It's the last chapter!
I'll probably get all sappy and shit in the notes after the chapter, but I just need to thank you all for reading this story. I don't think I would have had nearly as much fun writing this if it weren't for all of you. And I know that I've made you all put up with some pretty ridiculous hiatuses between chapters, so really, it means a lot that many of you were willing to be patient until we got to this point.
Harry tugged anxiously at the ends of his sleeves, smoothing his hands over imagined wrinkles and scanning his shirt for any stains. It was a procedure he had started repeating every five minutes, like some kind of ritual to ward off the evil tux gremlins.
A sharp slap hit his hand, and he jumped back in shock. "Stop it, Harry, you look fine," Hermione scolded.
"Keep at it and you're just going to spoil the suit," Ron added, though his voice was muffled with effort. He was fumbling to help Harry with his bow tie, a task that had proved too challenging for Harry's shaking hands. "Damn, putting these things on is so much easier when you're not putting it on other people."
Hermione sighed impatiently as Ron managed to drop the tie for the third time. "Oh, just let me do it," she said shrilly.
"You sure you know what you're doing?" Ron asked, though he stepped aside willingly and handed her the tie. "Those things can be pretty tricky."
"I spend 13 hours a day dealing with dangerous chemicals and expensive equipment. I think I can handle a scrap of fabric."
"Don't let Draco hear that you called it a scrap," Harry cautioned. "He spent two weeks debating the color. I think he and Narcissa both almost had nervous breakdowns over it."
"Well, it's a lovely color."
"Isn't it just black?" asked Ron, now working his way through a bowl of free candy.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry could see the faint trace of a smile hidden under her disdain for Ron's lack of finesse. "There," she said, adjusting the knot she had tied. "You look great."
"Are you sure?" Harry looked in a mirror to check and felt a strange pang of regret that he lacked his fiance's eye for self-evaluation. Was his hair supposed to look like that? Was his jacket supposed to stop there? How could he possibly know if he looked remotely suitable for a wedding? And not just for any wedding, of course, but his own.
He felt Hermione's warm hands on his back. The dress she was wearing had been selected according to Narcissa's exacting standards, a shade of gold that complemented the deep red of the flower in his boutonniere. "You look great," she said softly, and Harry could tell from her voice that she understood his nerves.
Harry gulped, still not so convinced by his friend's confidence. It was her job to tell him that he looked good, which made her untrustworthy in this situation. "What if Draco doesn't think so?"
"Oh, Harry, you know that's not what's important."
"I know, I know. I just don't want to ruin anything today by, you know, being me."
"The best thing you could do today is be you. That's who Draco wants to marry," Ron interjected. "Even if you showed up out there in ratty jeans and a t-shirt, he'd just be happy that you're there. He'd kill you first, but he'd be happy."
"Narcissa might kill me before he does."
"True. But it'll be a swift and painless murder," Hermione noted. "That's how the Malfoys show affection, right?"
"I think we've passed the 'comforting' stage and headed into something a bit more frightening now."
"Right." Hermione took a few deep breaths. "Okay. Right. Harry."
"Yes?" Harry looked at her anxiously, preparing himself for a lecture on whatever Hermione deemed relevant to the occasion.
"You know what you're going to do, right?" she asked, looking uncharacteristically unsure of what she was supposed to say.
Harry swallowed and nodded slowly. "I..I think so."
"You're going to go out and get married, okay."
"Hermione, is this really necessary?" Ron asked. "I think he knows that he's going to get married."
"I just want to make sure, Ron. Weddings can be difficult."
"Really? Don't you just walk down—" Ron stopped when he saw Harry shaking his head at him, a silent warning that barely got to him in time. Fortunately, Hermione seemed to recover quickly from whatever impromptu lesson she wanted to give Ron about the technicalities inherent to weddings.
Harry glanced down at his watch. A lump formed in his throat as he announced, "I think everything is starting soon." Sure enough, Narcissa came into the room a few seconds later. Despite the fact that everything about her appearance was perfectly in place, she seemed slightly out of breath as she hurriedly rushed Ron and Hermione out of the door and to their places.
She paused for a moment before leavingand smiled at Harry. Walking towards him, she drew him into a hug. "Are you ready?"
"Y-yeah," Harry managed to stammer.
"Well, then, Draco awaits."
