forty-nine days ~ Drama

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Saturday, 20 October 1923
~ 9:04 am ~
Hogsmeade Main Square

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Drago stepped out of the alley, straightening the collar of his coat. The thick wool felt a little too warm for the day, though the heat still simmering beneath his skin would likely ease in another few minutes.

Now that this particular problem had been handled.

Robert would live.

But he would remember.

After reading Matilda’s letter two nights before, every fuse in Drago’s mind had blown at once, leaving an all-encompassing rage coursing through his blood. Jaw clenched and pulse pounding in his ears, he had sworn the bastard would die. If he’d had any chance of reaching him sooner, Drago would have taken it.

But as it stood, Hogwarts was closed to him now.

So he had reached into the deep, still well of his anger and forced it down until he could trust himself not to kill the man. He knew the consequences. He knew what Father would say and do, and he knew what Matilda had asked of him. He did not intend to land himself in Azkaban. Instead, he had been waiting at the gates of Hogsmeade since the break of dawn.

Fortunately, Drago hadn’t had to wait long for the weekend he’d been looking forward to since the first of September. Only a few hours.

And the moment Robert had walked past, Drago had escorted him away with a firm grip at the base of his neck. Now, he was slumped against a wall somewhere in Hogsmeade’s labyrinthine alleyways—conscious enough to regret his choices and battered enough to remember them for a very long time.

Straightening his tie, Drago smoothed down the last of his rumpled clothes.

Matilda didn’t need to know. At least not yet. She would find out soon enough, but he preferred that she chastise him through one of her letters rather than endure the look she would undoubtedly give him in person. Besides, he had waited nearly two months for this. He wasn’t going to let Robert Greenburg ruin the first five minutes.

Drago stepped back onto the main square, and there she was.

Red hair among the growing crowd, drawing his eye as effortlessly as though some part of him had known exactly where to look.

A wide grin split his face.

He crossed the distance in no more than five strides, his hands finding her face the moment she came within reach. He bent down and pressed his lips to hers, appropriateness be damned.

“Hello, Flower.” He pulled back just enough to look at her, still grinning like an idiot. “I missed you, are you oka—”

The thought struck him suddenly. His hands released her face, settling instead on her shoulders as he took a step back, brow furrowing while he looked her over from head to toe.

“How are you?” His eyes searched hers. “Don’t lie.”

49 days

48 too many...

And she was late. The day was not turning out as she had planned, but she was trying to lift herself out of the funk she was currently in.

The 1st years weren't helping. As she was putting her sachel over her shoulder to be the first out of the castle for Hogsmead, a 2nd year came running into her dorm looking out of breath and scandalized.

"Tills, Hospital... umm, the aloe. It's, weeping? I don't know. Pauline was trying to be helpful... unsuccessfully. "

Matilda looked up to the ceiling and groaned. She was going to murder the little badger.

Getting to the wing greenhouse didn't take long. She could do it in her sleep, and had on more than one occasion.

Walking into the carnage just about gave her a heart attack. The plants themselves looked ok, but there was so much water in the soil that it was overflowing from the pots.

Looking at Pauline, Tilly's blue eyes wide with anger and threats of dismemberment. "Pauline. What in the hell have you done?"

Her voice was scarily calm. Pauline looked terrified, as she should. "The soil was getting dry, so I watered them?" Her statement came out as a question, as if she wasn't present for the flooding.

Three deep breaths in, three out. Tilly's hand shook with anger, her wand vibrating. "Aloe is a succulent Pauline. We don't water them like that. Every last one will have root rot after this. Dammit. Get your gloves, I won't be the one fixing this."

They had to learn. She'd be gone at the end of the term, the poor plants would never survive at this rate.

---

And hour later and Matilda was on her way to Hogsmeade. Pauline would be repotting thirty-five aloe plants, by herself, without magic. All while itching, thanks to a small hex. She would never admit how good that felt.

Walking through the gate, her tired eyes swept the area for a tall, handsome Russian. It just now hitting that she finally got to see him.

Sleep had been rough the last month and a half, even worse since Robert's attack. Her eyes looked tired, dark circles tainting her ivory skin.

Standing on her tip-toes she finally say him. A choked sound leaving her throat. His long legs brought him closer, and suddenly his hands were on her face and they were kissing.

Thank god he wasn't looking for propriety today.

"Hello, flower. I missed you, are you oka—”

He pulled back, hands going to her shoulders as he inspected every inch of her. God's she had missed him.

