The Mystery Wife

Is the yeare onely lost to me?

Have I no bayes to crown it?

No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?

All wasted?

Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,

And thou hast hands.

Recover all thy sigh-blown age

On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute

Of what is fit, and not.

-George Herbert, The Collar, 1633

Draco Malfoy, gorgeous maybe-still-heir to an old Wizarding fortune, was getting really rather good at listening at doors.

Once, when he'd had dozens of Death Eaters infesting his house, it had been a survival skill. Now that it was Sevanna and Professor McGonagall...it was probably still a survival skill, he thought ruefully.

He'd made his way back to Hogwarts using the Portkey Sevanna had given him when he'd gone off on his drinking adventure with Potter. He'd found the Headmaster's office entirely cleared out of all of Sevanna's personal effects, not that they were many. But the portraits had instantly taken pity on his plight and told him he'd find his wife in Professor McGonagall's office.

His wife.

It had brought him up short. It was the first time he'd actually thought of her as his wife. His world was careening crazily on no axis at the moment, and his sense of where he belonged in it was secretly shit at the best of times.

He had a wife. Draco Malfoy had a wife. Sevanna Prince-Malfoy.

It even sounded good.

All that power and brilliance and dark knowledge and sharp tongue and acid wit and, yes, beauty, his, if he could persuade her to stay with him. It was becoming really, really imperative that he do that.

He found his steps moving faster and faster down the now-deserted halls of Hogwarts, until he was running, leaping down moving staircases several steps at a time. And when he finally arrived at the door to McGonagall's office, breathless, his usually perfect hair nearly as tousled as Potter's, he stopped himself just short of knocking.

He had a rare opportunity to gage just how angry she still was, after all, before he burst in and declared himself, and it occurred to him that in this case, discretion was indeed the better part of valor.

His ear pressed to the oak door, he listened.

"Don't you snort at me, Sevanna, it isn't ladylike," McGonagall was saying. "You were the one who wanted me to teach you how to be a lady, and now that we're here and doing this, you will listen and learn."

"Yes, ma'am," Sevanna replied dryly.

"Now, when you sit, sit up straight...good, that was never a problem for you...and cross your legs at the ankle, not the knees."

"Merlin, that's bloody awkward."

"Nevertheless. And don't swear."

On the other side of the door, Draco's mouth was hanging open. Sevanna was going to McGonagall for lady lessons?

"Being a lady is about much more than the externals, Sevanna," said McGonagall. "It is about acting with integrity as well as kindness. It is about being assertive without being rude or domineering, and sincere without having to be, for lack of a better term, a bitch. It is about being poised and confident enough to infuse others with the same qualities, and diplomatic enough that others will not perceive those behaviors as threatening or censorious. It is about accepting others without judging them harshly. A lady does not indulge in vicious gossip. She is not cruel. She is as graceful in defeat as in victory. A lady is a fountain of strength and support for others. She does not need to be vulgar to be sexy, or to get her point across. A lady owns up to her mistakes, and apologizes to the people she wrongs. It is about so very much more than knowing how to walk in heels or which fork to use."

Sevanna whistled under her breath. "In other words, it is so daunting I should not bother to make the attempt."

"Nonsense," McGonagall sniffed. "Ideals are neither laws nor absolutes, they are merely aspirations."

There was a brief silence between them.

"I am sorry," said Sevanna, "for all the myriad ways in which I have wronged you."

"I am sorry I ever failed to believe in you," McGonagall replied.

"I am sorry I ever gave you cause. Deeply. But we could be here for centuries, apologizing for all the things we regret. At least I could. But I am... glad I asked you for this perspective. Narcissa Malfoy may have unimpeachable etiquette, but you are and have always been the greatest lady of my acquaintance."

"You will make me blush, Sevanna."

"I am going to miss flirting and feuding with you, Minerva."

"As am I. It is a pity you and Draco..."

She left it hanging there for a breath, weightless.

"Indeed," Sevanna said faintly, barely audible.

It was as good an entrance line as Draco was ever going to get.

Given the lesson on proper behavior he'd just heard, Draco knocked first. Loudly enough to be heard, but not so loudly as to be rude.

