Chapter Text
Draco crouched in the corner of his father’s study and pointed his wand at an obstinate spot of blood on the wall. He’d done most of the top story already, going room by room to remove all traces of Death Eater activity. The house elves had done a reasonably good job cleaning the place up, but Draco wanted to be thorough. He’d already found a handful of Dark artifacts that had been left behind, as well as a variety of stains that were probably identifiable, if he’d cared to identify them.
His mother had given up on persuading him to come with her to France. Draco had been tempted, but Malfoy Manor was Draco’s home, and he wanted to rid it of Voldemort’s filth with his own hands. He had no idea what his father thought about it, because Lucius was in Azkaban, probably permanently. Harry Potter’s testimony was all that had saved Narcissa from the same fate. And Draco…
Well, Draco assumed that Potter had testified on his behalf as well, until he’d seen the Daily Prophet the day after his release from temporary custody. Potter, of course, was the main story above the fold. (Potter was always the main story.) But in the bottom right-hand corner was an article announcing LOVEGOOD TESTIMONY FREES MALFOY JR.
Draco’s knees went watery, depositing him into a dining room chair. He smoothed the paper out onto the table with unsteady hands. It was a short article.
Lovegood testified to the Wizengamot that during her imprisonment at Malfoy Manor during the final months of the War, Draco Malfoy provided her with aid and comfort. “He saved my life,” Lovegood said. “I would have died if not for him.”
There was a photo of her accompanying the article. She was standing outdoors, speaking to a group of reporters. It had been a chilly day, and her hair blew in the wind. She looked…healthy. Her cheeks were pink and lively, and she’d put on a little weight. She looked warm as well, wrapped into a fleece-lined traveling cloak. And—
She was wearing the gloves. His gloves.
Draco let out a short, punched-out breath. He splayed his hand out and laid it over Luna’s photograph, as though he could reach through the newsprint and touch her. But his fingers only slid across rough newsprint, and he felt foolish. He curled his fingers up and withdrew his hand.
He’d carefully folded up the newspaper, cast a preserving charm on it, and placed it in a long, flat box underneath his bed that also contained his Hogwarts diploma, the deed to the Manor, and his father’s signet ring.
Draco, staring at the stubborn spot of what he hoped was just blood on the leg of his father’s desk, cast another Scouring Charm. He’d always imagined that he’d spend the year after graduation traveling the party circuit, drinking and carousing with friends in expensive nightclubs while his mother negotiated with other Pureblood families to find him a marriage prospect. Instead, he was in his shirt-sleeves on the floor of his father’s office, wondering who he could ask about advanced cleaning spells.
That last Scourgify had almost got it, though. Draco used his thumbnail to worry away the last of the stain, and with a sigh he stood and surveyed the rest of the room. No visible stains; no Dark artifacts; everything as it should be. Only several dozen more rooms to go, not counting the dungeons.
He wasn’t ready to go into the dungeons yet. Wasn’t sure if he ever would be.
He’d thought Luna might contact him after the trial, but…well, she hadn’t. It had been nearly a month now, and he’d stopped waiting for an owl to show up. He supposed it wasn’t that surprising. Testifying on his behalf to the Wizengamot was more than he’d had any right to. He couldn’t expect someone who’d been imprisoned in his house for half a year to want to have a friendly chat. He’d thought of sending her an owl himself, but he never got past writing her name at the top of the parchment. He couldn’t imagine what he might say to her.
As he rose from the floor, stretching a cramp out of his back, the entry wards went off, meaning that someone not of Malfoy blood had passed through the gate. “Bloody hell,” Draco muttered. He drew his wand and hurried to the front staircase, concealing himself partially behind an ornamental marble column. He wasn’t expecting a visitor. The only people who ever visited him were the family solicitor and the occasional Gringott’s representative, and they always owled first to set up an appointment.
If it was a stray Death Eater, he would AK them before they had a chance to raise their wand. The Wizengamot could do him for casting an Unforgivable if they liked. He wasn’t going to let any of that filth cross his threshold again. He’d spent enough time during the War cowering from them.
