The Slytherin Redemption: Now Complete

Thanks to all of you who have reviewed and rated this story. I've been very busy trying to update several WIPs so have not had much time to answer reviews. You guys have been so kind in your comments about this story. I really do appreciate any and all comments.

These two chapters were beta'ed by Drusilla of Perfect Imagination.

T

Salvation

Chapter 9

Toby walked ahead of the two adults, gesturing with the charming self-importance that only a child possessed, as he pointed out several of the changes he had been shown by the older Slytherins. Draco made the appropriate noises of admiration as they walked behind him, but he really watched the boy's mother. Her exhalations of awe and admiration were endearing. What was so commonplace to Draco, and now the boy, the moving portraits, the sly, trick stairs, the Weasley bog, all brought expressions of childlike wonder to her face. He slipped his hand in hers, noting the fluttering of her lashes and her down swept eyes. She squeezed his fingers once and let them go, catching up with her son.

When they came to the entrance, Professor Lepidus was waiting for them. Draco was struck by the almost Dumbledore-like calm of the man. Physically, the two men were dissimilar. Where Dumbledore was wizened, almost gaunt, Lepidus had the fleshiness of middle age. His hair was light brown, streaked with the beginnings of silver, his eyes were brown and he had no beard. However, there was something about the man that put Draco both at ease and made him wary at the same time. The man was clearly well suited for his position as Headmaster. He greeted them warmly. “Mr. Cowell, I hope you are feeling well this morning?”

The boy gaped momentarily before he recovered, making it obvious that he had never been addressed by the Headmaster personally. “Yes sir, thank you. May I present my Mother and Godfather? Ms. Elspeth Cowell and Mr. Draco Malfoy, this is Professor Lepidus. He's the Headmaster here.”

The man smiled, his eyes twinkling merrily. “I'm honoured to meet both of you.”

Draco mouthed to Liz, “Elspeth?”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Liz murmured as she extended her hand to the Headmaster. “I'm glad to meet you more formally. I am sorry about the disturbance I caused last night.”

The Headmaster waved his hand laconically before clasping hers. “No harm done, Ms. Cowell, I understand perfectly. If it had been one of my own, my reaction, no doubt, would have been the same.”

“Without the knock to Zabini's pride and joy, I'm sure,” Draco said, trying to keep the hint of laughter out of his words. When Lepidus coughed softly, Draco suggested, “Elspeth, maybe we ought to continue our tour?”

Liz glared at her friend, and, under the guise of brushing off a bit of fluff from his robes, pinched him. Lepidus looked on, a small smile hovering around his lips. “Actually, Mr. Malfoy, I was sent, by a very insistent portrait, in search of you. I think Mr. Cowell and I can show his mother around, if you'd like to make your way to my office. The password is Inu Yasha.”

Draco's mood plummeted. Had Snape finally deigned to speak? Or worse, was it Dumbledore? He heard Toby, as if from a great distance, say excitedly, “I know that show. I love to watch it when I'm home. Do you like other Anime, sir?”

Liz moved aside as the older wizard and Toby discussed the finer points of Anime versus Manga. “Drake, are you all right? You went all white… well, whiter… for a minute. Do you need to sit down?'

“No… no, I'm fine,” he said, clearing the choking feeling from his throat. “You go along with them, I’ll… ah… be fine.”

He turned to Lepidus, waiting pointedly for a break in the conversation. When the Headmaster turned his attention away from the boy, he smiled at Draco. “I'll bring them up to my office when we finish our tour.” The Headmaster crooked his arm for Liz and she took it with obvious reluctance. Draco watched them go, wishing for the chance to just vanish, to seep into the ground, like the toxic sludge he had been as a child at this school. Liz was peering back at him worriedly as the small group rounded the corner and disappeared from his sight.

The trip to the Headmaster's office was filled with dread, and as he spoke the strange words to the gargoyle, he felt an uneasy sense of finality. The stairs started upwards and the Slytherin placed his feet on the path.

He did not know what he expected to find when he entered the office, but it was not the absolute silence that greeted him. Anytime he had been there before, there was always some portrait making a comment or snoring a little too falsely. He looked around at the frames that lined the walls. Only two were occupied, Severus, in his monkish costume, caught his eye first.

