Why Not Me?
Astoria Greengrass was a levelheaded woman, so she knew when she was participating in a losing battle. She knew when she looked across the table at her fiancé that he didn’t love her and he never would.
Their marriage had been pre-determined before she was even born, so she had accepted her fate when she was just eight years old and was introduced to a young boy with white hair as her Father whispered in her ear that she’d be marrying him one day. She knew it wasn’t a suggestion but a truth, a fact as simple as stating that grass was green.
She was going to become Mrs.Malfoy sometime in the near future, and there was nothing she could do about it.
The Malfoy men were known for loving their wives something fierce; they doted upon their spouses no end and would have even attempted to move the entire earth for them if that was what they wanted. She couldn’t understand what was wrong with her then, she always dressed in her best robes, always made sure her hair was put into the perfect chignon and her make-up never smudged so why wasn’t she ever what he wanted? She was the perfect pureblood picture of beauty and grace, after all.
Why not me? Whispered round her head and echoed in her thoughts again and again.
What she hadn’t realised was that he loved someone else and always would.
It had been decided rather quickly that they wouldn’t be soul-bound. It was Lucius who had outlined this upon them discussing wedding preparations. Draco would just laugh as he sat there drinking tumbler upon tumbler of firewhiskey, his Father would simply glare, and Astoria’s own Father was happy to pretend he hadn’t witnessed anything at all.
She never really understood why Lucius had stated that until she saw him staring at her during a ministry function. She saw the way his eyes followed her across the hall; he looked stricken when he realised she was accompanied by a date.
The trouble with pureblood marriage contracts was that they weren’t only tricky, they were sometimes written in blood. It was a very old tradition, and most families had stopped it at the start of the twentieth century, but witches and wizards could still participate in it, and the Malfoy’s had. It acted as a security measure; if both families swapped blood and either one or both parties decided they didn’t want a part in the union, they would both die. It was impossible to undo many had died in the process.
That very fact didn’t stop Draco’s relentless research in trying to undo it; he was determined that they wouldn’t marry. He had never told her exactly why, but after that night, she knew he loved someone else. He loved her.
His Mother confirmed her suspicions and told her that his heart was with another and always would be. ‘It’s just how Malfoy men are; once they love, they love for life. They were cursed generations upon generations ago by one angry witch,’ she sighed, ‘I’m so very truly sorry, Astoria’.
Saying sorry didn’t get her out of a loveless marriage. Saying sorry didn’t right the wrong hand that she had been dealt.
Draco was in a constant state of being miserable no matter what she tried, what she attempted. He never wanted to spend any time with her, never wanted to get to know her. He touched her as if she burned him. He’d prolonged their engagement announcement for two years, and even after The Profit published it, he refused to live with her full time or offer any opinions on anything to do with the wedding. They would eat dinners in silence, just the clattering of the knives and forks against china, but worst of all, when he would look her in the eye, he would look right through her as if she were a ghost.
She felt like a ghost walking around the country Manor Lucius had brought for them. There was a secret corner in the garden that Draco thought she didn’t know about. It required very particular wand work to get in; her fiancé thought she couldn’t see, her fiancé thought she was a daft pureblood with nothing between her ears, but she listened in school, and she knew all about complicated wand work.
When she managed to unlock the secret garden, it was the smell that hit her first. It was potent, floral and refreshing, and when she finally looked up to see what her senses were being assaulted by, she was greeted by rows upon rows of Italian Ranunculus flowers. She wanted to cry over the beauty of it.
She wasn’t meant to stay there long. She was only meant to have a quick look and leave. But she got caught up in all of it, and she stayed there far too long, just imagining her future husband had planted this garden just for her.
Pretending she was the girl he truly loved, the girl he would always love.
Not her.
She couldn’t help but think to herself , why not me? Why not me? Why not me?
The question continuously weaved its way through her brain like a constant ringing bell.
They were obviously her favourite flowers, why couldn’t she be her?
Why not me?
She only wanted to pretend for a few minutes, only meant to pretend for just a few blissful minutes, but she got lost in the pretence, and she stayed for hours staring at the pretty flowers, touching the flowers, loving the flowers.
That’s where he found her when he returned from work; she was just standing there transfixed, pretending. It felt so lovely to pretend.
She’d never seen him so angry; the fury in his eyes it was alarming, it scared her. He screamed at her; she’d never seen him break down before, never seen that perfect mask slip. He’d never shown so much emotion before. In a strange way, Astoria liked it, treasured it almost. She’d never managed to pull any emotion out of him, so she was grateful even if she was on the brunt of his bitter rage.
“HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU?” He roared and grabbed her arm, pulling her out and away from the garden.
“You’ll never marry her Draco. You’re marrying me; you can’t live in the past. I’m the future me right here.” She replied, her voice stern and determined as he allowed her to drag him back towards the open grass of their lonely lovely Manor.
“I’ll fight this till the end, Astoria. They’ll drag me down that aisle, kicking and screaming. I’ve got till your twenty-sixth Birthday, and I’ll fight, and I’ll win. You may think you’re my future Astoria Greengrass, but you’ll never be her.” He half shouted, half spat as he dropped her arm and marched away from her without a backward glance.
It pelted down with rain after that, and she allowed herself to be soaked through to the bone. It was July, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight; a delightful contradiction.
She saw her in Diagon Alley. She stood there with her long brunette curls down her back; she had a wild look about her, so natural, so carefree, so beautiful.
It was a different kind of beauty to Astoria’s.