No more, he thought, wand steady in his hand.
A few minutes later, the doorbell chimed. Draco didn’t move from his spot, eyes still trained on the door. One of the house elves materialized beside him, peering at his unholstered wand.
“Master Draco, shall Pinky answer the door?”
“Yes,” Draco said. “Carefully.”
Pinky nodded and went to to the front entrance. She opened the door carefully, as Draco had requested, keeping the door between herself and whoever was standing outside.
Draco’s vantage point was strategically superior in a wand fight, but didn’t allow him to see who was standing outside. Pinky had emerged from behind the door to greet whoever it was, though, so apparently they at least meant his house elf no harm. He lowered the point of his wand, frowning. If it wasn’t someone who meant him harm, then—well, it beggared belief that Greg Goyle would have traveled from Poland to visit him, and Parkinson had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with anyone from Hogwarts, and that ruled out every possibility Draco could think of.
And then he heard a low, musical voice speaking to the elf, and he nearly dropped his wand from fingers gone boneless. He stepped out from behind the marble column, giving him a clear line of sight to his visitor, tall and lovely, clad in a blue-and-silver cloak patterned with stars. She looked up to where Draco stood, and her face lit up.
“Draco,” she called. She lifted her arm to wave at him, showing that she was wearing a familiar pair of expensive, well-fitting gloves.
“Let her in,” he said to the house elf, feeling light-headed. “She’s…she’s a friend.”
A blinding smile transformed Luna’s face and Draco’s heart stuttered painfully. In a single, frozen moment an entire future unfolded before his eyes. He would court her, court her properly. He’d invite her in for tea, followed the next day by a formal letter of intent. He’d clothe her in finery and escort her to the presentation balls in the spring circuit. He’d secure approval from his mother, and he’d propose marriage under the willow tree in the garden.
The vision left him breathless and reeling. It was nothing he’d ever wanted before and everything he’d thought he’d never have. Pull yourself together, he thought savagely. Obviously he wasn’t going to—she wouldn’t want—it was ridiculous. And even if it weren’t, even if that were something he wanted and even if there was a chance, he’d have to start by inviting her inside, which he actually still hadn’t. He collected himself, going down the stairs to greet her.
Her hair was done up in a complicated braid that ringed her head, with tendrils of fine, blonde hair coming loose all around the edges, and her cheeks were pink from the fresh air. Her ears were adorned with silver studs in the shape of tiny frogs. Beneath her cloak, she wore an embroidered peasant blouse and a long skirt that swirled around her legs. She watched him with eyes he’d tried not to dream about, a smile playing about her mouth.
“Luna,” he said.
“Draco,” she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
The next thing he said would have been an invitation to come inside for tea, except that Luna closed the distance between them, took his head between her gloved hands, and kissed him.
Taking Luna in his arms felt right and perfect, like a key turning in a lock. She was soft and warm against him, and her mouth was so sweet. He slid his hands beneath her cloak and rested them on her hips, reveling in the sensation of her tongue sliding against his. She sighed into his mouth and draped her arms around his neck.
When the kiss ended, she stayed nestled in his arms. “I didn’t actually plan to do that,” she said against his throat. “I meant to say hello.”
“I meant to request your presence for tea,” Draco said, nosing at a tendril of her hair that had escaped from her braid.
Luna lifted her head, her eyes widening. “Really?” she asked. “I mean…” She caught her lower lip in her teeth. “Tea and a…”
Draco froze. It was one of the older Pureblood customs, and he hadn’t expected her to even know about it, much less recognize the traditional request. But she had. And, he realized, tightening his fingers on her hips, he wasn’t going to take it back.
“Tea and a letter,” Draco confirmed in a low voice, meeting her eyes steadily. “If that’s…acceptable.”
