~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"No, you go back to what you were doing. I'll clean up here."

He gets up and gives me a quick kiss on my neck, and heads back to his study. He says he's finishing up paperwork. I know he's looking at that file. That damned file. His occupation as an Auror has given him access to files on anybody he wants, and I know he's spent the past 4 years collecting information on him, even though he's never been assigned to anything having to do with that dormant case.

There's something so calming about domesticity. I could just charm the supper dishes to clean themselves, but I prefer to do the job myself. I actually enjoy keeping house. It allows me to keep my hands busy while I wait for him to finish. It's a regular schedule for him. A few days a week, usually on Tuesdays (and today is Tuesday) and weekends, he goes in there and reads through that file. He must of read through it a thousand times by now. Maybe he thinks that Draco is going to crawl out of the pages. He'll spend an hour or two, going over the same information over and over again. Sometimes he hears a new rumour and he'll write it down, his script both meticulous and desperate, to the page at the back. The past month, however, his sessions with the file have been more frequent. There have been more rumours about Draco's whereabouts that actually seem plausible this time. I let him have his time with it. I'm not jealous.

He thinks I don't know about it. I first came across the file about 2 years ago while I was dusting. I had knocked his quill on the floor, and when I bent down to pick it up, I saw it under his desk. It was lying in the small gap between the oak cabinet and the floor, the frayed and yellowed edge sticking out from underneath the drawer. I pulled the folder out, intending to put it with the rest of his files and thinking he'd just kicked it under there accidentally. The name caught my eye. Malfoy. I didn't have to open the file to know which Malfoy it was for. I knew. I opened it anyway. 23 years of Draco Malfoy's life was in that file. Pictures, medical records, stories from classmates, and even some of his exam papers from our Hogwarts days.

Draco had disappeared during our final year at school. He left for the Christmas holidays as usual, and just never came back. There was a lot of talk the first month he was gone, mostly involving Draco getting the Dark Mark and taking his place at Voldemort's right hand where his father had once stood. Harry seemed indifferent about it all. Too indifferent. He really thought that Draco would come back. I know he still thinks that way, and because of that, I'm sad for him.

I'm sad for him every time I'm awakened by his dreams, the sound of him calling out for Draco - sometimes in fear, sometimes in lust, but mostly in longing. The one time he called out his name while we were making love shook me to the core, but I never mentioned it. I'm not even sure he's aware he said it. But what right would I have to chastise him for it? Or be angry about it? I knew this when I married him.

Don't get me wrong, he's a wonderful husband. We've been married for 3 years, and he's never been anything but faithful and loving towards me. He does all the things that a husband should do. He opens doors for me. He kisses me goodbye in the mornings and hello in the evenings. He listens to me talk about my volunteer work at St. Mungo's, even though he's the one that put some of those people in there. He's everything that my father showed me a husband should be, except for that one small detail. His heart belongs to another. It always has, and I knew that going in. I know he loves me, but I know it's a different kind of love. It's not the kind of love that I have for him. My love for him is...well, words can't even begin to express. It knows no bounds. Sometimes I still can't believe he's mine. Well, as 'mine' as he can be while I share him with Draco Malfoy.

Here he comes. In for his tea. Right on schedule. Has it been half an hour already? He grins at me, and I grin back. Back he goes, back into the study with Draco. I remind him as he goes that we are having dinner with Ron and Hermione this coming weekend. He mumbles something, I don't know what. He shuts the door behind him once more. I should bake something for dessert. A nice cake perhaps.

Sometimes I wonder how I got into this marriage-of-three. We started dating just a few weeks before leaving Hogwarts, though I was always more in the relationship than he was. It was a bad time for him, and I suppose I should have waited before pushing him into it. Voldemort had been killed the previous April, and then Dumbledore died. I found him out at Hagrid's old hut, which the new gamekeeper had never taken residence in, just sitting on the front steps by the door. I could tell he had been crying, and the urge to comfort him was overwhelming. I sat next to him and took his hand, and he let me. And so I took that as permission, when maybe it had just been his way of placating me. I leaned in to kiss him, and he turned away slightly, but I turned with him and captured his mouth anyway. He did nothing at first, then gradually leaned into it. Looking back, I can see how cruel I was for forcing that on him at a time like that. Even as he leaned into it, I knew he didn't want it, but my own need to have him was too much to contain. I knew even then that he wasn't thinking of me.

