Here it is. The final chapter in the Dark Days saga. I'm kind of sad to post it, cause I feel like I'm letting it go. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks ten million times to my lovely reviewers and my darling beta Sticksrouge11!!!!
Epilogue Starting Over
It's hard being Mrs. Draco Malfoy. It's hard to keep my inner demons at bay, and make sure Draco's don't surface. I find myself continually having to play the peacekeeper between my family and my husband. They swear up and down they have forgiven Draco for his past, that they are grateful he had saved me and tried to save Percy, but my brothers never missed an opportunity to harass him. Draco takes it all with surprising grace, though. One night, he admitted that he nearly welcomed it. "It helps me to forgive myself," he told me. He glanced up from his desk and saw me staring at him with an expression of disbelief. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You want my brothers to harass you?"
"Better than ignoring me. Or trying to kill me," he shrugged.
I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around him. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"
"Not enough," he replied, kissing me.
After Draco had been cleared of the charges against him, he had taken over the legitimate parts of his father's business, struggling to turn the Malfoy name into something respected and not just feared. But even now, it happened occasionally. We'll be out somewhere and a witch or wizard will notice us, know our story and the snide comments are sure to follow. At first when it happened, Draco exploded; it hurts him, I know it does. People think I'm nutters as well; after all, I'm married to Draco, and I was imprisoned by him. Despite what Dumbledore told them, people are still convinced Draco has me under the Imperious Curse. They think there is just no way that Draco Malfoy, head guard at Dartford Prison, were so many lost loved ones, didn't rape me, beat me, torture, kill, the list goes on.
The very first time was just two weeks before our wedding. We were in a shop in London, deciding on whether or not to buy new sheets for our bed and give them a go on the wedding night. Draco had headed around the corner, looking at the red sheets.
"Red?" I had questioned. "For our wedding night?"
"They're sexy."
"I like these," I called, examining a set of crisp white sheets with some sort of ribbon detail in the trim.
"Good choice," a voice behind me said. I whirled around to find the shopkeeper watching me, a smile on her face.
"Those are popular for weddings," the witch said.
I nodded, thinking the woman looked vaguely familiar. "I like them."
"So when is the wedding?" the witch asked.
"In two weeks," I told her with a smile.
"You are Arthur Weasley's daughter, are you not?"
That was when I recognized the woman. Long ago, long before the war, she had worked as an assistant in my father's department. "Yes, yes I am."
Draco chose that moment to step around the corner. He was holding two sample sheets in his arms, one red and one a deep green. He glanced at me and then the witch, but before he could speak, the shopkeeper beat him to it.
"I am afraid that I will have to ask you to leave!" she told him, her voice rising.
"Excuse me?" Draco asked, not believing what he had just heard.
"I don't serve your kind here!" she nearly shouted.
"What in the bloody hell do you think I am?" he shot back. "A house elf?"
"Why you're not rotting in Azkaban, I'll-"
"Because he was pardoned," I interrupted icily. "For saving my life." I dropped the sheet I was holding to the floor, and stepping on it, took Draco's arm. "Let's go."
Draco barely spoke for two days. It took me days to calm him down, to remind him that I loved him no matter what, that when he had been pardoned that put our pasts completely behind us, and as the incidents grew fewer and farther between Draco was finally able to shrug most of them off.
It was Narcissa who had finally gotten us our wedding sheets, a stunning pair of the softest snow white sheets I had ever seen.
"Should they go on your bed or Draco's bed?" Narcissa asked, as we fawned over the delicate fabric.
"My bed?" I questioned, confused.
"I assumed you would want the suite of rooms across from Draco's," she continued. "Or would you like more privacy?"
I glanced at Draco with uncertainty.
"You don't have to," he said with a small smile. "We can share."
I nodded. "That's . . . what I want. If it's alright, I mean."
Narcissa's eyebrows shot up. "I think you may be the first Malfoy woman to not have her own suite of rooms."
"Maybe the first Malfoy woman not to be married out of arrangement," he said with a smirk.
"It won't be much of a change," I laughed. "I had a tiny room at the Burrow, and I always shared quarters at Hogwarts."
