Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Astraea had originally thought that the hardest part of the day would be the farewells to everyone she loved, but she'd quickly deduced that the actual hardest part of the day was not being able to. So many of her loved ones were off preoccupied trying to end this godforsaken war, and she'd never get a chance to say goodbye to any of them.
It killed her to know that her last moments with Hermione contained a quick chat about Slughorn in which she barely paid any attention, choosing instead to focus on her Charms essay than one of her best friends. Her last interaction with Ron was a wave across the train, barely a syllable passed between them in a week.
She would soon live in a different world to all of them, but in a way, she always had. Her version of the world was corrupted by an ability to change it. Her world could be completely theoretical after the Equinox. Merely the universe’s futile speculation of a plausible timeline come undone. Even her new timeline would never be her true reality. She may be able to change things, but it would never allow her to remain there. She was incongruous; an outsider bound to a different place. A bitterness etched its way onto her heart.
She would never truly belong anywhere she could remember.
But that was what her entire lineage had to bear upon their shoulders. She could not be selfish, for they were not. They were the fragments of a dying star, subjugating their lives to pain and suffering. No member would know what the other had done to the world; it was a constricting and isolating fact.
Astraea had always felt that someone should’ve caused the line to die out years ago, but she knew that wasn't possible. Fate would simply force them to relive their lives again and continue on as the stars above commanded. They were expected to continue on as puppets, for that was what they were.
Throughout breakfast she painted a happy smile upon her face, her mind too busy to appreciate the streamers and balloons put up as she usually would. It was a wonder they'd managed to find any party decorations in the current climate.
"So, what do you reckon you'll do now that you're seventeen? Learn to drive? Isn't that a Muggle thing?" Tonks inquired, her eyebrow quirking up.
Tonks had always been very involved in their hobbies, and she had enjoyed partaking in Muggle forms of entertainment and fun with her. Magic was beautiful and amazing, but sometimes the simplicity of Muggle innovation was more calming. Sometimes the therapeutic scrubbing of dirt in a pan was far more enjoyable than watching it wash itself fifty different ways.
"If I could, I might. My aunt Rose did once she met her husband," Astraea noted, an amused smile settling on her face.
Lupin smiled.
"How did they meet?" He questioned, raising a burnt piece of waffle to his mouth.
Astraea performed a similar action, delicately cutting a lemon-soaked crepe and letting the flavour soak into her tongue. She’d realised early-on that Snape’s cooking skills were specific to a few treasured recipes which he himself enjoyed, and that they did not often transfer. And while she might prefer a waffle, she didn’t want to risk the inevitable consequences. It seemed the others had not yet discovered the same.
She chewed quickly, taking a sip of tea before answering.
"They met on a ship," she responded, forking in another mouthful of lemony goodness, "They survived a nasty blizzard together when they reached Russia. They tried to apparate, but with all the people that were stranded with them, they were worried the Ministry might get fussy about it."
Her eyes grew wistful as she reminisced on her old aunt. She was a spectacular witch, defying the wants of society at the time to live the way she saw fit. In 1943, she had opened a female-led theatre group that both the muggle and magical community protested. She fiddled with the ring on her fingers; it was a princess-cut sapphire, inserted into a platinum band. Rose had bought it for her on her fourteenth birthday, charmed with a safety ward. She’d treasured it ever since, and she’d never found herself in any danger.
A hand crept over to hers, alabaster skin moulding with hers as the Malfoy heir consumed his own breakfast. He'd left the bed earlier than she had to badger Snape over them, protesting how she deserved birthday breakfast, if she couldn’t celebrate it properly.
"And are they still together now?"
The blonde witch nodded at the metamorphagus, smiling happily.
“They are.”
-:-
Astraea's eyes cast out on the field, surveying the makeshift pitch. It was just the meagre plot of land the property resided on, and a small patch of the wheatfield beyond. She wasn’t sure who it belonged to, but since Quidditch was a flying sport, she doubted it mattered. The hoops had been crafted from old metal curtain poles which had been bent and twisted into imperfect ovals that were levitated in the air. If she squinted, Astraea was sure she could see a few tiny, mangled hoops which hooked over the curtain pole.
It had always confused her - the need for Quidditch. She'd consistently asked the boys what was so great about it, but to no avail. No answer was commanding enough for her to care. To her, it was just a bunch of people flying around and trying to get brain damage.
Lupin was sat beside her, also seeming to dislike the game. Casual Muggle clothes adorned his body, a grey polo and some straight-cut jeans looking out of place amongst the surrounding sports attire. Then again, Astraea figured she looked odd too.
