Title: One April Night - chapter 4
Author: envy-venis (on lj)
Word Count: 5,586 this chapter
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating:NC-17
Disclaimer: The HP world belongs to JKR and the herd of lucky bastards who saw a good thing and jumped on it when they had the chance. I, sadly, am not one of said bastards. This is for entertainment purposes only, no copyright infringement intended.
Summary: They say that when a person loses one of their senses, the others heighten in an attempt to make up for the lack. I think he must have been one of mine. I notice such insignificant things now that I never had before. I can almost taste the sunrise, like vanilla and tangerines blended into one smooth, delicious, summertime kiss. I sit in the park across the street from home, watching the day begin. The sun peeks over the horizon in a futile attempt to catch a glimpse of the night sky that is now retreating in its presence, for no two things so entirely opposite could ever coexist in the same place at the same time...I wonder how that escaped our notice for so long.
Warnings: No more than the usual. Angsty boy issues, sexual content...
A/N: Thank Godiva for bookjunkie1975 and bsmog. And to those of you who have told me I'm ripping your hearts out, yet continued to read this anyway. So much love for all of you.
~Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ~
He's been working on a particularly difficult case for weeks, trying to track down a group of young wizards that have been casting curses on their own families. He doesn't look at me as I enter the kitchen, he just stares into his cup of tea, shoulders slumped in defeat. It's obvious that it isn't going well, that something's happened. Harry is good at his job, perhaps the best, though I'd never admit that to him, but he always seems to take things so personally. Especially the failures.
"A three year old child," he says without looking up at me. I'm not even sure he's speaking to me at all. "If I would have caught them last week, she'd still be alive."
I have no idea what to say or how to comfort him, but I know that I should, that he needs me to.
I top off his tea and somehow, in the silence, I manage to convince myself that what he really wants is some time alone to think, so I leave.
~O~
April is wearing on in its usual fashion, except that it still all feels so foreign to me as I walk the floors of Grimmauld Place, my footfalls echoing coldly behind me as if to remind me that I'm alone here.
The journal looks lonely, and I wonder if it, too, suffers in his absence. Reluctantly, I take a seat at the desk and open the book to an entry of my own dated 26 May, 2009.
I'm losing myself in you. I feel like I don't even know who I am anymore, who I used to be. Domestic is not something one associates with a Malfoy. I don't belong here.
I groan in frustration, resting my forehead in my hands as I stare down at the page. Is it even possible that I've changed so much in the last year? That I've grown to realise just what an idiot I was to think that way? It must be, because I certainly do see it now.
Harry's response is scrawled in large, messy letters just after my own message.
Maybe losing yourself isn't such a bad thing. Maybe we aren't supposed to be the same people we were in the beginning.
Followed by more immature and irrational words by my hand:
I like who I was. And if you didn't, how could you claim to love me now?
I thumb through the pages quickly, wondering if I had ever told him, even in ink, how I felt about him. I didn't. I already knew as much. I cringe at my own stupidity before slamming the book shut again.
Over the next few days, I think long and hard about the things Anna said; the direction of my life, my past. I know she's right about some things. The fact that I have intimacy issues is obvious, her suspicion for my lack of showing emotion, telling people how I feel, seems to be fairly accurate, though. I do have some strange fear of rejection. I don't think anyone wants to put themselves out there, lay their feelings bare for another person, only to risk being hurt. My absolute blatant refusal to do that, even in the presence of someone I know would never intentionally hurt me, is where my problem lies, though.
His candle still burns brightly beside my bed, the flame dancing erratically as if it's telling a story that it needs me to hear. I watch it every night as I drift off to sleep, my own stories playing out for me behind closed eyelids.
~O~
I hardly recognise myself in the mirror; pallid complexion, dark circles under my eyes reflecting the shadows within. It's been a trying month before the Wizengamot, pleading my mother's case in the hopes that they would allow her to keep what she had left of our family's estate. They've already taken so much from her.
Soft music plays within the bedroom on the other side of the wall—a low, melancholy tune drifting through the air and warming the night. With one last glance at my reflection, I realise I'm well beyond hope for the evening. I rinse my mouth, set my toothbrush back in its holder, and pull on my pyjama bottoms before opening the bathroom door.