Narcissa left as quickly as she came in, barking orders at people in the hallway as Harry took one last glance at himself. He took a few deep breaths, trying to slow the frantic pounding in his chest lest he collapse at the altar before the wedding even finished. Every step he took towards the door seemed to resonate through him, and he wondered how he could feel like he was walking too slowly and too quickly at the same time. And before he even realized that he had left the room, he was at the top of the aisle. The music had faded to the background, the voices of the guests forming a slightly hum that overlaid the notes of the violins. The party began walking forward, and he realized that it had started. The wedding had started. He gulped, anxiously running through everything he was supposed to do in his mind one last, making sure that he knew where to stand and what to say and when to say it and what finger to put the ring on and how they were supposed to walk out.
And then he saw Draco, smiling at him as if he was the only person in the world. Harry took Draco's hand, and an instantaneous calm soothed his frantic nerves. Everything was perfect.
Draco spent the hour before the wedding with Pansy and Blaise, refusing to sit down lest his suit become messy in any way. He couldn't figure out why his mother had insisted that they start getting ready so early—even with his fussiness, this was getting excessive. But his father had advised him to just sit back and let Narcissa run the show, and that seemed to be the most peaceful resolution to the morning. Blaise and Pansy were lying relaxed on a velvet blue couch, with Pansy's feet resting on Blaise's lap as her shoes lay idly on the floor.
"I told you he's nervous," Pansy said suddenly to Blaise, giving Draco an appraising look.
"No, he's not."
"Yes, he is," she stated more firmly. "He's shaking his left knee. He only does that when he's nervous." She pointed at Draco's leg, directing Blaise's attention to the tremor Draco had been trying to hide.
"You can't even see his left knee. It's covered up with his pants," Blaise argued, leaning forward as best as he could with Pansy's feet obstructing him.
"His pants are vibrating. Or shaking or whatever. They're moving because his knee is moving. His knee is moving because he's nervous. He's nervous, so now you owe me fifty dollars."
"I have such lovely friends," Draco muttered. "I bet Ron and Hermione aren't betting on Harry's anxiety."
"What's the point of being invested in each other's emotional state if we can't make a profit off it," she retorted cheekily. Draco chuckled, but he still felt a quake of nerves inside his chest that jokes couldn't get rid of. Pansy assessed him again, and her expression looked far more serious. "Really, though. Are you okay? I've never seen you look so antsy."
"I just want everything to be perfect."
"It will be. It's you and Harry. How could it not be perfect?" Pansy's eyes were shining, making her look practically soft by her standards.
"Are you getting emotional on me?"
"Our widdle Draco is all grown up and getting married," Blaise exclaimed. "Of course we're getting fucking emotional. You and Harry have overcome years of hatred and taken over companies together. It's so romantic."
"Romantic like how you're going to as Oliver to dance with you tonight?" Draco teased.
A scowl clouded Blaise's features. "I'm not asking him."
"Blaise, darling," said Pansy with a foreboding air. "Don't make Draco threaten you on his wedding day. He's got enough things to worry about. Just get really drunk so that if anything goes wrong, you can blame it on the alcohol."
"Why would you expect that anything would go wrong?" Blaise demanded defensively. "I'll have you know that I have a very slick game."
"The fact that you call it a 'slick game' tells me all I need to know."
Blaise crossed his arms, looking less like an internationally renowned athlete and more like a cranky child. "I hate you. I hate the both of you."
"Not as much as you hate everyone else in the world," observed Pansy. "That's what makes us such good friends."
There was a sharp knock on the door, and Draco's mother popped her head in the room. She gave Draco a sharp, inspecting look, swept the door open, and walked in without a word. Her eyes narrowed on the pocket square on Draco's chest, and there was silence in the room as she adjusted the square with an exacting minuteness. Then, stepping back, she looked over at Draco and, as if processing for the first time just where she was, her eyes began to water. She touched her hand to Draco's cheek and said with a matching tenderness, "You look so grown-up. So handsome."
Draco smiled and put his hand over his mother's. For a brief moment, he felt the shaking in his knee stop. A clock struck from somewhere in the distance though, and the rush of everything else that was going on came back.
"I have to get everybody ready," Narcissa said, taking on the air of a general marching into war. "You two," she pointed at Pansy and Blaise, "you know where you're supposed to be."
"Yes, ma'am," Blaise replied.