To Draco, the portrait remained static, but it seemed off, as if it had changed since he last saw it. He inspected it closely. The artist had not caught the caged-animal feel of Snape, his boundless nervous energy, and the strain that had marked his final days on the planet. In this portrayal, the man was softer. His mouth was not set in the familiar grim line, and the crevasses that marred his brow and the corners of his mouth were absent. His sallow skin now glowed warmly, as if he had been in a sunny location. Upon closer inspection, Snape looked almost happy. Draco hoped that Snape had, in the end, finally found the peace that was portrayed in his final picture. The man truly deserved it.

The blond man turned reluctantly to the only other occupied frame. Albus Dumbledore was waiting patiently for Draco's attention. The portrait ventured, “I take it that the image is not in compliance with your memory of Severus.”

Draco swallowed, the small pop of his Adam's apple moving up and down his dry throat resounded in the quiet room. “No, sir. I don't remember him ever being so peaceful or happy-looking. Potter really should have chosen a better artist to commemorate him.”

The silence spun out again, a silver thread of unease. Finally, Dumbledore spoke, “Young Malfoy, I’ve followed your progress over the last twelve years. You've done well.”

Draco attempted to interrupt, but the old man continued. “I don't mean just materially. You've done a great deal of good since you were released, and touched many lives that were destroyed by Tom Riddle. I'm proud of you.”

Draco considered the words. “Sir, when I was a young man at this school, I would have been gratified to hear those words from you.” Draco took a deep breath to slow the frantic beating of his heart. “Now, they seem hollow, somehow, knowing what and who had to be sacrificed to end the war. Tell me, did you make any provisions for Severus? Had he lived, would he have been consigned to the same fate as my father and mother?”

“You know what your parents did for the Order?” Dumbledore whispered. Draco attempted to master his face so that the shock of the admission would not show. His parents had never worked for the Order of the Phoenix. As far as he could remember, Lucius had scorned anything to do with Albus Dumbledore and his organization. Another piece of a very interesting puzzle lay before him, and he would find out the truth.

“No, but I'm beginning to piece it together. Why don't you tell me?” Draco Accio'ed a chair from beside the fireplace. He was damned curious now. “Please, enlighten me on exactly what my parents did for the Order, and why you failed to protect them?”

The portrait Dumbledore's face fell, losing the twinkle in its eyes. “I'm sorry, I took a Wizard's Oath...”

“Don't give me that, sir. You know a Wizard's Oath has no power over a magically enhanced collection of pigments, oil and turpentine.” Draco folded his arms over his chest as he flopped gracelessly into the chair. Employing his best Malfoy hauteur, he commanded, “You can talk, now tell me.”

Dumbledore's portrait pursed his lips, and then drew a deep breath, as if to speak, when a new voice filled the room. “Don't do it Albus. You know what the agreement was and you assured all involved that you would abide by it.”

Draco's eyes darted to the unmoving Snape picture before he realised another portrait had entered the fray. Dumbledore spoke over the cautionary figure's words. “Phineas, the boy needs to know what they did for him.”

The sour-faced portrait huffed, “That's why one can never trust a Gryffindor. All their honour flies in the face of noble intent. Albus, if you do this, I won't be responsible for the father's actions.”

“As if you would ever be,” Dumbledore mumbled, and then turned to Draco saying, “He is correct, however, in his assessment that the story is one for your father to tell you, young man. I am sorry. I will say, that I did have a plan for Severus.”

Draco folded his arms over his chest. “I should have known that dealing with your portrait would be no better than speaking to you in life. And I will say, that I'm sorry I tried to kill you.”

“Ho, ho, Albus, the little snake means he's sorry he didn't succeed,” the one called Phineas said.

Draco pointed his wand at the other portrait. “Don't put words in my mouth, or I will charm the paint from your canvas.” With a squeak, the offending portrait vanished from the frame. He turned back to Dumbledore. “I relive that year and the next in my nightmares. If my family hadn't been threatened, I never would have done what I did. I never would have compromised my Godfather's soul. For that, I apologise.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “The war made us all do things we wouldn't normally have done. There is nothing for me to forgive. Maybe you should try to forgive yourself.”

