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Perfect skin.
Blonde hair.
Blue eyes.
Pure-blood.
Years of etiquette classes, as well as piano, violin, three foreign languages and more.
Logically speaking, Astoria Greengrass knew she had no reason to be insecure, to feel threatened.
She was the perfect wife. Any society man would be lucky to have her. She knew when to speak, how to exit herself from places when they didn’t belong to women and how her presence may sway an important decision with the right wine or a clever invite for an afternoon tea or a luncheon.
Astoria graduated Hogwarts with excellent marks, not that this was important when it came to weddings and such, but she did. She was no dimwit. She knew for sure that if her parents had waited for her to turn at least sixteen before start looking for a husband, there would be loads of letters with proposals of all kinds of men: daring halfbloods with loaded vaults and some social standing, titleless purebloods wanting for an in within society or even maybe someone from The Sacred twenty-eight. She saw it happening to her sister, who married her childhood best friend Theodore Nott. She knew they didn’t love each other like that, but her parents seized the opportunity as Nott Sr. died during the war and left Theo as the sole heir of the family. Actually, Theo was the only Nott alive. More money than it was good for any person, a heart of gold and a Sacred Twenty-eight. A match made in heaven, she must say. Astoria knew he would never hurt her sister and, as the person she knew he loved was now married to the Chosen One, it was a sensible choice of Theo to agree with the betrothal. They now lived happily, trying to learn to love each other romantically, travelling abroad, kind of secluded, per se. Not the life she and her sister imagined multiple times, attending galas, an heir within the first two years of marriage, a lot of press, but she understood. Theo was tired of the spotlight and after Voldemort was defeated, the best thing any associate could do was vanish, or at least try to.
Pansy Parkinson, on the other hand, didn’t share the same luck Daphne had. Blaise Zabini married an Italian witch his mother chose for him, Theo married Daphne, Vicent Crabbe was dead, Gregory Goyle was in Azkaban, even Neville Longbottom had eloped with Luna Lovegood, for Salazar’s sake.
Then there was Draco.
Except there wasn’t. Draco Malfoy could not marry Pansy Parkinson because Draco Malfoy was already in a betrothal contract drawn between the Grengrasses and the Malfoys, before the war even started. Her parents, ever the strategists, had already foreseen the entire situation. It was a win-win. If the Dark Lord prevailed, the Malfoys would be the most powerful family of Britain; if he succumbed, the Malfoys would have a tarnished reputation and vaults full of galleons, considering Draco wouldn’t end up in prison. So what was left for Pansy was to marry an old bureaucrat from Russia and move there. According to Daphne, she was most unhappy and counting the days until her husband finally died, unable to see any of her friends.
When her mother brought the news of her betrothal, Astoria was beside herself. Draco Malfoy! Slytherin’s Prince, the most wealthy wizard of London, a Lord! She couldn’t believe that Narcissa and Lucius had agreed with marrying Draco off to her. He was in his sixth year at Hogwarts at the time, and little Astoria all but skipped the corridors of the school knowing that, even if he shagged Pansy after and between classes, he still would be hers at the end, and it was all that mattered.
As Daphne wed and they started exchanging letters as her sister was now Lady Nott, Astoria decided that her marriage would not be like that. Draco may not love her yet, but he would. She read every article of Witch Weekly to be sure she would know how to wrap Draco around her little fingers. He only had two stipulations: she must finish her studies and wait for his trial. If he wasn't convicted, they would marry.
The Malfoy’s solicitor built a strong case. In the brief teas their mothers shared, Astoria had come to know that, even if Draco didn’t think he was innocent, he also had no intentions of being imprisoned. The Golden Trio had all testified on his favor. Since Lucius had already been sentenced to the kiss, Narcisa, even mourning her not-dead-yet husband, had decided to throw all the blame on him. To save Draco. Astoria knew that everything Narcissa did was to protect her son and she respected that, hoping to be a mother as fierce as her: The mother of the Malfoy heir. Lady Malfoy. Mrs. Astoria Malfoy. It suited her - Balls, fancy robes, an entire manor to administer, a full staff of house elves, donations to charity, a seat at the Hogwarts governors board and one in the Wizengamot as well. A beautiful spring wedding, all right people in attending, cover of the Prophet, an article in the social section, maybe a statement? “I’m most delighted to be wed to this wonderful man. The world may know Luciu’s Malfoy son, the youngest Death Eater ever, but I know Draco and I know we will be the happiest” she would say. They would get to know each other, maybe having Narcissa move to their Estate in France in the first months for them to be able to fully enjoy their nuptials. Would she be able to convince him to be in society? As much as she loved her sister and understood her brother in law, Astoria did not wish to live secluded. She aspire to follow Narcissa’s steps and be present, host balls, influence people and be seen. Perhaps Draco would like an heir as soon as they got married? Or would he like to wait and enjoy newly wed life as long as possible? She knew the Malfoy’s only had boys, old blood magic to ensure that the lineage would never die. She also knew that her parents in law tried for other babies, but only Draco fruitified. If she could have at least two, it would make wonders for her: an heir and a spare.
