It was a few short months after the second blood war when Draco Malfoy, still very much criticized for his choosing - or being forced to choose - to side with Voldemort during the heat of the war, met the love of his life.
A very much unexpected meeting indeed, as he didn’t believe he would ever find somebody who could love him back. After all he‘d done…the dark mark still old and faded on his arm…forever burned into his skin.
Yet there she had been, standing with a girl he knew from his Hogwarts days - Daphne Greengrass, who’d also been in Slytherin in the same year he was. He learned that it was her older sister, Astoria‘s. His love.
He‘d never been nearly as speechless ever in his life before as he‘d been the moment Daphne - a bit sourly - introduced him to Astoria. The moment his pale grey eyes met her dark brown ones…and everything else seemed to be unimportant all of a sudden.
Oh how embarrassingly speechless he‘d been when she’d asked him of his liking of that particular event, another of those horribly boring ones his mother and father had dragged him to. It took him a good minute to even find his voice. It took him all his effort to stop staring at her.
He remembered Daphne‘s eye-roll, the complete indifference she‘d spared him. But not Astoria. She‘d smiled at him, and Draco would never forget that beautiful smile. So genuinely kind like he‘d never seen it before.
He had lost his heart to her then, when she turned a dreadful evening into the best one he‘d had in months. When she‘d made him laugh, genuinely laugh aloud like he hadn’t ever since the war, or even before that he reckoned. When she‘d listened to him with interest at his opinions and told him of hers in return. He reckoned he could’ve listened to her for hours.
Draco remembered when she‘d told him to owl her when her family had said their goodbyes before leaving the party. The way her eyes had twinkled with such happiness when he‘d instantly agreed, of course. How could he not? She ought to have been the most amazing person he‘d ever met.
He‘d been only eighteen then. Young and barely able to deal with the damage the war had left on his family and also himself. He‘d been drowning as the days slurred on in a blur…until Astoria Greengrass pulled him to the surface.
She truly saved him. And he knew the moment he‘d seen her again, in the pub in Diagon Alley where he‘d asked her out, when she’d spotted him and smiled so brightly the whole room seemed to lighten up, that he had just found his future wife. He‘d never even thought about ever marrying until he‘d met her, but right then, when she‘d unexpectedly hugged him to greet him, he‘d known.
They married when he was twenty three. Astoria had been barely twenty, and many told them to wait a few years until they were a bit older, but the pair didn’t need to wait. There was no reason to, because they both just knew that their feelings could never cease.
And they never did.
Of course, there had been disagreements, fights even. They sometimes even did wonder whether they had been too young, but never for long. They were happy. Despite their families‘ constant inputs on what they should do and how they should act, they were happy.
And yet life did not spare them the harshness of reality. In fact, the shadow of a horrible sickness loomed over his lovely wife. It made their days grey whenever she suffered a fever, but also - as Astoria would always say - it made the good days even more precious.
Astoria’s health had slowly started to decrease from the year of her tenth birthday, and was continuing to do so the years after.
She suffered from a blood malediction since the day she was born. A curse that had affected the women in her family every few generations, ever since the grandmother of her great-great grandmother has been cursed by her own husband for not giving him any male heirs.
Astoria, unfortunately, had been the first in four generations to be affected by it.
Draco had never, and would never understand how a person so kind, so amazingly good could be cursed with a malady so cruel.
Oh and it was truly cruel. Although luckily bad days didn’t come often at first, they were horrible when they did come. The malady would make his poor wife so ill at times that she could barely leave the bed for days. Sometimes she was so unbearably sick that she would not come out of the bathroom, throwing up until she was pale as paper and her eyes glistered with tears and exhaustion.
Draco always wondered how she could remain so positive despite her suffering. But Astoria would only smile, her hand tangled in his, and tell him that if her illness had taught her one thing…it was that she would not waste a second of her good days dwelling on the bad ones.
When Draco was twenty six he was blessed with something he truly never thought he‘d have; a son. Tiny and squishy and…perfect.