And then opened the door, afraid that Sevanna would bolt if he waited to be let in. This was the very last place that he knew to look for her. If she got away from him now, he'd probably be searching every wizarding settlement on the planet for the next decade.

"Excuse me, Professor McGonagall?" he said politely, but his eyes went straight to Sevanna. "Sorry if I'm interrupting. The portraits said I might find my wife here, though, and I really need to talk to her."

Sevanna froze, visibly contemplating hexing him. Her eyes narrowed. "Your wife," she repeated, her expression capable of freezing wine.

Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, couldn't bite back a smile. "I do believe he said that, yes. I'll just head off to the library for a bit of light research..."

"There is no need, Minerva," Sevanna said haughtily. "Draco and I will go. And talk, as there is apparently one more bit of indentured servitude my husband requires of me."

She stalked off to the fireplace in a graceful swirl of robes, looking like an offended feline. "The Headmaster's office!" she snapped, and the flames flared obediently and rather hastily green for her for the second time that day. She stepped through without another word, and Draco glanced at Professor McGonagall.

"Go get her, young man," the old lady said starchily, pointing at the fireplace, a Boadicea ordering her singular troop into battle. "And if you have the sense of one of Aberforth Dumbledore's goats, you'll play for a lifetime with that woman."

Draco smirked and gave her a whimsical salute. "Yes, ma'am! Was intending to, ma'am!" he said, and darted into the fireplace after Sevanna, fully expecting to be hexed upon arrival.

The office was empty, but the curious portraits were all staring at him as he stepped through.

"In the residence," Sevanna called tightly, from the hallway that led to the Headmaster's private quarters. "I refuse to have this discussion in front of the portraits!"

There was a two-dimensional Greek chorusing of "Awws" and "Boos" at that. Well, really, Draco supposed, this all had to be the most entertainment the portraits had gotten in a while.

"Sod off," he snarked at them anyway, on his way past. "This isn't funny. Fine," he said in a louder voice, aiming it at Sevanna, "as long as we talk. Kindly restrict your hexing to things that will leave me with enough of a human mouth to do so."

"Your mouth is the damned problem," she shot back as he came in, shutting the door behind him.

She was waiting for him in the livingroom, pacing like a restless nundu.

"Yeah, I know," Draco sighed, watching her pace. "Sev, I didn't mean what I said-- not the way you seem to have taken it. I didn't realise how it would sound. My idiot parents weren't listening, and it was pissing me off, so I tried to shock them into listening with sarcasm and it backfired. I'm sorry."

Sevanna's lips thinned. "There is really no other way to take those words. My change of gender is an issue for you, one you haven't been able to wrap your mind around. And in perfect truth, neither have I. It's too soon. I'm not used to hormones and chocolate cravings and bleeding once a month and having to wear a bra, and having to adapt to scores of unwritten rules I never knew existed! I'm short and everything is different, from my hands to my walk to the way everything tastes!" she ranted.

"That was my point!" Draco retorted, his voice rising. "You've had less than two months at this, and my parents decide that you'd be bloody ecstatic to become the next Malfoy-- what did you call it? Brood mare? You'd have trouble adjusting to being someone's husband, frankly, and that if you'd actually planned on getting married. I wanted to give you more time, but they didn't let me!"

"And why, precisely, did you want to give me more time?" Sevanna growled. "Kindly do not insult my intelligence. I am a halfblood, and until two months ago I was a man. More to the point, I was Severus Snape. I do not imagine I was precisely your dream of a wife. I do not know what Lucius and Narcissa were thinking, other than this curious notion of 'hybrid vigor' they appear to have spawned between them."

"Apparently, they were thinking we were in love, but were too noble to do anything about it," Draco drawled, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And I've been dreaming about you since I was thirteen. You should really eavesdrop on your students more. You must be the only person in the school who doesn't know that, after last night."

It was enough to make her pause in her tracks, briefly. She looked as if she wanted to snort, but was thinking better of the habit now that Minerva McGonagall had told her it wasn't ladylike. "Dare I ask why?"

"Why you didn't know? Damned if I can tell," Draco replied, the smile tugging even more strongly at his mouth. "It was pretty obvious, according to Pansy. You probably meant why I was dreaming about you, though. Do I need a reason? You know, other than the brilliance, the temper, the wit, the sheer artistry at Potions, the ability to hex practically anyone's arse through the wall, and a voice that's made it bloody difficult for me not to walk funny for the past week, with you hovering behind me and murmuring in my ear half the time?"