The silence spun out again, an aching throb that beat with the rhythm of Draco's heart. Finally the Slytherin spoke, “Does he ever move?”

“Not since the day he arrived,” the old wizard said, the twinkle returning to his cerulean eyes. “Young Malfoy, not all things are what they seem.”

Draco felt an adrenal spurt, very much the same as the time he had, in his ignorance, touched a Muggle electrical outlet. His heart rate fluttered erratically, and his nerves jangled in painful syncopation. “Sir, what do you mean?”

“Ah, I think I hear the approach of your Ms. Cowell. Lovely woman, she would make someone a fine wife.”

Liz, Toby and Lepidus entered as Dumbledore fell into feigned sleep. Draco ground his teeth in frustration. As any well-bred Slytherin would, Draco masked his agitation, rose gracefully from his seat, and replaced the chair to its spot in front of the fire in one smooth motion. He greeted Liz with a small kiss on the cheek and tousled his Godson's hair. “I take it the tour was to your liking?”

&*&*&

As Drake and she returned to the room to prepare to leave, Liz reflected on the conversation she had with the affable Headmaster during her tour of the Slytherin Common Room. Toby had run up to his rooms to fetch his latest papers from Potions and Defence, when the Professor cast a spell about them dimming the noise in the room. “Don't worry, my dear, I've cast a Silencing charm so that the students don't hear us. I wanted to talk with you of Professor Longbottom's plan of speaking to the students.”

Liz, in the bustle of the day, had almost forgotten about it. “I don't feel comfortable doing that, Mr. Lepidus. The things that happened to me were very... I just think it would make my son the object of pity and even more ridicule.”

“Certainly,” the Professor had said. “I just thought that, given the identity of your rescuers, you might be able to help.”

Liz knew he was disappointed from the drawn look on his face. She continued, attempting to keep the strained hoarseness from her voice. “I've only spoken of what happened to my priest and a counsellor. I'm sorry, it's just too personal for me to speak of publicly.”

The Professor waved his wand and the room around them soared to full volume again. “Of course. I'm sorry to have distressed you, Ms. Cowell.”

Draco sat on the couch in his rumpled clothes, his demeanor somber. Liz folded the robes that had been loaned to her, and placed them on the bed, after Draco's assurance that the house elves would return them to Professor Zabini. Her friend's eyes followed her motion. “Liz?”

Placing her hands on her hips, she asked, somewhat more acerbically than she intended, “What, no more Elspeth?”

When he did not rise to her bait, she moved behind him, placing her hands on his stiff shoulders. “What is it Drake?”

As she began rubbing, he moaned softly. “I'm sorry.”

“About what?”

She paused, pulling a long strand of hair out of her way. Sometime she felt he was still just a boy, so emotionally fragile that she could read his thoughts on the thin skin that covered his brow. She smoothed back his hair, loose now from the tight queue in which he usually kept it. “Drake, if this is about your Uncle, don't worry about it. He's not you.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” he sighed, a ponderous sound in the cheery room, as he scooted away from her grasp. “It's time we left. I have to pick up Scorpius and I'm sure you have things you want to do.”

They made their way to the entry in silence. Drake had told her they would Floo from a place called the Hog's Head because he did not want to inconvenience the Headmaster further. Liz thought it had more to do with the mad portrait he had spoken to, but she kept her own counsel. Toby had said his goodbyes earlier, in the privacy of the Headmaster's chambers, but Liz was still disappointed that she would not be seeing him before she left.

On the final staircase, she saw the tension increase in Draco's already taut body. At the foot of the stairs stood Harry Potter and his wife Ginny. Liz waved shyly at the redhead. She noted with interest, the way Draco slipped on a jovial mask, saying in a sly voice, “Potty, Ginevra, what brings you here?”

Ginny gasped, looking with consternation at the blond, before her husband answered, “Nothing much Ferret, I just thought we'd show a little House solidarity during Hogsmeade weekend.”

“I can see you learned your showmanship from Dumbledore,” Draco jibed.

The dark-haired man laughed dryly, “No, Snape. I just didn't wear the proper robes.”