Harry is standing on the other side, leaning casually against the frame and smiling timidly as if he's unsure whether or not he should be there. His eyes seem to shimmer in the dim light of the room as he gazes at me with such concern. My body seems to fill with an ache that I've somehow managed to ignore for days, maybe weeks. I hurt. I need. A deluge of exhaustion crashes over me and all I want to do is collapse into his arms. I lean opposite him against the doorframe instead, tilting my head back and closing my eyes.
"It's over," he says quietly. I feel the heat radiating off his body before he even touches me. He slides his arms around my waist, his chest against mine and I sigh with relief, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "You did it. No more Wizengamot, no more Chief Warlock, no more late nights of research."
"Thank you," I whisper into his hair. "For all of your help...and just for being there."
Harry laughs. "I don't think I helped much, but I'll always be there." He moves away from me, my heart reacting irrationally to the meagre distance he's put between us.
He reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me into the open space of our bedroom before wrapping his arms around me once again. His lips brush over mine softly, barely touching my own as we breathe each other in. When he finally kisses me, it feels as if my heart may burst. I close my eyes tightly, savouring the comfort of his very presence.
Slowly, he begins to sway, rocking us both gently to the music that fills the air. He takes my hand, pressing it to his bare chest and holding it there with his own as we turn. I can feel his heart beating against my palm, steady and strong, sending a metrical thrum into my own body until I can no longer tell his heartbeat apart from mine.
I don't question the fact that we're dancing together barefoot and in our pyjamas on a Tuesday night of no real consequence, because the way he's looking at me erases every single thought in my mind. His lips meet mine again, his tongue sweeping into my mouth for just a fraction of a second.
"Mmm..." I can feel his smile against my mouth as he hums with pleasure. "Careful kisses taste like love."
I pull back to look at him, arching an eyebrow questioningly at his cryptic words. "Excuse me?"
He smiles, his hand on my back holding me firmly against his body. "Your kisses, they have different flavours."
"You're mad." I'm too tired to laugh or I certainly would.
"No, it's true. When you're happy, your smile tastes sweet and warm, like melted honey. Passionate is raw, natural and earthy." His eyes search mine as we continue to move to the music that's no longer playing. "Even the angry kisses taste good to me. Bitter, like spiced lemon."
I shake my head, smiling at him. "Are you saying that you can tell what sort of mood I'm in just by kissing me?"
"Draco, I usually know what sort of mood you're in as soon as I walk into the room."
~O~
The children's ward at St Mungo's is nothing like the rest of the hospital. It smells sweet, like warm cinnamon over hot cross buns. The walls are brightly coloured with charmed images of flowing waterfalls and endless forests. Unicorns prance about by lakeshores and rainbows glimmer on the horizon.
Mrs Miller—Healer Miller, here at the hospital—greets me with a welcoming smile. She's busy with paperwork for the moment, but kindly invites me to make myself comfortable in the living area.
Giant, over-stuffed armchairs and mismatched couches line the edges of a large, brightly coloured throw rug in the centre of the room. A window nearly the size of the wall is charmed to show a tropical beach on what appears to be a warm, relaxing island. In one corner, an abundance of plush cushions and pillows in various shapes and sizes are strewn about beside a wide bookcase. There are children everywhere, smiling despite their circumstances as they play with one another or tease their attendants.
"Hullo," a small voice calls up to me. I look down into a pair of shimmering blue eyes. "Are you a healer?" the little girl asks, brushing waves of dark hair over her shoulder to reveal a blood-covered bandage on the side of her neck.
"Not exactly, no," I say, unable to take my eyes off the crimson stained dressing. "Is there something I can help you with?" I look around the room for anyone wearing the yellow-coloured robes of the healers of this ward. There's a young woman kneeling beside a small, frail looking boy, coaxing him to drink a small phial of potion.
"Nana Miller says that when it starts to bleed again, I should tell someone before it gets too bad." Her lip trembles and a fat teardrop rolls down her cheek.
I look around again, fully aware of the fact that I don't actually work here yet, but that, if I want to, I'd better get comfortable helping people without constant prompting.
"What's happened to you?" I ask, kneeling down beside the sad little girl. She winces as I remove the dressing from her wound.
"Vampire," she says in a hushed tone, as though it's a secret for my ears only. I nearly flinch away from her, but the sad expression on her round face holds me firm.