He‘d been panicking the months before, but when he‘d first laid eyes on the small little bundle with a tuff of blond hair, nestling safely in Astoria’s arms, all he felt was an overwhelming feeling of love.
The only person who could match his glowing smile, maybe even outrun him, had been Astoria. He‘d been sure he‘d never seen her smile brighter. She‘d been practically glowing as she gazed down at their little son, absolutely mesmerized. Despite her alarmingly pale face and her trembling fingers, she‘d never looked happier.
„Hi, my love,“ she‘d whispered to their son, tracing her finger gently along his chubby cheek. „Hi, my little Scorpius.“
Draco had been unsure whether he should continue his Mother’s family’s tradition of naming the children of Black-blood after star constellations, but Astoria had encouraged it, already knowing that deep down he did want to honor his family. Even though they did not deserve it, it was still such a beautiful tradition.
So, they welcomed their little boy into the world on May 17th 2006. Naming him Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.
Although Scorpius brightened his parents‘ days beyond compare, his birth had also left a permanent damage to Astoria‘s health, and it took her a long time to recover from the strain his birth had caused her body. In the end, she never fully healed to the extent as she‘d been before her pregnancy.
But she never regretted having him even for a second. In fact, she repeatedly told Draco that she‘d do it all over in a heartbeat, should she ever get pregnant again.
And to his utter shock, on one warm spring evening a bit more than a year after Scorpius‘ birth, she had indeed told him the news of her carrying their second child. „Draco? Draco! I’m pregnant!“ she’d said, gleaming with joy. Joy he could not even try to mirror, nor could he hide his horrified expression.
It scared him, because he knew she‘d never agree to…end the pregnancy for the sake of her already fragile health.
Yet still, he couldn’t hold back his sudden despair.
„Astoria you…you can’t,“ he had replied, causing her to drop her beautiful smile instantly. „The healer explicitly said you could not handle a second pregnancy. He said you would never recover.“ he‘d argued with his hands in his hair.
But just as he‘d expected, she would have none of it. „He said I might not, Draco. Either way, there is absolutely noway - Merlin…I won’t terminate this pregnancy Draco!“ she‘d yelled back, and she never yelled. It had been enough to make him fall quiet, too stunned to even utter a word as he watched her.
„It’s a miracle…“ she’d said calmly, with tears glistering in her eyes, after a moment of silence. „I- I didn’t think I could even get pregnant after Scorpius…you know what the midwife said, the bleeding…“
Oh Draco knew. He‘d never forget the fear that gripped him when Astoria’s arms had slacked all of a sudden, nearly dropping baby Scorpius as she fell unconscious from the blood loss. The midwife, a very kind older woman, had told them that it had been because of a ripped artery…and that the damage from it may not allow Astoria to become pregnant again.
She‘d been devastated about it, for she‘d always told him she wanted their children - always plural - to grow up close with one another. But he on the other hand remembered feeling relieved at the news.
It would not only be unwise to have another baby, but it seemed it would simply be impossible. Which meant he wouldn’t have to argue with her on the subject. Yes, as horrible as it might sound to some, Draco had been relieved.
But then of course it wouldn’t be that easy after all. Because now Astoria held the little golden glowing potion confirming her pregnancy.
How they‘d fought. It had sure been their loudest and longest fight they‘d ever had, he was sure. He‘d tried to make her see why he couldn’t just be thrilled, as much as he might‘ve wanted to be, but Astoria had her mind set.
It was only after what felt like hours of arguing that Draco finally stopped yelling. Even stopped talking altogether when he heard his wife‘s miserable sob. It echoed in his mind like a wake up call.
„I know it’s risky,“ she‘d sniffed when he relented and wrapped her up in his arms. „But you know I won’t terminate this…Draco, you know you wouldn’t either. Please, be happy about this, it’s…it’s going to be okay.“
He wasn’t sure if she‘d even believed it herself, but for her sake and also his own, he‘d kissed her on the cheek, then the lips, and smiled. „A baby…“ he said as though he‘d only just heard of the news. „Scorpius will be so excited.“
And so they stayed in that hug, in the middle of their living room which was now only lit up by the fire which burned lowly in the old fireplace…both of them trying to grasp what this would truly mean.