Just having him near made something inside her finally relax. For forty-nine days she'd carried every expectation, every nightmare, every new responsibility by herself. Now, with his hands on her, it felt as though someone had quietly taken half the weight from her shoulders. She hadn't realized how tired she was until this moment.

“How are you? Don’t lie.”

Matilda sighed. It was a loaded question.

"I'm... ok." She said. Not wanting to sugar coat her current emotional state, but in his arms she was doing considerably better.

"Sleep has been elusive. I'm a little sore, but overall I'm ok. Right now I'm more upset about thirty-five aloe plants than I am about my own problems. Which probably says something concerning about me. But I did take your advice. The first year will be itching for the rest of the day."

She smiled at Drago. The stretch of her cheeks made her realize it was the first real smile she'd managed in weeks. She hadn't even noticed she'd forgotten how.

Pushing herself onto her tiptoes, her arms slipped around his neck. She simply held him for a long moment, eyes closing as though confirming he was actually there and not another dream she'd wake up from. Her face, buried in his neck, she just held on tight. With a small whisper, just for him she said, "I really really missed you."

Somewhere behind her she heard the clearing of someone's throat. Begrudgingly, they parted, her head turning to see Serik behind them.

"I'm sure you remember my shadow." She sighed dramatically. "He's very committed to making sure I survive the seventh year. He's almost as persistent as you. Thankfully, he doesn't know all my hiding spots yet."

Dropping to her feet, she rested her forehead against his chest, breathing in cedar, bergamot, and the scent that somehow became synonymous with him. Forty-nine days of restless nights, anxious thoughts, and pretending she was stronger than she felt simply... dissolved.

The furrow in his brow remained. ‘Okay’ looked different to him.

Dark shadows lay beneath Matilda’s eyes, and there was a general air of exhaustion about her that hadn’t been there two months ago. She looked tired even beneath her smile. He could practically feel the tension in her shoulders.

Drago couldn’t tell whether it was because of their separation or Robert’s doing, but regardless, the sight made him want to slip back into the alley for a few more minutes, assured that at least part of Matilda’s state could be attributed to what had happened two days ago. The bastard certainly deserved another round.

But of course, it took Matilda all of three sentences to start talking about her plants instead of herself, rattling off information at a million miles an hour and neatly sidestepping the subject he actually cared about. Despite how much he wanted to shake her for it, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw her face light up, the pride in her eyes for hexing a first year.

“Good,” he said, slipping his arms around her waist as she wrapped hers around his neck, pulling her close. “Always take my advice from now on, yes?”

If only she had. Perhaps Robert wouldn’t have had the chance to get to her, but the thought died the moment it surfaced. Drago knew better than to pretend that following his advice could have prevented it. Men like Robert weren’t stopped until someone stopped them. Usually after it was too late. The worst part was that Drago hadn’t been there to protect her himself.

Detention.

He still couldn’t fathom the ridiculously inadequate punishment Hogwarts had deemed appropriate. Detention. As though a few hours of unpleasant chores could somehow balance what had happened to her.

But he supposed he’d taken care of that now.

Matilda’s whisper settled somewhere deep inside his chest.

Drago smiled softly against her hair, letting her scent fill his lungs. “I know, Flower,” he murmured. “I missed you too.”

He only realised how deeply he truly had, now that she was finally back in his arms. It was almost as though a piece of warmth had left with her forty-nine days ago, slowly seeping back into his body now that she was here. He wasn’t quite ready to let go when a throat cleared behind them.

Drago reluctantly released Matilda and turned to find Serik standing nearby, looking distinctly awkward beneath the stoic Zdravkova mask. To any passersby, it would have looked convincing, but Drago knew to glimpse beneath it. It was unexpectedly amusing, though he didn’t let it show.

Instead, he gave his brother a curt nod, and then tipped his head towards the alley behind him.

Serik understood, glancing between Matilda and him before wordlessly heading for the alley Drago had emerged from only minutes earlier. Drago didn’t watch him go. His arms found Matilda again, drawing her back against his chest.

“He’ll become more persistent now,” he said with no trace of humour in his voice. “I’ll make sure he knows where to find you.”

Was it what Matilda wanted? Certainly not. Did he care? No.

Drago loosened his hold on Matilda, one hand finding hers while the other rose to gently lift her chin. His expression softened as his gaze met hers.

“Please listen to me next time.” His tone held no anger, no judgment. Only a quiet plea. His gaze held hers for another moment before he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Then he smiled. “Come on. Let’s go do something.”