Draco was considered innocent by the judge. Their verdict was that Draco was under great duress, both from his father and the Dark Lord, who hanged his mother’s life above his head as a bargain to make him do whatever was needed to protect her. He walked out a free man with a full pardon. His mother faced one year of house arrest, because lying to Voldemort’s face and saving Harry Potter did make a difference in the outcome of the war. “The power of a mother’s love defeated evil once again” was the title of the Prophet’s article on her sentence.
After finishing her studies in Hogwarts, Astoria did have her wedding. In Spring. Just like she wanted. A great part of pureblood society was, indeed, in attending. She could only hope that the Minister of Magic himself would come, but it was too ambitious to expect that the most prominent political figure, aside from Harry Potter, who had fought on the opposite side of the war from her husband, would be present.
Aside from that, other influential people were there and that was enough for her. Her friends and her sister’s friends had come to see her grand day. Her parents were proud of her. She did it, she was now Lady Malfoy! The spouse of the sole heir of the Malfoy Family, the head of The House, as Lucius would receive the kiss the day after their wedding. Ominous, yes, but the ministry conceded his last wish of receiving the news of his son’s wedding and seeing pictures. His last visitor was his wife. Draco didn’t want to go.
As they came back from their wedding party, the elves prepared her for her wedding night. Her first night at her new house, the Manor. Her bed chambers were separated from Draco’s by a double wooden door. As it was proper. Some couples who love each other would share a room and only sleep separately when they had a fall out, other couples who didn’t fancied each other would sleep in different quarters, the door between them allowing that the marital duty was fulfilled without the wife having to cross corridors. The husband would simply open the door and pay her a visit monthly until there was a suitable heir. She hoped that, after their wedding night, Draco would invite her to stay in his room, forever.
Her hair was loose, hanging around her back, tickling her skin. Under the silk robe a simple, but beautiful, silk and lace negligee. The elves left her bedroom with a sharp crack and she waited for Draco to open the door and come retrieve her to his bed or to consume her in hers.
But he never came.
The hours passed and she started getting sad, until she remembered that his father was to be executed the next day. Of course the last thing in his mind was to consummate their wedding.
She squared her shoulders, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Astoria went to sleep knowing it was a matter of time until their life started.
In the morning, she expected him at the breakfast table she asked the elves to prepare. Still, he never came.
Draco wasn’t at the manor, she gathered after a few days of not seeing her husband. Not in the solarium, not in the green house, in the stables, in the quidditch pitch, neither the drawing room, or his study, or his potions lab and any other of the nineteen bedrooms of their house. He vanished.
Narcissa, per her request, would be staying in France, giving them privacy to adjust to married life. The days passed, her tears fell. She sent letters to her sister, confiding in her the agony of apparently being rejected. Daphne informed her that there was a time stipulated to the marriage to be consummated and their bond active, otherwise, their union would be nullified.
She could not have that.
Three snapped quills after and a letter sent to her mom explaining how she was being neglected by her husband had set the matter. Draco would have to come home and consummate their marriage before a month passed.
On the thirtieth day, not a day sooner, she heard the crack of apparition in his quarters. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Her hair wasn’t done, she wasn’t using fancy lingerie, having chosen to use her plain white, long sleeved, fully covered white nightgown. Before she could get up and go to her closet to fetch anything else for her to wear, the door she'd been waiting for every night finally opened.
She sat upright against the headboard. Her heart hammered in her chest. In the dark she could only see the outlines of him. He stepped inside her room, striding towards her bed. The mattress dipped with his weight. Draco crawled to her, barely able to keep himself up with his arms. The smell of firewhiskey burned her nostrils.