Then, early in the morning on the coldest day of February a bit less than nine months later, Astoria carefully placed an even tinier little person than Scorpius had been to her husband, sweat glistering on her forehead and a glowing smile on her lips.
„Here you go, Dad.“ she’d said, winking at him as Draco took the bundle from her.
He‘d looked down into the most beautiful blue eyes, much brighter than his. A daughter. His heart swelled with a new kind of protectiveness. „She’s amazing.“ was all he could say as he stared at his daughter.
„She is,“ Astoria replied softly, and as he raised his gaze to meet hers, he fell in love with her all over again. Her smile…it would always make him weak.
He’d sat down beside her and let her rest her head on his shoulder as they both marveled at the beautiful little life they‘d created.
„How are you feeling?“ Draco had asked after a while, noticing with surprise how awake and considerably energized she looked, despite the birth. She was nothing like the pale ghost she‘d been after giving birth to their son. „You look…well.“ he almost didn’t dare say it, afraid he‘d somehow jinx her boost of energy.
Astoria took their little girl from him and against her chest, smiling down at her with gleaming eyes. „I feel good, truly. I cannot remember the last time I‘ve felt so…healthy.“
It made him smile as he sank back against the pillows of their bed. Draco reckoned no matter what might come, they would simply enjoy this while it lasted. And when little Scorpius joined them a few minutes later it seemed like nothing could ever ruin this perfect moment.
„Darling!“ Astoria had exclaimed happily when the two year old had ran up to the bed. „Come here my love, meet your little sister.“
Draco had heaved Scorpius up onto the bed. „Look here Scorp,“ he‘d said as he placed him down between Astoria and himself. „Say hi to her.“
Scorpius, being the sweet boy he was, very carefully reached his little hand out to touch the baby‘s cheek. „Hi, I’m Scorpius.“ he looked up at his mother then, with curious eyes. „What‘s she called mummy?“
Astoria had chuckled and gently ran her hand through Scorpius‘ blond hair. „Well, I think you should ask daddy, my darling. He got to pick out her name, just like mummy picked out yours.“
And so, Scorpius, with wide eyes, looked up at Draco for an answer. „Daddy, what’s her name?“
He smiled at his son, already having had the name picked out for weeks. He‘d done a little research on his wife‘s history and found that originally, just like the Black‘s named their children - especially their firstborns - after stars or constellations, her family had a vast amount of females named after flowers, or flower-related. Like Daphne, Astoria’s sister, or their late grandmother, Hyacinth Greengrass. Astoria had adored her as she’d told Draco.
So, it really hadn’t been hard to find the perfect name. „Her name is Dahlia Hyacinth Malfoy.“ he’d replied, looking from his confused looking son up to his wife, to see her wide eyes, now filled with happy tears.
„It’s a beautiful name.“ she‘d whispered before looking down onto the sleeping baby. „My little flower…I love you so much, Dahlia.“
Yes, it had truly been the perfect day.
The perfect day that then turned into the perfect week and then the perfect month…and months. All in which Astoria Malfoy seemed healthier than she had been since she was just ten.
No sickness, no fevers, no bad days…it seemed almost as if the birth of their little Dahlia had somehow, miraculously cured her.
And exactly that, against all odds, had been confirmed two months after Dahlia‘s birth, by her very much baffled healer.
„It seems…it seems that you…are cured, Mrs. Malfoy.“ he‘d stuttered after lowering his wand as he’d finished the diagnostic spells on her. His kind brown eyes were wide as saucers. Just as hers and Draco‘s had been.
„I thought that it was impossible…?“ Draco had asked, completely and utterly shocked. His heart had jumped up and down in his chest at the news. Cured. He never thought he‘d ever hear those words regarding his wife‘s malady.