The wedding had been fairly small and simple, at least by Malfoy standards. It was held it in Narcissa's garden, with Blaise as the best man, and Hermione as my maid of honor, and of course, Dumbledore officiating. Narcissa sat with my mum and dad, while Harry, Ron, Fred and a very pregnant Angelina, and Charlie filled another row. Directly behind them sat George and Katie, and Bill and Fleur, and an empty seat marked with flowers out of respect for Percy. Blaise's family was there, as was Draco's previously disowned Auntie Andromeda, her husband Ted, and Tonks; Lupin, Moody, Snape, McGonagall, Hagrid (who still looked at Draco with suspicion in his eyes) and several other members of the Malfoy and Black family.
Of course my family was there to support us on our big day, but I'm sad to say that things never really returned to "normal" between us. I was too far removed from them for too long, and no matter what they tell themselves, they haven't quite forgiven Draco. I don't suppose they ever will. They still love me though. We still have our extended family dinners once a month, and exchange gifts during the Holidays, but that's about it. I invite them to dinner half heartedly, and the excuses are made as to why they can't come and vice versa. But I'm not the Ginny I used to be. They think they know what happened to me, but there are some psychological trauma's that just don't go away. They change you and make you into someone else. I love them and they love me, but things just aren't the same.
The wedding had been a fairy tale, but married life was not. We argued occasionally over things that in retrospect were always petty, but what upset me the most was when I would advance on him and he would stiffen and try to turn me away. It didn't happen often, but it hurt so bad when it did.
"Don't do this," I nearly begged. "Don't shut me out."
"It makes me . . . remember back then and I don't want to remember that," he told me finally. "I don't ever want to think of it again.
"I forgave you for anything you ever did to me," I assured him, trying to quell my frustration. "Why can't you forgive yourself?"
"Because sometimes I see you . . . on the floor, crying. Or hungry. You looked like a ruined doll, and it was because of me."
"But it would have been worse without you," I reminded him. "You saved me." I let my hands slide down his beautifully defined stomach until they were at the waistband of his dark boxers. "Just let me love you. You are my one and only."
"But what if. . . what if Flint . . ."
"Stop! He didn't. All that is over, done, we're not going back there!"
And almost always he would give into me, if not because of my words, then simply because of the feverish lust that still runs hot and heavy between us, allowing me to straddle him, to ride him as if my very life depended on it. Maybe it did, maybe it still does. I can't handle being away from him. When he's gone, even just for the hours in his work day, I miss him so much I can't stand it. I never want to be away from him again. Maybe I'm afraid he won't come back. I know that's silly, I know it's irrational, but that's what I worried about in Dartford, and then when I stayed at the Manor with his mother, and so that's what I worry about now.
I don't know why he forces himself to relive those day, but he does. But the Draco Malfoy I married was not the Draco Malfoy I had attended school with, nor was he the Draco Malfoy who had kept me in prison, and because of this my husband goes to see Hermione once a week. Hermione, the girl he had despised in school, works at St. Mungo's, and as far as I can figure, she's the equivalent of a Muggle therapist. Draco talks, Hermione listens, and I notice a marked change in his behavior. Less and less does he subject himself to his past; he doesn't blame himself as often for things he could have never changed.
There were some nights when I wake and find Draco sitting in a chair, watching me sleep, the way he did when we were in Dartford. "Come to bed," I whisper to him, ridiculous fears beating in my chest. It's déjà vu. Me waking up in Dartford, on the floor or in Draco's bed, and finding him staring at me, and being afraid. Not knowing if he's planning to kill me or make me watch more people get raped and tortured and murdered. But that was then, and this is now, so I say "Come to me."
"I can't. Not yet."
"But I miss you."
And he would come to me, wrapping his body around mine until we're both asleep.
Once though, the hardest spot in our marriage so far, things nearly fell apart. There are some things that will never heal, and never go completely away. No matter how hard we pretend it didn't happen, it's lurking in the back of our minds, waiting to consume us. Draco came home upset, wanting to talk about those things, the things we don't talk about, the things I never told a soul, the things even Dumbledore didn't mention.
