Chapter 9 : Father of Petals
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 18|
Background: Font color:
Draco Malfoy’s straight nose was of particular interest to Hermione Weasley, or Granger, as he insisted on calling her. It was met by two symmetrical arched dark blonde eyebrows that contoured his face and declared it perfectly oval. His long eyelashes casted wing like shadows over his pale cheeks, where, if she looked closely enough, she could just about make out a rasp of beard growing. He needed a shave. She could not remember seeing the evidence of his beard at Hogwarts. But then again, she thought, she had never been close to him at school. But now, the closer she looked, the more she discovered and the more uneasy she became. He looked almost angelic in his sleep. Could she have been completely mistaken about his persona for all those years in which they declared themselves enemies?
His mouth, the mouth that she had kissed was almost heart shaped. But the lips were dry and chopped...having survived the fever of the previous night. Ron’s nose had been wider. She could almost see it flaring with anger and betrayal. She took her eyes off Draco and abruptly stood up form the bed, angry with herself, angry at the world and angry with Ronald Billius Weasley for not being as alive as Draco Malfoy was. She shouldn’t have kissed him, she thought. She shouldn’t have broken down in his arms and cried like a stupid little girl. She should have been stronger. She should have dignified the name of Gryffindor. Her train of angry thoughts was interrupted by a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. She placed her hand on the wall, leaned on it, breathed in and out for a few seconds and hoped it would pass. She wondered whether this pregnancy would be as difficult as the last one and collapsed in a nearby armchair, placing her head in her arms and exhaling a long breath, hoping it would eliminate all the uneasy and shameful feelings she was slowly developing for two very different men. Or one, since one of them was... dead.
“You look distressed.” Hermione looked up startled to meet a very awake Draco. He was leaning on his elbows, his head tilted towards her, his eyes rather curious.
“You look better,” she said choosing to ignore his first comment. Yes, she would ignore. Ignorance was the best option she had. Otherwise she would explode. And she didn’t completely understand why, if she allowed herself to be truthful.
“You don’t,” he insisted, “you are quite pale.”
“I’m fine,” she added through gritted teeth. She sort of hated him that moment. Or rather, hated the feelings within her that arose every time he addressed her. She felt insecure. She felt silly and she felt immature. “If you feel better, maybe you should go to your wife.”She regretted the words as soon as they escaped her mouth. She looked away, blaming her strange behaviour on her hormone levels.
He snorted. “Last night you didn’t seem to mind that I was here.”
“Last night you were dying. I didn’t have a choice.”
“And now you do?”
“Yes, now I do!” she snapped again, standing up from the armchair and pacing around the room.
“Funny, Granger, I thought this was my house.”
Hermione exhaled a long breath and sat down on the armchair again, half defeated. She didn’t have the energy for this. Melvin and the house elves would have a go at her for being late, she still had three corridors in the east wing of the house to clean and she wondered what other great mysteries she was bound to encounter that day.
“It’s Weasley. And I don’t think this is prudent. We are both married and...”
“Technically, you are widowed,” he added standing up from the bed, and coming towards her. He regretted his choice of words for she looked quite ready to cry. He mentally kicked himself and swore at his stupidity. He really should muster his anger better.
“I love Ron,” she said determinedly, looking into his grey orbs. “I love my husband,” she continued and despite the fact that he had hated her for the past twenty-two years, he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.
“Funny way to show you love him...going around kissing other men,” he said sourly, his eyebrows tensing. He felt stupid. He felt like a skulking little boy.
“What? What?” She stood up abruptly, anger boiling within her veins, ready to make them pop and spit at the good looking blonde git standing tall and straight in front of her. “May I remind you, Malfoy, that you were the one who kissed me and that you were drunk!” She spat the words out, placing great emphasis on the fact that he was intoxicated with Firewisky. His eyes became a few degrees cooler.
“Last night was different and you know it.”
“Don’t be stupid! Last night meant nothing...I was merely trying to keep you awake. That’s all,” she said and felt herself blushing. Her lie was still the truth...it was still the truth, she thought.
Neither said another word for a few minutes. They stood like abandoned puppets in the middle of the room, looking at different things and trying to reason with the external force that was slowly pulling them towards each other and a mentally irrational relationship.