Draco memorized the way she looked in this moment, backlit by the setting sun in the open doorway, her blonde hair forming a halo around her face. The silver stars on her cloak set off her silvery-blue eyes, and she wore the finest and most expensive gloves that Twilfitt and Tattings sold.
His father would have hated her, but Draco didn’t have to care about that anymore.
“I’d love tea, Draco,” she said. “I’d find that very acceptable.”
It was as though the last of a set of heavy shackles slid free from Draco’s shoulders, crumbling away into nothing.
“You honor me,” he said, which was the traditional response as well as being true. He took her hand and led her to the formal dining room—because tea, once offered, had to be served, and he meant to do this correctly.
One of the benefits of being an old pureblood family is that the house elves know all the old customs. With a few whispered words to Pinky, the kitchens shifted into high gear, and within minutes, the first of a series of elaborately crafted pastries was placed before Draco and Luna at the table.
Luna looked at Draco with surprise. “Oh, this is lovely!” she said. “But you didn’t really have to.”
“I did,” he said simply, and the tips of her ears turned pink.
The conversation between them flowed naturally, to Draco’s relief. Luna told him about the Wizengamot trial and how impassioned Harry’s defense of Narcissa had been, and Draco told her about how he’d been restoring the Manor.
Luna’s eyes traveled over the dining room, with its carved ebony table, high-backed chairs with French upholstery, and walls hung with portraits and tapestries. “It is a very nice house,” she said.
It was the first time he’d ever heard Luna lie, and it was oddly gratifying to find out that she was absolutely terrible at it. “Oh, you like it?” he asked.
Her mouth quirked into a grin. “No,” she said. “Not really. It is nice, though, if you like that sort of thing.”
Draco laughed. It was the first time he’d laughed in…months, possibly. Maybe years. “If you hadn’t been imprisoned in it, do you think you’d like it any better?” he asked.
Luna took a demure sip of tea. “Hm,” she said, considering the question. Her frog earrings glinted, catching the light. “No. It feels like it’s constantly shouting at me.”
Draco looked at the portrait of Actaeus Malfoy, glaring down at him from its position at the head of the table. “Yes,” he admitted, “I suppose it does, a bit.” The Malfoys owned other houses, some of which were relatively modest in comparison. Draco thought of closing up Malfoy Manor and leaving it shuttered, leaving all the terrifying memories and questionable stains for some future Malfoy to deal with. It was an appealing thought.
“We can live someplace you like better,” he said, and then snapped his mouth shut so hard that his teeth clacked together. She’d agreed to a letter and that was astonishing enough; she hadn’t agreed to move in with him, for Merlin’s bleeding sake.
But at some point, he’d amended his vision of his own future to have Luna in it at his side. It felt so right that he’d forgotten it wasn’t a fait accompli. Merlin, he had to apologize for his presumptuousness. This was too much, too fast. He hadn’t even got through the tea yet, much less the letter and everything that followed.
“I’m sorry—” he began, but she interrupted.
“I’d like that,” she said with a pleased smile. Draco swallowed back the rest of his apology, feeling as though the world were gently tumbling end over end around him.
“It’s not too soon?” he asked.
Luna toyed with her teaspoon for a moment and then tilted her head to one side, bird-like. “Draco,” she said, “The day we escaped. I know you knew it was Harry. Why did you save him?”
Draco blinked, startled at the change of subject and at the question. Luna had proven so perceptive in every other respect; did she really not know? He’d have thought it obvious. But, he thought with disquiet, maybe the obvious—and true—answer wasn’t the one she wanted. Maybe she wanted to hear that he’d saved Harry because he wanted to do the right thing, or because he secretly considered himself Harry’s friend or some noble bullshit like that. Well, Draco wasn’t noble, and he didn’t really give a wet fuck about Harry bloody Potter. Never had, never would.
“I didn’t save Harry,” Draco said. Not very Slytherin of him to just spit out the truth like that, but he had no defenses around Luna. And he’d stopped caring about being a good Slytherin at about the same time he’d started warding his bedroom door at night in his own house.