"Stop it," I demanded as he broke down before me.
"But I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he pleaded.
"All that's over," I remind him, my voice rising to a shriek.
"But Granger, I mean, Potter, she says we have to move beyond it and we can't if we don't get it out in the open."
"You told her?"
"Kind of." He's fumbling for words and his eyes are wet. "She did this thing, this Muggle thing. I mean, I agreed to it. She put me in a trance, and asked me what was holding me back. It just kind of came out. Gin-gin, I'm sorry!"
I can't answer him. I can't remember those things. My stomach aches and I think I might be sick.
"Tell me, Gin, please tell me."
"I forgive you. I've always forgiven you."
"Tell me what you forgive me for."
"I can't." I've worked so hard to block these things out, and yet, he's bringing them back. Those two weeks, those two weeks between when he took me into his room at Dartford and when he left the scar on my lip, those were the absolute worst two weeks. If Dumbledore had mentioned those two weeks, Draco would probably not be here.
Each time I went to see Luna get raped or another prisoner tortured, I had to go naked. That Draco, the one who kept me prisoner, didn't allow me to wear one single stitch of clothing, just bound my hands behind my back, and waited for me to break down. After about a week and a half of me not speaking, he stripped me down again, and this time bound me to the wall, and with a Muggle type whip, beat my back side until I was a raw, bleeding mess from shoulder to ankle. But I didn't speak. I was still afraid then, but still determined not to betray the Order. And then the worst thing of all happened. Immediately after that, still naked, still oozing blood everywhere, he dragged me to a small room where Pansy Parkinson was tied and waiting. There were tears in her eyes and they spilt down her cheeks when she saw me; I looked worse than death.
That Draco made me stand in front of Pansy and shoved his wand in my hand. "It's charmed so that it can only do one spell to one person," he hissed in my ear. "And that person is this traitorous bitch Parkinson."
He took a step back and cracked the whip across my bare stomach. "Kill her."
But I refused. I couldn't do it. I thought I would faint or die from blood loss, as he kept bringing the lashes across my chest and stomach and legs until I couldn't stand the pain anymore. I couldn't. My flesh was shredded and nearly detached from my body. I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't stand it anymore. So I said the curse. I killed Pansy Parkinson. That's when I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I decided it was better to be numb. From that point on, I put all my time and energy into not caring, not absorbing a word that was said or a deed that was done, because I couldn't handle it. When Narcissa gave me a bath, she flinched visibly at the scabbed long wounds, but she didn't mention those. She only mentioned the fresh bruises on my thighs. I don't blame her. They were too painful to look at.
Dumbledore saw that. But he didn't say anything. That's because he searched Draco's thoughts as well. He saw Draco when he didn't rape me after his father commanded him to. He saw Draco spend hour after hour after hour healing and bandaging the whip marks that had left dozens of criss crossed scars and wounds on my body. He saw the potions and creams that Draco snuck into the prison that cost thousands of galleons to make sure the majority of my wounds healed and my scars went away. He saw Draco break down after he saved me from Flint and kiss every single spot where the whip had touched. Dumbledore saw Draco nearly hex his arm off as he tried to blast the Dark Mark from his forearm. I knew then, without a doubt that he loved me.
"Please," I beg my husband. "I can't . . ."
So he says them. He names off every wretched event that happened during that time, and as I sob, I promise I have forgiven him, and in the end, he is crying too. "I'm sorry," he keeps telling me.
"I know, I know."
After that, things did get better. It was after we talked about it that Draco was able to sleep through the night, and that he didn't erupt when people made snide remarks about us, because we knew. We survived that, and we could survive anything.
Things weren't always hard and trying of course. More often than not, he brings me flowers and makes me laugh. He makes up excuses to go on lavish business trips to exotic locations and then insists that I go with him for a mini holiday. And he agreed with no discussion when I told him I didn't know if I was ever going to want kids.
The life I live now is not the life I ever imagined living, but, then again, I had never imagined loving someone as fiercely and desperately as I loved Draco. I never thought I would be capable of needing, wanting, desiring someone so completely. Life, no it's not easy, but it is good.
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