Prisoners of Azkaban, Probationary Diaries August 2009, Prisoners #19-09-1979 and #09-01-1960

oooOooo

August 12, 2009

Moving in took us approximately ten minutes. Even that only because you fussed over how our one change of clothing should be arranged in the wardrobe, and over placing our soap, toothbrushes, and toothpaste just so in the bathroom.

The comb is mine.

You don't need a brush yet for the dusting of stubble on your head. When I run my fingers over your scalp, you bristle. Like coarse old velvet.

(I only managed to keep my bare inch of oily spikes because both guards were afraid of me. Small wonder; the dunderheads never passed their potions OWL. They didn't dare come close enough to Charm my hair off entirely.)

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I am writing this late at night, in the kitchen by candlelight, while you lie upstairs. Asleep, I hope, adrift in happy dreams.

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After we put our things away, you cornered me.

"Let's celebrate," you said. In the tone that once made Potter, Weasley, and Draco jump. "For one night," you said, "let's pretend everything is as it should have been."

I must have gaped like a fool.

You drew your wand. Although it's driftwood, bleached and twisted, it's beautiful. You pointed it at your head—and suddenly your curls were back. A mess, a riot, a cloud.

Another wave, and my hair touched my shoulders again. You took some license with it, though. Sleek, not oily. Feathery, not stringy.

Next came our hands—another Glamour. The stigmata of our imprisonment vanished.

"For one night, just for one night," you whispered, "let us pretend."

Let us pretend that Potter was not killed. That you did not use Potter's death to [ink splodge] that [ink splodge] the Dark Lord [ink splodge]

Let us pretend we won the war.

Let us pretend…

That you finished your seventh year in peace. That I could fulfil the promise I gave you with my Beltane posy. That I courted you while you apprenticed with a master of your choosing; Minerva, probably.

Let us pretend…

That I wooed you, and that you said yes. That we got married in the chapel at Hogwarts, with Minerva conducting the ceremony, and all our friends in attendance. That I brought you here after the reception.

I carried you over the threshold.

And now—

Now we are alone.

Husband and wife.

You turn to me, in your glorious crimson gown. I trail your cleavage with my finger tips, while you tug impatiently at my black robes.

We tumble into bed laughing, breathless with bliss.

Everything is as it should be.

Naked, you are slender and delicious. Not a shy blushing virgin, but wicked and wanton, my greedy, beautiful, Gryffindor girl.

Just like you should be.

When I kiss you, my heart soars.

And when I take you—

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The candle is almost burnt down. Time to go back to bed. I've done my duty, written my entry. I must return to you now and hold you as tightly as I may.

It's not all right. And it shouldn't be like that.

But we'll take what we can get.

oooOooo

A/N: Many thanks to Mia Madwyn for looking this over.