Author's Notes: There aren't many chapters to go now! I absolutely love the ending to this story and I'm looking forward to hearing what you all think :)

Chapter 26: More

Draco arrived back from dinner the next day to find Isabelle already there, lying on her back on the sofa reading a book, with her feet up on the armrest, still clad in a pair of dainty ankle boots.

"Get your shoes off the sofa," he complained, wrinkling his nose at this display of bad manners.

She glanced up at him and then down to her shoes as if seeing them for the first time.

"It's not like they're on the cushions," she said, rolling her eyes.

"They're still on the sofa," he pointed out, attempting to grab her feet so he could drop them down onto the floor.

"Hey!" she protested, "You take the shoes off if you're so bothered." He found a foot shoved towards his hands and he was forced to take hold of it in case it collided with his chest. He scowled, but unzipped the boots all the same and dropped them onto the floor before setting her feet back on the armrest.

"You have to take my socks off now too," Isabelle whined, pushing her feet back towards him. He wrinkled his nose in horror.

"I'm not touching your smelly socks," he said firmly.

"My feet do not smell!"

"I never said anything about your feet," he said haughtily, folding his arms, "It's just your socks I'm not touching."

"My socks don't smell either!" She raised her eyebrows at him, but he simply scowled back so she drew her legs to her chest where she was able to reach down to remove her own socks. Draco took advantage of the move to fling off his school robes and take the now empty seat on the sofa. After a few seconds Isabelle plonked her feet down in his lap and though he gave her a look that showed her he was not best pleased he let them remain.

"Do you have to leave your robes lying around?" Isabelle said after moment, rolling up her socks neatly and placing them on the floor.

"Yes I do," he said, smirking and knowing that this very much wound her up.

"Ugh." She gave an exasperated sigh. "You know, you're supposed to be an aristocratic pure-blood, not a filthy slob."

"I am not a filthy slob!" he protested, glaring angrily at her, "Do I look like a slob?" He waved one elegant hand towards his immaculate hair and clothes, knowing full well that he looked anything but.

Isabelle rolled her eyes and grinned affectionately at him. "Fine," she conceded, giving him a jab in the stomach with one foot, "Unfortunately you know you're gorgeous."

He gave her a smug smile and tried to ignore the way those words made his heart flutter.

"Anyway," Isabelle continued with another jab, "I will admit that you aren't a slob, but you are an insufferable brat who doesn't know how to tidy up after himself."

He grumbled under his breath, grabbing hold of her feet and holding them very firmly in his lap where they couldn't jab him anymore.

"I'm the heir to a large pure-blood family fortune," he informed her sniffily, "I do not need to tidy up after myself."

"Excuse me," she said, equally sniffily, though her eyes were still shining with amusement, "I think you'll find that even though I'm technically a half blood I'm still the heiress to a large pure blood family fortune as well and I tidy up after myself."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't you have a house-elf?"

"Of course we have a house-elf. That's no excuse to do nothing." She rolled her eyes as well. "Merlin, I pity the woman you end up marrying."

"Hey!" He was actually rather insulted at that and he scowled again. "Many women would count themselves lucky to be my wife."

Isabelle responded to that with a rather disbelieving laugh. "Maybe for a few days, until they realised how insufferable you really are," she said teasingly, taking advantage of the fact that he had let go of her feet to give him another jab. Draco glared at her.

"You've been living with me since September," he pointed out huffily.

"That's true. I think I must be out of my mind," she giggled, her eyes dancing as she looked up at him. "Maybe that's the qualification you should look for in a wife: insanity. Perhaps Marissa Yaxley is the perfect woman for you after all." She giggled some more and Draco found himself smirking just because it was so infectious.

"I wouldn't marry Marissa if she was the last pure-blood woman on earth," he huffed, folding his arms across his chest and doing his best to look petulant.

"It's not like you have a lot of choice," Isabelle pointed out, seeming to take delight in this, "If you want a proper pure-blood you might have to settle for insane anyway. Even Sadie Sandringham won't do, her family aren't one of the sacred twenty-eight."

