The sea stretched out in every direction, endless and glittering, as though the whole world had been polished for their private showing. The boat moved smoothly across the water, the white hull slicing quietly through gentle waves. It was the kind of place people dreamed of for vacation, quiet, sun-drenched, far removed from the noise of the world. Draco sat beside his wife on the cushioned deck, one arm slung comfortably around her shoulders. He was relaxed in a way few people ever saw, shoulders loose, grey eyes softened, the sharpness that usually lived in his face tempered by the sheer calm of the setting. For once, there was no Ministry, no war, no history clawing at his heels, just the sound of the waves and the warmth of her pressed against him. Her head rested lightly on his shoulder, and Draco let his fingers draw slow, absent circles against her arm, the smallest, unconscious gesture of possession and comfort both. Every so often he’d glance sideways, catching the way sunlight kissed her skin, the way her hair shifted in the breeze. Each time, the corners of his mouth tugged upward, as though he still couldn’t believe she was really his.

“This isn’t half-bad, is it?” he murmured, the words teasing but softer than usual, his voice carrying that aristocratic drawl even as it lacked its usual edge.