The wounds on her neck look fresh, tinted blue around the edges, dark blood pulsing up to the surface. We weren't taught much about vampires in healer training, but my tainted past has granted me more experience than I care to have with some things. I don't know enough to have any clue why the little girl is still alive, or how she hadn't become one of them. I'm certain she wouldn't be allowed around the other children if there was any risk of her turning, though.
"Nasty buggers, they are. Let's see what we can do." There's a sink at the far end of the living area, a cabinet above it clearly labelled "supplies." I gesture for the girl to follow me as I lead her across the room.
Flicking my wand, I draw a chair for her and tell her to take a seat. The cabinet, I'm grateful to learn, is locked to keep the children from getting into it. Another wave of my wand and a whispered Alohomora opens the heavy wooden doors, revealing fresh bandages and rows of potions.
As I clean and re-dress the girls injury, I ask her questions to keep her talking in the hopes of easing her discomfort and sadness. She tells me that her name is Miriam, she's six years old, and that she doesn't know where her mum or dad are.
A sickening feeling inside me tells me that I do.
"This is Theseus." Miriam holds up a tiny, handmade, ragged doll. It's fashioned of garlic husks and reeks of rot. "Mummy said he'd protect me, but he doesn't work anymore." Her sad eyes fall to the doll once more, waves of dark hair falling in a curtain in front of her face.
"Mr Malfoy, thank you so much for waiting." Healer Miller tucks a lock of hair behind Miriam's ear, nonchalantly examining the dressing. She casts me an approving smile before kneeling beside the child. "Why don't you go ask Susan if she'll fix you a milkshake, Miriam?"
The little girl nods, leaping down from the chair and tucking Theseus into the pocket of her hospital robes.
"She's been here over a week already," Healer Miller says as she watches the small girl walk away. "Her parents were killed, but she doesn't know yet."
"By the same one who attacked her?" I ask, finding my voice.
She nods. "Some sort of sacrifice, the poor child. We were barely able to save her, and even now we can't seem to stop the bleeding entirely. We've tried spelling the wounds shut, congealing potions, and even resorted to blood replenishing draughts to buy us more time."
"Try a dissemination salve," I tell her. It isn't anything taught in training, and I'd rather not explain why I know how to treat a vampire bite—that my knowledge is due to years of reluctant servitude to the Dark Lord, that some things were learned out of necessity rather than hunger for knowledge.
"A dissemination salve will prevent the blood from congealing naturally, though." Her voice is kind, but she doesn't try to hide the fact that she is confident in her knowledge.
"Some vampires actually have a certain enzyme in their saliva that causes a wound to stay open and prevents blood from coagulating. A dissemination salve will break up the residual enzyme where it's created that barrier and allow her natural haemostasis to pick back up."
She looks at me appraisingly as we make our way down the corridor. Finally, as if making up her mind, she nods. "If that works, Mr Malfoy, I may need to keep you around here more often than just two days per week."
Healer Miller introduces me to members of her staff as we make our way around. She explains that the healers on this floor wear yellow robes, while the attendants wear green, and trainees blue. Mine will be green until we settle on a more permanent training arrangement.
The children's ward is much larger than I would have ever thought. There are different sections for each age group, separate halls for various ailments, but with each corner turned, I'm surprised to be greeted by so many smiling faces and contagious laughter. The patients here are in surprisingly good spirit. I can't help but wonder if that's just how children are, or if joy is woven in to the magic of this place.
"I'm afraid you'll find that it isn't always like this," Healer Miller says as though she's reading my thoughts. She gestures toward a small, frail child at the end of a long row of beds. He's tucked in tightly, a bag of glowing potion dripping into a tube that leads to his hand. A healer is perched on the edge of his bed, stroking the child's arm as he speaks softly to him. "Some of these children are very sick. Muggle diseases that even magic can't cure...I wouldn't trade this job for any other." Healer Miller's eyes are distant as if she's gazing off into another time that's just out of reach. "I used to wonder what illness could be so cruel as to steals away a child's ability to smile. I've spent fifty-two years giving them back."
"You seem like you're very good at your job," I say as I watch an attendant rock a girl on her lap as she plays with her hair.
"I do my best, and I hope that you will, too. It's important to learn from mistakes. Not only your own, but that of those around you as well. Things will happen that can't be changed, Mr Malfoy. The important thing is moving on from them and doing better with the next chance you're given."
