Chapter One
Chapter One
Ever since the beginning of the Equinox line, who were derived from a relative of Salazar Slytherin himself, all of the direct descendants of the Equinox family were born as their name suggested. Each child was born with the arrival of the Equinox and each child would die on an Equinox.
Astraea Estelle Equinox was born on March 20th, 1980, customary to her family name. The golden-blonde witch was born to two loving parents: Diana and Lamar Equinox. She was a Slytherin, sorted as the first Equinox to reside within the green draping of her house for over two hundred years. Unlike most supposed, Slytherin was not inherently full of bad wizards. It was filled with ambitious, loyal people, often judged wrongly due to their more callous attitudes. But the few who held themselves in a more hubristic light were often the loudest, and so the nature of Slytherins had become warped over time.
Still, she had not borne witness to the luxuriously decorated Slytherin common room for almost a year, the impending war forcing many to withdraw their children for fear of their safety.
Astraea found herself strangely bereft by that fact, estranged from those she held closest beside her parents, who themselves had been absent for some time. If they had chosen for her to remain in the safety of their home, they were not around to express it, and she had half a mind to return to the spiked enclosure of Hogwarts anyway.
Her life now resided in hiding like the rest of the wanted "criminals", and she found herself under Tonks and Lupin's watchful eyes in a safe house just north of Aberdeen. A few others had joined them, hoping to be of use as protective guardians, but their small troop held nothing compared to the large armies Voldemort was sending throughout the country to capture the rebels of his new regime. She could see the fear in their eyes when they peered through bolted windows at the slightest wind that brushed through the house and she knew that should it come down to it, their small force of soldiers would easily be scattered.
It was what had happened to Harry’s parents, who he had played judge, jury, and executioner to when he flattened their defence like a wall of cards.
"Do you expect we'll hear from them tonight?" She found herself call out, the ringing of her voice carrying harshly through the air.
It had been eerily silent just moments before, and it had become akin to a custom not to break such silences. They could sometimes find peace in the meditative gloom. More so, at least, than sudden noises could help with.
"Harry, Ron and Hermione?" The older woman rebutted, her eyebrows furrowing at the vagueness of Astraea's question.
The witch smiled in apology, nodding her head as she took a sip of the now lukewarm tea that had been placed in front of her not short of an hour ago.
It was bitter.
"No, I don't suppose we will," Tonks responded, her hands fidgeting with the ends of the stolen Daily Prophet, "I wouldn't fret though. They'll be fine."
Perhaps Astraea should have noticed even then that her tone was loose, her lips trembling and her face paler than usual. It was a look she'd gleaned from her mother days before their deaths, and one she was often haunted by in the dead of night, when the wolves began howling ever closer. It was the look of defeat. The kind of defeat that was truthful and damning in its promise.
But then, perhaps she was trying to convince herself with empty promises too.
The three had disappeared months prior with a mission assigned by Dumbledore himself. It had sounded rashly assembled and poorly planned, but the trio had often found themselves immersed in his elderly 'wisdom'. Personally, Astraea didn't understand why the old badger seemed to think sending children to fight an evil dark wizard was ever a good idea, and she could very easily relate the knowing twinkle in his eye with the foreshadowing of his own impending insanity. Her opinion, however, didn't seem to hold much gravitas, and she supposed the mental stability of the three couldn't get all that much worse given what they had already been through.
They were the ones who'd fought a troll as First Year's, stopped a magical stone heist, stabbed a cursed diary, freed Sirius from soul-sucking ghosts - then of course, managed to kill him shortly thereafter - and fought against a pink-clad toad, who evidently needed psychological help.
The poor thing was useless. Even her most airtight of plans seem to have been pulled apart like candy floss when she had been deceived by three idiots and a supposed weapon. But then, she guessed the worst thing the toad had ever done was scar hands, whereas she knew Dumbledore’s own ‘airtight security’ for the philosopher’s stone had been breached by not only Voldemort, but eleven-year-old first years.
"Well. As fine as three pawns with death wishes can be," she muttered almost as an afterthought, her mouth tipping up at the sides as Tonks tried not to choke on her buttered scone.
Snape gave a signature dry smirk. Or, at least, the dry smirk that seemed reserved for her, and her alone. Her and Snape had a weird relationship if you could name it so. Astraea had always suspected that he treated her as he would his daughter, even if his actions towards her were only ever laced with marginal affection. It was still more than she’d seen fired at anyone else, except maybe Draco.
"Entirely right, Astraea. The three are fools following a fool’s plan," he drawled, his eyes gleaming in a childlike mirth as his cape billowed around him.
"See that Tonks? Severus just called me by my first name,” Snape’s expression quickly turned sour.
She found herself giving her best fake swoon, as the irate Severus rolled his eyes. Strands of golden hair dusted over her eyes briefly, and she lifted a hand to delicately brush them away.
"It would do you well to remember you're my student purely on school grounds, Astraea. Me calling you by your first name here means nothing," Snape reiterated.
