.
"3.75, miss." She handed over her credit card, which the clerk swiped, then handed over the keys, which were still quite warm from the machine. Ella turned to a very confused-looking Draco. She pocketed the original key and held the copy up to the light. A knot was forming in her stomach, but time was ticking and if she didn't make some sort of effort...
Ella took his hand, held out the key and dropped to one knee.
"Ella!" he gasped, looking rather panicked.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy—"
"—Ella, I'm supposed to be the one to ask you this—!"
"—Shut up and let me get on with it!"
"Aw, c'mon, sausage, let 'er do it—it's 2001!" cried the clerk, who was quite clearly enamored with the scene set.
"But Ella—!"
"—Draco Lucius Malfoy, with this clerk as our witness, will you please accept this key to my house as a token of my...affection and commitment to you?" He blinked, obviously not expecting what had just occurred.
"Oh. Erm."
Her heart began to beat wildly. This was obviously not the most-romantic setting, and it was obviously not the most ideal situation for either of them to be in. In fact, it was the likely one of the worst ideas ever; the last thing he needed to be doing was moving in with her during the most-scandalous trial of the century. Lord only knows what her grandmother would do should she have seen what was going on. Still...
"I'm still kneeling, here."
"You...want me to move in with you?"
"I want you to have a key to my house so you can come and go whenever you please to. I'm opening up my home and my self to you, in the only gesture I'm currently willing to commit to in this moment, all things considered. So? Yes, or no?"
"This..." He smiled, a flush coming to his pale cheeks. "Isn't quite what I expected."
"I know it's not romance in the way you like it. But this is who I am and if we're going to push forward and be together in any stretch of the imagination, then I need you to accept me for me, a romance-intolerant American who is possibly a sociopathic narcissist. I just don't have the poetic bones that you have, or the brilliant and beautiful mind. I'm the practical one between us. And if you want flowery romance from your lover then I'm afraid you should look somewhere else, or at least exercise enough patience for me to learn it... But if you want to stay, because you like me, I'm giving you this key because I like you." He laughed, tears of joy welling in his eyes. "So? Whaddaya say?" She shook the key at him. "You and me?"
"Yes," he laughed. "Yes, of course I accept. You and me, always!" Ella jumped up into his arms and wrapped them tight around him, and Draco did the same. He hugged her so tight that every bit of insecurity and anger she'd ever felt slipped away, for just a moment. He pulled away just enough to kiss her; he must be happy, for he'd never kiss her in front of a stranger like that, especially a No-Maj. A fluttering of butterflies filled in her stomach, and when he took the key, she felt a certain sense of accomplishment, a blissful sense of belonging. She sighed in relief.
"Good. Okay." She felt a cloud of silver dust fill her lungs, a lightness fill her being. She smiled and squeezed Draco's hands. "Come on. I'm hungry."
"Hungry?" balked Draco. "It's after midnight!"
"Augh, Draco!" groaned Ella. "Do you know what would make me happy? I mean, really, really, unspeakably happy?" She stomped over to the door, gesturing rather loudly. "I wanna go on an actual date with you. I wanna get burgers and a milkshake with you. I wanna go to the movies. I want to do normal boyfriend-girlfriend things together. I want to be normal! Let's be normal for a night! Come on! There's an American diner just a few blocks from here, and they've got vinyl booths and milkshakes in tall frosty glasses with whipped cream—wouldn't you just kill a real American cheeseburger?"
He paused and considered, open-mouthed. He then shrugged and said: "If it would make you happy—"
"—It would make me ecstatic." She opened the door. "Come on. Let's have an adventure tonight." She didn't wait for him to follow, but follow he did, and a mere two blocks away was Joe's, Ella's favorite diner. It reminded her so much of New York City, with its neon lights and squeaky booths and strong coffee instead of tea. The burgers were always thick and the tomatoes were always cut really thick, which was exactly as Ella liked it. When the server came, Ella didn't even bother with the menu, for she already knew what she'd wanted, and suggested that she be the one to order for them to; he shrugged and said 'why not'.
When the burgers, fries, and milkshakes—vanilla for him, strawberry for her—came, Ella applauded the server. She felt a bit of a tickle as he peeked into her mind, but he quickly withdrew as he picked up the burger, dripping with juice, and took a bite. Draco laughed.
"You're in a good mood," he said when he was halfway through his burger and wholly finished with his fries.
"Because I'm happy," she answered, everything outside of herself gleefully locked on the other side of those diner windows. London was such a fun town; it wasn't quite NYC, but she really did like it.