There's a faint prickling behind my eyes as I soak in the meaning of her words. I nod and assure her that it's just what I plan to do.
We round another corner into a securely warded area. Healer Miller waves her wand to allow us entry.
"This," she says as we step into another large room full of beds and brightly coloured cushions, children scattered about, reading, drawing and painting, "is what the charity you worked for last year helps to fund. These are the children with incurable magical ailments."
"Nana Miller!" a girl cries as she rushes across the room and hugs the blue-haired woman beside me. Healer Miller lifts the child into her arms and hugs her tightly.
"It seems," I begin as the girl scurries back across the room with a bright smile on her face, "that the children here respond well to contact." It hadn't escaped my notice that every healer I'd seen since arriving was holding or touching a child in one way or another.
"Oh, yes. Countless researchers, both Muggle and wizard, have proven time and again the importance of human contact." She sighs sadly. "A number of these children won't be leaving here, Mr Malfoy. Those who do must be able to function as stable, healthy adults later in life, both physically and emotionally. But those who don't must always know that they are loved and cherished in their short time here on this earth."
~O~
We sit together, gazing out over the vast stretch of ocean as the sunlight glitters on the waves. It's been months since we met here the first time, on a grim day that Harry somehow shattered, shining his light through the dark fissures. Our views here had contradicted each other so vastly last time. While I had seen the sight before me as a world of sparkling nothingness, a means to an end and a way to escape, Harry had looked out onto the ocean and seen nothing but possibility; a clear foundation on which to build a new life, burying memories of a violent war and a lifetime of worry and woe beneath the crushing weight of the water.
I don't quite understand how the bitter, angry boy I'd known in school grew up to be the kind and caring man that sits here beside me now. He seems to take nothing at all for granted, finding beauty in even the darkest decay of this world, happiness where no one else would think to look for it.
He reaches out and takes my hand as if to emphasise my thoughts. "Come here," he says, tugging me toward him.
I'm already inexplicably nervous from just the smallest amount of contact, but I push it aside, settling against him as he wraps his arm around me. His fingers draw gentle lines up and down my arm until I actually feel the tension in my body dissipating.
I lean into him more, pressing my lips to his neck, hoping to convey my gratitude. "You're cold." I kiss him again. "You should have brought your coat."
He laughs, lying back and pulling me down with him. "I figured you'd keep me warm."
~O~
"You're wrong, you know," I tell Anna when I see her again. "It wasn't a relationship based on hate. I loved him—still love him—with everything that I am. I may have been absolute shite at showing it, but he wasn't. I know he loved me, too. I just...I worried that if he knew how much I needed him, it would somehow be used against me. I know now how ridiculous that was." I think it's the most I've spoken to her of my own accord since we began meeting, but I wanted her to know the truth. "I really do love him."
She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs and studying me above the rim of her glasses. I don't look away, wanting her to feel the conviction of my words, to weigh the truth of them before pencilling it into her tiny notebook.
Anna smiles. "I know you do," she says. I'm surprised that she acquiesces. She has, after all, spent months feeding me the idea that we despised each other more than we cared for one another. "I simply wanted you to see that, Draco. It isn't my job to tell you how to feel, but to give you the tools needed to discover that on your own."
~O~
The fire crackles in the grate before me, warming my skin as it casts eerie shadows throughout the room. It's late, but I can't sleep. Not with this much on my mind. The words of Healer Miller spiral through my thoughts: learning from mistakes, moving on from a past that can't be changed, the importance of knowing that you're loved.
Harry had never been tucked in or kissed good night. As a child, he had never sat on someone's lap while that person read to him, or told him how much they loved him. In fact, Harry had told me himself that it wasn't until he was fourteen years old that he even heard those words directed at him.
He'd never even learned to ask for those things that he craved, and I had never learned to offer them.
I take a slip of parchment from the desk drawer, considering my words carefully before writing out a quick note. After tying it to the owl's leg, I open the front door and send him on his way.
Sleep has slipped through my fingers tonight, but I can't quite find an unoccupied space inside me to care. I pace the entry hall, searching for solace in the hollow, rhythmic echo of my steps. Nothing can calm my mind or still my trembling hands as I wait.
"Some of us are trying to sleep, you realise," the nasty woman in the portrait calls from behind her curtains.
"And some of us can't," I reply, more to myself.