He was drunk.
Out of his mind drunk.
Without a word, he placed a tentative hand on her thigh. There was no need to say anything. She knew why he was there. It was the last day, after that, their marriage would be nullified. His breath was shallow, facing approaching her. Perhaps after this rough start, they would come to understand each other. Maybe intimacy would be the answer.
She offered her mouth to him, but he landed on her neck. Wet, sloppy kisses peppered onto her skin. With eyes closed forcefully, she breathed through her nose and summoned any ounce of desire she had ever felt fantasizing about him. This was needed, she needed to secure her place as Lady Malfoy and he needed to fulfill his duty. There was no turning back. He would not embarrass his family name with an annulment and she would not be sent back to her family. She would be damaged goods and would have to settle for any man who’d ask her hand.
No.
A man may be the head of a family, but a good wife was the neck and could turn the head wherever she wanted to. Most men were more malleable once intimacy was on the table. She knew that. Sometimes a woman on her knees held more power than a man standing. The thought of it grosses her out, but she wouldn’t put past her doing it if she needed to. Maybe through sex she and Draco could build a relationship, coming to love each other with time. Sex often awakens feelings inside women, maybe it could be this way with men too.
As a lamb to slaughter, she gave herself to Draco. Her husband.
She felt the bond settle in her bones, the magic of the Estate welcoming her as a Malfoy, once and for all. It was done.
The next day she woke up alone in her bed. The elves prepared her for the day, informing her of her duties managing the household. She left her chambers, the corridors dark and silent.
Draco had left, again. She was alone. Just another ghost haunting the halls of the manor.
Being Lady Malfoy was not as glamorous as she thought. Frequently she caught herself jealous of her sister, of a life she was certain she did not want. But after a few months, the idea of a marriage for companionship sounded so much better than no companionship at all.
Narcissa never returned and Astoria started to suspect that maybe Draco was living with his mother in France.
The social events came and went, but she didn’t have the courage of attending alone.
Until, one day, as she walked into the family room to have breakfast, the sight of her husband sitting at the table almost knocked her off her feet.
“Good morning, Astoria”.
Just like that. As if he hadn't spent months away without even bothering to send a letter saying that he was alive. But Astoria knew better, she knew not to provoke a man’s ire.
“I want to start again”, he said calmly, resting his tea on the table. “Can we try?”
A grin spread across her face. She beamed at him.
“There’s nothing I would like more, Draco”.
And for two whole years they were happy. He let her host galas at the Manor, make donations to charity and even gave some statements to the press per her request. Somedays they would parade around Diagon Alley, visit a few shops and some night they had dinner at some fancy restaurant. They travelled a lot, sometimes with Daphne and Theo, who now had little Ophelia Nott, their pride and joy.
He said he loved her, but she knew he didn’t. Not truly. Her marriage started to get very similar to what Daphne and Theodore had. It was okay, because she loved him enough for both of them.
Draco never bothered to use the contraceptive charm with her, but she never fell pregnant. Not even had a single pregnancy scare.
It has started to bother her, but what bothered her the most was the fact that Draco wasn’t bothered by it in the least. In fact, he seemed quite happy about it.
“I don’t mind the Malfoy name dying with me, that’s all” was his answer to her questioning of why he wasn’t even intrigued that they didn’t have an heir by the time.
It settled inside her like a punch in the stomach. Didn’t he want children with her?
“It’s not like that, Tori. If we do have children, great, but if we don’t, that’s great too. Salazar knows the world doesn't need any more Malfoys and, to be frank, I don’t even know if I would be a good father”.
She wanted to be a mother. More than anything in her life.
So she set an appointment with the family healer to know what was wrong, the reason she wasn’t with a child by now.
But infertility wasn’t where her world started to ruin. It was in an even day of April, she remembered quite clearly. Draco had one of her feet propped in his lap, a hand idle massaging the sole as the other held the book he was reading.
“You know how organizing balls is your thing? How society consume your time and how do you love it?” The calmness of his voice didn’t match the havoc his decision would wreck in their lives. If only she had known… Astoria hummed in response, immersed in the table charts she was organizing for an Ostara party. Only the cream de la cream amongst the pureblood celebrated the old celtic ways. If placed correctly, these table charts could be very profitable for them. “I want to do something with my time too. You know I have my potions lab and that I love to brew, and I don’t see why my potions masters should be gathering dust because I don’t use it other than for us and our friends”.