“I’m glad you feel better, Mr Malfoy, but I think you should go,” said Hermione eventually, but avoiding eye contact at all costs.
“Yes, I think that would be...prudent,” he said sardonically, placing his emotionless mask back on. “Thank you, Mrs Weasley, for looking after me last night and I apologise for any inconvenience that I have caused you. From now on, I believe we will maintain a strictly servant/master relationship. After all, this is what you are here for. Good day,” he said and walked out of the room before Hermione had the chance to say another word. And despite the fact that she convinced her mind to hate him, her heart compelled her eyes to shed a few tears that she chose to ignore.
Rose Weasley sneezed once, then sneezed again as the dust from the highest book shelve she could reach covered her from head to toe. She had been given the chore to “clean” one of the many drawing rooms on the second floor of the house, since she was no longer allowed outside in the gardens after her little incident with the carnivorous plant. But Rose Weasley was angry. She was tried, she wanted to constantly moan and she didn’t get a good night’s sleep since she and Hugo were made to sleep in a separate dungeon room for reasons she could not completely comprehend. She had not even seen Hermione that morning. At precisely eight o’clock a house elf popped in the room, ushered them both out of bed, sent Hugo to play and Rose to clean. She was really starting to hate house elves.
She stood on her tiptoes, hoping to reach a higher shelf, but then gave up and threw her dusting cloth on the floor, making a few of the nearby books tremble with her discomfort. She wanted to scream in frustration but she thought she ought not to in case trouble came knocking at her door yet again. She wondered if the furniture could bite.
“Umm...Rose?” she turned around and tried her best not to scream WHAT and say she couldn’t be bothered to work that day, that she wanted to be a normal kid and that she missed her father. But when her eyes fell upon the soft and calm features of Scorpius Malfoy her anger lowered by a few levels. “Hi Scorpius,” she said in a small voice.
The little boy looked towards the corridor from which he came to make sure that no one was around and then he started approaching her. “I’m...sorry about what my father said. You know...that we aren’t allowed to play and all that.”
Rose looked down at her dusty shoes, at her dirty apron that served as a constant reminder that she was nothing more than a servant girl. She was supposed to befriend the duster, the house elves and the furniture, not the wizards of the house. “Well...I am nothing more than a servant, Scorpius,” she said. “Your father was right...”
“No, he wasn’t,” whispered Scorpius, taking a few steps towards her. “Your mom may be a servant, but everything that he makes you do, the house elves do again.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that he doesn’t take you seriously as a servant. He just gives you chores so you have something to do...yesterday I’ve seen house elves dust the places that you already dusted. Which is great,” he added with a small smirk.
“What do you mean it’s great? You are telling me that I am wasting my time...that my work is pointless and that my life will be as pointless as my work,” said Rose close to tears. She missed reading and writing...she missed playing with Hugo and she missed being a normal child awaiting her Hogwarts letter.
“I mean it’s great because you can get away with not doing chores. If we’re really careful we can be friends...if you want that is,” he added going slightly red and then looking away.
“Scorpius, your father is smart...he will see...”
“He’s not going to check to see if you are working or not, Rose. For all he knows, you could be dusting off some corridor or something like that.”
Rose gave Scorpius a little smile. Really, it wasn’t that hard to choose. Duster or boy? Boy or duster? The boy had a mouth and a brain. The boy could turn time into fun. The duster only annoyed her and made her angry. “Okay,” she said in a small voice. “But we need to find a safe room to play in...your dad could come in your room at any time.”
Scorpius grinned and then pulled a straight face. “Yeah...we need to find a different room. Harry will be happy,” he added to encourage her.
“Ah, him,” she said and they both started laughing.
“I waited for you last night.”
“I’m sorry. I had some business to discuss with my father. I only got in this morning.”
“I see. Scorpius asked after you. He said he finished the book you left for him.”
Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. Knowing Scorpius, it was more likely that he forced an unfortunate house elf to read the book in one night and tell him the core in ten minutes. He made a mental note to ask the house elves later, but smirked a little at the realization that his son was becoming more like him each day. Of course, he thought, Lucius had never been as lenient as he was. Far too often he experienced the wrath of his father’s cane upon the soft flesh of his palms. It taught him not to cry, but still, the only reason why he still loved his father was because of his Azkaban sentence. He had come back a changed man. A man, not a monster. A father, not a heart executioner. He could never muster the cruelty to do such a thing to Scorpius. It took his father nearly half of his lifetime to realize that words could sting as much as that blasted serpent cane and that discipline wasn’t all about the punishment. They never spoke about these matters, Draco and Lucius, but there were times of tension, of guilty looks and accusing glares when words did not need to be spoken for the air said it all. Still, the relationship between father and son turned out better than Draco had ever anticipated. And for that, he was thankful. And so was Narcissa.
“Draco, are you even listening to what I am saying?” Astoria Malfoy gave her husband an angry glare. But when he looked into her eyes, she lowered her gaze as if his stare made her uneasy. She even started fidgeting with her sleeves, pulling them down, a habit she didn’t fully abandon since her Hogwarts years when long sleeves were necessary to hide the bruises, the cuts and sometimes the angry, fearful tears. But now...the sleeves were trying to hide the guilt of pleasure’s flesh.
“I’m sorry, I was thinking about something. You were saying...?” he asked and tried his best to pay attention and not think of a certain brown eyed girl down in the Malfoy dungeons. He pushed her out of his mind as soon as her bushy hair broke down the door.
“Scorpius’s birthday party. I think we should make the house elves and the servants decorate the West wing of the mansion rather than the East wing. There’s more windows, and I think the light would look good on the flying dragon balloons I ordered from Diagon Alley.” Her voice was quieter and shakier than normal and she didn’t once meet his grey, penetrating orbs.
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” he said and looked out of the window at the falling rain, feeling half dead. He wondered if the mad man in the dungeons felt like that. He wondered if it was his wife’s presence that made his feel like that.
“I was also saying something else,” continued Astoria mustering the strength to look him in the eye. The cold tone of her voice made Draco’s attention return. It was the first time he looked at her properly that day and she seemed...tried. No, not tried, but like one of those marionettes at the circus that were once the main attraction, but over time, their paint faded, became dull and their smiles disappeared. She seemed a little like a puppet, forgotten by the puppeteer, her strings loose around her. “I think that...maybe we should...take a break.”
“A break from what?” he asked even though he knew the answer perfectly well. It just seemed more real if someone else’s tongue spoke it.
“Us, Draco. A break from us. Being married, pretending that nothing is going wrong when everything seems to be falling apart. A break from pretending that we are still in love with each other like the day we got married.” She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly and letting the words out. “I will never forget what you and your mother did for me. But maybe the only way to save us, is by drifting apart a little.”
Draco wanted to add that they had already drifted far apart when she confessed that she slept with another man all those years ago. That there hadn’t been a united “us” for a very long time as a result of that mysterious man who he dreamt about murdering, the mysterious man whose name did not matter according to Astoria. And yet...he forgave her. He chose to forget the pain that she caused him. He chose to take her back and her title, the tile of the new Mrs Malfoy was not covered in shameful mud. Each day after that he wondered if he had made the right decision.
“Scorpius doesn’t need to know. I thought of this. If we just sleep in separate rooms, spend less time with each other...”
“Well, it is a big mansion,” he added, wondering why the only time he had a civilised conversation with his wife was when they were on the verge of breaking up.
“Exactly,” she whispered. “I’m not going to let this get to him. He will grow up to be a happy little boy, and we will spend a lot of time with him. We will not be bad parents, Draco.” Astoria seemed in need to say her thoughts aloud for a moment, and it seemed to Draco that she did not doubt their ability as parents, but rather her ability as a mother.
“I think it’s a good idea. I will get a house elf to move my things to the East wing,” he said and without another word he went out of the room, feeling a little, despite the remorse, as if he were breathing a breath of very fresh air.
Astoria said nothing more as he left her in the drawing room. For once they agreed on something. But her irrational side screamed at her and kicked her heart, pinched it, made it bleed. She longed for him to say that she was wrong, that they were not going through a rough time, that they could sort it out together, not alone. She dreaded being alone. When she was alone, she was the insecure little girl that he saved her from at Hogwarts. When he wasn’t around she felt the blows and fists and cuts and bruises that she tried her best to hide, until one day she revealed herself to him and he made the pain go away with his touches and kisses. Those days could not be over. Astoria Malfoy was created because he had saved Astoria Greengrass. He gave her the world...and what was she doing? Throwing it back at him without realizing how much she actually needed it? She could not live without her hero, and she felt more ashamed than ever.