He directed a pointed glare at the girl, who only smiled loosely in amusement. The glare itself sent chills through the girl's very being, but she couldn't find it in herself to be afraid. She knew it was all empty threats. He was never truly angry.
"And get those disgusting feet off the table," he added, shaking his head in annoyance as he tossed away a rotting apple core, a habit courtesy of Draco’s own meddling.
"He totally loves me," Astraea mouthed to Tonks, who just stared at her with thinly veiled amusement.
The air was quiet again, their minds drifting to alternate spaces. A war was upon them, and Astraea wondered what their lives would be like if there wasn't. Maybe she would have never met Tonks. Perhaps she would have never fully understood the boy with no choice.
But per case she might have.
A loud crack sounded through the room, and her eyes snapped to the blonde figure in the corner. His figure was adorned in black, though he was wearing the green silk scarf she had bought him the previous Christmas, making his hair shine more vibrantly. He strode leisurely towards them, shrugging off his long coat and hanging it gently on a chair.
Her eyes grazed over his broad shoulders before settling on the small scrape down the side of his face. It had been there since last Tuesday and held a weirdly satisfying contrast to the pale colour of his skin. She felt a flood of relief wash over her as she took in his appearance. He was here and he was safe.
"Did you get what we need?" She heard Lupin ask, having just meandered down the stairs.
They were made of a creaky old oak, which Astraea had always been torn about. One too many times had they caused her to trip and fall, but they were quite pleasing to look at. A golden gleam emitted from them, accentuating the knots in the wood as well as a pair of familiar brown slacks and a sage green jumper, a collared white shirt just visible beneath the neckline. It was just about as casual as she’d seen Lupin, even though his hair had always been scruffy and unkempt.
She watched Draco's grey eyes roll in response, his long slender fingers running lines into his hair as he tousled it. Astraea had always liked his hands. They were those you'd expect a skilled pianist to have. Large with long slender fingers, appearing elegant in whatever it was he put them to. Sometimes a glint of silver could be caught as he moved them, signifying his Malfoy signet ring, but of course, he barely wore that now.
"Of course, I did you mutt. What, did you expect me to just casually forget that I was disowned halfway through stealing an old book from my parent's library?" He sneered.
Though not inured to his insufferable insults towards her family, Astraea chose to launch her arms around his frame. He was a key instrument to her comfort and security, and without him she felt lost. Sometimes, all she needed was a touch and she felt grounded again. Less alone.
With the loss of his mother, she assumed he felt the same.
She had always remembered Narcissa as a kind and gentle woman, even in her childhood when she had scolded them quietly as her and Draco destroyed priceless heirlooms and family art. Never once had she shouted, nor so much as raised her voice towards the Neanderthals that thundered up and down freshly waxed staircases, flicking paint up the walls. In fact, Narcissa had become somewhat a second mother for her, hugging her close when she cried and sending her thoughtful gifts every Yule.
She'd been left forlorn at her death, not quite sure what to do with herself. But she'd never brought it up to Draco, nor he to her, so she presumed he wanted to let the past lie. Sometimes grief was better left settled as an unmentioned ache than torn up and wrapped, thorny, around the heart once more.
"Are you okay, sarcastic demon?" she mumbled in question, breathing in long drags of his cologne.
It had always been tinted with just a hint of green apple. You are what you eat, and green apples seemed all that Draco willingly ate, so she surmised it was only natural. That, or he doused himself in green apple bodywash each day, which seemed unpractical in the current situation.
She felt a faint nod against her forehead, as two arms engulfed her closer to his chest. A wave of affection washed over her, and she sighed. The warmth and heat from his body sunk through her clothes and into her skin, permeating her body with the physical touch it craved when he wasn’t there. Every time he hugged her, she could feel her own muscles relax, the tension teased out of them like honey.
And then the moment was over, as quickly as it began.
She pulled herself away, watching him toss a black leather book onto the table. Tension seeped back inside her bones and she stared at it for a second. The black leather cover remained untouched, preserved in excellent condition for decades. Its pages were yellowed, but very much still a bright white. Something inside called to her, and she knew exactly what – and who - it was, staring accusingly at the three golden words engraved on the cover.
ᴛᴏᴍ ᴍᴀʀᴠᴏʟᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ.
She shivered.
"What is that thing anyway?" Draco questioned, leaning against the kitchen counter, "I feel like it's given me bloody dragon pox."
Astraea knew the effects of dark magic were akin to that of an illness. It could do as little as make your skin crawl or infect you from the inside out until you become a corpse, taken by death for meddling in such morose matters. A mangled hand had once implied the real cause for Dumbledore’s own death, championed by a ring which sat smirking as the light shone off it on his finger. This diary contained a similar piece of Tom's soul. It was an ancient piece of magic, and one which few had ever used due to its consequence.
It was only natural that these horcruxes caused such harm to their carriers.