“I didn’t do it for him. I was bloody terrified, and I already told you I’m not brave.” He looked away, schooling his face into an indifferent mask. “I did it to save you,” he said. He stared at the wall, unable to meet her face. He could have felt no less raw and exposed if he’d just cut his beating heart out of his chest and handed it to her.
Silence fell over the table. He should have gone with his instincts and lied. Should have told her that he’d done what he’d done to save her precious Potter.
At least he’d had an hour’s respite from misery. It was better than nothing, he supposed.
“Draco,” Luna said. He turned back to her, waiting for the axe to fall. She folded her hands neatly in front of her on the table. “Do you know that they weren’t looking for me?”
Draco couldn’t quite parse that. “What?” he asked. He didn’t know what she was talking about, but she didn’t seem disappointed or angry. A sliver of hope invaded his heart.
“No one was looking for me,” she said. “If Harry and Hermione and Ron hadn’t been captured and brought here, I’d have been here until the end of the War. If I survived.” She made a little half-laugh. “I just wasn’t a high priority.”
Draco’s fingers itched for his wand. The Order of the Bloody Phoenix thought so very highly of themselves, and yet they’d abandoned Luna, apparently without a second thought. The next time anyone referred to “the side of Light” in front of him, there would be a reckoning.
“I understand why,” Luna went on. “It’s not that they don’t consider me a friend. I know they do. But I’m just…not the most important person in their story.”
Draco reached across the table and closed his hand over hers, gripping tightly. She made a pleased little sigh that Draco wished he could save in the box alongside her photograph, and she smiled at him.
“You saved me, Draco, even though it put your own life at risk. After we escaped, I thought you’d been killed, until I heard that you’d turned back up at Hogwarts.” She studied his face for a moment. “If I went missing now, would you search for me?” she asked, sweet and soft. Her eyes shone silver-blue, like moonlight on the ocean.
“I would burn the world to find you,” Draco said in a low, urgent voice.
Too much, too soon. There were steps to this dance, and he’d just skipped straight past most of them. But he couldn’t help it; when he was with her, the truth spilled out of him like a river.
“It’s not too soon,” she said. Draco’s eyes widened—had she heard his thoughts?—before realizing it was the answer to a question he’d forgotten he’d asked. “In fact…do you think I could stay a while?” she asked, a pink flush tinging her cheeks.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. “You can stay as long as you like,” he said. “I’d like nothing better.”
Luna shone like a beacon. Draco had never made anyone else look like that in his entire life. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said. “I’ve missed you so much, Draco.”
He rose and pulled her up along with him, because he couldn’t stand to not be holding her. She flowed into his arms like water, arms sliding around his shoulders. “Is your bedroom as horrible as the rest of this house?” she asked into the spot just behind his ear, the brush of her lips sending a shudder of anticipation down his spine.
“Yes,” he said. It was to his father’s taste, like everything else in the Manor. “But it has a good bed.”
“Show me,” she whispered into his overheated skin.
The bedroom was on the other side of the Manor. The five minutes it would take to walk there was intolerable, so Draco took his wand in hand, slid his free arm around Luna’s waist, and Apparated them directly there.
Draco’s bed was a ludicrous four-poster monstrosity that was carved from ebony and took up a good third of the cavernous, tapestry-hung room. The posts were inlaid with gold filigree, and there was a dragon’s head carved into the massive headboard. Draco used to think it was impressive, but now it only seemed vaguely embarrassing.
But Luna paid no attention to the gaudy, ostentatious furniture, focusing instead on Draco, who still had one arm around her waist. He tossed his wand onto the sideboard and drew her close, breathing in the violets-and-rainwater scent of her hair.
“Do you remember when you fed me the first time in the dungeon?” she murmured into his neck.
Draco was hardly going to forget the single most erotic event of his life to date. “Yes,” he said, hands on her hips, mouth at her temple. “I remember.”
She made a pleased little sound and brushed a soft kiss against his jaw. “I think about it all the time,” she said.
