Memory Lane

Chapter 45

Draco

Granger laughed until she cried when I told her about Marietta Edgecombe's father. "He didn't," she gasped. "He didn't really tell you to go have fun, but not with his daughter?"

"Maybe now that she's not permanently disfigured, he thinks I wouldn't be able to help myself," I suggested and she hooted all over again.

"Maybe it was reverse psychology," she suggests. "Maybe he was really hoping you would take her out."

Darren Edgecombe was strange enough that I could almost see that being the case. Even so. "Did you ever feel bad about that?"

After slowly bringing herself under control, she looked at me. "Maybe a little. Long after. It wasn't personal, you know. Anybody who ratted us out would have gotten the same. At the time, I didn't feel bad at all. I rather enjoyed the spellwork of the hex, actually."

Of course she had.

* * *

She rolls out of bed to do her hair half an hour or so before our company is due to arrive. This is becoming slightly less graceful for her as she gets larger.

She's gotten a little self-conscious about her body again, and I hate it, that she feels that way. I've taken a personal charge to mitigate this because I find her body intensely erotic right now.

I would never have expected that I'd have this reaction to seeing her grow larger with pregnancy, with my children. There are two of them in there, both boys. Her body changes slowly with the weeks and I love every centimetre of it, the curves and bends, the tautening.

There's not even too much of it yet at first glance, under her clothing - which is noticeably looser, if you choose to notice.

But even now, just looking at her do her hair, I want to pull her back into bed and put my mouth on every part of her.

Instead, I force myself up and into a cold shower. That can all happen later. We have all the time in the world, and right now, company is coming.

* * *

Jasper comes to fetch us right on time, saying Suz is showing Miss Weasley and Mr Zabini to the garden gazebo where I'd requested we be served lunch.

Granger and I walk out just as Blaise is pulling a chair out for Ginny. He's delicate and cautious, I notice, not touching her. Just being respectful. Deferential, the way I was at first. Solicitous. I hide a private little grin at that.

Granger's hand is on my arm and I feel the same savage rush of pride I always do when I look down to see my lovely witch next to me, descending the Manor stairs where she'll be the Lady one day.

I've actually had to temper back a sharp resurgence of my possessive tendencies with her pregnancy. My protectiveness. I know better than anyone that Granger can look out for herself and I never want to give her the impression I think she can't.

But I'm constantly on the lookout for something, anything - don't let her trip, Draco, watch the stairs, be careful she doesn't slip in the shower, and my heart is in my throat when she leaves home and I can't be with her. It stays there until she gets back.

I'd thought the terms of my sentence were reasonable, tolerable, manageable. They are, but only when she's with me.

My witch. My perfect, precious witch. My wife, soon enough. My children. Mine.

I really do my best not to hover. I catch myself doing it a lot, though. Granger seems to take it in stride. At least, so far. We still have several months to go.