She hummed again, not knowing where he wanted to get with this. Maybe a potion company? She was fairly sure the Malfoys already owned some holdings of the potion lab that supplied St. Mungos. If only she could decide where to put Senator Welsh… Perhaps next to the prime minister of Switzerland? She knew the Senator was newly wed, so maybe place him next to someone who had a young wife for the ladies to chat and leave the husbands to business?
“I’ve been attending compromises of the Wizengamot more frequently, as you well know, and Shacklebolt even put me as the Sacred Twenty Eight liaison, but still… All this political game was my father’s thing. I’ve come to realize that it isn’t mine. There are other endeavours I wish to pursue. So I talked with the Minister and now your husband will work alongside the DMLE, helping the aurors and the unspeakables disevolve antidotes to dangerous potions and brewing some experimental concoctions to meet their needs”.
She flew herself onto his lap, cradling his cheeks between her hands. “That’s amazing, love!” She congratulated, because even though working was such a commoner thing and beneath them, it was clear that Draco needed a purpose. Maybe when they had a son he would snap out of it.
But the same person who was the reason Draco never went to Azkaban, was the catalyst of the wreckage in her life.
Hermione Granger.
They couldn’t be more different from each other. Whilst Astoria was blonde, tall and slim, blue eyed and with pin straight blonde hair, Granger was short, plump, rebellious curls pointing everywhere and eyes of the color of mud. She had manners, but it was only polite, nothing crafted from years of lessons. Yes, Hermione Granger was notorious, one for the books, forever etched in history from the war on, but who was she before? Where did she come from? From muggles. And this was what truly mattered.
It was right under her nose. All the time it had been.
But apparently, she was so close it blinded her.
Her husband started coming home late some nights and when she inquired why, he went on a rampage, telling her all about his day at the Ministry. Then, her name started surging in these conversations. How Granger had a brilliant input, how Granger helped him and he had a breakthrough about a formula that wasn’t quite right until Granger pointed out what he was doing wrong. From the late nights to the early meetings, and then some impromptu meetings after an owl, and then some more meetings on the weekends for good measure. Draco was putting hours like he needed this job to live. Like if he was fired, they would starve. They weren’t the Weasleys, for Salazar’s sake.
Complaining and nagging wasn’t in a pureblood wife’s list of acceptable behaviours, so she never did it. If there was any possibility for him one day to love her the way she loved him, she couldn’t risk it by annoying him to death.
Death.
Another thing out of her control and that took so much of her.
The death of Ronald Weasley was another crucial point of her downfall.
It seemed rather unlikely that a death of a person she hadn't seen in years was capable of impacting her life in tremendous ways. Auror Ronald Bilius Weasley was killed in duty, fighting a dark wizard, just the year after his wife, Hermione Jean Granger, previous Deputy Minister of Magic - who never hyphenated her name - had won the elections to be the new Minister of Magic, as Kingsley Schaklebolt retired and endorsed her campaign.
Even the blind could see that Hermione was going to win.
Brightest witch of her age. Harry Potter’s side kick. One third of the Golden Trio. The Golden Girl herself. Advocating for magic creatures. A bastion of intelligence, boldness, loyalty and kindness. A muggleborn - how it was polite to say these days. A perfect picture of progress, of new times and the end of prejudice. A true paragon of morality.
That, when she wasn’t seducing another woman’s husband.
But that was jealousy talking. Rage. Ire, even.
Later, Astoria found out that before Ron’s death there wasn’t a single thing happening before Hermione and Draco. They just liked spending an awful lot of time together, and even if her husband had chased her around all the Ministry, she was faithful to Ronald and that made Astoria hate her even further. Because Draco had done the chasing, captivated by Hermione.