I was always the leader in the relationship. Every direction it took was steered by me. I was even the one who proposed marriage. It wasn't anything elaborate. We had been sitting on the couch at his old flat in London, and I simply said "We should get married," and after a few moments of silence he said, "Okay." And so we did. Ron was his best man, Hermione was my maid of honor, and my parents finally got their wish for One Big Happy Weasley Family. Everything was exactly how everyone always thought it would be...Ron and Hermione, me and him. The expectations were finally fulfilled. Hermione had taken me aside just before her ascent down the aisle and asked me if this was what I really wanted. Something in her eyes told me that she knew. She knew that I would never have all of him. There would always be part of him devoted to another, to the ghost of Draco Malfoy.

And so we got married, and bought this house here in Ottery St. Catchpole, just a few miles away from The Burrow where my parents now live alone. I talk about wanting children, but he says he's not ready. I know deep down it's because he doesn't want that permanent tie to me, though he'd never admit that to me or even to himself. But I also know that if that day were to ever come, if Draco ever reappears, I would have to be the one to make him leave. He would never willingly hurt me. He would feel the obligation to stay, to keep his vow, and so I would be the one to end it. Until then, I will take what I can get from him. And sometimes it's enough.

It's enough when we're lying in bed together, limbs entwined. It's enough when he's inside me. Even with the ghost of Draco Malfoy peering over the bed as I cry out my husband's name, it's enough. Even though he never opens his eyes, never looks at me when we're making love, it's enough. Even though I'm usually the one to initiate things, it's enough. On the rare occasions where he has been the one to lead us to the bedroom, he is different...rougher, more animalistic. But I don't mind. I let him do whatever he wants to do to me; let my body be wholly owned by him in some hope that one day he'll really want me the way I know he wants Draco. But I know that's a futile hope. I know because there's still one thing that he will never let me do for him.

Of course, I know the reason behind his abstinence from that particular pleasure. I know it's an act only reserved for him, for Draco. I know because I've seen it with my own two eyes. It was that week before Christmas holidays in 7^th year, the week before Draco disappeared. Hermione had lost Crookshanks and I had offered to help her look for him before curfew was up, thinking he probably got trapped in one of those rooms that changed locations throughout the castle. I had been walking down the Charms corridor when I saw one of the tapestries on the wall sway slightly, as if moved by a breeze. I walked over to the tapestry and lifted it from the wall to find a door behind it. I heard faint rustling sounds inside, and I opened the door expecting to find either Crookshanks or Mrs. Norris, and saw something else entirely. It was him. And Draco. He was leaning up against the windowsill at the far side of the room, and Draco was in front of him, on his knees, hands gripping his hips so tightly that Draco's knuckles were white. He was looking down at Draco; his cheeks flushed and mouth slightly gaping in a silent moan, his lips a deep crimson. His fingers were clutching at Draco's hair; green eyes locked with grey as Draco's mouth devoured him whole.

I felt something inside me shatter, and I turned and fled down the hallway back to Gryffindor Tower, back to my dorm room. I have never cried as hard as I did that night. Those few seconds that I had witnessed had broken me into a million pieces, and I wasn't able to put myself back together again until Draco disappeared. But that was when he broke, and the problem was that he never healed. He's still broken.

A storm has come. The thunder startles me, and I splatter cake mix on my apron as I pour it into the pan. I didn't even know it was raining. He has been in there longer than usual. Maybe I should let him stay in there all night. Maybe I shouldn't wake him when he falls asleep in that chair, and have one night without Draco Malfoy in my bed. But I know I'll wake him, and I know he'll scramble to close the file before he thinks I can see the contents. And then we'll go upstairs to bed, and maybe he'll let me wrap my hand around him and ease him into ecstasy before I ease him into sleep.

~*~

Dinner went well. I was able to play hostess to my favourite people in the world, and a simple thing like that can leave me happy for days. He and Ron talked about Quidditch and work and more Quidditch, as Hermione and I sat in the kitchen and talked about what women talk about when their husbands are out of earshot. Hermione is almost 7 months pregnant, and she lets me feel the baby kick. As I sit there with my hand on her stomach, I know that if I ever have the chance to feel the same within my own body that it won't be his.