"Then hurry up and get there," she commanded before exiting the room to gather everyone else.
Pansy stood up and slipped into her shoes. She walked over to Draco and gave him a small hug, careful to avoid wrinkling his jacket. "I'm really happy for you. Jealous, but happy." She lightly tapped a finger against her tear ducts. "Dammit," she laughed as she stepped back, "if you make me feel any happier, my make-up is going to smudge."
Blaise stepped forward and held out his hand. "Good luck out there."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Blaise," interrupted Pansy. "It's a wedding, not a game."
"It's okay, Pansy," Draco reassured her as he and Blaise clapped each other on the shoulders in an abbreviated hug, "I could use all the luck I can get."
After they had left, Draco took a few seconds to hold his left knee down with his hand, trying to steady it before he headed out. There was a sound of people getting put into their places by his mother's strict orders, and Draco stood towards the back as he watched the processional begin their walk.
And then he saw Harry, and that's all there was. His hair, despite what were likely valiant efforts, was still a slight mess. And the bow tie was off at the tiniest of angles, indicating that someone else had tied it for him. But he looked so…Harry. And when he smiled at Draco, he looked so perfect.
"Are you nervous?" Harry whispered, their hands held together as they looked down the aisle. Rows and rows of guests had just stood up and were now staring at them, awaiting their entrance.
Draco just looked at Harry again and tightened his grip. "Not anymore."
In the future, when Harry looked back on the wedding, he would find that the ceremony was largely a blur. There was music and colorful dresses and people staring at him, but they all seemed to meld together into a muted mass that formed a backdrop to the day's events. The one thing he would remember clearly—the one thing he would never be able to forget—was the feeling of Draco's hand in his as they walked down the aisle. He would never be able to recollect the words the officiant said to them, and even though he would never admit it to Draco, he had a hard time recalling what he had recited in their vows. But if you asked him, he would be able to describe the exact way the lines of Draco's palms criss-crossed against his own, the way each finger laced between the others as Draco's thumb rubbed comfortingly against the top of Harry's hand. This was the part of the wedding that would stick forever with Harry.
As they walked down the aisle, a series of images played out in his head—memories of times when he and Draco hadn't liked each other. Times when they had taunted each other, tortured each other, wanted nothing to do with each other. And Harry smiled. These memories were remnants of a youth he had grown out of, a childish set of provocations and reactions that had become less and less important as he thought of the comfort and security he and Draco had built with each other. After all, any hatred they had felt was only the beginning of the story. And a beginning means nothing until there's a middle and end to give it meaning.
At the altar, Draco looked out to the crowd and then back so Harry could see the smile growing on his face. It seemed cliche, but Draco's skin glowed with a beaming shine of pride and happiness. Harry slipped his free into Draco's other hand, feeling self-conscious as he became aware of the audience that watched. He glanced towards the side and saw Hermione flash him a quick, encouraging smile. His throat constricted as he looked back at Draco, whose eyes glowed with emotions Harry usually only saw away from crowds. It was overwhelming to see Draco—his sarcastic, biting, private Draco—seem so relatively unrestrained in public.
Harry had heard a quote once, probably in high school though he couldn't be sure, from a poem or a story that he couldn't quite remember. He would have to ask Draco about it later.
The journey is the thing.
He'd never really made much of the line before, but as he turned to face Draco at the altar, it seemed that he finally understood the words. The journey was the thing, is the thing, would always be the thing. And the journey was worth taking because he was taking it with Draco.
"Lades and gentlemen," the officiant began, "we are here to celebrate the marriage of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter."
Draco felt that his mother had really outdone herself for the reception. Most people would consider three ice sculpture and five chocolate fountains to be a bit excessive, but the Malfoys were not most people. And his mother was exceptionally talented at taking what would otherwise be a tacky display of wealth and somehow making it appear tasteful. All in all, it felt like a wonderful end to months of stress. The guests were chattering, buzzed on the combination of good food and wine. And the exhaustion of picking colors and flowers and food seemed to be fading away now, almost forgotten as Draco sat at the head table, his hand still wrapped in Harry's.
There was a high pitched tapping coming from next to him, and Draco realized that his father was trying to get everyone's attention for a toast. The conversation throughout the ballroom continued, but people slowly realized that Malfoy Sr. was demanding their attention, and an anticipatory silence began to pervade the room.