Draco hissed through his teeth, rather surprised to hear her come out with this. "You've read the Pure Blood Directory?" he said, rather lamely.

Isabelle rolled her eyes again. "It's not like I own a copy," she huffed, "But of course I know about it. My family name is on the list and I know full well that Sandringham isn't. You do realise most of your so-called pure-blood friends are just pretending?"

Now it was Draco's turn to roll his eyes. "My family are on the list," he declared, feeling that he needed to point this out. "And we still deserve to be there, unlike some of the families." Isabelle flinched at this, and he realised what he'd said a moment too late. To cover it up he added, "Besides I have no wish to marry Sadie anyway, so it doesn't really matter."

"Hmm." Isabelle was now looking at him in amusement. "What about Pansy Parkinson?"

"Ugh no!" Draco knew he looked horrified and he swatted at Isabelle's feet just to emphasise the point. There were a few seconds where she tried to kick him in revenge and he tried to grab at her ankles to stop her, before he won and forced her feet back into his lap, grinning triumphantly at her.

"Fine." Isabelle actually stuck her tongue out at him, which he responded to with a condescending glare. "You're running out of options then aren't you?" She held up her fingers and began checking them off as she spoke. "Parkinson is out because Pansy's the only eligible female left, same with the Yaxleys because Marissa's the only one old enough. Presumably you aren't going to marry a Weasley so they're out. The Prewett, the Crouch and the Black lines have all ended. The only Lestrange left is your Aunt. The Notts, the Longbottoms and the Shacklebolts only have male heirs. You're down to sixteen families already and I'm pretty sure they don't all have females available."

"Eighteen," Draco said almost without thinking.

"What?"

"You eliminated ten of the twenty eight so that leaves eighteen." Seriously was her maths that bad? He gave her a look and added, "Or maybe seventeen since I'm one of the remaining families."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "No you prat," she said, grinning at him in amusement, "I'm the only female in the Fawley line so that means sixteen since I'm not a pure-blood."

"Whatever." He scowled again; not at all appreciative of being called a prat.

"Anyway, come to think of it it's fourteen because Ernie's the only Macmillan left of the right age and the Bulstrodes definitely aren't pure-blood anymore." She paused and then grinned mischievously. "I know you'll be devastated to hear you can't marry Millicent."

"Ugh!" Draco was sure he was going to be sick just at the thought of the possibility of marrying Millicent. "That's worse than Pansy!"

"Oh well," Isabelle was clearly trying not to laugh, "You could always go for one of the Carrow twins, if you can get them to forgive you for sleeping with both of them."

"Oh Merlin!" Draco groaned, "Isabelle can we stop talking about this now? I don't want to marry any of them!" Isabelle dissolved into giggles and he swatted at her feet again. "Anyway, what about you?" he pointed out, "Your dad wants you to marry a pure-blood doesn't he?"

"Oh well," she said lightly, clearly trying to keep a straight face, "That's ok. I can always marry Neville Longbottom. He won't mind that I'm a half blood."

Draco nearly choked, though he didn't know why the idea of her marrying Longbottom made his throat constrict like that. Isabelle obviously noticed his expression of horror because she laughed again.

"Oh don't worry, Neville is very nice, but I don't want to marry him. He's not my type."

Draco grinned and shook his head, trying not to let his relief show.

"Anyway," Isabelle continued, "Who says I'm going to listen to my dad? I'll marry whoever I want, whether they're pure-blooded or not."

"Of course you will," said Draco, poking her in the stomach this time and realising there was slightly more affection in his voice than he'd expected, "Because apparently you never listen to anything your father tells you to do anyway."

Isabelle tutted and rolled her eyes. "To be honest I think my dad would get over it as long as I didn't marry a muggle and I have no plans to do that since I don't know any apart from my family. But why are we talking about me? I thought we were trying to find you a wife who'd put up with your slovenly ways?"

"No we weren't!" he protested, giving her another jab, "And how do you know so much about everyone's blood status anyway?"

