forced | d.m.

12.misleading

February '01 | H I M

Draco never thought he would survive the war.

He was convinced he would die at Voldemort's wand. Or in the fires of the Room of Requirements. Or if he wouldn't comply to Voldemort's request to join his side after battle.

Neverless did he think he would one day marry not just anyone, but Althea Grace Cullen.

And she wouldn't mind.

They have wasted so much precious time. He spent time making her life miserable like the biggest, selfish arsehole to exist. And then when he saw her sitting with his liquid of gold, she looked so broken—so unlike the woman sitting across from him at Cullen manor—he thought goddamnit, might as well join her driving over the cliff.

He was so convinced that she should hate him, he told himself she actually was.

Nope.

Goddamn woman is stupid enough to not mind his past. Their present. Find enjoyment in his character and honestly, he is so sick of feeling guilty all the time, he finally indulged in the person that matters most to him.

And the last couple of days have been complete bliss.

Waking up with lazy kisses than the usual cold 'good morning'. Making breakfast together and kissing her goodbye before going to work. Having long dinners and late night talks about the most absurd things. Making out until they fall asleep.

He is living in his own dreamland.

Draco always found himself craving being in Althea's company, simply sit in the same room as her was enough, but now that they officially form a bond, he begins to miss her whenever he leaves the house.

Like today. Draco is free of work and over at Blaise's house, who insisted or else Draco would have stayed in the sheets with his wife. If it weren't for the 'bro-talk' Blaise mentioned, Althea could have come with, seeing they share a friend group.

And while Blaise chatters about everything that has no potential of needing confidentiality, like the new video game he found, Draco wonders what Althea is up to.

Yes, it is that bad.

She mentioned how she needed to get the aloe vera that will have to be applied tonight. Probably stop by the farmers market if she's already out. Maybe she's painting... in a shirt of his.

That is certainly a fantasy he can't rid himself off, but is yanked out of when a pillow makes contact with his face.

Blaise explains from the kitchen, "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, something about CCA." Draco hugs the pillow to his chest, not at all wishing it was someone else.

"GTA, knobhead," he corrects, coming round to put their teas on the coffeetable. "I need a serious explanation for why you're smiling like a goddamn maniac. And if it has nothing to do with your wife, expect an avalanche of pillows."

No physical abuse today, mate.

Draco gives a smile that reaches his eyes and it feels good. "I don't want to jinx anything, but things are looking a bit brighter."

He has his concerns, of course. The biggest thing he worries about is Althea being naive enough to not realise who he is.

She is a very mature woman, but when it comes to reading people, she lays heavy on the good connotations. Thinks everything is positive.

Draco is one big, fat negative.

But he knows deep down, he can be better for her and maybe someday, for himself. Now that the misunderstanding is cleared off the table, that shouldn't be too hard.