His father coughed, clearing his throat before starting. "Hello everyone. Narcissa and I are so happy you could all be here to celebrate with us." He smiled down at Narcissa. Draco wasn't sure, but there seemed to be a mutual acknowledgement between the two of them, some kind of understanding that caused them both to smile wider. It was him, Draco thought with sudden clarity. They were happy because of him. "There is plenty of wine and dancing to be had," his father continued, "and I think Narcissa will kill me if I stick with my original five-page toast. I just want to say, Draco," and this time it was Draco's turn to receive the elusive Lucius Malfoy smile. His father paused, and a series of emotions washed across his face. Of all the ways that Draco had seen his father, emotional was not the most common.
"Draco, I know that we haven't always seen eye to eye, but when I look at what you've made for yourself, the person you've become, I'm amazed. Your mother and I are both amazed." He clapped Draco on the shoulder, and Draco felt the warmth of his father's sincerity tun through him. "And Harry," he said, shifting his glance past Draco, "we've been fortunate to watch you grow up to become someone with integrity and enormous generosity. We are so happy to have you become a part of our family and to see what the future brings for you both." He raised his glass. "To Draco and Harry."
The rest of the room raised their glasses, and there was the clink of glasses as tables made their toast.
The rest of the evening passed in a whirlwind of music and dancing. Harry had acquitted himself nicely in the first dance, despite admitting that he was nervous to have everyone watching him so closely. There was some kind of euphoria in the whole night that made it difficult for Draco to keep track of everything that was going on. Whether it was the wine or the happiness of celebrating with Harry, Draco couldn't really be sure. He did remember shooting Blaise a wink when he saw him dancing with Oliver. Blaise had returned the wink with a nasty look that fell short of actual anger as Oliver grabbed his hand and spun him around.
"It's kind of gross though," Draco said later. He was sitting with Harry at the head table with his head rested on Harry's shoulder. "Isn't it?"
"Everyone's all coupled up...and happy," he explained, feeling like perhaps he was being a bit childish about the various pairings forming on the dance floor. "It's just so convenient."
Harry snorted. "Not everything has to end in misery you know."
"No, but it's always more exciting when it does."
"Well, it looks like Hermione and Ron are bickering," Harry pointed out, nodding his chin in the direction of the squabbling couple."
"Ooh," Draco replied excitedly. He raised his head to see Hermione glaring at a cowering Ron. "What do you think he did this time?"
"I assume that it has something to do with all the cake in her hair."
"Oh, that's no fun. They're probably going to end up having bathroom sex while Ron pretends to clean her hair."
"Don't pout," Harry said, lightly kissing Draco's cheek. "We have at least five minutes of Ron fearing for his life before that happens."
"I think you just gave me the best wedding gift of the night. And they say romance is dead."
"You say romance is dead."
"True, but today's my wedding day," Draco argued haughtily. "I'm allowed to get a little sappy. Just don't tell anyone please."
Harry grinned back. "I'm too overcome with surprise and emotion. I never thought I'd see the day when Draco Malfoy would be sappy."
"Maybe we should get married some more."
Whatever happiness had appeared on Harry's face was now a distinct look of fear that Draco had been serious. "Draco, I love you, but one of these things was enough."
"Cheers to that," Draco reassured him as he watched his mother scold a waiter for a small scuff on his shoe.
A distinct set of staccato notes sounded from the speakers, and Draco could see Harry's face begin to pale as he recognized the melody. "No, no. You didn't," Harry pleaded. "You can't make me. I'm a grown man."
"You're also my husband now. So go on, Macarena Boy." Draco grinned sadistically at Harry's desperation. "You've got a dance to do."
Hours later, Draco opened the doors to their suite and stumbled in, hiccuping as he grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, his broad chest pressing warmly against Draco's back. "Did you just hiccup?" he said slyly into Draco's ear.
"My diaphragm spasmed," Draco said, turning around so he could sink his head onto Harry's shoulder. "That's all."
"Isn't that the same thing as hiccuping?"
"Yes, but it sounds less undignified. And speaking of undignified," Draco added, "I enjoyed your Macarena, as did our guests. I've never seen that dance earn a standing ovation before."
Harry groaned, but the corners of his lips were turned up in amusement. "I was really hoping you were going to forget to make that happen."