Her frown deepened, and so did her color. "And the fact that I was a man didn't give you pause, in this inexplicable...crush?"

The word was clearly unfamiliar, on her tongue.

"Embarrassingly, no," Draco admitted wryly, feeling his face flush. "I was really bloody confused for a while, though."

"Doubtless," she said, not without sympathy. She sighed and sank onto the sofa, resting her head against the back. "Why did you follow me here, Draco? What do you want to come of all this?"

Draco sat down next to her, figuring he was at least safe from hexing or slapping, at this point.

"I want you to give me another chance." He reached out and trailed his fingers lightly, coaxingly, through that long, jet-black spill of hair. "I've been busy for weeks, trying to persuade you to see me as something other than a too-young student or an unwanted burden. I was working that hard on the NEWTs so I could impress you with my brilliance and determination. I want you to stay, but more than anything, I want you to want to stay."

Her eyes opened and rested on his, a flare of heat in them.

"He's not a student anymore!" one of the portraits called out helpfully from the office. Sevanna cast a Silencing Charm on the door with an irritated flick of her wand.

"Merlin, it's like conducting a courtship in a goldfish bowl," she muttered. "Shouldn't I be the one wooing you? Impossibly gorgeous, brilliant, all that fine breeding and white gold, glowing youth... you could have anyone, you know; you don't have to be here with an old not-quite-woman."

Draco smirked, edging closer and winding a lock of her hair around his finger. "A not-quite-woman suits me perfectly, as confused as I am about that. I wouldn't want you to change too much. And you're not old," he whispered wickedly in her ear. "You forget, Sev, I've seen you. I didn't notice any wrinkles anywhere."

Sevanna bolted off the sofa and started to pace again, flushing to the roots of her hair.

"This can't be real," she said. "It never is. It never works. Not with Lily Evans, not with Remus Lupin in your third year, flaming disaster that that was... I'm tired, Draco. God, I am so fucking shredded, and I cannot risk my heart again. It never stays intact, and I am utter bollocks at reclaiming it once I've given it."

The news of Remus Lupin had rather floored him, but Draco gathered his scattered wits with an effort.

"Third time's the charm," he suggested hopefully, and jumped up off the sofa after her. "Did either of them ever bother to make a fair trade? What if I give you mine?" He took her hands, pacing backwards in front of her until she stopped. "I trust you to look after it. It isn't going anywhere. It's had years. I wasn't exactly lacking in opportunity, either. Bloody hell, if being utterly terrified of you didn't drive me off, nothing will."

She looked down at their joined hands. "Not terrified of me anymore? I must be losing my touch." Her eyes flicked back up to his, searching. "You cannot possibly truly want this."

Draco gave an explosive sigh, half affection and half exasperation. "Richard was right," he said. "It reaches a point where arguing is pointless."

Before Sev could object, slap him, or hex him, Draco tugged her forward, kissing her fiercely, and god, it felt like he'd been dying to do that for three decades instead of three days.

A heartbeat, two, three and then she broke against him like a tidalwave, her kiss fire and rain and devouring sweet, her nails softly scoring the back of his neck as she wound her fingers in his hair. She tasted of wine and want, and she was soft, so soft against him everywhere, her hair, her skin, her breasts, her breath in his mouth, her tongue, everything but the teeth scoring his lower lip.

She was going to hex him as soon as she stopped kissing him, surely. Just as soon as she finished pressing him into the nearest wall and sliding one of her thighs between his and oh, gods, moving against his rising hardness. As soon as her mouth stopped trailing soft fire along his jaw and down the column of his throat, then, after that.

Draco didn't care very much whether or not she did, as long as she didn't stop. Come, death, and welcome, welcome.

"Paris," she growled softly and insistently against his skin. "I want to finish this in Paris, not here. Too many ghosts here, too many memories."

She punctuated those words with soft lovebites, the delicate scoring of teeth over sensitized skin until all he could do was shiver and acquiesce.

Paris, then. Anything, anywhere, now.