"So?" She looked up from her milkshake. "Does this mean you'll marry me?" Ella was shocked that she didn't choke. He'd been talking about marriage to her for such a long time she almost felt numb to it a this point. She always did want to get married, but she imagined that it would have been under better circumstances, and she never imagined she'd marry a guy like Draco. Then again, life doesn't always go the way you plan, and it's the beautiful ride of it that makes it so much fun. She stirred the shake with her straw.
"I think I will, eventually."
His white teeth outshone the passing lights in the street. "I'll take an 'eventually.'"
"Good, because it's the best you're getting right now."
"You know..." He said, fiddling with the limp lettuce on the plate. "You always find ways to surprise me. I imagine that life with you in the future will never be boring."
"I don't intend to have a boring life." He smiled. "Soon as I cure—" the server walked by "—you-know-what, I plan on travelling. I'm going to travel all over the world and discover new things, see new places and meet new people." She took a bite of her burger. "The world is so big. Don't you think?"
"Travelling could be fun," he agreed.
"You never planned on it?"
"I don't know. Being a Malfoy has a lot of responsibility tied to it."
"But what if you didn't have that?" He frowned. "Like, what would you do if you didn't have any responsibilities? What would you do?" He obviously hadn't ever considered that, not seriously at least. The responsibilities of his legacy were so deeply ingrained into his character that questioning it wasn't something he easily did. "I always thought you should go out for professional Quidditch." He looked up, frowning in surprise. "I always thought you were great," she continued. "And I loved watching you."
Draco quickly shook his head. "I'm not good enough to play in the pros."
"Says who?" He silently sipped his milkshake. "Blaise is playing for the Tornadoes next season. You should try out for Seeker. Even if you're second-string, you're still on."
"That's..." Draco shook his head with a grin. "It's not for me anymore. I ought to look forward and continue my work at the Ministry."
"Do you enjoy your work at the Ministry?"
"At this moment, the only thing I enjoy is being with you." The sip-sip-sipping sound of the empty milkshake glass popped in the straw she was sucking on. When she glanced at the clock on the wall, she noticed it was a quarter-passed one. She realized that this was likely not the most-sensible idea, considering that they both had to be at Wizengamot at 9 am, sharp. The fact of the matter was, though, that she had gotten so caught up in the adrenaline of everything had turned off the sensible part of her brain.
"Are you ready to go home?" His eyebrows raised with a grin at the word 'home.'
"I'd love to go home."
"Okay, you ready?"
"Ready."
Draco took in a breath and stuck the key in the lock of Ella's front door, and turned, and the lock clicked with ease. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. Before Ella could make a joke or comment, he swept her up in his arms and carried her over the threshold. He was so much stronger than the scrawny sixteen-year-old that she remembered being held in her arms. She remembered his bony shoulders and slight frame, but the fact that he'd filled out so much over the last four years was a bit staggering. Muscles had formed on his chest and shoulders and legs, and feeling it between her legs was something that was so delicious she didn't care how wrong it was. He leaned in and kissed her as he carried her upstairs with ease, her fingers grazing through his fine silver hair as she kicked her sandals away in the hallway.
"Ay, papi..." she sighed as he set her down on the bed, their lips never leaving each other. She pushed his jacked off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. His mouth came away and turned to her cheek, then kissed all down her neck, down the space between her breasts, and then further down... Ella smiled, and when she opened her eyes she screamed—for her father was sitting at the vanity stool, watching. Draco jumped so far away she thought he might apparate. "Daddy!" she shrieked.
"Sir!" gasped Draco, his eyes going almost hilariously wide. "Ah-ahm, sir, it's not what it looks like—"
"Really? Because it looks like you were about to perform oral sex on my daughter."
"I-I definitely wasn't about to do that—!" Draco protested, obviously more than mortified.
"Oh, no?" said Daddy, crossing and uncrossing his legs thoughtfully. "Because, you know, sex without oral is kind of...disrespectful, don't you think?"
"Wha?"
"Don't you care about my daughter's orgasm?"
"Ah— Er— I—"
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Ella screamed.
"Making sure you both were asleep—which you obviously aren't. I came to check to see that you were in your bed by 12:15 am and you weren't. So? I waited."
"I am twenty-one years old!"
"I know."
"You can't just barge into my house like this!"
