November 2008
Muggle London, England
Wednesday

Lyra was weak as a kitten in their shower. She let Draco take control and he was more than happy to wash every inch of her body for her, following the trail of the washcloth with soft kisses all over her skin. She perked up enough to return the favor, including a very thorough cleaning of his package that left him bracing himself on the tile next to her head.

She guided him under the spray and stepped behind him so she could devote some attention to his ass...er back. She slid the cloth slowly across his lower back before traveling up his spine.

He heard her breath catch in her throat and he knew that she'd noticed the scar in between his shoulders.

Lyra froze for a moment, her eyes fixed on the broken diagonal line laid across his upper back. It seemed like a shallow break in the skin, but the surrounding flesh looked red and agitated, as if it was trying to reject the dark magic that caused the wound. Lyra raised her fingers to gently stroke one of his shoulder blades.

"Is that from...?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Does it hurt?" She asked.

"Sometimes," he answered.

"Can they heal it?"

"No."

"Oh," she replied sadly.

Lyra leaned in and pressed her lips softly to the scar, causing Draco to hiss in surprise.

"Did you feel that too?" he asked, referring to the fact that when she made contact with his cursed skin, his back prickled with energy.

"I think so. Felt like bubbles," she replied, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

"Do...do you wanna talk about it?" She asked hesitantly.

He covered her palms on his stomach with his hands. "I thought you didn't want to," he replied.

"I don't feel like talking, but I can listen," she answered, feeling uncomfortable.

"I think I'll wait until we can do it together," he replied with a slight edge to his voice that Lyra didn't miss.

"Frog, it's not a pissing contest for stoicism. I don't want to play 20 questions, but I don't want you to feel like you're alone either," she retorted bluntly.

He dropped his head to look at their entwined hands. He raised one of her palms to his mouth to kiss it, pulling Lyra's chest tighter into his back in the process. "I don't feel alone." He breathed deeply, afraid to say more but unable to stop himself. "I'm...I feel...happy. Is that crazy?" He said softly.

"Maybe? But I'm certainly no authority." Lyra said into his back.

He chuckled. "I also feel tired," he added with a yawn.

"And that makes me feel very smug indeed, Mr. Malfoy," she quipped in a perfect High British accent.

"Ooh, you know I love it when you do that," he joked. "It's like I can close my eyes and pretend you're not American."

"Roight, them sodding Yanks 'fink they're so great, yeh?" She quipped, going full Cockney. "Ooh needs 'em, wiv their sunshine and flavorful food?"

"No, not that. Please," he replied, appalled.

They finished and dried off before returning to her... or rather Draco's room together. They laid side by side, neither making the first move to touch the other.

She suddenly felt nervous. Not, because she was afraid of him...well, she was afraid of him but not really because he'd been brainwashed to kill her recently. She was afraid to reach for him. He made no motion to come towards her and she knew she should make the first move if she wanted a snuggle. To be honest, Lyra desperately wanted a snuggle...because...reasons.

He was on his back staring at the ceiling. She turned on her side to face him and reached out to wrap her hand around his forearm. He looked over to her and she pulled on him to get him to move his arm over his head, opening a space for her. She scooted over to him, pressing her body into his side and rested her head on his chest. She threw her arm over his waist and nestled deeply in to him.

He brought his arms around her then, holding her close. She felt his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent. She hooked a leg around his, and enjoyed the contrast between the smoothness of her bare leg and the coarseness of the hair on his. They laid awake together for a bit, making minute adjustments to accommodate the comfort of the other person. She squeezed her arm around him to bring him closer, he began running his hand over her naked shoulder: They didn't speak. After awhile, the combination of his rhythmic breathing and the warmth of his body lulled her to sleep. He soon followed and the remainder of the night passed quietly for them both.


Lyra woke naked and alone. Ah, just like my early 20s, she joked to herself. To be honest, she kind of missed those days. She didn't miss the fumbling or the inexperience, but she missed when the hookups were expected, but the feelings were light.

Which clearly doesn't apply in this case, she counseled herself in reprimand. "This is Draco and he loves you," she heard in Blaise's baritone voice. Turning onto her side, she grumbled internally.

She found herself thinking back on how their relationship ended. It wasn't some huge argument that did it, they always made up after those. No, their separation was unsurprising, boring even. They spent an amazing few days together between the sheets in the winter before the war broke out in earnest. The day she left, Draco kissed her adoringly, put her on a plane and abruptly stopped speaking to her.

Now, she could have forgiven that easily, what with a war happening, but she'd received a devastating letter from Severus not long before his death, saying dispassionately that Draco had met somebody. Somebody rich like him and appropriately British - things that she knew really mattered to his family, regardless of him loving her. Severus wrote that he'd likely be married shortly after the end of the war, provided everybody lived.

Lyra was crushed by the news, although she knew even then that she shouldn't have been. She was angry at him but she was mostly afraid he might die. And when Severus did die, she was devastated. She lashed out at her family, her typically stellar grades at school suffered and she lost about 15 pounds from her already slight frame. Her parents made her go to a No-maj specialist to 'talk.' She, in her infinite teenage wisdom, thought it was bullshit.

The experience ended up being formative for her. Lyra had several epiphanies about life and relationships in the time she spent seeing her insightful therapist. First of all, she learned that the singular pain of heartbreak is universal. It is the same awful that falls on the witch and the No-maj alike. It sucks for everybody. She found a strange solidarity in that.