"I did. But Fleur's little sister emailed me last week to make sure that I remembered." Draco adjusted his weight, but somehow lost his balance and stumbled sideways out of Harry's hold. Luckily, there was a couch behind him, and he quickly grabbed ahold of it.
When he managed to steady himself, he realized that Harry was laughing. "Are you tipsy?" he asked when Draco managed to regain his composure.
"I'm tipsy on your love." Draco drew the words out, trying to sound grandiose. When Harry responded to the display with an eyebrow raised in amused skepticism, Draco acquiesced. "And expensive champagne." Without thinking, he stretched out a hand to undo Harry's tie, which was starting to hang loosely from the collar. The silk slipped through his fingers and landed softly between their feet. Harry took Draco's wrist, lifting it to his lips so he could brush against Draco's pulse. It was a soft flutter that translated into a much more pronounced response in Draco. Surely Harry could taste the feeling of his pulse, pounding harder with anticipation.
"Come on," Harry said, idly turning the silver band around Draco's ring finger. "Let's get to bed before we realize how tired we are."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Do you need me to explain it to you?" Harry pressed his lips to the base of Draco's neck, his teeth grazing lightly against skin.
Draco arched his neck and groaned, savoring the slow, sensual swirl of Harry's tongue around the bite. "You might need to work harder to make sure I really get it," he replied coyly, sliding Harry's jacket off his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. Harry's hands were pressed insistently at his waist, resting where the curve gave way to his hips. Draco slid his hands down, feeling the pounding of Harry's heart against his palm. Harry's shirt was soft against his fingers, leaving an imprint of his warm chest against Draco's fingertips.
He wanted to memorize every feeling of this moment. Draco knew it was silly; there would be years of Harry to come after all. But there was something about this that seemed. The past few months had felt unreal, and there were mornings where he woke up with Harry and felt like he was still dreaming. But every inch of Harry against him was undeniable today. The way Harry had looked at him during the ceremony, their arms interlocked as they danced, the whole night—all of that was real, and Draco felt himself sinking into the comforting awareness that this was all happening to him.
Draco traced Harry's bottom lip with his thumb, his other fingers resting lightly against Harry's cheek. Harry sighed and closed his eyes, and Draco felt their bodies relax against each other. He began stumbling backwards, forcing Harry to open his eyes so he could navigate Draco towards the bedroom. It wasn't the most graceful path, but Draco couldn't be concerned with the small skip in his step as he bumped into a lamp or the moment when Harry cussed into his mouth after stubbing his toe against a grand wooden desk. Any momentary pain in their hazardous path was secondary to the more important task of their lips and tongues battling, tertiary even as they became embroiled in the process of trying to remove their clothing through jerky, graceless movements.
Harry finally maneuvered them through the doors leading to the bedroom. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, decked in luxurious fabrics and magnificent pillows. But Draco couldn't be bothered to take in the sight of what an excessively decorated suite entailed. He didn't even know that the bed had columns until Harry had pressed him up against one and Draco felt the wood digging exquisitely into his back. Harry's tongue was tracing a hot, tantalizing pattern around his earlobe, sending a desperate wave of heat through Draco's body. But before he could respond, Harry had taken Draco's hands and pinned them above his head, tracing a finger down Draco's chest with a light, teasing pressure. He circled the finger around the base of Draco's thickening cock, his teeth still toying with Draco's earlobe.
Draco gasped, finding it harder to breathe as Harry teased two fingers around his length. For a second, it felt like the air in his chest had gone still, his body overwhelmed as it processed the actions of Harry's lips and fingers. He moved his hips into Harry's grasp, letting out a low moan as they picked up speed. Harry grabbed Draco's lips in a hot, desperate kiss, and Draco could taste Harry's need, could feel it in the tightening grip around his wrists, until finally Harry pulled away.
He pulled Draco towards the bed, tearing off their remaining clothes with little thought for the garments that had been chosen with such care. Their arms wound tightly around each other as they crashed into the mattress, legs entangled as they tumbled through the blanket. It felt like they would never get enough of this, of this embrace, of each other. Draco could feel the cold band of Harry's wedding ring against his back, imprinting a small spot a few inches from his spine, until it slowly became a part of every other touch that was igniting his body. He pushed and pulled greedily at Harry, trying to anchor himself in that hard warmth of their bodies against each other, and then lowered his head to taste the small bead of sweat forming along Harry's neck. Harry raised his body compliantly, letting Draco explore his chest with a combination of tongue and fingertips. The taut muscle along Harry's abdomen tightened at his touch, and as Draco brushed across a nipple, the entirety of Harry's body shook next to him.
