House of The Rising Sun

Epilogue

Five years later

Draco Malfoy inhaled the stench of water-logged wood, smoke from stalling boats, and the subtle fresh breeze rising over the muddy Mississippi River.

He fanned out his shirt, the thin button-down sticking to his skin as it usually did in the constant humidity. He felt the electricity in the air as a storm hovered nearby, though he knew the land's temperament by heart - he had just enough time.

His Auror badge was stowed away in his trouser's pocket, a heavy and constant reminder of something he had accomplished himself. Ranking high for his age and working internationally as much as he could. He enjoyed London and the time with his long-divorced mother, but he enjoyed his time in the American South for its warmth and just about everything else.

After two years in the small flat - and at the relentless pestering of his mother to have somewhere "acceptable" for company - Macaria had shown him the house she had seen once and never forgotten. It was quaint to her standards and horrendously small to his, but they'd compromised on some magical expansions to the two hundred year old building built by witches and long abandoned.

He couldn't deny that he fell in love with the strange architecture, winding staircases, and mural of the rising sun on the eastern side. She was able to have her own study as she became a full time journalist, working on novels and magical studies.

Sometimes she joined on his trips abroad, but mostly she kept to the city or would go east to visit her parents. He'd wonder if she was really happy sometimes, asking her if she'd want to attempt Auror training again.

"No, Draco, I don't intend on saving your ass any more than I already have."

He didn't ask that again.

It had been three years since Lucius Malfoy died in prison. Killed by a guard in what had been ruled as a "provoked response" and left at that. His second sentencing had ensured he would never leave his cell, and ultimately - never did.

They never had reversed their blood magic. Draco found other ways to track his magic for work, if he ever needed to, and Macaria had no real desire to visit the Queen again.

Draco didn't mind the constant ebb and flow of the Earth magic. It wound its way around his core as the years went on, binding him closer to the planet and closer to Macaria. He knew she felt it too, their understanding of each other growing deeper with proximity and time.

He'd never known someone so well in his life.

Draco looked out to the water, the dock swaying under his feet, and he patted his pocket yet again. It was there and it was exactly what his mother had insisted on.

He was thinking back to that first week in the city. When they couldn't leave the flat without glamours and could barely stand each other's presence. But still drawn to each other in that magnetic and powerful way. Something that they had felt become wanted and as a constant when they'd gotten into more than sex and escapism.

It was that rare circumstance where it worked.

He hadn't seen Macaria in about six weeks. Between an intense case in London and a traveling story, they hadn't had time for more than a few letters and calls.

He missed her, but he was also inclined to enjoy the one thing she hadn't planned and wasn't expecting. A few stolen moments to himself - to think of all that had led them there, to their favorite place in the world.

Small hands slid around his waist from behind, her presence felt and comforting. She knew she couldn't sneak up on him anymore and he hadn't flinched in years.

"I missed you," she leaned up to press her chin into his shoulder, moulding their bodies together. He leaned into the embrace and closed his eyes.

"I missed you," he echoed, smiling into the sunshine. "How's Athalie?"

"Haggling with botanists, up-selling tourists, as usual," she hummed, matching his expression as he turned in her arms. A teasing lilt in her voice. "What brings you back to the swamp?"

"Oh, it's you," he exhaled slowly, searching her dark green eyes. "Always been you."

Her smile deepened and she ran her hands over his bare forearms, always gently over the long scar. She pressed onto her tiptoes and kissed him. Macaria pulled back a little and looked down at the innocuous box-shaped lump in his pocket.

"You can't plan everything, you know," Draco smirked.

"I believe this is the one thing I am expected to plan," she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

He was silent for a moment then. He inhaled the fresh air and listened for the slow roll of thunder across the bayou. It'd probably be storming by the time they made it off the dock.

He bit back a laugh. It wasn't perfect. It was an aggressively humid and random day. There wasn't even a dinner reservation somewhere nice or a romantic escapade.

It wasn't everything they had dreamed of - but then again, maybe it was.

"Now, have you got something to ask me?"

"Yes, I believe I do."

The End