Hermione tells me about the latest rumour involving Draco having been seen at the ruins that were once Malfoy Manor this past Wednesday. I pretend that I hadn't read that already in Harry's file. She gives me a consolatory look as I shrug the news off as 'no big deal', but she keeps her thoughts to herself. Not that it matters. Her thoughts are the same as mine, and she may as well shout it from the rooftops with the way it's echoing in my head. What if he's really back? Maybe he won't want what is now mine (as 'mine' as he can be). Maybe he was never to Draco what Draco was, no, is to him. Maybe this is all a moot point because Draco's really long dead and rumours are just rumours.

Ron and Hermione say their good-byes, and I retreat to the gazebo in the side garden to read as my husband loses himself in that file. Every night since Wednesday he's shut himself in there after supper and not come out until bedtime. He tries to make up for it with tender kisses and pillow talk, and I let him think it's alright: that I think it comes with the job. Tonight will probably be no different.

Or maybe tonight is the night my life changes forever.

I can see movement out of the corner of my eye. I look over my shoulder to the gate at the front of our yard, and a cloaked figure stands there. A warm summer breeze blows and I can see blond hair spill out from beneath the hood. He's finally come. Come for my Harry. And there's nothing I can do. I feel ice run along my spine and down through the soles of my feet.

I stand up and begin to walk over to the gate, leaving my book on the gazebo bench. I don't bother marking its place because I know I'll never want to see that book again. It will be forever tainted by this night, this moment. Draco finally looks in my direction as I close the distance between us. He looks thinner than I remember. I'm tempted to ask him where he's been, but it doesn't matter. We look at each other for a long moment, his eyes filled with a thousand different emotions: fear, happiness, longing, hope, desperation, joy. I feel my own eyes fill with tears, unexpected and unwelcome. My heart feels nothing. The numbness is extraordinary.

"He's inside," is all I can say. I wonder if he can hear me, because I can barely hear myself. Why won't he stop looking at me? Is he waiting for my permission? My blessing? I open the gate for him, which is the only gesture he needs. He steps inside, and I find myself walking next to him up to the front door. I almost want to laugh at myself as I lead Draco to the one thing I ever truly wanted so that he can claim it as his own. He was always rightfully Draco's anyway. I reach for the doorknob, and he finally speaks to me.

"Does he-"

"Yes. He's still yours." I don't know if that was his question, but the words spill out regardless. He only nods, and bites the corner of his lower lip.

I lead him through the doorway, and into the kitchen towards the adjoining study door. Draco is behind me as I peer around the corner and see Harry sitting at his desk, his back to me. I can hear the scratch of the quill as he writes, possibly another entry on the back page of a rumour that's about to become insignificant.

"Harry," I hear Draco whisper. He's standing beside me now.

I see Harry's quill freeze, see his head slowly start to rise. I can see his reflection in the glass from the window in front of him, but both Draco's and mine aren't there. Even through his shirt I can see every muscle in his shoulders and back tense, every muscle that I no longer have a right to touch.

Harry turns in his chair, and I can see the absolute and pure relief flooding his features, his very being. There's a fire in his eyes that takes me back to that abandoned classroom, to the night I shattered, and I can feel the cracks repaired from a stolen kiss 5 years ago begin to rip apart. Draco moves slowly past me, his cloak caressing against my bare leg as he walks towards Harry. His Harry. The same Harry that was mine just 10 minutes ago and who now doesn't even see me standing here. Green eyes are locked with grey. Draco looks almost afraid, nervous, like a boy about to be scolded.

"Harry," Draco says once more, his hand extended, and Harry stands on shaky legs to walk around his desk. I stare, cracks ripping further and deeper than ever, as Harry falls to his knees before Draco and wraps his arms around his waist, his head buried against Draco's stomach. His hands are balled into fists in the small of Draco's back as he clenches desperately at the fabric. Draco raises his hand to Harry's head and smoothes his hair, trying to calm the man now sobbing against him. Draco drops to his knees and embraces him, letting Harry run his fingers in disbelief over his face and hair and neck.

"Harry," he says again, so quietly that I can barely hear it. I can see Harry suck in his bottom lip like he always does when he frowns. Draco leans his forehead against Harry's, raises his hand to Harry's face and caresses Harry's cheek with his thumb.

I shut the door as I turn to go. I don't need to see any more. Tonight, I will pack my things and go back to The Burrow.

Tomorrow...tomorrow I will tell Harry he is free.