Draco thought of the time—singular, never repeated—that he’d taken Pansy to bed. She’d been nothing but coquettish seduction and pretense, perfumed and styled and false. She’d never have said openly that she wanted him, and he’d never have admitted that he wanted her to. You couldn’t simply say those things out loud. If someone knew what you wanted, they could use it to hurt you. It became ammunition, a weapon to be held in their arsenal against future need.
Luna had given him enough of that sort of ammunition for Draco to mount a battle. He’d given her enough in turn to wage an entire war. But she’d never use it against him; he was sure of that down to his bones.
And he’d never use her confidences and truths against her. He’d guard them with his life if need be. He couldn’t be brave for himself; past history showed that beyond a doubt. But he could be brave for Luna.
“I do too,” he said. “Can’t stop thinking about it, actually.”
In his mind, Draco could hear Snape snidely informing him that he’d just revealed a weakness. A childish mistake, Snape would have sniffed.
But what Draco’s Head of House had neglected to mention is that sometimes revealing your weaknesses can get you everything in the world that you ever wanted, he thought, gazing into Luna’s eyes.
Luna smiled at him and caught her lip in her teeth.
“I want to show you something,” she said. and she pushed him gently backwards until the backs of his thighs hit the bed. She gave him another playful shove, and he let himself collapse down onto the bed, pulling her down with him so that she was splayed across his chest. “Draco!” she cried, laughing.
“Couldn’t help myself,” he murmured, petting her hair. She pushed herself up, eyes sparkling, and wriggled around until finally she ended up straddling his hips, her skirt pushed up around her thighs, looking as satisfied as a cat with a kill.
“Give me your hand?” she asked. He willingly let her take his right hand in her left. “This is a very sensitive area,” she said, tracing down the heartline of his palm with her fingertip, feather-light. “Most people don’t realize that.”
Draco drew in a sharp breath. He certainly hadn’t realized it before now. She stroked from the tip of his second finger all the way down his palm, then back up again. Slow, deliberate. Her finger hovered over his skin, barely touching it, tracing down the lines of his palm, up to each fingertip, over and over again.
His breath was hot in his lungs. It was as though each of her light, gentle touches sank beneath his skin, deep into his flesh, spreading through his entire body like waves in a pool. Draco groaned, pushing his hips upward into where her soft weight pinned him down, but she didn’t stop. She gave him a sweet, lovely smile and kept going, relentless, until his entire awareness was concentrated on where the tip of her finger connected to the maddeningly sensitive palm of his hand. His nerves hummed like piano wire.
“Luna,” he croaked. He was hard, couldn’t help it. She shifted her weight on top of him, and he groaned.
“Shh,” she said. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
Draco rolled his hips helplessly, his hard cock leaking inside his trousers. Fuck, he was close already, and all she’d done was touch his hand. He thought he’d lose his mind if she didn’t stop, and he thought he’d die if she did.
And then she took his index finger into her mouth and sucked at it, wet and hot and tight.
Draco’s entire nervous system lit up like a Christmas tree and for a reality-shattering moment, he thought he was going to come, just from that. “Fuck,” he gasped. He’d thought so often about that night in the dungeons, but this was so much better than his memory. Her mouth, fuck.
Luna drew her lips along his finger, letting it pop free. “Draco,” she said. He loved that. He loved when she called him Draco. He wanted her to never stop saying it. “Do you want to make love to me?” she asked.
Her face was open and honest and sincere. Draco had never imagined that he’d be with a woman who unironically asked if he wanted to make love, but he did want that. He wanted it so much.
He nodded, trembling, and brought his hands to her hips. “I do,” he said. Her eyes darkened and she breathed in sharply.
“I do too,” she said.
Draco thought of the willow tree in the garden, and his breath caught in his throat. “We can wait,” he managed, through willpower he hadn’t thought he had. “If you—there’s steps,” he said. “I want to—properly, I want to do it properly.” Fuck, he wasn’t even making any sense.