"That's Tom Riddle's diary. It's filled with an ancient piece of dark magic," Lupin explained, peering over at the blonde Malfoy from his spectacles.
"Hang on, who?"
Astraea almost laughed, instead grinning minutely before shovelling a piece of bread in her mouth. These things had to be taken seriously, and laughing at such a delicate matter would make Lupin angry. Unlike Snape, Astraea was scared of Lupin getting angry. Not as a result of his condition, but rather the dreaded disappointment he might direct her way if she did.
"Tom Riddle is Voldemort. Salazar Malfoy, did you learn absolutely nothing whilst you were living with the man?" the greasy-haired potions instructor scolded, his eyes blown a fraction wider in disbelief as he berated his godson.
Astraea thought it was rather funny that Draco had little knowledge of what was going on under his own roof. She'd expected he'd have knowledge of at least a snippet of Voldemort's upbringing as Tom Riddle. Then again, world domination probably ranked higher in the list of priorities than a nose-less man crying over his childhood misfortunes.
She glanced over at Draco, interested to see his reaction as his face blanched even whiter than she thought imaginable. A small smile crossed her face.
"Do you mean to tell me; I've been carrying a dark wizard's diary in my fucking pocket?"
She watched Snape roll his eyes and swoop out, his cape billowing behind him as usual.
-:-
Astraea found herself curled up in bed with Draco, who still had slightly damp blonde hair from coming out of the shower minutes prior. It shadowed his forehead, a look the blonde couldn't help but find precious. She wondered when he'd ever display such innocence again. If he would.
She wasn't sure she'd ever get to see it.
"Do you think I'll need to do it?" She voiced her concerns, her lip trembling slightly as her gaze remained firm on his grey eyes.
It was funny. She'd always thought that they were a cold grey before she'd known him. It had always seemed that way from afar, back when she'd found it hard to calculate his feelings from a simple glance. Now though, she found them much warmer than she'd expected. They were a vibrant, rich, warm grey. One you'd find painted in houses that felt of home, rather than an icy colour you'd witness in thunderstorms.
"Do what?" He asked softly, trailing a featherlight touch up and down her arm.
Astraea paused, biting her thumb nail anxiously as she tried to calm her worried mind. It was a habit her mother had often attempted to stop. They'd even tried a Muggle nail varnish, aimed at preventing her from doing so, but even that had only held off the habit.
It was a while before she spoke again, but when she did, it was little more than a whisper.
"Use the equinox this year..."
It was a fear she’d harboured since the very day she turned fourteen, when she’d been alerted of just what exactly the Equinox meant for her family. Many of upper-class society had called her power a blessing, but they knew only half of the curse. Even Draco did not know entirely what would happen, though she had told him what little she could. He knew she would not return thereafter, and she wondered if he’d ever put two-and-two together.
The sudden movement of Draco yanking her closer to him caught her off guard and she yelped slightly as he hugged her to him tightly.
"You'll do nothing of the sort, you daft blonde," he grumbled, burying his face into her hair as he let out a large exhale.
She felt herself wonder how much longer he'd get to hold her like this. If this was one of the last times he'd ever be able to. One thing she knew for certain, was that the equinox could mean the end of this version of Draco. Water pooled in her eyes as her mind continued to spiral.
No more late-night hugs if she woke unexpectedly from a nightmare. No more sweet, adoring kisses to her nose as they lied happily in a field together, despite being surrounded by war and death. Never again would she feel his gentle touch against her back as they walked, or the light tap of his finger against their conjoined hands when they read together. None of that would be the same. None of that would come from this Draco.
This Draco that claimed to love her whole-heartedly. The Draco that she loved in return. A perfect and yet broken boy who she could confide in for anything. The memories she'd collected over so many years... they'd all be with ghosts.
A single tear trekked down her face.
"But what if-," she started, her lip trembling as she bit down on it lightly, steeling herself to speak, "What if everything turns to shit, Draco? What if this equinox is the only chance we have..."
She felt herself trail off as he pulled backwards, detaching himself from their latched position as he focused directly on her. A calm wave washed over her at his certainty, though it only made her feel even more tortured inside. Hands smoothed themselves over her forearms as his fingers played a gentle melody to the beat of her skin.
"I won't let you Astraea," he said assuredly, "I can't have you leaving. You're all I have."
She felt herself draw in a long, laboured breath, closing her eyes tightly.
"All I care for."
Soft lips caressed her forehead lightly, the affectionate touch causing her heart to flutter as it slowly began to fracture. Light flooded her eyes as she lifted her eyelids, her wet eyelashes dropping more tears against her cheeks.
"But what if I have to?" She asked shakily, her voice breaking as she added, "What if it's the only way?"
She watched the water-filled grey pools before her release a lonely tear. It sprinted down his cheek freely, a motif for fading memories. Their own dissipating story, which might soon slip away from existence entirely.
A ghost story.
"It won't be," he squeezed her hand weakly.
And as much as she wished she could believe him, the dread in her heart and the cogs in her brain assured she couldn’t.