Rose felt slightly nervous as she was walking towards the servant dungeon room she now called home. She knew Hermione was waiting for her there and she felt a small lump forming inside her stomach. The lump had been there since the moment Jinxy, the house elf, popped in one of the spare rooms of the Mansion where she was playing with Hugo and Scorpius. Where she dared to be a child and think of toys and books and magical quills and brooms and cauldrons. Not of dusters and cleaners. Jinxy declared that her mother was looking for her, and wanted to be informed of her whereabouts. Before Rose could beg her not to say anything, she disapparated, leaving the little girl rather distressed. She could feel that Hermione was angry even before she faced her, but decided to be a Gryffindor about it. So she didn’t knock. She went straight into the room.
Hermione was sitting on the armchair, rubbing her hands as if she had been cleaning dishes the muggle way all day long. Rose looked at her rather pale complexion and sweat droplets on her forehead and realized her mother was not feeling exceptionally well.
“Rose,” she said in a surprisingly strong voice. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Where were you all day?”
Rose exhaled a little nervously, thinking that perhaps Jinxy had not informed Hermione of her whereabouts. “Around...the house....you know, dusting off and things,” she laughed a little nervously.
“I see,” said Hermione. “I thought you were meant to dust the drawing room?”
“I couldn’t reach the high shelves, so I decided to clean the small tables on the corridors instead,” she said lamely, feeling just how much her mother outsmarted her.
“Rose, you are a terrible liar.” Rose went pale and looked down. She was a terrible liar. Hermione could easily see through her. “I know it’s hard, honey, but we are only here as servants. We must do what the Malfoys tell us to do, at least for now.”
“But Hugo gets to play...”
“He’s only five years old. He wouldn’t know how to...”
“And I’m only seven!” snapped Rose looking up.
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, young lady!” snapped Hermione. Since her argument with Draco that morning, Hermione felt like a time bomb ready to explode. She felt the strange pains and anger on her pregnant hormones. She closed her eyes, took a few breaths in and faced her stubborn daughter yet again. “I need you to be a little more mature, Rose,”
“You always loved Hugo more!” she snapped and felt immature tears forming in her eyes.
“We both know that’s not true,” cried Hermione alarmed that her daughter made such an accusation. “Rose...”
“I miss dad!” she cried and the tears finally came. “I don’t want to be here, I hate this place!”
“And I hate it as much as you do!” cried Hermione getting angry. “But I don’t go off with Mr Malfoy reading books and playing,” Merlin Hermione, you are a hypocrite, she thought.
“But Scorpius is just a kid! We’re just playing...we could be good friends...I’d like to have a friend....”
“WELL YOU CAN’T,” she shouted and Rose went quiet as the tears fell down her cheeks in vast numbers. “Honey...”
“Leave me alone,” said Rose and ran towards the door. “I want dad, I hate you!” she cried and slammed it shut, leaving Hermione feeling a combination of guilt, anger and sadness. She collapsed in a nearby armchair and caught her head in her hands as the tears finally came.
She ran through the corridors feeling horrible, ashamed and shocked at the poisonous words she threw upon her mother like arrows. Did she really tell her that she hated her? She didn’t mean it, she thought quickly and more tears fell as she ran through the dungeon corridors, with no consideration of the direction and no consideration of the intrigued looks the people in the paintings threw upon her. Her mind was replaying the scene that had developed in the dormitory, unable to concentrate upon anything else. It was only when she fell to the floor, after bumping into a rather tall person that her eyes reopened to contemplate her present situation.
“Rose!” snapped Draco Malfoy, “I thought I made it clear to you that there is no running on the corridors...you could knock off a vase...are you all right?” he asked as fresh tears escaped from her blotchy eyes. She stood up, nodded once and ran out of the house through a terrace door, not caring too much whether she was bound to get into even more trouble.