“You’ll write me a letter tomorrow?’ she asked.
“Yes,” Draco said. Yes, he absolutely would. Had it half-composed in his head already.
Luna bit her lip and smiled. When other girls did that, it looked calculated, but Luna only looked natural and sweet. “Then,” she said, “I can’t see that it matters what we do tonight. And Draco…” She shifted her hips against his hard, sensitive length, trapped in his trousers. “I would very much like to feel you inside me.”
Draco’s ears rang, and his vision contracted to a pinpoint. He bit the inside of his cheek hard and kept his hips rigidly still. Not yet, he thought. Not yet, not yet, not yet. It likely wouldn’t have been enough to stop the inevitable, except that Luna lifted off him, and the sudden absence of her warmth was enough to derail the oncoming freight train.
He panted, trying to pull himself together, and opened his eyes to find her delicate fingers working at the fastenings of his trousers. “Luna,” he groaned, “if you keep doing that, I’m going to come in my pants.” She looked up from her task, startled. “Just let me,” he said.
Draco dispensed with his clothing in short order, baring himself completely. Luna’s eyes darkened, and she gave him a slow, appraising look that sent a flush all the way down his torso. Pansy had told him she thought he was fit often enough, but she’d never…looked at him. Not like this.
“You’re bigger than average,” Luna said matter-of-factly, eyeing his erection, “but not so big that it won’t feel good, I don’t think.” And then before Draco could react, she shed her own clothing, stripping it off efficiently and letting it fall to the floor. Draco had rather wanted to do that himself, imagining unwrapping her from her clothing like a gift. Next time, he told himself.
She was gorgeous, completely bare to him, straddling his hips with smooth, firm thighs. Her hips and belly were rounded and soft, and her breasts were…perfect. Draco wanted to touch them. He wanted to touch her everywhere. He slid his hands over her hips, clasping her at the waist, sending a little tremor through her.
Draco’s cock brushed against the soft, velvety skin of her folds. He was seconds away from being inside her. One good push is all it would take. She was right there.
“Did you use the spell?” Draco asked, gripping onto her hips.
“The contraception spell?” she asked. He nodded. Her mouth curled into a mischievous little grin. “Would you stop if I said I hadn’t?” she asked.
“Merlin, Luna,” he moaned. “Yes—no—I don’t know. Whatever you want. You can have whatever you want.”
Draco imagined Luna with a fat, blonde baby perched on her hip and his cock jerked hard. What the fuck, he thought wildly.
She leaned forward, bringing her mouth close to his, bracing her hands on either side of his chest. “I did use it,” she said. “But someday I might take you up on that offer.” She pressed her lips to his, and Draco surged forward, taking her in a hungry, frantic kiss. He pulled her down tight against his chest and then rolled over so that she was spread out beneath him. His cockhead, slick and swollen, teased at her entrance. If she even squirmed, he’d be inside her.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he said in a strained voice.
Her eyes shone silver in the dim light of the room. “Yes, Draco,” she said. “Please.”
He pushed into her, thrusting his cock into her soft, tight heat. She gasped and arched up, her fingers clenching into his back.
“Is it too much?” he panted. “Too big?” He thrust again before she could answer, because he wanted her to feel it.
She shook her head back and forth. “Not too big,” she breathed. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
He thrust again, and again. He’d wanted this so badly for so long, and he wasn’t going to last. Couldn’t, not with the perfection of Luna’s body writhing below him. “Can you come like this?” he asked.
“If—oh—if I touch myself,” she said.
“Do it,” Draco said harshly, just the thought of it sending him rocketing that much closer. She slipped a hand between them, angled her hips upward a little, and Draco knew to the second when her fingers found what they sought, because her eyes rolled back in her head and she clenched down tight around his cock.
“Shit,” he gasped. “Luna.”