Secondly, she grappled with the notion that, despite all of the things she loved about him, a person who can disregard you because you're from the wrong side of the sea and a comparative peasant is probably a poor choice for sustained happiness in the long run. Draco was who he was. An aristocrat with constraints and responsibilities she didn't have or believe in. Some things you just couldn't fight though or argue around.

The situation had also started her thinking about what she really wanted in a partner. As a 16 year old, she thought she knew. She wanted Draco. He made her laugh, made her scream in all the good ways, took her breath away with his passion. As she matured, she changed her mind. What she really wanted was a work horse. She had learned, from her parents mostly, that relationships that last do so because people commit to them everyday.

She didn't need diamonds (although she wouldn't turn them down either), she didn't need achingly beautiful smiles or platinum blonde hair. She needed somebody willing to try hard for her that would let her do the same in return. Learning that lesson had been her key to letting him go. Not of everything, but she was able to laugh again, feel again and keep looking for someone to sweat through life with. Although she'd been burned harshly, the years had dampened the hurt and left her with some scars and a story of first love that was sweet and sad...just like everybody else's. She'd made peace with it and she was happy and hopeful.

Needless to say, recent developments had...complicated things. They were clearly still attracted to each other. That was no problem. Thanks to the nature of the compulsion and what she had learned from Blaise, Lyra knew that Draco loved her. That was nice and all, but he'd loved her before and it didn't keep him from crushing her. If he was the same person he had been back then, it just wasn't enough.

She felt...guilty maybe? No. Well...yeah. She felt guilty, confused and nervous. They'd both just been deeply traumatized and she ended up naked with him a paltry week later. What kind of person does that? That's...not healthy. But he felt so good...

Thinking back on the events of the evening made her heart race and her skin prickle with need. She wanted some air and some time to consider the implications of what it all meant. Despite their history, Lyra had no desire to hurt him. She knew that both potential pathways, namely pursuing it or disentangling from it, each carried their own heavy risks. She was at a loss.

Lyra was snapped abruptly back to reality when she glanced lazily over to the clock which informed her it was almost noon. Agh! Ginny! I was supposed to be there 2 hours ago! She lept out of bed, deciding last night's shower would have to do and hopped into a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a ratty old Ilvermorny sweatshirt with 'Pukwudgie' displayed in cracked, maroon letters down the arm. She brushed her teeth, pulled her hair into a topknot (the cute kind, not the hospital kind) and bounded into the kitchen for an espresso before she left.

She wasn't paying attention and ran dead on into a messy haired Draco wearing nothing but gray cloth pants and an amused smile as she squeaked, jumping back from him.

"In a hurry, Puk?"

"You!" she said, poking a finger into his sternum. "Why didn't you wake me up!? I'm late!" She whined.

"I didn't know." He replied. "Here, breakfast," he said ushering her into a seat where pancakes and coffee were already waiting for her.

She made a pleased little sound and began stuffing her face without restraint.

"Merlin, Lyra. You're like a Niffler in a jewelry store," he judged, leaning over on the back of her chair and pressing a soft kiss to her temple, which made her heart race, partly because she loved it and partly because she felt so weird for loving it.

"More like a Lyra in a pancake store," she said with her mouth full, wiggling away from him. "What time is Scorpius coming?" she asked, hoping to keep the mood as uncharged as possible.

"I'm getting him from Nott's at five," he answered, stealing a strawberry from her plate as she played at stabbing him with her fork.

"Ok, cool. I'll be back by like six. Hey, so what's up with that guy, anyway?"

"What guy?" He asked.

"Nott. Big. Burly. Brown hair. Quiet type. Is that all he does or does he speak full sentences as well?" Lyra asked, gulping her coffee.

Draco snorted. "He's definitely the type of bloke you don't want to cross, that's for sure."

"Ah," Lyra retorted flatly.

"I dunno. He's alright. We went to school together. He was just normal. Seems to love Astoria a lot. Puts up with her bullshit," Draco continued.

Lyra smacked him on the arm.

"What?!" He exclaimed.

"She bought me shoes, which is covenant in The Girl Code. It means she and I are bros now. Be nice," she warned.

"What will you do for me if I buy you shoes?" He asked, suggestively.

"Make you wear them and call me Sir," she twittered up at him sweetly before draining her coffee cup.

He just shrugged, which made Lyra burst with laughter as she stood and made her way to the Floo.

"Ok, back at six. Do you want me to grab anything while I'm in town?" She asked.

"No. We can order in," Draco replied before grabbing her by the waist and nuzzling into the sensitive space behind her ear. "I'll miss you," he breathed, which...Ok, in Lyra's defense...half naked, gorgeous British man murmuring seductive nothings that way, would curl the toes of almost any woman, and many men. She tipped her head back and pressed into him a touch before disentangling herself and grabbing a handful of Floo powder.

Draco furrowed his brow but guided her into the fireplace with his hand on her back. She turned to face him and smiled awkwardly before throwing the powder and calling out for Grimmauld Place.

"Shit," Draco said to the empty living room when he was alone again.

Seconds later, Lyra stepped out of the fireplace into Ginny and Harry's kitchen.

"Shit," she muttered to herself.

"MOM AUNTIE LYRA'S HERE FINALLY AND SHE SAID A NAUGHTY WORD!" James bellowed from behind the long dining room table.

Oh for fucks sake, she thought.


Author's Note - To my English friends, I mean absolutely no offense with my terrible transliteration of the Cockney accent. I was going for Michael Caine, not Oliver Twist, but it's really hard to pull off in print. Forgive me. -MM