The mansion was making her feel uneasy. It was making her feel angry and selfish. Seeing how much Draco seemed to care about Scorpius made her feel jealous. Where was her father? What had happened to him? Why wasn’t he there to make everything seem better and wipe away her tears? Why wasn’t he there to make the monsters go away? She let out a small sob as she ran through the garden, through the rose labyrinth, wanting to get lost and yearning to forget the pain that made her muscles ache with the longing of a different life. A life that had been snatched away from her too abruptly. She was only seven. She was just a kid and she wanted to feel like one again.
And as she ran, she lost track of time. The strongly scented roses bathed her emotions, sharpened her pain and bolded her loss. It made the weight of the world seem a hundred and thirteen times heavier. She ran until her feet could no longer carry her, and then collapsed in a small clearing in the middle of the labyrinth, allowing herself to finally cry the tears that had been longing to escape since she learned Ron had died. She buried her face in her hands and cried, wishing the tears could just clean away all the dirty, dusty pain that made her sneeze far too often.
And then she felt a gentle hand caressing her head. She looked up, startled, through unshed tears, but no one was there, so she assumed it was safe to resume crying her heart’s contents. But as soon as she drew her kneed together and placed her head on top of them, she felt the same gentle hand squeezing her shoulder. When she looked up again, there were masses of red petals surrounding her in a perfect circle. She abruptly stood up and looked around rather frightened, locking her sadness in her chest for when she was in less bizarre surroundings. Her breathing accelerated and she wondered if it was too hard to find her way out of the labyrinth.
Rose’s heart skipped a heartbeat. The whisper was so familiar that it sent chills down her spine. She looked around but saw no one.
“Daddy?” she whispered, turning around in the circle of roses and wondering if she was truly going mad.
And then she saw him. She ran, as if her life depended on it into Ron’s arms, which were real, and strong and warm. He bent down and enclosed her in a protective embrace, from where she could do nothing but cry as he whispered shooting words and caressed her back. “How...?” she asked through heartbreaking sobs.
“I’m not too sure, honey, but we don’t have much time,” said Ron and gently pushed her away from his chest, keeping his hands on her upper arms, to reassure her that he was really there.
“You’re not here to stay?” she asked and her eyes re-filled with tears.
“No, Rosie, no one can come back from there. I’m just...”
“Take me with you!” she said and gave him a begging look.
“I can’t do that sweetheart,” he said and gave her a small smile. “You have so much waiting for you here...you just have to be a brave girl and listen to mommy...don’t cry Rosie, I know it’s hard. But you’ll be okay, you’ll be just fine. You have to trust me on this.”
“But I miss you,” she cried, finding that attempting to stop her tears was impossible. “I want it to go back to how it used to be...I hate it here...”
“I can’t blame you on that...this is not the nicest place in the world. But things will get better. I promise they will...”
“No daddy, please take me with you...I don’t want to wait for things to get better,” she cried close to being hysterical. “Please...I want to stay with you...”
“Come here,” said Ron realizing that a conversation with her was pointless since she was far too entangled in her own miserable tears to take into consideration anything he said. He just hugged her close and allowed her to cry, hoping that their embrace was enough to last her a lifetime and hoping that she was destined to be a Gryffindor...a strong Gryffindor like her mother. He gently rubbed her back circularly, until her sobs quietened and she just lay in his embrace with her eyes closed, trying to kidnap her perfect moment from the evil claws of time. And then she fell asleep, in a sweet indulgent dream.
Draco Malfoy let a relieved sigh escape his lips, a sigh that he chose to ignore. He ran his hand over his face and slowly made his way towards the small rose meadow where Hermione’s daughter was sleeping in the grass, her face dusty and tear stained, the contour of her eyes red and blotchy. He wondered how the roses tortured her innocent soul. He had been following her since she had ran off into the gardens, but he only started worrying when she got lost in the labyrinth, for he out of all people knew what The Roses did to people. How, once the smell indulged the soul, the thorns imprisoned it in a cage of emotional turmoil and broken dreams that were snatched away too abruptly and reopened old scars. The Roses, if he recalled correctly from Bagshot’s History of Magic, had been used in the making of the Mirror of Erised. Not even the greatest wizard could resist their charms...let alone a seven year old child.
Seeing her so small and fragile, sprawled on the grass made him angry. He always had the impression that Rose Weasley was very good at hiding her true emotions, and he wondered if, by forcing her to fight with her darkest fears, the roses broke her down. He reluctantly sat down next to her, because he knew that attempting to wake her up would be futile. However, it wasn’t too long until she started moving and regaining her strength.