She was in his arms, with every breath her tension eased. “Always take my advice from now on, yes?” Smiling, her forehead still resting against his chest, ”I’ll take it under advisement.” she said with humor in her tone.

Serik came and went quickly, which was fine. They spent enough time together as it was. “He’ll become more persistent now. I’ll make sure he knows where to find you.” She sighed in resignation. Congratulations to her, she had acquired permanent Russian security.

Her head tipped back, his hand finding her chin. Was she annoyed? Yes. But she wouldn’t fight him on this. He kissed her lips lightly, making her smile up at him. ”Come on. Let’s go do something.”

Her hand in his, they started walking down the lane looking for something to do for the rest of the day. She refused to think about having to leave him at the castle gate in a few short hours.

---

The little cafe was tucked away in a quieter part of Hogsmeade, the windows fogged up from the warmth inside. The smell of tea, spices, baked bread and sugary pastries surrounded Matilda as soon as they opened the door.

It was perfect. No crowds. Just quiet

After ordering a pot of hot tea and a basket of pastries, they found a spot in the furthest corner of the cafe. A small booth was tucked in the corner by the fireplace and next to the window that was letting in the golden October sun.

Matilda slid in first, Drago followed on the side facing her. Looking at the empty seat beside her, Matilda patted the cushion with a sly look on her face. "Over here."

Drago got up and slid in beside her instead, the booth suddenly a lot smaller.

Much better.

She slipped one hand into his almost immediately, lacing their fingers together. Her thumb traced lazy circles across the back of his hand. Her head rested against his shoulder, her weight leaning into him.

"This..." she sighed, shoulders relaxing for what felt like the first time in weeks. [/]"...is exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”[/b]

Outside, students ran past their window, laughing and chatting while enjoying the free weekend with their friends. She barely noticed. Her attention remained fixed on the man beside her.

The quiet surrounded them. The crackle of burning firewood and the clink of tea cups a soft soundtrack to their bubble. Her eyes took in his hands, wrapped around hers, the knuckles red and split in a few spots.

There could be many reasons for the abrasions. Her fingers ran over each knuckle tenderly. The bruises were fresh.

Blue eyes met brown, giving him a sigh. Bringing her hands to her lips she kissed his knuckles as a thank you, but said nothing. She didn’t need to.

In the end, if he needed an alibi, she would provide one.

She was lost in him, as she took in his face. Letters didn’t blink, or smile, or have ridiculous dimples. Letters certainly didn't smell like cedar and bergamot. Now that he was sitting beside her, she realized just how much she had missed the little things.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"It’s nice to know that you’re real.” The words came out before her mind was able to form the thoughts properly. ”That sounded strange.”

She laughed quietly at herself. ”What I meant to say was, I’m glad my memory wasn’t playing tricks on me. You’re very nice to look at Mr Zdravkova. I think somewhere over the last seven weeks my brain started believing you were a hallucination."

Smiling, she reached up to kiss his lips. Lingering there as she smiled.

"Mmm. Definitely real. And still insufferably handsome.” Silence fell over their table. Not awkward, but comfortable. Leaning her head on his shoulder, Matilda shut her eyes and relaxed fully into his side.

After almost a full minute she speaks, barely above a whisper. "I've been so tired."

Not physically. The kind of tiredness that comes from holding yourself together every single day. No one to lean on. No one too share the burden. She didn’t even have to explain. He’d understand.

Drago slid into the seat opposite Matilda, but as soon as their eyes met, he could tell she wouldn’t have it. Only a beat later, she was patting the seat beside her, and with a smile tugging at his lips, Drago settled there instead.

He had thought perhaps some semblance of propriety would be best, but on second thought, who would see them here and actually care enough? The cafe Matilda had chosen was small, tucked farther into Hogsmeade than most students or visitors ventured, and the few people scattered throughout paid them no attention. It was fine.

Her hand slipped into his almost immediately. Drago watched her thumb trace circles, content to sit in silence for a moment and enjoy the soft tingles of warmth floating inside his chest and her weight leaning against his side. Matilda sighed and relaxed, and Drago chuckled lightly in response to her words.

Saying nothing, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to the top of hers.

His cheek still rested lightly against her hair, his eyes absently following the people beyond the fogged glass, when Matilda’s fingers gently traced across his knuckles. It sent a subtle sting through his skin, and he lifted his head to look down at their joined hands.

Shit.

He hadn’t even noticed the redness or the abrasions.

His mouth opened to explain, but Matilda met his eyes and only sighed. Then she brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles.

