Astoria sighed as she leaned against the pillow behind her back, tugging the sheets up her chest. Beside her, the bed dipped as Draco turned from his stomach to his back, his hand bumping her hip. She peaked at his clothed chest; before Azkaban, he typically slept shirtless. Five weeks after his release, he had yet to remove his clothes in front of her.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to adjust her sight in the dimly lit room. His lips were moving, and she realized he was talking, so low that she couldn’t hear.
“Draco?” she asked sleepily, sitting up to grasp her wand. She flicked it, and the candles on the bedside tables lit. The dim light wafted over them, revealing his clenched knuckles, the beads of sweat that clung to his forehead and the damp center of his shirt. His knee jerked, eyebrows puckering. “Sweetheart,” she murmured softly, carefully. “It’s okay, it’s just me. You’re okay.”
His jaw clenched, eyes still shut, and Astoria nudged him softly. This was not the first nightmare he had experienced since his return home. The first time he had jolted awake in bed, his screams so loud she thought the glass of the windows would break. Another time he had sobbed until he awoke, clinging to her, begging her not to leave him.
Astoria had quickly learned that the best way to help him was ease him back into reality. From the little he told her, he dreamt of the punishments he endured while a prisoner. She tried not to ponder too much on the pain he must’ve experienced, pain so harsh he dreamt about it.
“Please, I didn’t have a choice,” he mumbled, his voice breaking. “P-please, not the pit.”
Astoria swallowed thickly, glancing at the doors and wondering if she should call Granger. She was better equipped to deal with this trauma, considering the fact that after the war she became a mind healer, Hermione Granger was, simply put, better at everything. Her friend would know what to do, how to help.
Pushing the comforter off her legs quietly, Astoria moved to Draco’s side of the bed, brushing the wet hair out of his face. Draco loved her touches, craved physical contact from her ever since they’d married. She carded her fingers through his hair, hoping it would relax him. She sat on the edge of the bed, moving her digits down his face, but his breathing remained harsh, ragged.
“Darling, please wake up,” she hummed. “You’re safe.”
Draco gritted his teeth, his head dipping to one side harshly, and a tear slid down his porcelain skin. His head shook rapidly, knuckles white against the sheets. “Stop, please,” he begged, his nightmares holding him hostage. “Please, stop.”
Astoria sighed, standing and moving towards the bathroom where she grabbed a cloth, running it under the water. She flicked the faucet of the bathtub and allowed it to slowly fill. As she straightened, she heard the springs of the mattress dip, a stomping noise echoing from their room. turning, she saw Draco standing, his back to her, his shirt sticking to his skin.
“Sweetheart, are you alright?” She tried to keep the fear out of her voice.
Draco stiffened, turning slowly until he was looking in her direction, but his eyes were glued to the floor, at her feet.
Astoria tried again, wishing her heart would stop beating so fast. “Are you alright?”
Stepping slowly, she exited the bathroom, leaning against the door frame. In an instant, Draco threw himself to the floor, his knees hitting the carpet with a sickening thud, hands clasped together as if he were praying.
“Please don’t,” he whispered through shaking breaths. “Don’t send me to the Dementors. Please, I’ll do anything you want, please.”
Astoria hoped her heartbreak wasn’t visible on her face.
Draco was awake, but not really. The horrors he had witnessed in Azkaban blurred the lines between the past and present, and now, he was stuck somewhere in the past. Somewhere dark and cold, plagued by abuse and Dementors.
Astoria knew she just had to wait, that truly was all she could do. Granger had expressed to her the dangers of startling him, telling her she just needed to wait it out, go along with it, become whoever he thought she was.
But it was breaking her heart to watch.
“You’re not going to the pit, Malfoy,” she said carefully, trying to remove emotion from her voice, trying to make herself sound like a prison guard. She held her hand up, showing her fingers, then gingerly placed them atop his clenched hands. His back stiffened, and his eyes were hollow with fear, dropping to her feet.
After a moment filled with heavy, ragged breathing, Draco lifted his head, and she met his gray eyes swarming with a panic she was unfamiliar with. He clenched his jaw, mulling over her words. “B-but Scrimgeour said that--“
“Pay Scrimgeour no mind,” Astoria interrupted. “Do you know your name?”