The three wizards sniggered, leaving Liz feeling a little out of place. Potter spoke again, “Ian couldn't take care of Scorpius last night, there was a new intake at the shelter, and so we took him. Molly is with him and our children at the Burrow. We thought we'd take you two to elevenses at the Three Broomsticks before we swing by to pick them up.”

“Sure, Potter, I'll just waltz in to Rosemerta's pub and laugh over old times,” Draco shot back.

Liz winced at his snotty tone. She hated it when he went all posh and used it as a weapon. It made her feel worse than she usually did about herself.

Ginny laughed, “There's always Madam Puddifoot's.”

Both men groaned at her suggestion before she added, “Come on, Malfoy. She forgave you as soon as she found out about how Voldemort threatened your family. She even spoke at your trial.”

“Oh, holy Christ, we’ll go. But you can bring Scorpius to my flat. No offense, Weasley, but your mother scares me,” Drake said, a smirk replacing the scowl he had worn since his trip to the Headmaster's office.

The redhead shook her head. “None taken, as long as I don't have to meet your Dad at the Department of Mysteries anytime soon.”

Drake's eyes flashed dangerously. “Remind me, Potter, never to spar with your wife again. She's quite vicious. No offense.”

The couple spoke in unison. “None taken.”

Drake extended his arm to Liz, inclining his head imperiously. “Come, Elspeth, we're going to tea.”

“Shut it Drake, or I'll tell them how much you love your middle name.” Liz laughed as he placed his hand over her mouth.

“Really?” Ginny's voice rose to almost supersonic pitch, “What is it?”

Liz could only mumble against her friend's hand as he answered, “None of your bloody business.”

“Must be murder to fill out forms with a name like that,” Potter said straight-faced as they made their way outside. “What could your parents have been thinking?”

They walked to Hogsmeade, laughter punctuating the conversation. For a moment, they were almost like the carefree teens surrounding them, not the adult survivors of enemy camps, or victims of a brutal war. Liz knew she should enjoy the freedom while she could. Monday would bring her back to her lonely adult existence. She joined in the laughter, wishing that her life could have ever been like this, even before that night.

Salvation

Chapter 10

As far as Liz could tell, things hadn't changed since their trip to Hogwarts three weeks ago, except the frequency of Drake's trips to see Her. Every afternoon now, Drake headed out alone for his lunch, and every afternoon he came back in the same foul mood. His physical affection had increased to Liz, with the little touches and pecks that drove her mad. He had not tried to kiss her again, however. It left her feeling confused and put upon.

At least he doesn't smell like Her anymore, she thought with a grimace. Liz had harboured some fond hopes after that weekend jaunt and the sweet kiss that things would be different between them when they returned to London. She supposed she should just face the fact that her friend would never see her as anything other than one of the boys. She sighed, blowing the wispy fringe that the hairstylist had insisted she would love out of her eyes.

He entered the office that morning with a sunny attitude for once. As he sorted through the mail on her desk he asked, “Hey, kid, I’ve got an appointment this afternoon. Could you pick Scorpius up from playschool, please?”

“Sure, Drake,” she answered, a little put out that he would ask her for a favour. Before her traitorous brain could edit her words, Liz added, “I hope She's not becoming too demanding.”

“What was that? Oh, we need to send this to the Ministry. It's been misdirected,” Draco said absently as he pushed an envelope towards her. “Here's an invitation to the Hogwarts Yule ball. I suppose we'll have to go. So, will you? I'll owe you, say, a nice dinner out sometime?”

“I already said I would,” she snapped over the sharp pain that lanced through her heart. Damn him.

Drake looked up from his task, his brows raised in query. “Are you all right? You've seemed a little off these last few days. You know, not your usual cheerful self. It's not Toby again, is it?”

“No, Draco Malfoy, it's most definitely not Toby. Why don't you just leave now? I wouldn't want you to be late for Her,” she snarled, unable to control her temper any longer. “I'd just like to know what you're playing at. I never knew you were such a... a pig!” She slammed the cover over her typewriter. “I'm taking the morning off. Go see Her on your own time.”