She was a mudblood, yes, but how could Astoria not envy her? Whatever expectations Hermione Granger had to meet, she set them herself. Her reputation preceded her. Hermione was free in a way Astoria would never be. There were no norms and conduct aside from her now being Minister. There were no parents expecting anything from her. She could just be. Disrupting wizarding society with muggle denim pants and ugly jumpers, a modern robe when it was to solve Ministry affairs or attend a gala. Astoria had seen her in plenty of Ministry galas and, yes, she was a vision. Unruly hair, sometimes a scandalous muggle gown, skin the colour of honey, always stealing Draco’s attention all to her, him meeting her wit for wit in their conversations. Even Harry Potter himself couldn’t keep up with the pair… So how could she? Even if they only started an affair months after Ronald’s death, Astoria had lost Draco in the moment Hermione had sat her eyes on him and even more so when she decided that she wanted him. Because, deep down in her guts, Astoria knew Draco always belonged to Hermione. Even when only hatred existed between them. It was too strong of a feeling and love and hate danced beside each other, divided by a thin tightrope. Seeing now, it was just a matter of time between Draco or Hermione to fall in love. Sadly for her, they both fell at the same time.
Looking back, if she was really meticulous, it was possible to state the very day it began.
Draco was late to come home, as it was usual by now. Astoria had long ceased to expect his companion for dinner. She was in his bedroom - their bed chambers since the day he asked her to start again - when his personal floo chimed and he entered the room with the biggest grin she ever saw him sport.
The smile died at the sight of her, as if he just remembered that she existed. Her chest hurt.
“Hi, my love” a tentative greeting.
“Night, Tori. I didn’t think you’d still be awake”, his fingers scratched his head, a gesture of embarrassment.
“Yes, I can tell”.
But she wasn’t going to push past this. It was a bad day. Her period came, once again, stating very clearly that she wasn’t pregnant. Not that they were still actively trying. It took her cornering him, a fancy dinner, a lot of wine and another lot of emotional manipulation to get her husband to lay with her. It was the worst sex of her life, because as she searched his eyes expecting to find brazen luxury, she found them glassy, hazy, and knew that even though his body was there - above her, inside her - his mind wasn’t. And probably his heart too, maybe even his soul.
It wasn’t like her to argue with her husband, even if it was obvious that he was having an affair. The next day would be a good one, she would have an appointment with a new healer to approach her infertility problems. She wanted to tell Draco, wanted him to come with her, but at this point, she knew there would be a meeting or some sort of urgent matter that requested his presence at the Ministry. With the Minister.
She rose up the bed, crossing the door that separated his and her chambers. For the first time in a long time, they would sleep apart. She couldn’t do this right now. A tiny part inside her expected him to protest, to see what a huge mistake he was making, that she was drifting away from him, but if there was anything in the sigh that left his chest, it wasn’t longing or regret - it was relief.
Pureblood marriages were, more often than not, a convenience. An alliance. But sometimes they did end up differently, with love or, at least, respect. There were families that had fidelity bonds, preventing the couple from straying or that, if one did, didn’t led to bastards. As it was, apparently their bond allowed Draco to stray, but she hoped from deep down in her soul that there was something in their wedding bond that never allowed Hermione Granger to steal her dream even further. Something that prevented Hermione from carrying Draco’s baby.
Her husband had already told her that he didn’t mind not continuing the Malfoy line and she wouldn’t put past the Minister of being career driven, focused and objective, cold maybe, with not even a maternal bone inside her body. They would suit well, with minus an issue to handle. Even at that Hermione Granger was better than her.
At every passing day Draco seemed more and more happier. His spirits lifted. A loopside grin, beaming at a cellphone. “This is a muggle device that allows me contact with Granger in a more efficient way than a floo call, plus, you don’t have to hear boring ministry talks or don’t be able to reach me as I’m locked in my study for a private call. They send texts, which are little short messages” he explained. Astoria hated that thing, not only was it a muggle trinket, but also a new way of his mistress taking him away from her. Every time the damned cellphone buzzed, she could practically see feminine hands clawing up his neck, a mouth whispering in his ears, filthy things written on a little screen. Her conscience told her to snoop the trinket, but she would never sully her hands touching something that came from the mud.
The months dragged and her stomach burned. Her new healer had come with experimental potions and treatments to help her, but the side effects were eating out of her, nip by nip. She had lost a considerable amount of weight, her hair was falling out a bit and her belly was swollen, even with her womb still empty.
As it was, some late nights Draco didn’t bother to come home any more, saying that he “crashed at his office” after a late night of work. Of course Astoria knew better, but her body was so tired all the time, her eyes heavy, hands shaking… It was too much energy to fight. She didn’t want to fight.