"For the record, Remus, your pancakes are the best. They just don't hold up so well against Snape’s crepes," Astraea smiled mischievously, constructing a daisy chain out of the blooming weeds.
Remus chuckled, a bright glint filling his eyes as he shoved her lightly to one side.
"You know, I could call you biased for giving a teacher preferential treatment," he retorted, amusement filling his tired face. Wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes, as if he’d frowned or smiled one too many times.
She shrugged, a grin present on her lips. Deft hands wove the next stem into the daisy, the chain growing steadily longer. It was a cruel death to the flowers, but she guessed they were to die as the season ended in the following weeks anyway.
"And you did not give Harry preferential treatment?" She challenged.
Astraea knew he steered away from confrontation, and so she let out a mocking cry of victory when he remained quiet.
A happiness ebbed into her in that moment, carefree, and vibrant. It was like coming out of the water for a split second between waves. The relief of breathing in that singular breath was astounding, and yet the result of it was cruel. The need for air when you were dragged back under again would only increase exponentially.
In the end, the thought of what she was to do pushed her under.
"Lupin, about toda—," she was cut off mid-sentence.
"So, you are leaving then.”
It was said so matter of fact that it surprised her. She hadn't expected he would find out, partially because she didn't think he knew about the Equinox. Nobody fully did. Some just had a greater idea than others, like Dumbledore. But she guessed what Dumbledore knew, the world knew. So maybe she just wanted to know how he knew which path she'd choose.
"How did you know?" Her voice was soft and fragile, something almost tangible and glass-like, which would shatter if you got too close.
"I can see it in your demeanour," he clarified simply, "You're trying to take everything in so you can remember it and store it somewhere in the deepest caverns of your brain. Your eyes keep darting across everything and your posture is unnaturally still."
Astraea nodded, bewildered by how well he knew her. A foreboding sense of dread reached her as he gazed over her sadly.
"It won't work," the sentence a dagger piercing her heart, having toyed for so long elsewhere, "At least, not where it matters. Time doesn't wield to people like you or me Astraea. It has rules..."
She nodded. Deep down, she'd always known. Her heart stuttered painfully at the disconcerting notion that one day she'd forget this conversation ever happened.
A supposed gift had been laden upon her when she was born. She could change horrible things. Intolerable things. There would always be consequences for that power. Time was not forgiving to those who wished to meddle in it.
"I know," she breathed out slowly.
She was silent for a moment, letting the sentiment ebb into her for a while. Her vision became blurry as the seconds passed, the wheat field becoming an oil painting, abstract and disfigured.
"But those rules are for me to bear. I know the gravitas of what I'm doing," she mused, “and if it destroys me, that’s my burden to bear, not the world’s.”
Lupin smiled, but a sad taint remained in his brows.
"You are too self-sacrificing Astraea. Albus had no right to make you so," he replied, eyes narrowed as he watched the quaffle fly through the central hoop, Snape darting away in victory.
“Maybe. But Dumbledore made his own sacrifices. We all have. I just have the ability to revert them.”
He paused, eyes flicking over her to check she was alright before he turned his smile back to the game. She swallowed silently, fiddling with the clasp of the bracelet on her wrist.
"I'll miss you Astraea Estelle Equinox," the older man stated, not looking over to her, though a sad smile played at his lips.
The blonde reached over to clasp the ex-teacher's hand in hers.
"I'll miss you too," she murmured back, "You're like the father figure I never had. And I'll always appreciate that."
A short squeeze of the hand was exchanged before the two embraced each other in a warm hug. Astraea wondered why they'd never done so before. He was a rather nice person to hug. A familial warmth exuded from him, reminding her of the last hug she'd ever gotten from her own parents.
"And you, the daughter I never had."
-:-
"Happy birthday, Astraea," The blonde bid her, smiling softly as he revealed a slim black box.
It had a black, velvet exterior, finished only by a small golden insignia stamped on the centre. Two polished silver hinges were pinned on one side, and Astraea mimicked the snap of the box inside her own head for a moment.
Draco gestured for her to take it, and gently she let her hands retrieve the velvet. It felt soft and delicate beneath her fingertips, and yet a small current of magical power exuded from inside the box. She guessed whatever was inside was charmed.
Cautiously, she pried the box open, her eyes watering as she stared at its contents. A teardrop emerald caught the light brilliantly as it danced across the walls of the room. It hung on a simple silver chain, either white gold or platinum since Draco very snobbishly refused to buy silver. She felt the gift tug at her heartstrings, her fingers rushing over the beautiful piece of jewellery.