Liz had an impression of Drake's gap-jawed shock as she left the room. After fumbling for her coat, she slammed the door behind her, wincing as the glass pane rattled. Once outside, she took a few gulps of the mid-November chill into her lungs so she could concentrate on anything but being outraged. She knew she had overreacted, but it had not been just a kiss to her. It obviously had been to him.

As she dashed away the angry tears threatening to fall rebelliously down her cheeks, she felt like she was in school again. Liz was cast one more time in the role of the scraggly, socially awkward, East-Ender after the poshest, most popular boy in school. The rejection had hurt when she was a child, but Drake was supposed to be her friend, and that was what stung the most. For the first time since Toby was born, she just wanted to run home to her mum for a good cry. She needed her no-nonsense comfort and the mug of hot cocoa she always seemed to produce when Liz was at her lowest. Mum would not be awake for hours however, and Liz knew that she would not welcome the intrusion for such a trivial matter.

She found herself wandering in the markets along the Thames, fishmongers and workmen stopping to whistle at her or curse her, sometimes both. The air was redolent with the odour of the city's underbelly. The essence of fish, shit, and flowers with a hint of lime mixed to remind Liz of her position in the universe. No place in London smelled quite like the poor area of the East End in which she had struggled to adulthood. She stooped to pick up a shell that had been carelessly discarded by a vendor. Its nacreous inner surface glimmered, giving her a vague sense of continuity. Beauty in the mundane, much like herself. Liz snorted and rolled her eyes at the joke, drawing stares from an old man who trundled a small cart filled with offal and viscera. The anger she had felt slowly turned to icy numbness as the tears no longer threatened to spill over her lashes.

She stopped at a street vendor to purchase some roasted chestnuts when a vaguely familiar voice said, “Ms. Cowell, is that you?”

She turned to see the sweetly smiling face of the Gryffindor Professor from Toby's school. “Professor Longbottom, isn't it?”

“I was hoping I made a better impression than that,” his face fell in mock consternation.

Liz felt herself blush as the vendor said, “Are yeh buyin' or not, girl? I've got others waitin'.”

She stepped away from the cart, but Longbottom did not and she trod squarely on his foot with her stilettoed heel. The Professor laughed; a musical chuckle that reminded Liz of Father Christmas in agony. He hopped on one foot as he clutched the offended appendage. “I suppose that makes us even. You know, your toe for the hole through my foot?”

When she did not smile, he caught her arm. “Are you all right? You seem to be near tears.”

“I do apologise,” Liz said as she gave a watery smile. She did not know for which offence she was apologising, but she felt remorse regardless.

The young man produced a handkerchief, a plain white cotton square, both serviceable and elegant. He dabbed at her eyes, as if she was a wayward child, until she took the square from his hand. He waited patiently, his round face registering his concern by the small frown lines that formed between his eyebrows. She finally said, “You look different in regular clothes.”

“Oh, yes. I suppose you've only seen me in my robes.” He patted her upper arm hesitantly. “I have to get back to Hogwarts soon. I ordered some plants for the greenhouse, and the delivery was delayed until today, but would you care to have a cup of tea with me before I pick them up?”

“I really should get back to work. If I have a job still, that is. I sort of walked out,” Liz explained, feeling her lip tremble.

The Professor took her hand and guided her to a dingy pub. As they seated themselves at the bar, he asked with a hard-edged tone, “It wasn't something Malfoy did, was it?”

Liz did not feel like answering. Of course, it was something he did, but it was really her fault for reaching out of her class. She sighed gustily, blowing her fringe out of her eyes one more time. “It's nothing.”

They sat in stilted silence for a few moments, the Professor humming along with the ubiquitous drinking song playing in the background. Once the Irish tea they had ordered arrived, Liz turned to Neville. “I grew up not far from here. My mum still lives in the little flat we had when I was a child. Where are you from, Professor?”

“Please, call me Neville.” The blush that stole up the back of his neck charmed Liz. He stared into his cup of tea for a moment before answering shyly, “I'm from Lancashire, a little village not far from Blackpool.”

The conversation stuttered, then Liz forced out, “I've heard it's lovely up there. I've only been to Hogwarts and Wiltshire so far.”

