Ahh!
Ok.
1. I was away for four days and I came back to a bunch of comments/messages/etc. that I haven't answered, and I'm also having a minor panic attack over my interhousefest fic.
2. My darkfest fic is done, so whenever dexstarr wants to read it... Hehe.
3.
The win was unexpected, but the drabble is below:
“Draco?” she murmurs sleepily when he’s about to open the door. Draco turns around, travelling cloak in hand, and looks back at his wife. She’s sprawled out on the bed, and the light from the open window falls across her body, illuminating her soft, pale skin where the covers have fallen down around her. He can just make out the rise and fall of her breasts in the moonlight, and for a moment he considers going back to bed just to press her warm, pink flesh against his own.
“I have to sort some things out at the office,” he says instead. Lies, obviously, but this is how he gets what he needs. “I’ll be back for lunch.”
“Love you,” Astoria says as she curls back up beneath the covers, but Draco has already closed the door.
---
At St. Mungo’s the nurses call him kind to his face and redeemed behind his back.
Kind Draco.
Redeemed Draco.
Lies, obviously.
He comes to the Janus Thicky Ward every Sunday and reads to her. She is a special case; she doesn’t exactly belong there, and her mind is in perfect condition. Inlaqueas Intras, they call it. Trapped inside.
Hermione Granger still has life behind her eyes, intelligence, passion. But she cannot move, she cannot speak, and she receives a weekly visit from Draco Malfoy, who sits by her side and holds her hand and reads to her from Hogwarts, a History.
The nurses smile and shut the door and leave the two together, and even though she cannot show emotion, they share a moment that no one understands. They share a memory, and she lies still and helpless as he renews the charm that no one is sure how to lift.
And then he leaves her, smiling a sick, sad smile so that nobody will guess.
When he gets home, Astoria is cooking, wearing one of his old button down shirts and Slytherin tie. He pulls her close and takes her right there, on the kitchen table, while their lunch is burning on the stove.
They lie there in the aftermath, breathing heavy, sighing breaths and planting bruising kisses everywhere on smooth, perfect flesh.
Oh, and Draco smiles and his flesh tingles, more aroused than ever, because miles away, that dirty little Mudblood knows exactly what he’s done to her.
1. I was away for four days and I came back to a bunch of comments/messages/etc. that I haven't answered, and I'm also having a minor panic attack over my interhousefest fic.
2. My darkfest fic is done, so whenever dexstarr wants to read it... Hehe.
3.
The win was unexpected, but the drabble is below:
“Draco?” she murmurs sleepily when he’s about to open the door. Draco turns around, travelling cloak in hand, and looks back at his wife. She’s sprawled out on the bed, and the light from the open window falls across her body, illuminating her soft, pale skin where the covers have fallen down around her. He can just make out the rise and fall of her breasts in the moonlight, and for a moment he considers going back to bed just to press her warm, pink flesh against his own.
“I have to sort some things out at the office,” he says instead. Lies, obviously, but this is how he gets what he needs. “I’ll be back for lunch.”
“Love you,” Astoria says as she curls back up beneath the covers, but Draco has already closed the door.
---
At St. Mungo’s the nurses call him kind to his face and redeemed behind his back.
Kind Draco.
Redeemed Draco.
Lies, obviously.
He comes to the Janus Thicky Ward every Sunday and reads to her. She is a special case; she doesn’t exactly belong there, and her mind is in perfect condition. Inlaqueas Intras, they call it. Trapped inside.
Hermione Granger still has life behind her eyes, intelligence, passion. But she cannot move, she cannot speak, and she receives a weekly visit from Draco Malfoy, who sits by her side and holds her hand and reads to her from Hogwarts, a History.
The nurses smile and shut the door and leave the two together, and even though she cannot show emotion, they share a moment that no one understands. They share a memory, and she lies still and helpless as he renews the charm that no one is sure how to lift.
And then he leaves her, smiling a sick, sad smile so that nobody will guess.
When he gets home, Astoria is cooking, wearing one of his old button down shirts and Slytherin tie. He pulls her close and takes her right there, on the kitchen table, while their lunch is burning on the stove.
They lie there in the aftermath, breathing heavy, sighing breaths and planting bruising kisses everywhere on smooth, perfect flesh.
Oh, and Draco smiles and his flesh tingles, more aroused than ever, because miles away, that dirty little Mudblood knows exactly what he’s done to her.