"Good memory," she said promptly, and Draco accepted this with a sigh, though he had a feeling it was more than that, since it didn't explain how she'd heard about it all in the first place. He rather suspected her father wouldn't be quite so forgiving about her husband's status as she expected. "Actually I've just remembered," she continued, "No more Gaunts, no eligible Ollivanders. You're down to eleven families now. I suppose you could marry a Greengrass, or an Abbott. There's a few to choose from there. I don't think any of them are insane though."

She smirked up at him, clearly still very much in the mood to wind him up about this. He huffed at her again and narrowed his eyes as she dissolved into rather childish giggles.

"Isabelle," he whined, starting to poke at her stomach again, "Stop it. I'm not marrying any of them. I don't want to."

"Shocking!" she exclaimed, giggling harder at his relentless jabs, "No little Malfoy heirs, what will you mother say?"

He stopped poking at her abruptly and sat upright, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Isabelle stopped giggling and there was silence as slow seconds ticked by.

"In the holidays my mother told me I should marry for love," he said quietly and deliberately. Even to his own ears the words sounded like they were coming from a long way away.

"Oh." Isabelle sounded confused. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"She said I should marry for love above all else," he added blankly.

"Oh."

"Isabelle?" he said quietly, griping her feet more tightly and still not looking at her.

"Hmm?" She made an encouraging noise to indicate he should continue, but when he didn't Draco felt her feet slip from under his hands and she sat up, positioning herself where she could look properly into his eyes.

"What's the matter, Draco?" she asked softly, and Draco focussed his eyes on hers, seeing the concern in their depths as she gently took his face in her hands.

"Isabelle," he whispered, swallowing hard and looking away again, "This is about more than sex isn't it?"

There was a hiss of indrawn breath and Draco refocused his eyes, searching her expression frantically as her grip on his jaw relaxed and he thought she was about to let go. This was it, he realised, the moment when this all fell apart and it turned out he'd made a complete fool of himself. He went to move away, but Isabelle's grip retightened and he stopped.

She shifted, leaning closer, her eyes holding his gaze as her hands slipped around to the back of his neck and then there was a single word, right before her lips met his.

"Definitely."

Draco kissed her back, softly, gently, and felt like the world had been made whole.

After that kiss Draco had looked into Isabelle's eyes, bright with something new and unexpected, and unable to resist he had picked her up and carried her to his bedroom where they had unsurprisingly had sex. Afterwards Draco was actually more inclined to think that they had made love, words that he had never before applied to his sexual activities, but then they'd never been about more than sex before.

Now it was morning he was lying in that pleasant haze between sleeping and wakefulness, knowing that the warm weight pressed against his chest was Isabelle and feeling extremely content with life. He cracked one eye open when Isabelle started squirming, and a moment later faintly anxious brown eyes appeared in his line of vision. He smiled and the anxiety disappeared. A pair of lips pressed softly against his.

The kiss was sweet and Draco savoured it, trying not to scowl in disappointment when Isabelle broke it sooner than he wanted.

"Do you want to get up?" she asked softly. He shook his head, giving in and letting the faint trace of a frown mare his features.

"Me neither," she said, obviously ignoring his expression, "Let's stay here all day."

Draco couldn't help but smile then and he reached up to brush her hair back from her face.

"I think that's the best idea you've ever had sweetheart," he drawled before he lent forwards and kissed her more insistently on the mouth.

Sometime later Isabelle had actually got up to make them breakfast and Draco was surprised to find she wasn't too bad as a cook. Not that she'd ever need to cook if I made her my wife, Draco thought and then cursed his treacherous brain. This was about more than sex, but was it about that?

He pushed the thought aside after breakfast and concentrated on the here and now. Here there was Isabelle and now there was plenty of time to kiss her and hold her and have a stupid little argument about whether he really had enjoyed her muggle books more than he wanted to admit. At some point during the day they moved to the sofa and of course there was more sex and more kissing and when Isabelle noticed that he was no longer using his own wand, just a tiny little discussion, which suggested that in future he might tell her more, about exactly what had happened to him over Easter.

They went back to bed quite early that evening and made love again. Draco thought that life couldn't get any better.

He was right.