“Oh, it wasn't a… that type of village. Just a regular one.” Neville shot a nervous glance around the room.

“No, Pro… Neville, I mean I've only traveled outside London twice,” Liz confided; she felt sure that even though the Professor and Drake went to the same school, Neville was not as posh as her blond friend was. After an awkward pause she volunteered, “You can call me Liz. If you want.”

The blush that had been contained at his jumper's collar rushed to the young Professor's cheeks. He sipped his tea, grimacing as he realized it contained whiskey. “I suppose it was a happy accident that I ran into you, Ms. Co… Liz. I was going to contact you at your office later this week. I was wondering if you had heard that Hogwarts is having a Yule ball this year.”

“Yes, I think so,” Liz replied quietly, wishing now that she had not been so quick to spend so much of her savings on clothes for herself. She should have known her son would need things like fancy clothes. She might be able to get a loan from her mother, but she would have to budget the amount to pay her back out of her barely adequate salary. “Does Toby need some dress clothes?”

“I'm going about this all wrong. I was going to ask if you'd allow me to escort you to the ball.” The young man's face was almost aubergine from embarrassment. “The entire staff has been invited... I just thought --”

“Yes,” the word practically flew from Liz's mouth, without considering the ramifications. She deserved to have fun. “I'd love to go with you.”

&*&*&

Draco heard when Liz returned. He had spent the last several hours alternating between fury and outright euphoria. She was jealous. If ever an angry outburst from his friend had made Draco happy, it was this one.

Of course, he had spent the first hours after they had returned from Hogwarts tracking down Patil. He had broken off the sexual whatever-it-was when he found her. The Healer had cried the appropriate tears of recrimination, acted wounded and generally made herself as annoying as possible. Maybe he should have let her think she was breaking it off with him. He was still a Slytherin, born and bred, and he could have pulled it off. He found, however, that he did not have the energy or desire to placate the daft cow. He just wanted to be shot of her scorn and his near adultery.

His last three weeks had been spent tracking down leads on his parents activities during the last year of the “Voldiewar”-- a horrible term for that nightmare. He had spent his lunch hours interviewing the thirty or so women who had been moved about England, Ireland, and Northern France. The women had detailed the landscape around the safe houses, and Draco had finally been able to pinpoint several of the locations from their descriptions. Surprisingly, he had recognised most as properties held by his mother as part of her marriage settlement from the Black family.

The Dark Lord had demanded that Draco's mother allow him use of her properties when he was setting up his war machine during Lucius' unfortunate incarceration for the Ministry debacle. His mother had claimed that the properties had been sold long before, when her husband had been detained after the first war. She was punished for her failure to foresee the despot's need, but not severely. The stupid half-blood had not realised that Narcissa's holdings were hereditary. They could not be sold, only passed to a person of the Black bloodline. After an exhaustive search of the records, Draco found a transfer of the properties to one Sirius Black, killed by his cousin's own hand, two months before Voldemort's request. Snape and Dumbledore had signed their names as witnesses to the transaction. Rufus Scrimgeour placed the seal.

His meeting today was with Hermione Granger-Weasley. She was in charge of the court records for the Death Eater trials at the end of the war. He was not looking forward to the interview. He knew he had a great deal for which to make up to her. He cringed at the thought of all the taunting to which he had subjected her over the years of their schooling. He had only sought to crush his desire for the unacceptable female, not destroy her spirit. The effect of her anger every time he taunted her had been electric to him, sending his senses into an erotic overload.

Looking back at the boy he was, he could recognise the masochistic tendencies he had possessed. In his confusion over the coolly asexual, pureblooded exterior his Mother and Father exhibited, he was confounded by his rampant desire for the forbidden, passionate Muggle-born witch. He felt he should be punished for his desire. When she had struck him in third year, his fantasy had been fuelled even further, and his torture of the girl had been given an exhilarating reward. He hoped he would not have to explain all of this to her. He was embarrassed by his childish psychological aberration.

He waited for Liz to settle into her work before he confronted her. The familiar squeak of her chair was his cue, and as he smoothed his hands over his robes, he prepared himself mentally for the battle he was sure would ensue. His hand was nearly to the doorknob when Liz opened the door, startling him. Only his quick reflexes saved him from a broken nose. He shouted in frustration, “Merlin, Liz, knock before you barrel into a room.”