"I didn't barge, honey, I used my key." He jingled his key ring from his pocket. He then stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. "Now, then, since you're both going to testify tomorrow, I suggest you get some sleep." He looked between the two of them. "You—" he pointed at Draco "—will find yourself comfortable in the guest bedroom."
"Extremely comfortable, sir, I bid you goodnight!" Draco bowed, turned on his heel, and quickly strode out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Murder was on Ella's mind as she snarled and near-screamed when she was alone with her father.
"How DARE you—?!"
"Ella Xanthippe Zamora, is this a game to you?"
"What?"
"I said, 'is this a game to you?'" Her rage quelled. "It is passed one in the morning and there is a murder trial going on—!"
"—I know—"
"—Oh, so you know? So you know that for me to check on my daughter the night before her testimony would—?"
"—Daddy, please—I am so over this! I am not a baby anymore!"
"No, you certainly aren't, which is why I wasn't checking on you every night."
"You are being ridiculous."
"And you are being irresponsible."
"I just wanted a burger!"
"At midnight? With a killer on the loose?!"
"It's not like Scourers are gonna get me!"
Daddy's face softened. "Is that what this is about?" he asked, his voice considerably lower. "Is that why you're being reckless?"
"I'm not being reckless! I wasn't alone—I was with Draco!"
"You mean one of the murder suspects—"
"Chingada—?! He did not murder his father!"
"And you know this for a fact?"
"Of course I do! Draco's a lot of things but a killer's not one of them—he writes me poetry about my freckles in iambic pentameter, for god's sake!"
"Did you read Titus Andronicus or did you skip that one?"
"The point is that he doesn't have the stomach for murdering someone—he could barely hug his father let alone poison him!"
"Be that as it may, he's also at the center of a high-profile murder trial. If he's, in fact, not the killer, then he's the next biggest target—"
"—So it's you that's been putting those ideas into his head?!" snapped Ella, jumping off the bed and standing straight up to her father. He squinted. "He's terrified to get killed—!"
"—Yeah, and I'm wondering why at least some of that isn't rubbing off on you—"
"—Oh, so you want me to be terrified for my life—?!"
"—I want you to be at least a tiny bit aware of your own mortality, if not for your sake, then for mine, or for Draco's—or, y'know, all of those precious lycanthropes that depend on you?" Ella felt her face going a queer shade of purplish-red, her eyes stinging hot with tears. "This is not a game. This is real. A person has lost their life. Un hombre a muerto. Someone else decided to stop the heart of another, and that is real. You are not immortal, do you understand?" The feeling of a thousand tiny bugs crawled under the skin on her shoulders, on her thighs. "You have to be smart. You cannot spiral out of control like how you've been doing. I don't know what it is about this guy that makes you go completely insane—"
"—What is that supposed to mean?!"
"—It means when was the last time you acted like this, ever, over a boy?"
"Well maybe I've never felt this way about a boy before, you ever think of that?!" she screeched. "Puta madre, Daddy, maybe I'm just enjoying my twenties! Huh?! Weren't you doing the same at my age?!"
"No, because at your age, I was married, with a baby, and had just gotten promoted to junior partner. Y tambien where the hell were you sin tu sujetador?" He gestured to her boobs.
"I said I was getting a burger!"
"Without a bra?" Ella nearly screamed in frustration. "Escucha, son las dos menos veinte; just go to sleep—"
"—Porque?!"
"I raised you better than that."
What a long wait between chapters, I do admit!
So the trial is moving forward and so is Ella and Draco's relationship. When will we find out who the killer is? Soon. I've dropped a few hints here and there...
There are some Cursed Child spoilers in here, if you haven't read it! Astoria Greengrass's family has, in fact, been cursed which does come up every generation or so, and affects having children. In the book/play, she dies halfway through, leaving Draco to grieve. We never find out exactly how it happens or why, so I figured I'd take a little artistic license with it. Jeez, Ella feels horrible about it, though.
And poetry? Oh yeah. Draco is sensitive. You only get that vindictive and that vile with repression. Draco is gentle and creative and is happiest when he can express that freely. That being said, he's likely terrified. But what the heck is going on with Meme? Where is she? Do you think that she'd let Draco and Ella actually happen with everything that went on between them? What about her father? Ella's pretty much a strong, confident woman, but her familial support certainly means quite a lot to her. Of course, that doesn't mean rebelling doesn't happen, no matter how good your relationship is with your father.
A lot of things are going on in her head, and her behavior is, in fact, spiralling out of control. Will she continue to be reckless? Will the murder be solved? Stay tuned!