Draco nodded, his shoulders shaking, clasped hands now fallen to his lap. “Malfoy, Draco. Son of the traitor Malfoy, Lucius.”
Astoria nodded. She wondered why he had added the bit about his father. She bitterly realized that they must’ve made him say it to embarrass him, shame him anytime he was addressed.
She swiped at her eyes, hiding the tears that had formed. His skin was flushed, the hollow of his cheeks pink and hair damp with sweat.
“Please stand and come with me,” she requested, watching with her heart in her throat as Draco dragged himself to his feet, his legs shaking, barely able to hold him. He was a good few feet taller than her, and she had to strain to look up at him. She caught his eye, and he looked away quickly. She took a deep breath, pushing the bathroom door open wider and beckoned him to follow. Gripping the handle, she turned the water off, and beckoned to it.
“Can you tell me if that's too hot?” she asked.
Draco looked between her and the water, hesitant. Then he reached forward, dipping his hand into it. Astoria dipped her own hand in near his and he flinched horribly, causing some water to spill out and splash on her nightgown.
“I’m sorry, I'm so sorry,” Draco whispered, extracting his hand and wrapping his arms around himself, sucking in a harsh breath.
Astoria had nearly forgotten the second biggest tool the guards used in Azkaban aside from fear; pain. He was afraid he’d angered her, and in turn that she’d hurt him.
“We’re going to give you a bath, alright?” she told him, waiting for his reaction. Holding up her hands again so he could see them, she then reached forward, gripping his own lightly. “Would that be okay?”
Draco said nothing, staring at her with wide eyes and she sighed internally, slipping her hand from his and stalking to the bathroom closet. She grabbed the vanilla scented bubble bath and popped the cap off before pouring a stream into the filled tub. Vanilla was her favorite scent, and in turn had become Draco's favorite, too. He had told her it reminded him of her, of home. She hoped that it could jog his memory of her and of himself.
“I’m going to step outside. You remove your clothing and get in, okay?” she instructed.
But before she could leave, Draco quickly pulled off his clothing, folding them into a pile and setting them by the tub's edge. He stood naked in front of her with a numb expression on his face, and she had to bite back a sob. He was used to this, being forced to strip for someone that was far less kind than her. Astoria couldn’t stop from hugging herself, trying to keep her breaking pieces at bay and his cheeks flushed red. They must’ve humiliated him like this, stripped him of more than just his clothing, and it enraged her.
She took a breath, calming herself, before giving him a tight smile. “Would you like to get in?” she asked, and Draco turned to face the tub.
They had spent so many hours in that tub, washing one another or kissing until kissing wasn’t enough, and soon they needed a second shower. They’d read in it together, talked about their day, and spent their anniversary in it.
Draco stepped into the tub slowly, sinking into the water and letting his arms rest on the rim. His eyes flicked rapidly between her and the water as she created a lather between her fingers, resting on the rim beside him.
“How does that feel?” she asked, then held up her soapy hands. “I'm going to wash your hair, okay?” Washing his hair was something he’d always found comforting, and she hoped repeating the action might help him find his way back.
Draco narrowed his eyes but didn’t reply, staying still as her hands worked in his hair. Cupping her fingers, she dribbled water over his head, washing the suds away, the only sound in the bathroom was the splashing of water.
“It’s okay to speak your mind here, prisoner,” Astoria whispered, hating every word that exited her mouth. “No one will hurt you here.”
Steam wafted up from the water, fogging the mirrors over the sink and warming the air. She inhaled, shutting her eyes for a moment as the vanilla entered her nose.
“Why are you washing me?”
Astoria opened her eyes, unsure of how to answer his question without popping a hole in his reality.
But he cut her off, his voice shaking. “I’ve gone months without bathing in this hell site and suddenly you want me clean? The other guards don’t care if I'm clean. They don’t even treat me like a person.”
She opened her mouth, still at a loss but hoping something will come to her. When she didn’t respond, he continued in a quick and fearful voice. “The Dementors kill me, but I'm still alive. It feels like they want to kill me, and you’re asking if I’m okay? Who are you?”