It stunned him for a beat. He had expected some kind of admonishment, a piercing look at the very least. Relief flowed through his chest, though, warm like summer air, doing something strange to his heart. His gaze held hers, and the longer Matilda spoke, the wider his grin grew.

Letters, apparently, had failed to convey his devastating handsomeness.

Drago welcomed her lips when she reached up to kiss him, reluctant to let her go after only such a brief moment. But she broke away, and he chuckled softly.

“I will send you a photograph,” he said teasingly, every word dripping with quiet smugness. “Something to look at when I’m not there. Then you won’t forget how good-looking I am.” He stole another quick kiss before her head settled against his shoulder once more.

For a while, they sat in silence. Drago thought he could spend the rest of his day just like this, doing nothing, simply existing in each other’s presence. The moment when he would have to let her go again lingered heavily at the back of his mind. He tried not to dwell.

At last, Matilda spoke.

"I've been so tired."

Drago’s hand squeezed hers. “I know, Flower.”

He turned his head, his free hand lifting to gently curl beneath her chin until her eyes met his. God, seeing her like this ripped through him like claws. But what was there to do other than move forward? As much as he wished he could take her with him, stay with her and make the exhaustion in her eyes disappear, draw those bright smiles forth and hear her laugh as though nothing could ever burden her again, Drago knew there was only one way through.

“Just a few more months,” he said quietly, smiling softly. “You can do that. You’re strong.” His thumb brushed along her cheek, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. “And you got me. You can write as many letters as you want, and complain about everything.”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead before pulling back to meet her gaze again.

“Okay?”

“I will send you a photograph,” he chuckled. “Something to look at when I’m not there. Then you won’t forget how good-looking I am.”

Absolutely insufferable. She rolled her eyes as he kissed her lips once more. As insufferable as he might be, she liked the more playful side of him.

Sitting with Drago, side by side in the booth, cuddling in silence brought her back to their nights in the common room and library. Those had been her favorite. No need to fill the void with words, just being there with him was perfect.

“Just a few more months. You can do that. You’re strong.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, the feeling of his calloused skin running along her cheek made goosebumps erupt over her neck. “And you got me. You can write as many letters as you want, and complain about everything.”

She didn’t want to be strong or brave or write down all her thoughts. What she wanted was to be wrapped in his arms, his lips on hers. He kissed her forehead, making her melt into a puddle. The sweet side of Drago was so unexpected and so rare, she wanted to cherish every second.

“Okay?”

With a sigh, Matilda brought her hand to his face, scratching the stubble that made him look even more handsome, if that were possible. ”Since I don’t have a choice in the matter, I will say yes, but I’m doing it under duress.”

Raising up in the seat, her hand went to the back of his head, fingers playing with the short hairs there. Her lips found his, the kiss lingering.

The sound of their waitress clearing her throat was the only reason she broke the kiss. The older woman looked scandalized. Not that Matilda cared, but she turned her attention to the steaming cup of tea, placing her hands on the hot mug. Giving her hands something more appropriate to focus on.

She was quiet for a long moment, choosing her words carefully. "I talked to Benji a few days ago. He found me sitting by the lake. I wasn’t doing well.” She turned slightly and looked up at Drago.

"He listened to me complain about everything. My family, your family. Harewood house. Giving up St. Mungo's. Robert. All of it." Her fingers traced the rim of her mug. "Then he said something I haven't been able to stop thinking about."

She paused, wanting to make sure she said the next part correctly.

"'You don't have to marry him.' He said there are lots of good men. That if I wanted… he'd help me leave, run away." She watched Drago’s expression carefully. He wouldn’t like the things she said.

"He would have paid for it. Helped me disappear if I'd asked."

She smiled, not because it was funny, but because the answer was so simple. And maybe she had needed Benji to suggest something so drastic so that she could see it so clearly. ”I think the thing that surprised me most, is that I didn’t consider it for even a second. Even after the garden party, and all the things my grandmother left out of our discussions.”

Her hands left the tea, taking his, warmed by the hot liquid. Matilda squeezed his to make sure he was still with her, not planning the murder of her best friend.

"A year ago? I'd have packed my trunk before Benji finished the sentence." Her thumb brushed over the rough skin of his knuckles, smiling at the familiar callouses. "It wasn't even a question."

She looked down at their joined hands, giving his another small squeeze.

"I thought about everything I was losing. St. Mungo's. My own home. My career. All the things I'd dreamed about since I was little." She laughed quietly, shaking her head at herself.