She murmured something too inaudible for him to hear, but she seemed to be getting upset. He placed a reassuring yet awkward hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t go...” she cried still half asleep. “Daddy...” she whispered and her eyebrows tensed.
“Rose, wake up,” he said slightly louder and the next minute was met by her big green eyes. She stood up abruptly, looking around as if hoping that Ron was hiding behind the bushes. “Where is he?” she asked looking at Draco with sad eyes, not wanting to believe that he was truly gone, even though deep down she knew she was fatherless yet again.
“You mean your father?” he asked and stood up as well. Rose nodded as her eyes refilled with tears.
“Rose,” he started but was soon interrupted by her, as she could no longer hold the tears in.
“Did you see him? He was here...he was here with me...”
“No Rose, he wasn’t,” he said and decided that it was best if she knew despite her fresh tears and trembling bottom lip. “He was just a fragment of your mind.”
“He was real!” she cried stubbornly.
“These are no ordinary roses,” he continued as Rose started wiping her eyes on her sleeves. “If they catch with your guard down, they bewitch you with their smell, they conquer your heart and they enhance what hurts you the most, making you believe what in your dreams you want to be real. Your father’s appearance was just their trap to play with your pain. I’m sorry you had to experience this, which is why I must ask you never to adventure into this labyrinth again.”
“But I want to see him again,” she begged, still looking around hoping that he would come out any minute.
“No!” said Draco authoritatively. “Rose,” he continued in a softer voice as she started sobbing quietly, “Your father is dead. Nothing can bring him back, and the sooner you let go the better. I know it’s hard, I really do, but you must move on.”
The little girl said nothing more, but gave him a small nod, wiping her tears and refusing to let the remaining ones fall. She caged them with her eyelashes, deciding that it was time to be strong again and make Ron proud. Draco guided her out of the labyrinth and as soon as they entered the house, Rose ventured down a corridor, seeking dark solitude for comfort. He looked at her frail little silhouette as she veered left and felt the monstrous claws of her own sadness get to him a little. It was true, he never liked Ron....actually he hated Ron, but he couldn’t help not respecting the memory of her father. He wondered whether Scorpius would mourn so bitterly if he was to die...but after the extra reading he gave him, he thought probably not.
The sound of shattered glass coming from the dungeons interrupted his train of thought. He presumed that a house elf probably dropped a plate and so started making his way towards his study, but then someone’s moans made him stop and turn around. This, he thought, he could not ignore. He made his way down to the dungeon corridor, listening for any sign that something was wrong. And it came in the form of a loud sob from the servant bedchamber. He felt a small lump forming inside his chest. Was it...worry, he thought?
“No,” he said out loud. “Just Slytherin curiosity.”
“You look worried,” said a female voice from one of the paintings hanging on the wall.
“Oh shut up,” he hissed and made his way towards Hermione’s room, from where he could hear ongoing sobs and moans. I’m not exactly the best person to “pop in and ask what’s wrong”, he thought, begging his pride to make him turn around, “we hate each other,” continued his mind, but his feet kept taking him forward. Fuck, he thought as his hand turned the door knob and the door opened to reveal Hermione holding on to her stomach for dear life, rivers of blood running down her legs and forming a red puddle beneath her.
“Merlin, Granger,” he exclaimed and caught her in his arms as she passed out.
A/N Hey guys! I really hope you liked this chapter as it took me a while to write and "get right". I also quite enjoyed writing it, so I really hope that came through. Thank you so,so,so,so much to all the people who have reviewed so far! I really appreciate your feedback as it really makes me more determined to write faster and write better. So I guess, what in other words I am trying to say is, please review and let me know what you thought of this chapter! ;)
Also, I just wanted to let you know that there will be another chapter (chapter 10) in this time frame, which is 2013 when Hugo is 5 and Rose and Scorp are 7. From chapter 11 onwards, there will be a different time frame...meaning that the year will be 2022, Hugo will be 14 and Rose and Scorp 16. I don't know if all of you will appreciate the rather drastic change of time, but if you do, I just thought I'd give you something to look forward to. :)
Once again, I love you for all your reads and reviews!!! You are the best.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Other Similar Stories