One
Those same winter winds jolted Draco back to reality, where his hand was cupped around an icy chill circling his bedroom.
She wasn't there.
The realization washed over him quickly, a sob threatening to rip from his throat. It tugged against every nerve, nearly choking him as the sorrow seeped into every inch of his body.
She was never there.
Those same piercing eyes opened lazily now, a fuzzy image of the empty bed coming into view. Their white, once regarded as silky sheets had become stiffened from the lack of use; the pillow next to him too perfect, serving more as a decoration than anything.
He'd probably dozed off while going to change for the evening, wandering into his and Astoria’s old bedroom for old time’s sake. This wasn't the bed he'd slept in, not for months, at least.
Ever since Astoria's condition had worsened, he'd committed to sleeping in an emerald loveseat Daphne had installed. According to her, it gave the space a 'homey' feel, in addition to the several pictures, crocheted blankets, and floral arrangements that surrounded his wife's final room.
He doubted that. Material comforts could never silence the constant dinging of her monitor, or dull the scent of disinfectant that stuck in the air after Astoria vomited (which was more often than not these days). A bloody Monet painting couldn't conceal what was to come. Nothing could.
There was a quiet crying in the distance.
"Oh, love,"
Swallowing his sorrows, Draco reluctantly rose from the bed. He tidied it more than necessary, something that he found himself constantly doing as of recent. The only excuse he could rely on was that he wanted the house to look nice for Astoria.
A stretch and he was starting across the corridor. Daphne probably hadn't heard his footsteps since she was sleeping on the next floor. She also wouldn't wake up if you blew a french horn into her ear, but that's besides the point.
Scorpius? Merlin, he couldn't stand to think of Scorpius right now. It was the single thing that was more unbearable than his own suffering.
"Draco?" Astoria's voice was brittle, struggling to breathe as she finished the question.
Not only did the malediction feel the need to tear its way through his wife's body, but it also felt the need to induce pain so severe that speaking was a challenge.
"I heard you crying across the hall. Is something wrong?" He bent down to face her, stroking her dark hair gently.
"I think it's safe to say there is always something wrong when you are dying from a blood malediction,"
She let out a weak chuckle that threatened to turn into a wheeze. Draco took a deep breath, Astoria following. A small smile crossed her face, the stretched skin creasing ever so slightly.
"I hate that, you know. I can't even speak without being reminded that I'm dying." she coughed, "I don't want to be like a victim on one of those muggle detective shows, writing on a pad with a pen,"
He humored her.
"Love, I don't think you could even lift the pen up,"
A small gasp escaped his wife, her face contorting into mock horror. Throughout all this, Astoria had somehow managed to survive with an intact sense of humor.
"What a cruel, cruel, husband I have. Doesn't even try to be supportive,"
She crossed her arms slowly. Taking a closer look, he observed just how frail they had become. The bones were poking through, her skin more translucent than solid. Dark blue veins crossed her arms, a clear sign of malediction that the two had learned to recognize long ago.
"Draco," Astoria said, but this time she was 21 and the sun was hitting her face, "Come here. I think there's something wrong,"
"Let me take a look,"
He traveled across their small hotel room at the time. They were staying in New York on a ‘business trip’, as Draco had told his parents in order to erase any suspicions that he was visiting Astoria again. She had done the same, flying all the way from London on an equal ‘pyschology conference’.
He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to channel the anxiety somewhere Astoria wouldn't be able to recognize. It was choppy and short, long before the time he'd began growing it out.
"What is it?"
"My arm,"
She thrusted it at him, glaring. Astoria always did that when she was concerned, usually to scare the other person enough into the same mindset as her. He hated how well it worked.
The spidery veins that drew across her forearm made him hold his breath. Scrambling fingers, his fingers, examined them as he took in their color, width, density.
Normal veins were a blueish-green, sort of like a turquoise. Hers resembled something more like a midnight blue.
"You know what this means, Astoria,"
His voice was grave. She was only 21. Too young for it to attack again.
"It's the malediction, isn't it?"
Her molasses eyes met his, tears rimming the edges. They both knew, but couldn't stand to admit it. They hadn't even lived yet! How could they possibly accept this—
"Draco," the familiar, weakened voice called him, gently reminding him of reality, "Please don't cry,"
Oh, damn him.
Why did this keep happening? He understood that grief came with being a bit looney, but Astoria wasn't dead. He shouldn't be shuffling between reality and memories while there was still a wife to remember.
At the same time, it was incredibly hard. Harder than he would ever admit to anyone to keep up the “happy face”, if he could even call his pitiful attempt at normalcy that.
Dissolving into tears every day because of your dying wife was far from ideal, but it was better than confessing to her that viewing her as truly alive was something Draco had lost the ability to do.
"You know why I cry," Draco said, trying to muster a smile, "Every day you're here is another day I get to spend with you,"
He placed a small kiss on her forehead, being careful not to injure her.
"I know,"
Quiet ensued for a while, Astoria mumbling something to herself as the sun rose. Everyone was probably awake by now.
"I'm going to go for a little while, ok? Need to check on Scorp,"
Any mention of her son would drive Astoria into one of two extremes: beaming or bereaved.
"Oh, of course!" she said loudly, probably too loudly for her fragile body, "Opal should be here soon anyway,"
The hospice nurse. She had been a godsend.
"Tell him to come visit his mother. She needs to see her baby,"
"Oh, I will,"
Draco flashed a smile, the kind of smile that made Astoria swoon back when they were younger.
"I'll be back," He rose, exiting the room slower than usual. The last thing he wanted to do was face his son.