"Then Benji offered me a way out, and all I could think was I didn’t want a future that didn’t have you in it.” Her cheeks warmed, a blush covering her chest, neck and face. It wasn’t an outright declaration of her feelings, but was closer to the L word than she had ever gotten.

“Since I don’t have a choice in the matter, I will say yes, but I’m doing it under duress.”

Amused, one corner of his mouth lifted, and Drago met her kiss with a soft grin. Always so dramatic.

He was certain that, when the time came, Matilda would have no trouble putting her complaints to paper. She was already rather good at it. And no matter how daunting another seven months of separation sounded, those months would pass eventually, quicker than she expected. She would be fine, whether she knew it or not. Robert was handled, and anyone with a brain would think twice now about even looking at his betrothed funny.

The clearing of a throat behind them—the second time today—broke them apart again, and Drago reluctantly let Matilda’s hand slide from his neck to return to her tea.

Goddamn propriety and etiquette.

He’d never thought he’d see the day when either bothered him, never one to question their purpose and rightfulness, but here he was. Wishing he cared a little less.

Gratefully, the woman left them alone after that. Drago turned his attention back to Matilda.

"I talked to Benji a few days ago. He found me sitting by the lake. I wasn’t doing well. He listened to me complain about everything. My family, your family. Harewood house. Giving up St. Mungo's. Robert. All of it. Then he said something I haven't been able to stop thinking about."

Drago’s brow creased slightly.

He had never been particularly worried about Benji and his friendship with Matilda. They seemed to get along well, and although he had eyed it with careful suspicion at first, he had quickly realised there was little to be concerned about. Neither Matilda nor Benji seemed interested in anything beyond friendship. Instead, Drago was glad she had someone at Hogwarts she trusted and could seek out if she needed to, someone he trusted too.

Her next words quickly darkened his expression, however.

"'You don't have to marry him.' He said there are lots of good men. That if I wanted… he'd help me leave, run away. He would have paid for it. Helped me disappear if I'd asked."

That little fucker.

If only Drago weren’t busy today.

The humour drained from his eyes, his expression hardening as his face settled into stony rigidity and his jaw tightened.

That little fucking shit.

He almost couldn’t believe it. Part of him wanted to march out of the café that very moment, find Benji wherever he was, and explain precisely what he thought of this generous offer to help his fiancée abandon him. Preferably by bruising his knuckles against the bastard’s face some more.

What kind of man—

Matilda’s smile was the only thing keeping him in his seat, grounding him enough to suppress the hot anger rising in his chest, and perhaps the subliminal need to know what she would say next. Had she considered? Had she wanted to? Had she imagined a life somewhere else, with someone else, free of him and everything that came with his name?

Had this changed something?

“I think the thing that surprised me most, is that I didn’t consider it for even a second. Even after the garden party, and all the things my grandmother left out of our discussions.”

Matilda’s hand found his, and Drago felt his stomach twist. Was that relief? Fear? Shame? He couldn’t name it. His free hand rested atop the table, curled into a fist, every muscle rigid. The mere possibility of Matilda simply vanishing one day settled in his guts like a stone, heavier than he could have anticipated. Cold dread crawled across his skin. Could it have been that easy? Could his entire life have changed in the blink of an eye, without his knowledge, because another man had suggested an alternative?

Drago couldn’t explain the sensation of his entire body seeming to stretch at the seams. His eyes remained fixed on Matilda’s face, his hand gripping hers as her words struggled to reach him through the rushing in his ears, through the storm of thoughts raging in his head, and the sudden pressure in his chest.

All the things she hadn’t expected to give up, things she had dreamed of since childhood. Expectations that seemed obvious and natural to him had never been so for her. He had watched her struggle with them since their families had begun arranging their lives around each other. The garden party hadn’t done her any favours, either.

And yet, she was telling him she didn’t want a future without him. Why did that suddenly feel shameful?

Drago’s face softened, the stone-cold anger giving way to something he could neither name nor contain. The fist on the table slowly uncurled, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words. They had never been his strength. After a moment of simply looking at her, trying to gather his thoughts into something coherent, Drago settled on the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m glad you didn’t take up that offer.” His voice was quiet, more earnest than he had ever heard it before. “I don’t want you to leave, Matilda.”

His free hand lifted to cup her cheek, feeling the warmth of her blush against his skin. She had said she didn’t want to run. Despite everything. But that was now. What about a year from now? Five years? Ten? Would she ever question her decision? Would she regret it? Drago couldn’t bear the thought.