When the New Year’s Ministry Gala came, it was’t like she could stay home. Society was once a huge part of her life, but her treatment and its side effects were too much on her, so she retreated from all charities and balls and such. Sadly, this time, her presence was needed.
The elves combed through her now thin hair, using their magic to make it fuller, brighter; the charms and spells making her skin regain colour, plumping her chapped lips and brightening the dark circles below her eyes. But there was only much magic could do and it couldn’t glamour her collar bones sticking out, her pointy shoulders and gaunt cheeks. As her husband opened the door and looked at her through the mirror, she smiled softly. He was so handsome, like a prince coming out of a book. Sadly, he wasn’t there to rescue her.
A stricken expression passed rapidly across his face as he took her state. Apparently the few times he was home now, even if he looked at her, he wasn’t seeing her. But he did now and for a millisecond, Astoria could swear she saw a flick of guilt in those gray eyes. It vanished as soon as she blinked. Malfoy men didn’t do guilt, she knew. Selfish men.
“You are beautiful, Tori, I- I lov”, before he could finish lying in her face, she lifted her hand, signing for him to stop talking. It was too much for her to bear.
“I know that you love me”, her voice was one of the things her father most praised her. He always said it was like hearing an angel sing. Now, it was raspy and frail, just like the rest of her. “You don’t need to remind me”.
Just for that night, Astoria would put it all behind her. After all, there were no divorces between purebloods. Not that she wanted one, but she bet he did. For the night she would be exactly who he needed her to be: the perfect wife, selfless, poised and polished, lovely and kind.
It was truly a pity that, not even for one night, he could be the person she needed. Her arms were around his, his strong body serving for more than a show as he sustained her weight for them to walk the Ministry ballroom. It was hard to lean onto him and not feel wrapped by his scent, the warmth of him, the way her body felt at ease at his presence, hard not to close her eyes and remember happier times, days and nights where they kept each other company, laughed together, teared each other clothes and feasted on pleasure from dusk until dawn. Analysing it now, she could see how superficial it had been. They were friends who fucked and not even best friends, as Draco never opened up to her to talk about his father or the war, or about the nightmares he had often, where he screamed to his aunt Bellatrix to stop doing something. It was shallow, yes, but Astoria was happy. She wasn’t daft about relationships in her world, so obviously she would take what was possible. There were worse fates.
Time stopped the moment he spotted her. It was like the everyone in the room held their breaths collectively. The smile she offered was otherworldly. Astoria wanted so bad so pretend Hermione Granger was average looking, but the golden silk robe around her shoulders, the honey dewy skin of her decolletage, the mane of brown curly hair around her, the lips perfect painted with brown lipstick and the gold jewelry made her look like a vision, a goddess amongst humans. Even though Granger was not part of pureblood society, with no noble title, it was Astoria who felt like a commoner.
At her side, her husband lightened up like a Yule tree. She watched them, an out of body experience, as they acted like no one was there beside them. Reflected in the Minister's eyes was so much love that made her breathless, even more so because she knew part of that was from Hermione, but other part was only mirroring the love Draco felt. She gasped, the sound of the ball coming back to her alongside voices, laughter, glasses of champagne tinkling and music.
They strode over to talk to the most important people of the event - and maybe in Draco’s life as of now. Only when they were almost reaching her, Hermione’s eyes fell to where Astoria’s hands clutched Draco’s arm, her smile faltering a bit. She let go of her husband's arm as he greet the Minister and her entourage and she did the same, obliging herself to be near the woman who stole her husband from her, inhaling her pleasant perfume and feeling the luscious curls grace her arms with their proximity. Stepping back, Draco’s hand rested naturally in the small of her back, sending a sense of security through her. He wouldn’t let her fall, even if when it mattered, he wasn’t there to catch her.
The heat of his palm was pleasant but almost foreign after so much time without him touching her. Astoria asked herself if Hermione knew the imprint of Draco’s hand so well by now that she was able to fell it too as he touched her back above her robe.
“It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Minister Granger”, she forced her voice to sound as steady as possible, offering a small smile to the witch in front of her.
“Likewise, Mrs. Malfoy” was all the other witch had to offer her back. For a moment, it was almost like she was the other woman.