Her expression hardened, “I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realise you'd be spying on me. I just came to say I'm back. You can go see your girlfriend now.”

She turned on her heel, stomped back to her desk and flounced gracefully into the chair. Draco felt a smile creep over his features as he stole to her. He stopped behind his friend, intoxicated by the scent of her. He brushed his hand lightly over her hair, enjoying the sleek feel of it under his palm. She stiffened as she said with a breaking voice, “Draco, don't touch me. I can't stand it right now.”

He lowered his hand to her shoulder and stooped to place his lips by her ear. He noted the chill-blains that formed as his breath caressed her cheek. “I know you're angry with me.”

“It's your life; you can sleep with whomever you want whenever you want.” Liz gave him a disdainful shrug. “I'm sorry I walked out this morning.”

Draco inhaled her essence, part London, part flowery musk, and all woman. “Liz, look at me.”

She slanted her face to his, brushing her hair across his lightly stubbled cheek. “What do you want, Drake? I have work to see to, and you have people to do.”

He chuckled as he brushed his lips over her ear. “Kid, I broke it off with Patil three weeks ago. I've just been waiting for you to say something to me, let me know you were interested. I didn't want to rush you into anything.”

His friend gave a strangled, sobbing laugh. “I guess you should have said something sooner.”

“I should have, you're right.” He frowned. “I just didn't want to make you feel...”

Liz scooted away from him, her body tense. “You didn't want to make me feel what? Desirable? Worthy? Well, guess what? I have a date, so your little sincere act is just too little and too late.”

Draco rocked back on his heels. “Oh. So when's the wedding going to be?”

“Don't be ridiculous. It's just a date,” Liz spat.

Draco had not employed his hurt little boy look in years, but thought the situation warranted it. He inclined his head pitifully. “So, I still have a chance with you?”

A nervous sounding laugh tore from Liz's throat. “Oh, sod off you daft prick.”

Draco moved to her, and placed his arms around her. “Okay, have your date, but when it's over, know that you will be mine.”

He bent to kiss her, noticing the flattering way her lips sought his. The kiss started out chaste, as it had been a Hogwarts, but soon Draco sought and found deeper intimacy as his tongue tasted first her lips then her mouth. Liz seemed to melt into him as he drew her closer; her low moan almost undid him. He broke from her, trying to slow the rapid beating of his heart.


“I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen,” he whispered. Mortification over his arousal swept through him, and he scrambled back from her.

Liz sat at her desk, her head bowed. “Thanks, mate. That was a nice way to make me feel wanted.”

He began, “I'm sor -”

“If that's an apology, keep it to yourself,” Liz spat, a hateful blush stealing across her cheeks and down her neck. “I am so sick of you apologising for everything anyone you've ever known has done. I'm not made of glass just because I got raped. You can be a real person around me, and I won't fall to pieces.”

Draco touched her cheek. “I suppose you aren't fragile, but I want to make you feel... hell, I don't know what I want with you. I just want... you, but I can't forget what I was... what I did.”

“I remind you of that time,” Liz nodded, as she chewed the inside of her cheek. “I understand, but you can't view me as some project or penance that's been assigned to you, like you did Tish. I need someone that wants me as I am, not on some pedestal.”

Liz turned to the covered typewriter, and began releasing the catches that held the lid in place. “Maybe you need to work on forgiving yourself before you involve me in your life. Now, you need to leave. Your appointment's probably waiting for you.”

“I never felt Tish was a burden,” he stated. He felt the truth of her words but denied them still.

Liz placed the lid under the desk, letting it clatter loudly in the heavy silence that spun between them. “Penance. She was your penance, and you called her your Angel. She wasn't real to you, she was an idealised version of the woman you wanted her to be. I want to be real.”

Draco felt his body sag, as if he had been punched in the gut. Through stiff lips, he said, “Right. I'll see you at tea then?”

“Yeah. I'll drop Scorpius by your flat.” Liz began feeding paper through the roller, her bleak expression in profile.

He exited the room.




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