“I’m sorry you have to give up all these things that you love. Perhaps we can find a way. For some of it.” He paused, his gaze searching hers. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to mention Benji. She could see the anger in his face morph into outrage then into potential premeditated murder as the second ticked by.

Benji should be warned…

Although, watching the outcome unfold naturally is more fun.

”I can see the wheels turning in your head. No murdering my friends please. Even if they really deserve it.”

Drago’s face softened, making her smile a little wider.

“I’m glad you didn’t take up that offer. I don’t want you to leave, Matilda.”

His hand found her cheek in a tender gesture, melting her inside. He had changed so much since their meeting. And she loved every second of the softer side. Something he only brought out with her.

“I’m sorry you have to give up all these things that you love. Perhaps we can find a way. For some of it. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

Matilda's expression softened as she looked at him. The concern in his eyes broke something in her. He was genuinely worried she would wake up one morning and regret choosing him. It was understandable, since she had fought against this arrangement from day one, but she was done fighting against him.

Internally, she knew that the Zdravkova family was waving more red flags than the Gryffindors at a Quidditch match, but she liked color in her life.

For too long, her life had been boring, black, and white, with only the occasional pop of green from the plants she wrapped herself in. Drago brought with him a rainbow of colors. She needed the vibrant tones, even if they came with a few complications.

With Drago, she could see a life filled with love, adventure, safety, security, passion, and partnership. His father and aunt made it more difficult, but he was worth the effort.

That didn't mean she was ignoring the sacrifices she would be making.

The thought of giving up St. Mungo's, of not having a career of her own, having her future decided for her still made her stomach knot with anxiety. Matilda loved studying plants, finding the strange ones that most people overlooked, learning what they could do, what could heal and what could harm. She wanted to develop medicinal remedies, grow rare and unusual plants, and spend ridiculous amounts of time with her hands in the soil.

None of that stopped mattering because she decided she wanted a husband and a life with him.

And perhaps it didn't have to completely disappear.

There was still Bram's greenhouse in London that she could visit. Oleg couldn’t stop her from studying on her own, experimenting with remedies, growing things that were difficult and temperamental. And if she was lucky, maybe there would be room for her in the Harewood Greenhouse. There were possibilities, even if it wasn't the future she had once imagined.

She understood what would be expected of her. She wasn't naive enough to think otherwise. Becoming a Zdravkova meant becoming part of something much larger than herself, and there would be rules, expectations, obligations, and probably enough opinions to fill an entire library.

But the alternative was worse.

Running was an option. Disappearing into muggle society, or moving across the world. The life she once dreamed about was still an option, free from the expectations of the Zdravkovas and her grandmother and everyone else who seemed determined to decide what Matilda Nordstrom ought to become.

And she didn't want it anymore.

She wanted him.

It wasn’t even a question.

"Besides, I’m not giving everything up. I’ll still have access to plants. If not at Harewood, then at Bram’s. I can study remedies, grow whatever strange little things I want, and maybe there will be room for me in the Harewood greenhouse." Her fingers curled loosely around his.

"So no, I’m not giving up everything I love. I will still have my research, some plants and you to keep me busy."

She stopped. Her eyes widened. There was a moment where her brain caught up with her mouth, realizing what she just said. No, it wasn’t a grand declaration. More of a suggestion, but it was out there.

"I mean," she corrected quickly, her cheeks beginning to warm. ”Hobbies. I will have so many hobbies. AND PARITES!” Yep, she was completely failing at her attempt at subtlety.

It was an absolutely terrible recovery. She knew it. He probably knew it too.

"And," she added, suddenly very interested in the teacup in front of her. "I happen to be rather fond of you. Obviously. We've established that."

She glanced up at him, avoiding eye contact, silently begging him not to examine the previous sentence too closely.

The knot in Drago’s stomach loosened slightly, and the unfamiliar worry that had wrapped itself around his chest began to ease its grip.

Matilda wasn’t going to leave. She hadn’t even considered it. Despite the dreams she could no longer pursue, she wanted to stay. To become his wife, to live at Harewood, to become Zdravkova. To accept the little things she could still claim for herself and stay by his side. The wave of relief that flooded him then felt both alien and comforting at once, strangely warm where it rushed into every crevice of his chest, although not quite enough to drown the lingering tension in its entirety.