The Malfoy’s kept their distance, but the not so subtle furtive glances between the lovers weren’t easy to ignore. They almost acted like she and the whole room were blind, like it wasn’t possible to see the lust, the passion, the tenderness and the teeth-rotting love emanating from them. Brief touches, hands grazing as one of them passed by the other, wistful sighs here and there. Astoria almost wished that they had never married, that Draco could be with Hermione in peace and that she never felt what it was like to share a life with Draco Malfoy, because since she had, it was easy to understand why Hermione Granger wanted that too. She was Mrs. Malfoy, there was no denying that, but if the other witch may envy her for her place, Astoria was certain that she would trade everything to swap places and be the sole object of Draco’s love and obsession.
They didn’t stay much, as her health wouldn’t let her, but as her husband helped her inside her bed chambers and kissed her head good night, she knew deep inside of her that the night wasn’t finished for him.
Sleep was almost taking her as the sound of an owl bickering her window made her eyes open.
“Pimpy”, Astoria called the elf, her body not having the strength to get up.
The elf grabbed the letter for her. It was from her healer. He finally had a breakthrough regarding her case, but it wasn’t a good one. He stated that he would like to deliver the news personally, but he didn’t know if it was an appropriate time to floo over and that he couldn’t wait to the next day to come. Her infertility was stemming from a blood curse in the Greengrass line, and as it had passed generations without manifesting, it had in her. As it seems, the treatments for fertility potentiated the curse and her body was taking the fall. It was heavily implied that there was nothing anyone could do to save her, but they were going to try to make her comfortable until the end.
Death.
She was going to die and her desire to have a child from a man who didn’t love her, didn’t even care for an heir, had death sprint its way to her. A laugh escaped her chest.
She was going to die because she wanted to be a mom and wanted a piece of Draco that would belong to her forever.
If it wasn’t for the fertility treatments, maybe she would live another ten to twenty years, but now she is going to die.
Maybe she could send an elf to fetch Draco so she could tell him about her condition, but what good would it do? Having him stop straying from their marriage for how little long she had to live? Watching him be miserable without Hermione to be by his side, pitying her until the end? Astoria folded the letter, storing it in her nightstand’s drawer. He didn’t need to know, it would change nothing. Her body had already taken the fall for her foolishness and all she wanted from now on was to rest. She didn’t wanna pass away tired from trying to live life the way she normally would.
So rest she did. In her bed, in the drawing room, in the sitting room with a blanket over her legs, keeping her thin body safe from the cold of the Manor. She read books, knitted, wrote letters and instructed the elves about whom to send them after her passing and strictly forbade them to tell their master, or anyone for that matter, about her condition.
Draco came around every couple of days, searched for her around the house and gave her a forehead kiss and a caress on her hair, wincing as it came off in his hands, but he didn’t say much, only asked her if she was comfortable, wanted to go to St. Mungos or call the family healer. Eventually he only found her in her room, and started promising that he was only organising some things and he would soon be able to pull less hours at the Ministry and spend more time with her. She knew that he was lying, but it was comforting to know that he cared enough to do so.
On a particularly bad night, sureness washed over her. There wouldn’t be a next day. She called for Pimpy, her elf, who appeared in the same second, fretting over its mistress.
Astoria used all her strength to lift her hand to the elf, who strode forward and took the hand between hers. Astoria swatted it away.
“Don’t be silly, Pimpy” her fading voice said. A house elf wasn’t to touch her as they were friends, but she was too weak to demand a punishment.
Her finger pointed at a vial over her dressing table. Pimpy summoned it for her, uncorking it and handing it to its mistress.
She would depart his world on her own terms.
The little concoction of pain relief potion and calming draught numbed and lulled her to sleep, with no tomorrow in sight. She wondered if she should have asked to include dreamless sleep in the mix, because the last thing she saw, even after her eyes closed, was Hermione Granger's face.
Silly little Astoria Malfoy died in her bedchambers, inside a cold and lonely Manor, the one she dreamed to be Lady of. With only a sad house elf beside her, holding its tears back and unable to touch its loved mistress, only casting a preserving charm over her body, so she could still be intact when her Lord Husband finally came home.
She died unloved by the person she wanted most, alone in a marriage of convenience who didn’t come out the way she hoped. Once, she had pitied Pansy Parkinson, but wasn’t she as unhappy?
Astoria Malfoy, neé Grengrass, crossed the veil on the same night Scorpius Granger-Malfoy was conceived.