"Why don't you try sleeping outside with the other vile creatures?" she hisses, her voice dripping with disdain. "You shouldn't be here at all, you useless blood-traitor!" she shouts as the curtains fly open. "This is the Noble House of Black. It isn't meant for mudbloods and turncoats!"
"Fuck off," I snap, pointing my wand at the portrait of my great aunt. I know reverse sticking charms are useless, as is everything else we've tried, but I've a theory of another way to remove the damned thing, albeit crass and unrefined.
Her shrill voice should be a welcome distraction from the demanding thoughts in my mind. I lower my wand and continue to pace, trying to tune out the hateful words, not needing anything else to wriggle its way into my thoughts.
It's only when she starts yelling about Harry that I actually begin to hear her again. I'm already irritated, nervous, and anxious. Anger is not an ingredient I care to add to that bubbling caldron.
"...Should have died...better off without any of them...defiling my home with his disgusting presence!"
She has no right to say those things about him. She doesn't know him at all. No one knows him the way that I do. Anger flairs inside me as she carries on.
"Diffindo!" I shout, slicing a gash into the palm of my own hand.I don't even allow for a single thought of pain before violently flinging my arm in the direction of the portrait, splattering blood across the canvas, dark lines marring the painted face of Walburga Black. My hands drag harshly across the canvas, smearing crimson streaks as she shrieks her protest.
With a silent incantation, the blood magic activates, sending a ripple throughout the painting before it crashes to the floor. I incinerate it. My wand hand trembles as I continue to point it needlessly at the pile of ashes on the floor. Blood runs down my other hand, dripping from my fingertips and splattering on the floor at my feet.
I feel his eyes on me before I realise the front door is now open, cool night air surrounding me and filling my lungs. Harry takes my hand carefully examining the injury before casting Vulnera Sanentur to close the wound.
"You came," I manage to say as I watch his lips move.
His gaze snaps up to mine, his eyes far more kind than I think I've ever deserved. "Of course I came. Your note said you wanted to talk to me." He releases my hand gingerly.
I nod slowly, desperately searching for an order to the words that had been spiralling through my thoughts for so long. "Some things shouldn't be said with ink."
~O~
Somehow, we end up outside on the front stoop, watching the dark storm clouds roll in the distance as purple sheets of lightning illuminate the sky. It must feel more comfortable for both of us outside of the confines of the house, more neutral.
"I didn't expect to ever hear from you again," he says, gazing out into the distance.
"There were too many things unsaid." I take a deep breath, squeezing my eyes closed in an attempt to shut out any doubt I may be feeling about having this conversation. My fears and reservations continue to churn as ominously as the clouds in the sky. "I didn't really think you would come tonight."
"Draco," Harry says. I turn my gaze to him just as a burst of lightning flashes in his eyes, illuminating them with a green heat as intense as that of Avada Kedavra, only it offers the opposite effect. It feels as though I've been shot with a burst of life, rather than death. "I told you before that I'd always be here for you. You said you needed me—that you needed to talk. Nothing could stop me from coming."
I lean back against the rail, drawing my knees up and wringing my hands. His words blanket me in warmth and comfort, giving me the courage needed to go on. "I thought it was going to kill me the other day, seeing you at the Ministry Formal. I've never even considered the likelihood of having to watch you move on without me...even after all this time."
Harry furrows his brow, shaking his head. "I haven't moved on, Draco. He was just a date that accompanied me."
His admission nearly startles me into silence, but I reason that I've come too far tonight to fall quiet now. I reach back in my memory, searching for Hermione's words that evening, trying to recall how she had responded when I asked how long Harry and the other man had been together. She had simply said they'd known each other for a few months.
"Why haven't you?" I ask. It isn't fair that I need to hear his response before explaining why I asked him here, but the twisting fear in my gut renders me helpless against it.
"I just…needed to be alone for a while. Needed to find myself."
"And did you?"
Harry nods. "I think so. What matters, anyway."
"Oh?" I try not to let my voice waver, but having him so near me after all this time, it's difficult, so I opt instead to keep my part of the conversation as short as possible for now.
"I've never lived for myself. For me and only me. It seems my entire existence since before I was even born has been mapped out and determined for me. I think we both needed to take a step back, figure out what we're doing and what we want. I discovered that...I don't really want to be me without you."