The next few minutes were an exercise in torturous willpower for Draco. Luna’s hand moved in gentle circles over her clit, her eyes unfocused, making breathy little moans in the back of her throat. Draco wanted—needed—to fuck her straight through the goddamn mattress, but he wasn’t going to. Not yet. Not until he saw her come. So he kept up a steady, regular rhythm, thrusting his cock into her like a slow metronome. The drag of his cock on the slow slide out was maddening, but restraining himself as he thrust back in was even worse.
It all felt so fucking good.
“So good,” Luna breathed, echoing his thoughts. “So…” She trailed off and her eyes closed. Her muscles fluttered around his cock, and a sound started in the back of her throat, a soft moan that got louder and louder. She pressed her knees in tight against his hips and clung to his back.
“Luna,” he rasped, wrecked, “I have to—”
“Yes,” she said, writhing on his cock, “oh—oh—”
She started coming, her hips bucking up, and he could feel her orgasm. Draco fucked into her hard and fast, pinning her at the shoulders and driving his cock into her so hard it forced the air out of her lungs in little ah, ah, ah breaths. “Take it,” he groaned.
“Yes, please—”
“Take all of it—”
“Draco—”
Draco lost the plot completely, thrusting hard and taking her mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss, while she squirmed on his pulsing cock. She felt so fucking good, so fucking good. Mine, he thought frantically, licking into her mouth and breathing her air, she’s mine.
After, he collapsed down on top of her, her soft weight beneath him. His hair was damp with sweat, and he could feel her heartbeat, racing at first but then slowing. He shifted his hips, slipping out of her. She made a soft, unhappy noise, and he kissed her neck.
“Sorry, love,” he murmured, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent of clean sweat and rainwater. “Stay with me tonight,” he said.
“Yes,” she said into his shoulder.
“Stay with me forever,” he said, caution gone to the wind.
She nipped at his neck lightly. He could feel her smiling against his skin. “Yes,” she said.
“I’m going to want to dress you in expensive things,” he said. Might as well get that out of the way early. “Not always. But sometimes.” He liked her style, didn’t need her to change it. But there was something about the idea of putting her in designer robes and showing her off at a gala that made him shiver with pleasure.
She made a noise of agreement. “I’m going to want to plant vegetables in the back garden,” she said.
“In our back garden,” he corrected, stroking her hair. “I won’t get along with your friends.”
He rather wanted to hex her so-called friends, as a matter of fact, although that was a conversation for another day.
“Will you try?” she asked. There was no edge to it; her voice was sleepy and satisfied.
“Yes,” he said. “For you, I will.”
“Then I’ll try with your friends as well,” she said. “As long as they’re nice to me.”
Draco kissed the top of her head. “They will be, or they’ll answer to my wand,” he said. He shifted, rolling off Luna and onto his back, and she curled into his side, nestling her head onto his chest. Draco felt comfortable in his own skin in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to him. He hoped it lasted.
They laid in companionable silence for a while longer. Luna ran her fingertips along Draco’s bare shoulder and arm, gently stroking back and forth and sending little rills of pleasure down his spine. It took him longer than it should have to realize that she was stroking his forearm right over the pale Dark Mark tattoo. He closed his fingers around her wrist, stopping her.
“Luna,” he asked, “why doesn’t this bother you?”
She rubbed her thumb against the Mark curiously. “This?” she asked. She raised up onto an elbow, looking down at his face. “Draco, the people who gave you that Mark tried to starve me to death in a dungeon. And you saved me. So you’re clearly not them. How could it possibly bother me?”
His eyes burned. “Most people,” he started, but his voice caught. He waited a moment, tried again. “Most people look at me and only see a Death Eater,” he said.
She cradled his face with one hand and kissed him on the lips, soft and sweet. “Well, I look at you and I see Draco,” she said. “My Draco.”
A country estate, somewhere far from here, with a vegetable garden in the back. And maybe, someday, a fat blonde baby with Luna’s eyes. Not the life his parents had planned for him, and not a life he’d ever thought he’d want. But that life didn’t have Luna.
This one was better.
“Tell me about this vegetable garden,” he said, drawing her close to his heart.