Scorpius was born many things, but a Malfoy had always been one of them. His platinum blonde hair -just like his father's-, the pointed, perfect nose, a jaw that could cut through stone even at the youthful age of 13.
Like Draco, Scorp held his head high, but for an obtusely different reason. His son was always full of hope and optimism. Just like his mother. They both shared the same rose tinted view on the world, gallivanting through life as if the world was meant for their exploration. Even when the Voldemort rumors came to light, or Astoria's condition worsened, they both managed to remain content.
Seeing the same weary expression on his son's face that plagued Draco—well—it was mortifying. Purple eye bags hollowed both pale faces, giving the two the gaunt look they'd come to expect of Astoria. Lips were drawn into an uncomfortable frown, as if they were stuck this way by circumstance rather than choice.
He did have his mother's eyes, though. But they were not the melting brown that once squealed for candy and ran flat across a field just because 'he felt like it'.
They were the eyes of his father.
"Scorpius," The striped covers didn't move. Draco knew better than to suspect his son was asleep.
Draco tried a ruse, "Mum wants to see you,"
A small grumble, then lanky limbs began to emerge from the heavy blankets.
Though Draco was still at least a head taller than Scorpius, it was alarming how fast he was growing. He was getting so big.
"Dad, are you going to keep standing there or let me change?" His eyes seethed through Draco, penetrating into the wall behind him. They were bloodshot.
He hadn't slept at all, hadn't he?
“If you need to talk about anything on your mind…”
He regretted it the instant it came out of his mouth. He was a father, not his son’s psychiatrist.
"Stop looking at me like I'm a lost puppy. I'm fine," he spat.
His words were like a punch straight to the stomach. Draco nearly took a step back.
Tough love it was.
"If you hadn't noticed," he retorted, more confident in his words, “You look like hell, Scorp. You haven’t slept, and you’re dropping weight faster than your mother. Really, when was the last time you had a real meal, Scorpius? I understand this is difficult, but I can’t just sit here and watch you deteriorate,”
“If you hadn't noticed," Scorpius returned, "My mum is dying. Sorry I'm not rainbows and sunshine, Dad,”
He scoffed, “Are we competing now? I’m about to lose the love of my life,”
“Eat something, Dad,” Scorpius mocked, “You’ll feel better, I promise,”
He wanted to scream, to smack his son right upside the head. But that was something Lucius would’ve done.
He had sworn before any of this, long before he had Scorpius, long before he even met Astoria, to never be anything like his father.
"It's just," Draco faltered. He must already know that. “Nevermind. Get dressed, quickly, please. She's in a good mood right now,"
"Sure, sure," Scorpius breezed past him, eyes never losing focus on the view ahead. Throwing on a ratty green sweater, he exited the bedroom, headed for the hallway. He was always in a rush when it came to seeing his mother, much like Draco.
Like father, like son.
There were many times that people had made the comparison, though it was rarely Draco himself.
It started so young, when Narcissa was holding him for the first time in Malfoy Manor.
Like everyone else that held Scorpius, Draco’s mother melted at the sight of the new baby. Hardly a few weeks old, and already turning stone cold hearts into mush.
Narcissa tucked a grey strand out her face as the newborn Scorpius gazed at her in wonder.
“He looks just like you, darling,”
Draco was nearby, nursing a very, very, exhausted Astoria. A weary smile crossed his face at his mother’s comment. He had to admit, he was a little glad the Malfoy lineage carried on to his son.
“Everyone’s been saying that, you know. The nurses could recognize who the father was from the NICU windows,”
“The NICU?” Narcissa gasped, almost dropping the baby, “He doesn’t have some disease, does he?”
He knew she was talking about the blood curse, but brushed it off.
“No, mum. He’s ok,”
Astoria laughed, “Oh Narcissa, that baby is fine. He’s a drama queen, that’s all. Like his father. The real one they should be concerned about is me, but alas,”
She sighed, a sly smile forming.
He loved it when she smiled like that.
Draco whispered right into her ear, “How can you drive me crazy even after you’ve just given birth?”
He knew well that she was blushing, but it wouldn’t be recognized as anything more than the flush of being a new mother.
“I don’t know,” she replied quietly, “Maybe you’re delusional, because there is nothing sexy about me right now,”
“Oh, we both know that isn’t true,”
Narcissa shot the two a glare, catching on to the subject they were discussing.
“Please grow up to be a little more like your mother, Scorpius,” Narcissa said icily, “We need class brought back into this family,”
“I second that!” Astoria exclaimed, shooting an arm up into the air.
A foul smell began to pollute the air. The diaper.
“Well, I guess you really are your father, Scorpius,” Narcissa sighed, motioning to Draco, “He soiled himself. In my arms,”
“That’s children, mum,”
As Draco went to get the baby, he knocked into something hard and wooden. A dresser.
The memory dissolved from view as quickly as it came, the creamy drapes of Malfoy Manor transitioning into the light blue wall that was Scorpius’s room. He had knocked himself into the Chester drawer that had been passed down to Scorp as an heirloom.
Jesus fucking Christ.
A clock nearby told him that it was 8:07. Only five minutes had passed. If he really tried, he could pass it off as having a bit of brain fog. That was common for anyone, especially someone who was in his situation.
“Draco!” Daphne, Astoria’s sister, shouted from the hallway, “What did you do? Faint? Get over here!”
Her voice was hoarse, probably from crying. As much as she’d like to think otherwise, Daph did a poor job at hiding her emotions.
With no reply, he made his way to Astoria’s room. Accompanied by a very obviously just woken up Daphne, a brooding Scorpius, a friendly Opal, and an uncertain Astoria, Draco truly began the day.