She stared up at the blonde with a teary smile.
"It won't come off unless you specifically take it off. Of your own conscious will," he explained.
The tears pooling in her eyes almost flooded the dam, her hands cradling the pendant protectively against the cruel forces in the world around them.
"Thank you, Draco," she forced out, trying to convey all the gratitude she felt in a single sentence, whilst simultaneously trying to swallow down the massive lump in her throat. Draco smiled back at her in melancholy, a thin layer of moisture covering his eyes.
"Now I’ll never leave you. A part of you will always be connected to this me," he added, his hand reaching to take hers as she smiled wider.
"I love you," she breathed, leaning closer to plant her lips on his.
It was a bittersweet contact, so much more than just a beautiful moment. It encapsulated their sorrow that their life together was ending, projecting all the love both might never express again within the raw sadness. Happy and broken.
"I love you too."
Her eyes drifted shut as she leant against his shoulder, face crushed into the fabric of his sweater, warm and fragranced with him. In many ways, it was home. It contained her heart, her safety, and her joy. And it had seen her devastation and anger enough never to abandon her fragile heart. Not of obligation, but of love.
Draco loved her for everything she was, and she was eternally grateful for that. Her Draco was pragmatic and rational, soft, and tender in his actions despite sometimes playing his learned role. And she knew that she would never find that same Draco again. Time would pull him apart, set parts of him on another journey and forget the rest. A Draco might exist, but he would not be hers.
But she knew that he’d be happier in a future designed in her intent.
"You don't have to go, Elle. You could stay," Draco rushed, though one glance at his face told her that he already knew this was a fever-dream.
She smiled sadly. If only that fever-dream could be a reality. Her hand reached for his, taking the silky-smooth skin into her hand. Their hands moulded together, and she felt herself comforted by the contact.
19:53.
"What a crazy, wonderful idea," a wide grin controlled her face, but it was half-hearted, and the two knew the short glimpse of humour was just that.
Short.
Closing the gap between them, she settled a gentle, loving kiss on his lips. He tasted of green apples and salt, a side-effect of a stream of water meeting at their lips. She tried to memorise the feeling, wanting to remember home forever.
Reluctantly, she withdrew, freeing his hand as the walls mocked her in their rooted stature. Astraea knew that if she'd held on for any longer, she'd never be able to let go.
"Maybe in another life, eh? A life without stupid bloody Harry potter and his stupid bloody saviour complex," Draco finished, a small smile coming to his face.
But it didn't quite reach his eyes, and the laugh that tumbled from her own mouth didn't either. Her hands quivered, twitching at the urge to latch onto him again, and her lower lip trembled. It felt as if everyone around her was dying, and she was mourning hundreds at once.
19:54.
"Yes. In another life without saviour complexes," she confirmed, and she watched as Draco smiled wryly.
It was a loose smile; one a doctor would give you before giving you a terminal diagnosis. The kind that simultaneously soothed and unsettled you. Nonetheless, the smile it resembled gifted Astraea a small semblance of comfort. If only she could bottle that necessary feeling.
"You won't remember me in a second. All this will fade away like a bad dream, Draco.” Her voice wavered as she fought the urge to sob.
But Astraea knew there was a horrible reality to that sentence; it made her throat close and her heart crack. He would never know she loved him after she'd left. He'd not know how much he'd loved her. He may never exist as he did now. Perhaps he'd have chocolate curls and be a Hufflepuff, his mother Bellatrix rather than Narcissa.
"I don't want that," his voice cracked, "I want you."
"So do I," she whispered, raising a hand to wipe the tears away from his face, "But that's the cruel thing about life," she continued, "You can't have what you want."
A tipsy, broken smile was on her face. That was all she’d ever known. Broken promises and unfulfilled dreams. She’d always figured that at some point, life would relent, but now she supposed that was never on the cards. In her only happiness, life seemed intent to rip her from that too.
"I'll always love you," he murmured.
19:55.
"Perhaps I'll see you in another life.” A small smile took over her face, as she studied Draco for what would be the last time. He was beautiful.
An ephemeral beauty seemed to consume the light, a stasis settling over time. She shimmered with it, the air hitting her skin from the open window numbing. The warm summer heat faded, wheat fields blurring like water in the distance, her eyes coming out of focus. For a brief, flickering moment, she saw some peace in time, in the dissolution of it all. It engulfed her like she was its own, warmth washing through her as her senses failed, resulting in the absence of anything. Light fell away, the only sensation she could feel a rejuvenation.
A relief.