Astoria, holding onto his hand so tightly it hurt, had tears in her eyes.
„It is, well, it should be.“ the healer had replied, before he kindly smiled at Astoria, taking her free hand as a comforting gesture. „But as the story goes…supposedly, every curse can be broken. I do not know what it was that did it for you, Mrs. Malfoy, but might I be so direct,“ he squeezed her slender fingers gently. „I am deeply happy for you.“
It was then that she finally let out the sob that had so clearly been sitting on her tongue, a deeply relieved and painfully emotional sound. „Oh Merlin,“ she’d said, her lips trembling as she kissed Draco right in front of the healer. He did not object at all, not when the moment was so joyful. „I‘ll live,“ she’d whispered against his lips, and he felt his entire body relax at the words. She‘ll live.
„You will, love,“ he’d replied when she wrapped her arms around his neck. „You‘ll live.“
And she did. Astoria Malfoy lived like everyday was a gift, never blue, always good and kind and optimistic. She was everything Draco aspired to be, has always been. She was the most amazing person he‘d ever met.
The children would agree in a heartbeat, he knew. They adored their Mother, almost as much as Astoria did them.
Draco reckoned she was born to be a Mother. Nothing elated him more than seeing her with the children. Her smiles would never be brighter than whenever she was with Scorpius and Dahlia.
Oh how she so fiercely loved them. Draco did too, of course, yet whenever he watched his wife tuck in Scorpius or snuggle little Dahlia close on the sofa after dinner, she seemed to literally glow with love.
He could try as hard as he may and never be half as gentle, nor as openly loving. He had never learned to do that, as it had been quite inappropriate according to his Father, to openly show one‘s affection. Especially for a young man such as himself. It just wasn’t done, is what Lucius always said.
He was very glad to see that Astoria did not share his inability to openly show her love. She was quite the opposite actually. Where he would awkwardly pat Scorpius’ shoulder whenever they were out and about and Scorpius would tell him something or run up to him, Astoria would easily, yes even naturally bend down and pick him up, kiss him openly until he wiggled out of her arms or snuggle him no matter if they were among others.
If his little daughter, always so very precious - truly, sometimes he wondered how she could be his - wanted to hold onto his hand whilst walking along busy streets, he would always freeze momentarily. It always, and still, managed to stun him that she would so easily do that.
He had never been allowed to hold his Father‘s hand, only ever his Mother‘s. And as he got a bit older, he reckoned about eight or nine, his Father would tell him not to keep holding her hand either, because…it just wasn’t done.
Draco reveled in how his children did not fear of doing something wrong or being „inappropriate“ because they did such things as holding his hand or hug their Mother in public.
And he liked how when his Father would look at him disapprovingly whenever Scorpius would run up to him for a hug, he could simply ignore it and open his arms for his son.
„You will make him soft if you keep this nonsensical display of affections up, Draco.“ he‘d told him once on Christmas when Scorpius had only been six. The saddest part of it all, Draco learned, was that his Father truly believed it.
„It‘ll make him feel loved, Father,“ he‘d replied directly, causing the almost constant frown on Lucius‘ face to twist into something like regret. „Without having to earn it by doing his Father‘s bidding. I should think you would understand what I mean.“
Lucius had never again criticized Draco’s sensibility of allowing his children to openly display their affection. In fact, after some time - well, a rather long time to be frank - he too wasn’t opposed to giving his grandchildren an occasional hug in public. Could one imagine that? Draco remembers nearly doubling over the first time he‘d seen Dahlia in her grandfather’s arms, in the middle of Diagon Alley.
Yet his parents, specifically his Father, would never be able to even try and match the warmth that Astoria‘s parents‘ seemed to radiate whenever they came to visit. Oh, how wonderfully loud and bright they seemed compared to the Malfoy side.
He certainly could tell where Astoria had gotten her charm and kindness from, whenever he watched how her Mother and Father played with the children. Hugs and kisses were never cut short, not even with him. Astoria‘s Mother would always hug him for greetings and goodbyes. Not even his own parents did that so often.