With a sudden movement, Harry turned Draco over and roughly pulled his hips back. There was a faint clicking sound behind him as Harry opened the bottle of lubricant. Draco felt a slick insistent touch enter him, and he grabbed onto the blanket below in an effort to regain some balance as Harry's fingers began to press harder and faster. Harry's free hand was holding on to one of Draco's shoulders, forcing him further against the mattress. This was the sort of feeling he trusted only Harry with, to feel so unguarded and exposed that he could be left an uncouth mass of inarticulate groans and desire. Harry leaned forward, leaving light kisses at the base of Draco's neck as his bare thighs scraped along the back of Draco's legs. Draco shuddered when Harry's lips reached a particularly sensitive spot, unable to control the waves that shook his body.
He leaned his head back, trying to catch Harry's lips in a sloppy kiss but failing as each second left him moaning. He could hear Harry's ragged breath behind him, coming in short, hot gasps as he spread his fingers inside Draco. Finally, Harry released him, pulling back to poise his erection at Draco's entrance. His cock slid in, inch by slow inch, filling Draco with anticipation and need. Draco began to rock his body gently back in a slow circle, intoxicated with the sound of Harry moaning as Draco's ass pushed back on Harry's cock and brushed against the firmness of Harry's body.
Harry began to grind his hips forward, his hands holding firmly onto Draco's hips until they were at a pace where he could pull Draco back into him with each thrust. There was a thin layer of sweat coating Draco's body as he worked to keep up, trying to meet the demands relayed by Harry's hands. He felt Harry begin to shake behind him, a shudder in his thighs that followed each thrust and echoed through Draco's body. Harry was close; they both were. Draco pulled away, and turned his back to the mattress. Harry stared at him with hazy confusion until Draco settled back and spread his legs. Quickly, apparently desperate to not go without Draco for too long, Harry entered him again, his hands pushing Draco's legs back as he thrust with increasing abandon.
Draco ran his hands through Harry's hair, keeping his eyes opened so he could see the final climax of pleasure course through Harry's expression. His green eyes were so much more vivid than normal, encompassing an overwhelming range of desire and love as he stared back at Draco and kissed him lightly through their final shudders. Their kisses were short and sweet now, the both of them too tired for any extended display of passion.
Harry collapsed in Draco's arms, his hair tickling the bottom of Draco's chin. He let out a heavy sigh and then kissed Draco's cheek. "You know I love you, right?" he said very seriously.
Draco grinned lazily. "You've only said it like twenty times in the past five hours."
"I like saying it," Harry replied, looking quite content with himself. "I like saying it to you."
Draco didn't realize that he still had the physical energy to feel giddy, but apparently Harry had a way of tapping into whatever reserve was left. "I love you too," he said and then kissed Harry on the forehead. He closed his eyes, and felt a first wave of fatigue try and fail to overcome the residual excitement. "Harry?" he asked, staring above him and realizing for the first time that the bed had a canopy.
"Do you think we're really going to be able to do this? This whole marriage thing?"
It was a testament to what they had built their relationship from that Draco could express a question about their marriage on their wedding day without sounding like he truly questioned their relationship. Harry looked at him with understanding, and smiled. "You know, despite my better instincts, I'm starting to feel like I wouldn't be able to do this with anyone but you."
Draco relaxed into the bed, mulling over Harry's answer. "Yeah," he said, pulling Harry in closer. "Me too."
First off, I've always seen the quote, "The journey is the thing," attributed to Homer (presumably from a translation of the Odyssey). I've had a hard time finding the actual translation this comes from, so if anyone knows, please let me know so I can credit properly.
Anyway. Gah! I know I'm not the first person to ever finish a fanfic, and this isn't even the first fanfic I've ever finished working on. But it's the first story I really started writing, and I am both excited and sad that it's done. I've had a few ideas for side-stories (okay, fine, really just an Oliver/Blaise story), but if that happens, it probably won't be for a while. As it stands, I really want to thank you all for reading this story. I know many of you left reviews or recced this fic to friends, and I want to issue a public thanks for taking the time to do that. I learned a lot from writing this story, and I really owe you all for encouraging me and critiquing my writing.