He was breathing heavily, his fingers shaking against the porcelain, and Astoria felt helpless as she stared back at him.
Draco's eyes went wide, the realization of his words hitting him, and drops his gaze to the tub rim. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, dragging his knees close to his chest. “I’ll keep quiet. Forgive me.”
“Don’t apologize, sweetheart,” Astoria whispered, the term of endearment exiting her mouth before she could stop it. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Draco gave her a quizzical look but said nothing, his silver blonde brows pulled together.
“I’m not going to hurt you, ever. Can you tip your head back so I can wash your hair?” She gestured to his posture. Reluctantly, Draco nodded, moving his head and Astoria dipped her hand into the water, bringing it up to his hair. She repeated the action again and again, notching as Draco's eyes fluttered closed in light relaxation. “You're safe with me, I promise.”
Her fingers trailed on his scalp, his hair slicking back as she moved. He looked so young, so different from the man she had married, and more like the Draco that she went to school with. She began to massage his head, trailing down to his neck and the tops of his shoulder.
“Relax, Draco,” she hummed, continuing the movement. “Try to relax.”
Her eyes flicked over his face, taking in his peaceful expression. It felt like it’d been years since she'd seen him like that, void of anguish.
“I have a question,” Draco whispered, snapping her back to the present, his eyes still closed. “If I may.”
Astoria swilled before answering, clearing her throat, giving him a small smile. “Of course you can.”
“Why are you so kind?” His eyes opened, staring at her with curiosity and a dash of fear. “To me, I mean. I-I don’t…deserve it.”
Her throat burned and she swallowed again, trying to keep the smile on her face even as her heart aches for him. “You don’t deserve pain, Draco,” she said, voice low. “You're a human being.”
“The Dementors would disagree with you,” he replied, eyes darting around nervously.
Astoria took a deep breath, hoping the burning ache within her chest would settle, and smiled at him once more. “I know you’re probably a little confused right now,” she said, her hands dripping more water into his hair. “And that's okay. You’ll find yourself again and work your way back, so it's okay to be a little confused at the moment.”
He looked dazed, nodding slowly, his eyelids growing heavy. She ran her hands against his scalp, scratching lightly, the way she knew he liked, and his eyes closed, the exhaustion etched into his face. Once she finished, she opened the drain, grabbing him a towel before holding it out to him. He slowly took it from her, beginning to dry himself. Astoria exited the bathroom in search of fresh linens, returning with his soft cottons, finding Draco standing rigidly in front of the mirror, staring daggers at his reflection.
“Come along,” she said, holding her hand out, feigning more confidence than she felt. “Let's get dressed.”
Draco stared at himself for a few more moments before finally turning away, his eyes on the floor, taking the clothes from Astoria and putting them on quickly. She focused her gaze on the now empty tub, hoping to give him some sort of privacy. He straightened once dressed, towering over her with a sullen expression, and she slipped her hand into his, slowly leading him back to his side of the bed. She motioned for him to lay down, and as he did, a yawn escaped his mouth.
Walking over to the opposite side, astoria slid into her side of the bed, pulling the sheets up around them but not tucking them in; she didn't want him to feel trapped. Draco sighed as she moved, watching her through sleepy eyes.
“Go to sleep, darling,” she whispered, laying on her side to look at him. Draco cocked his head so he could see her face, taking in her expression. “I’ll be here when you wake.” She reached up slowly, tracing the lines of his face with the tips of her fingers. His eyes fluttered shut, relaxing under her touch, and she repeated the action until his gentle snores filled the silence.
Astoria shifted, laying on her back, surprising herself at the tears that pooled at her eyes as she stared up into the darkness. A cry bubbled at the back of her throat and she covered her mouth with her hands, muffling the sob, brushing her tears away quickly as they came. She took a breath, letting it out slowly, before scooting closer to his sleeping form, wanting to feel his warmth. Draco shifted, his arm looping around her, tugging her to him as she listened carefully to his snores, his heartbeat thrumming easily. She let out a breath, blinking away the remaining tears as she waited for sunrise.