The children, thanks to his wife‘s insistence on being so affectionate, seemed so innocently happy. It was everything he‘d wanted for them. To never have to worry about more than normal children‘s issues.
As said, life settled to be pretty perfect, and as the months turned into years, Draco and Astoria found themselves so very thankful for this perfectly wonderful life they‘d so badly fought for. It had all been worth it, all the pain and suffering at a young age, fighting in the war, so they could be happy now. Perfectly happy.
Until they weren’t.
Because life was not perfect, and tragedy liked to strike when it was least expected.
And so it did, a few days after Dahlia‘s tenth birthday…
„Mum!“ Scorpius‘ voice echoes through the Manor‘s hallway, his shoes loud against the marble floor. „Dad!“
Draco and Astoria, both currently sitting on the emerald sofa in the cozy living room down the hall, look at each other, alarmed at the urgency in their son‘s voice. They jump up from the sofa and meet him half way down the hall.
He‘s panting heavily, pointing towards the entrance door as he grabs onto his Father‘s hand to tug him along. „Quickly! Common…“
„Sweetheart, what‘s happened?“ Astoria asks worriedly as they hurry after him to get outside.
He doesn’t stop running, doesn’t turn around as he answers her, his voice urgent. „Lia, she- she…“ he points to the rose garden, where Astoria spots her daughter, sprawled in the grass, unmoving.
„Oh god,“ she says as she starts running until she falls to her knees right by Dahlia‘s unconscious form. „Lia?“ she says, trying to rouse the girl by touching her cheeks.
Draco comes around to kneel at Dahlia‘s other side, looking up at Astoria in concern. „She’s unconscious.“ he says quietly, before he tucks his arms beneath her thin little body to lift her into his arms. „I’ll call for a healer.“
Astoria nods as she watches him walk back inside the house with their daughter, her chest tight with worry.
She feels a familiar hand taking hers. „Mum? What’s wrong with Lia?“ Scorpius asks, clearly catching onto her worry.
She looks down at him with a strained smile, squeezing his hand. „I don’t know darling, but your Dad‘ll call the healer and he‘ll help your sister, I’m sure.“ she leads him back to the house, convincing herself that this happened because Dahlia hadn’t eaten much this morning…yes, it must’ve been. That it happened right after her tenth birthday was just a horrible coincidence.
When the healer finally finished his diagnostic spells, he remained silent for a long moment. Too long. When he spoke at last, he did not meet Astoria’s eyes.
„I…am so very sorry,“
Astoria‘s heart might as well have stopped. No. No, no, no! „No,“ she replies, shaking her head as her eyes cloud with tears. This cannot be happening. It can’t.
„No, you- you told me that it had been broken,“ she desperately said, as if that would change what had already been confirmed by magic. „So she can’t have it. She can’t.“
„Love,“ Draco‘s voice was weak, shocked, but he still tried to calm her down.
She did not. „You told me-“
The healer, bless him, looked so very sorry that even Astoria‘s anger deflated. „I am so sorry, I truly thought it was broken…there hasn’t been any trace of the curse left in you…“ he looks down at the sleeping form of Dahlia. „Now I believe I know why.“
And so, on that beautiful early spring day, their perfectly happy bubble broke.
Their little daughter, would learn the pain of a curse she had nothing to do with…and her parents could only stand by and watch as it spread in her like an unstoppable force, claiming her rosy cheeks and her bright smiles so cruelly.
“My poor darling,“ Astoria whispers as she curls up on her daughter’s bed, wrapping an arm around Dahlia‘s chest.
The little girl looks up at her through fever-blurred eyes, blinking tiredly. „Mum? Will you stay? Just for a while…“ she asks quietly, and of course, Astoria stays.
She watches as Dahlia closes her eyes and, as she runs her fingers through her daughter’s blond hair, she vows to find a way. A way to break this curse. Because supposedly…every curse can be broken.