He supposed she wasn’t wrong, though. She could still study on her own terms. Books, research, and the pursuit of knowledge were hardly discouraged in the Zdravkova household; if anything, they were encouraged. All Father expected was for those pursuits to serve a purpose. The family business, Legilimency, anything that could be put to use. Perhaps they could find a way to make her interests fit. The Harewood greenhouse was large enough, and he had already promised to put it in order for her. Surely Father could be persuaded to let Matilda grow her plants there, conduct her research, and study what she liked, provided it offered some advantage or another to the family.

Drago could think of something.

His thumb moved absentmindedly over her knuckles as he considered the possibilities, storing the thought away for later. He would need to think about it. But perhaps he wasn’t taking everything away from her after all. Perhaps he could make room for the things she loved, and perhaps it would be enough. Perhaps he didn't need to feel so guilty.

"So no, I’m not giving up everything I love. I will still have my research, some plants and you to keep me busy."

And just like that, all the last of his lingering concern dispersed like smoke.

As Matilda grappled for composure, Drago’s grin slowly returned. Busy, huh. His cheeks dimpled, eyes flashing as he looked at Matilda with all the shameless impropriety he could no longer restrain, watching her scramble for words.

He had always rather enjoyed seeing her like this. Nervous and flushed, suddenly very interested in anything but him. It had been her telltale sign from the very start that she might actually like him, that his efforts were getting somewhere, that she was gradually coming around to the prospect of having him for a husband. He knew it for a fact by now—she had all but admitted as much only moments ago. Still, there was something immensely satisfying about watching her lose her composure over him.

"And. I happen to be rather fond of you. Obviously. We've established that."

She was fumbling, averting his gaze, but Drago couldn’t resist the temptation to make matters worse. Leaning closer, he released her hand and slid his forward to her knee instead, cupping it gently as he brought his mouth near her ear.

“How were you thinking I could keep you busy, Flower?” he murmured, his voice low and warm, dancing with amusement and teasing. “What did you have in mind?”

He drew back just enough to look at her, his grin still firmly in place.

“And how fond, exactly, are we talking?”

Her smile was immediate, when she felt his hand move from hers to her knee. Hidden under the table, no one would be the wiser. His mischievous expression caused a deeper blush to color her chest, neck and face.

“How were you thinking I could keep you busy, Flower? What did you have in mind?” The warmth of his breath against her ear made goosebumps erupt across her skin. A mix of excitement and nervous anticipation ran through her.

The grin that greeted her, full of affection and those damn dimples, added fuel to her fire. She matched his grin, whispering so that no one near would hear her words. Not that it mattered, she doubted many people in the small tea shop could speak Russian. ”Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Pulling away from his ear, a subtle raise of her eyebrow and slightly embarrassed look. ”I really hope I said that right.” She whispered with a small laugh.

“And how fond, exactly, are we talking?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to appear serious, although a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It was impossible to keep a stern expression.

”Now, Mr. Zdravkova. You don’t strike me as the type that needs an ego boost. I say one nice thing," her expression tried to reprimand him, but fell short. "And suddenly your ego becomes completely unmanageable."

She couldn’t stop looking. His handsome face, the softness of his features when he let go of the hard outer shell. The warmth in his brown eyes, the subtle smile on his lips, reserved just for her.

Merlin.

Who was this man?

Not that long ago his smiles were rare and controlled. She would celebrate every small crack in his carefully controlled facade. Now he was teasing her. Whispering in her ear. Touching her knee. Looking entirely too pleased with himself.

It made something flutter low in her stomach. She'd spent months wondering whether she'd imagined this side of him. Seeing it in person was extremely dangerous.

She was creating a monster.

A very handsome monster.

Her cheeks warmed all over again.

”I like this.” She said quietly. Softer. More vulnerable. Her hand had somehow found its way to his chest, resting just above his heart. ”This version of you. I think he's becoming my favorite. He’s mine."

Their waitress chose that moment to walk near their table. Tilly became acutely aware of their position. What she had just said. Leaning into him, hand on his chest, their mouths centimeters away. She sat up abruptly, picked up her teacup and took a sip that was far too hot on her tongue.

She regretted the decision instantly. A hiss escaped between her teeth.

"That's hot!"

...

Her eyes slowly drifted from the teacup…

...to Drago.

…

…

"The tea."

…

If possible, her face became even warmer.

"I meant the tea."

She covered her face with one hand.

"Merlin, pretend I didn't say anything." She said, using her now free hand to fan her face, which was undoubtedly very red.

The colour in her cheeks deepened, but her grin matched his, mischief lacing her words as they brushed against his ear in the gentle roll of Russian he loved so much. She pulled back, met his gaze, and his grin stretched impossibly wider.

