Takes place some time after Trust. Part 4/? of my little Veela Draco series.
He was brooding today, she noted. She’d caught him absently scratching at the faded Dark Mark throughout the day as his mood had gotten ever darker. His birthday had been the week before so she had a feeling that it was the anniversary of the evening he was branded.
She crept to the window and peeked out. In the moonlight she could just make him out as he sat with his feet up on the railing, a glass of firewhiskey on the arm of the chair, platinum blonde hair catching the moonbeams.
Silently she opened the door and slipped out onto the porch, padding her way over and sitting on the empty arm.
“Hey,” he replied, just as quietly before draining the rest of his drink and lowering the glass to the floor.
Her fingers drifted through his hair until some of the visible tension faded.
A sigh emitted from his perfect lips as he pulled her hand down to nuzzle it and play with her fingers. Before getting together with him she never would have imagined him to be so affectionate. It made her wonder if that was because she was the type to need affection, so his nature inclined him to be that way with her.
She wanted to ask him a thousand questions but could see that tonight was not the night to be pushy with them. She’d learned through a very small trial and error phase of when and when not to push. Something in the back of her mind was telling her to wait, and for once it felt right to do so.
He eventually pulled her into his lap, her legs dangling over the arm and her head on his shoulder. His fingers traced nonsensical patterns across her abdomen as they watched the trees sway, leaves dancing in the breeze.
He ran the tip of his nose along her ear before muttering, “I was marked around this time, ten years ago.”
It felt like ten years ago was more like a thousand years and yesterday all at the same time.
She wanted to see his face but had the feeling that this was one of those conversations best had with a lack of pressure that a gaze could bring.
“Do you think about it often?” she asked quietly.
She felt him shrug, “Sometimes. Always on the anniversary.”
The conversation drifted as she debating proposing the idea she’d been mulling over. He was Pureblooded and fairly conservative so she was hesitant to bring it up otherwise, not wanting him to think she didn’t want to see it and be reminded by it. She took a breath and bit the bullet.
“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo to cover it up?” she asked, nonchalant as possible.
He paused before asking, “What’s a tattoo?”
She thought for a second, “Remember that bloke we saw last week when we were getting curry? The one with all the drawings down his arm?”
It was quiet while she let him think on it.
“Do you want me to cover it up?” he finally asked.
Indifference painted her features earnestly when she told him, “It doesn’t matter to me. I just didn’t know if you knew it was an option or not.”
“Promise?” he asked, hesitant.
“I swear to you,” she said, squeezing his hand momentarily before allowing it to go back tracing their patterns.
“I almost don’t think I should. Having it is like a penance for me to pay for doing those things,” he confessed.
“Draco. If someone cut off your arm five minutes from now would you forget any of what happened? Would you feel any differently?” she asked.
Her mane jostled as he shook his head against it sharply.
“Alright then. The memory of it will stay with you for forever, there’s no reason to heap extra on top of that,” she soothed.
He relaxed underneath her again. It was quiet for a while before he posed another question next to her ear, his warm breath making her want to shiver.
“Have you ever thought about getting one?” curiosity colored his tone.
“Sometimes. I have a hard time trying to decide what to get. I’ve entertained getting one of that white Ironbelly we rode on when we broke out of Gringotts years ago,” she said.
“You’ve thought about getting a pale dragon tattooed onto you,” he said with faint amusement.
“Yes,” a grin curled her lips.
She felt his mouth turn into a satisfied, yet amused smile.
“So they can be of anything?” he asked, she could tell that she’d gotten him thinking on it.
“And it doesn’t have to mean anything to anyone except me?” he continued.
“How does it get on there? I know it can’t be some sort of spell since that Muggle bloke had them. Does someone just get quill happy with some everlasting ink or something?” he hypothesized.
She chuckled and explained the art of modern tattooing.
A low hum came from him and it was obvious the idea of his skin being pricked thousands and thousands of times wasn’t quite appealing. She’d start thinking more seriously on what she was going to get and let him watch first if he was still reluctant. She hadn’t been joking about the Ironbelly, though. Freeing that dragon from the bank had been deeply satisfying, even now she still felt pleased over it.
Rain began to patter down onto the earth until it became a downpour. When Draco’s shoes started to get wet he helped her back up and stood. Not giving her the chance to move far, he picked her up, bridal style and carried her back in, to bed.
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