-
Astoria felt gentle prodding across her face and arm, goosebumps rising in the wake of the pressure as she flicked her eyes open. Gray irises met hers, a gentle smile on Draco's face as he watched her. His hair was only lightly damp, the majority of it dry. The movement of his fingers massaging her arms retracted, and he tucked his hand beneath the pillow, lying on his stomach with the majority of his face hidden in the softness.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” Draco hummed.
Astoria watched his feeble gaze dart from her face to her hands, to the sheets that wrapped around them. He was still scared, still slightly disoriented, but the love in his eyes told her he was back.
Astoria sat up, scooted closer and pressed a kiss to his outer shoulder, her lips soft against his skin.
“Hi, darling.” She settled back into the mattress beside him, hand reaching out and rubbing up and down his back, fingers drawing stars on his spine. “How much do you recall?”
“Just enough to know I hurt you.” He sighed, relaxing under her touch.
Astoria shook her head, wet her lips. “No,” she whispered, giving a shake of her head. “You didn’t hurt me, Draco.”
“But I scared you,” he took a deep breath, shutting his eyes in shame. “I don't know which is worse.”
“I just worry, that's all,” she replied. “I just wanted to help.”
Draco nodded, swallowing audibly. “I know…and you did. Merlin knows what I would’ve done without you.”
Astoria gave him a tender smile, but said nothing, knowing he needed to divulge more, that there was more he needed to say.
“I forgot you, Tori. B-but I knew…you wouldn’t hurt me.” Reaching for her, he grasped her fingers, bringing them to his lips and kissed them lightly. “These hands provide nothing but goodness.”
Astoria smiled once more, her hand squeezing his gently before moving forward and placing a chaste kiss to his lips. The kiss was easy, filled with so much adoration and endearment, the qualities he needed in order to carry on. She knew he was tired, the weight of the war and Voldemort and the Malfoy name becoming too heavy for him to carry alone. They melted into it, fingers curling into his hair, lips brushing over one another, nails scratching his hairline. After a few moments Draco pulled back, shifting to lay on his back and pulling her with him. She pressed contentedly into his side, her face laying against his chest. His arms were around her, fingers running quietly up and down her arm.
“I’m going to pay Granger a visit,” he said after a moment. “These night terrors…they aren’t getting better. Merlin knows how long you’ll be able to put up with it.”
Astoria craned her neck to look at him, confusion written on her face. “I’m your wife. I'm never giving up on you.”
Draco let out a low sigh, his fingers stalling on her skin. “Yes but…I forget you. That's enough to push anyone away, and rightfully so.”
Propping herself up on her elbow, Astoria glared at him in loving defiance. “Draco Malfoy, I love you more than I ever imagined loving someone. Everything you are, I love. Your past, your mistakes, every part of you. Your struggles don’t scare me, and they don’t define you.” She poked the side of his face gently. “So don’t let them.”
Gray eyes met her brown ones and he nodded slowly before Astoria leaned up and kissed his cheek. Settling against his chest once more, she wrapped an arm over his waist, tucking him to her.
“You're too good to me, Tori,” Draco whispered.
Astoria shook her head. Recovery was never an easy thing. She knew it took people years, decades. The guilt that had been injected into him since his adolescent years was something that would stick with him for a lifetime. It would take many ups and downs for him to work through it, but she didn't mind reminding him that he didn't have to do it alone.
“Do you think I'm a good thing?” Astoria asked, her arms holding him. Draco nodded, wordlessly answering. “You're allowed to have good things, Draco. Let me be good to you. You deserve some peace after everything that's happened.”
She knew that was the problem, really. No matter how many people like Granger and Potter and Nott that gave him their forgiveness, he would always lack forgiving himself. He didn't think he deserved peace, deserved her.
After a few moments, Draco took a deep breath, pressed his lips to her forehead. His skin was warm against hers, fingers holding her in place against him.
“Thank you, Tori,” he whispered into her hair. “For meeting me halfway.”
She curled against him, inhaling the scent of vanilla. “I’ll always meet you in the middle, my love,” she replied, pressing a kiss to his chest before she closed her eyes, eager to rest in his embrace.