My chest clenches painfully, and I continue to stare down at the ground between my feet. I don't want to allow myself to hope. It's been so long that he's been gone.
Harry laughs softly. It's a different sort of laughter than the one that rings clear in my memory. It seems unconfident; something I haven't associated with him in years. "I'll never stop loving you, Draco," he says quietly. "Even when you've told me so many times that I shouldn't."
All of the air in my lungs seems to freeze momentarily as the ever-present ache inside me sharpens. "I know I have no right to interrupt your life now," I tell him through the pain. "But I needed you to know that I'm sorry, Harry. For everything I said to you, for making you feel that you didn't mean enough to me." I swallow down the lump in my throat. He's staring at me in stunned silence, lips slightly parted as though he's barely holding back the words that ache to fall from them. I scoot a little bit closer to him, wanting to touch him but not sure if I should. "What I'm mostly sorry for, though, are all the things I didn't say to you." The urge to reach out and take his hand is so overwhelming that I finally do give in, afraid that he'll pull away. He doesn't. He turns his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. "I love you, Harry...I think I've loved you every day that I've known you. It took me fifteen years to realise it, and another four to finally admit it out loud, but God, I do." I've written those words in the journal since he's left, I've even admitted them to Anna, but nothing could ever compare to the feeling of saying them to Harry himself. It's something he's deserved to know for years and I'm ashamed of myself for keeping it from him. There's a small smile playing at the corners of his beautiful lips as he stares down at our joined hands. I continue before he has a chance to respond. "I've been a failure and a fucking coward my whole life. Always doing for others what they tell me I should. I'm done now. I know what I want, and for the first time in my life, I don't plan on letting anyone else influence me."
"And what's that?" Harry asks, as if he doesn't know. And then I realise that it doesn't matter if he does; he still needs to hear it.
"You. Just you, always. I can do without everything else for the rest of my life, but not you." A year ago, it would have sickened me to even think those words, let alone confess them. I wasn't raised to admit to weaknesses, or to show affection. But, everything is different now. We've both changed so much from the people we were during the war. Harry had embraced his own personal changes long ago, but my inner demons still fought to hold on to the familiarity of who I once was.
I'm pleased to find that there isn't a single drop of self-doubt within me when I reach out to touch him, fingertips brushing his cheek as I urge him to look at me. His eyes shimmer as lightening brightens them once again, a loud crack of thunder roaring through the sky above.
I lean in, tentatively brushing my lips over his, unsure of how he'll react. He exhales a shaky breath against my lips, untangling his fingers from mine and cups my face.
The kiss is gentle, languorous, and filled with so much emotion that I can't fathom how it isn't visible in the air around us. I pour everything I have into it, needing him to feel the truth of my love for him, to understand. We draw away from each other slowly, each of us taking deep, steadying breaths.
He lets his hands drop as he searches my eyes. I wonder what he finds there. I wonder what that kiss tasted like to him because, to me, it tasted exactly like promise and hope.
"I should go," he whispers, sadness in his eyes.
It feels as if a lighted match has been thrown into the centre of my being, igniting my soul with the most agonising pain. My hands are still on him, but I loosen my hold.
"Hey," he says, drawing my focus back to his eyes and out of my own anguish. "Just for now. I just don't think it would be good for either of us to dive back in without at least keeping one hand on the shore."
I nod. He's right. I know he is. I've come a long way in the last ten months, but I know I still have a much further to go.
"I'll be here. As often as I can, any time you need me."
"I'll always need you," I breathe, surprising even myself with the honest admission. "But I understand."
Harry smiles again, warm and genuine, and brilliant. I can't believe how much I've missed that smile, and the laugh that accompanies it.
"You really have learned some things," he says.
We talk a while longer until the sky above cracks open, spilling great drops of rain onto us. Harry asks me to come to the ocean with him on Saturday. I think it's the perfect place to start over.
Before he leaves, I give him the journal. There are things in there that he hasn't seen, but should. I also assure him that nothing written in it recently is exclusive to those pages. I don't want our communication to be through that book this time.
I tell him again that I love him and kiss him softly without reserve. It's easier now than it was earlier tonight, and I hope that means, given time, it'll be easier still and more natural to me. He walks to the street outside of the wards and smiles at me again before Apparating away.
~Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ~
A/N
Epilogue still to come. Thank you all so much for reading this little fic.