“Perfect,” he whispered back.

He really would like to know. But even Drago’s loose, somewhat reckless side had limits—in public anyway—and he let the thought drift below the surface. Instead, he watched Matilda try and fail to maintain a stern expression as she reprimanded him for his apparently unmanageable ego.

Drago let one eyebrow jump and shrugged nonchalantly. “I think my ego is doing perfectly well,” he countered lightly, looking at her with a mix of humour and challenge. “Exactly where it ought to be. Very justified.”

For a moment, silence settled between them. Easy and natural. Comfortable. Drago didn’t think he had ever felt so peacefully at ease in another person’s presence, not even his siblings’. This felt different somehow. Next to Matilda, he could simply be.

By the time she spoke again, Drago’s expression had softened into something almost placid, warmth filling the space beneath his sternum and expanding through his entire body. Her voice was quiet, genuine, and her hand on his chest seemed to reach straight through skin and bone, gentle fingers wrapping around his heart.

“I like this. This version of you. I think he's becoming my favorite. He’s mine."

Drago’s pulse quickened, each beat suddenly heavier than the last. The smile on his lips slowly faded as the world around them receded into a distant murmur. Something heavy tugged on his guts, tying them into a knot that wasn’t quite excitement, nor anxiety, but something unexplainably in between.

Hers.

That simple, almost bewilderingly earnest declaration was unlike anything she had ever offered. Small words of affection, teasing, most often complaints or threats to hex him, blushes and stumbling words. That was the way he knew she liked him. Hearing her claim him the way she just had completely halted the earth’s rotation. But, Merlin, he liked the sound of it.

Were it not for Matilda’s abrupt withdrawal, Drago thought he might have fallen forward and lost himself entirely in her eyes.

Instead, she turned to her tea with too much enthusiasm. Drago drew a sharp breath through his nose, forcing himself back to the present as his hand slipped from her knee to brush through his short hair. The café rushed back into focus, the sound of murmured conversations and clinking porcelain suddenly too loud.

The hiss from Matilda drew his attention back to her, momentarily bewildered. Mouth slightly agape, his eyes flicked from her to her tea and back again, trying to figure out what she meant. Only when she blushed again did it register.

Drago burst into a bark of laughter. How did Matilda manage to turn every conversation into a catastrophe? He couldn’t pretend he didn’t adore it. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand had closed around the one she was using to fan her face, and he laced his fingers with hers. He leaned closer, still grinning.

“I love you, Flower.”

The words slipped free without resistance, like water down a stream and without his notice.

His free hand found the side of her face, pulling her in for a kiss that lingered, his smile still tugging at his lips and rounding his cheeks. He stayed there for a moment, all the way until the words caught up with his mind.

A stone dropped into his stomach. Drago’s eyes flew open. Shit. What?

He pulled back barely an inch and stared at Matilda in absolute horror.

Hearing his barking laugh caused Matilda to laugh as well. Her burnt tongue became an afterthought almost immediately. Seeing him so unguarded and free was so rare, she had to enjoy it. The smile. The laugh. The complete lack of concern for those around them.

It was those moments that made her want him even more. Past the arrangement. Past the betrothal. Not because they were told to, but because she…

“I love you, Flower.”

Everything stopped. Her mind went completely blank.

Eyes wide, heart pounding. Even breathing seemed to become an impossible task.

He loved her. Those three little words carried more weight than any promise, any contract, any betrothal agreement ever could.

Three words she’d danced around for weeks. Words she wanted to say so many times, but then would lose her nerve.

And then he just said them.

The look of absolute horror spreading across his face would have been hilarious at any other time. His eyes wide, as though he'd accidentally confessed to a murder instead of telling the woman he loved exactly how he felt.

Typically, she would use this time to tease him mercilessly.

Not today.

While Drago was still trying to recover from what he'd accidentally said, Matilda smiled wide, warmth spreading through her body. Every lingering concern, every nervous thought, every worry about his family was gone.

One hand still in his, she squeezed it to stop his spiraling. Her other hand found his neck, pulling his face closer to hers.

”Well,” she whispered just for him. ”That makes two of us.”

And then she was kissing him. It wasn't hurried or uncertain. She kissed him like she'd been trying to answer those three words for weeks and had finally found the courage. Pulling away, just far enough to look into his warm brown eyes Matilda smiled sweetly. There was no more fear, it wasn’t just a want, she needed to say the words.

Whispering, just for him. ”I love you too.”