Astoria’s had been crafted her entire life; it was artificial in some ways, but hers was natural and had blossomed over time. She’d never had to create it. Never needed to either. She glowed and it came from within.
They exchanged a look across the street, and her eyes looked haunted; she knew that look was the same look Draco gave her. There was a man with her; he took her hand, and she eyed the hand as it was clasped in her own. She didn’t love him. Astoria could see it from all the from the other side of the road.
Astoria wondered if he could see it, too.
The wedding was cold and clinical. They said their vows and barely kissed, a quick touch of lips to appease their audience. Astoria knew she looked beautiful on her wedding day; her robe was the colour of pure ivory and had been made from delicate lace and silk. If Draco had loved her when she glided down the aisle, he might have smiled, smirked or cried at his future bride-to-be.
Why not me?
Her sister was worried about her; she looked miserable, she felt miserable, and she would forever be stuck in a loveless marriage. New brides were meant to glow, weren’t they? They weren’t soul-bound at least; if they had been, it wouldn’t have taken. Perhaps that would have saved all parties involved a hell of a lot of heartache if they’d at least tried.
Astoria wondered if it would have been better to die, to enjoy twenty-six years of free living rather than to do whatever they were doing now. She could have travelled a bit, slept with a few men, or done anything else because anything was better than this.
They settled into a routine after a while, existing in one another’s space but barely acknowledging each other. He refused to attend events with her; he spat at Lucius when he tried to make him attend his Mother’s annual ball. Astoria often thought he looked like a caged animal whenever that man entered their house.
The new Mr & Mrs Malfoy were nowhere to be seen when Narcissa hosted her annual New Year’s Eve Ball, the very first one Draco had missed. Astoria was there, she was tucked away in a corner, plucked and pruned with a strained smile that didn't reach her eyes. She wondered when her smile last reached her eyes. People barely noticed her and for that she was grateful.
This would soon become another part of their routine, missing things, avoiding things, ruining things.
It got worse when her engagement was announced. You could hear glass shattering in his study, could hear him crying. Astoria never would have thought Draco was a crier; it was comforting to know he cried. Astoria cried all the time. He never noticed it, or perhaps he ignored it. They both did a lot of the latter.
He was drunk a lot of the time. Lucius told him to grow up and start trying for a Malfoy heir. Draco hexed him up so badly the man didn’t return for three months. Draco blamed his Father for this entire situation, and when Astoria spoke to her own Father about it, she heard the truth.
“I thought the blood contract was strange purebloods hadn’t created those in over one hundred years.” Her Father told her as they sat down together to have tea.
“What do you mean?” Astoria asked in response.
“Well, Tori, do you think I would suggest something so barbaric? Do you think I’d endanger my youngest daughter?” He was shooting her confused glances over his teacup.
“Do you mean only he would have died if we hadn’t followed through with this?” she asked quietly, not really wanting to know the truth.
“Of course, Tori, but you’re happy, aren’t you?”
She smiled the practised one that pinched her cheeks, “of course I am.” Her voice sounded robotic to her own ears, and she zoned out of the conversation after that. She went home not too long after and screamed herself hoarse.
She could have escaped all this.
She headed to Malfoy Manor after that and demanded to speak with Lucius; he barely concealed his smirk when she confronted him in his study.
“You’ve ruined not only your sons' life but mine.” She cried.
“I did what was right. The Malfoy line will remain pure,” he scoffed, “he’s always had an affinity for loving things rather tragically, even as a young child.” Came Lucius’s disgusted reply.
“It’s like living with a ghost.”
“Has Draco ever told you what happened to his dear little elf he loved so much?” He smirked as he asked.
“I don’t think I want-“
“I killed her; he loved her too much. It was pathetic. He’s lucky she’s still alive. Lucky I still let that mudblood breathe.”
Astoria left soon after that she didn’t want to hear anymore.
She told Draco by simply leaving him a note on the breakfast table; he paled as he read her words.
“I begged her to run away with me. I didn’t care if I died. I wanted a few years with her. But she made me stay because of you.” He admitted and left the breakfast table with a bottle of firewhiskey.
Astoria didn’t bother to count how many priceless artefacts were broken that day.
She told him she wanted a child, so he started coming to her room after that. He never enjoyed himself; he wasn’t selfish. He always made her cum. He would never kiss her. And on the rare occasions, she ever caught him enjoying himself, her thoughts would drift I know who you pretend I am, I know who you pretend I am.
Astoria started to fall in love with him she's not sure how she did; the worst part of all was that she didn’t mind too much that he would never love her back. She knew that before she entered this loveless marriage. She knew when Narcissa told her, but she didn’t mind anyway because at least she felt something. It felt good to finally feel something other than nothing.
Once Astoria fell pregnant, she thought it would help, but if anything, he fell into himself even more. He looked at her with disgust and confusion, an answer written on his face of this changes nothing. He came to every healer appointment and smiled placidly as they received good news: a baby boy who’d be born in late spring.
When their healthy baby boy arrived, and Draco looked at his little face with awe, Astoria felt the flames of hope ignite in her chest, but when he looked up at her and saw who she was, his smile fell. It was like he had almost forgotten for a while.
I know who you pretend I am.
She wondered if he wished the child had curly hair or deep brown eyes like the woman who had stolen his heart.
She tried to catch his attention again after that, tried more natural make-up and stealing kisses from him, he was never interested. Every time he rejected her, all she could think was I thought maybe we could kiss tonight.
He was a good Father to their son and did everything with him, but it wasn’t enough to make her happy. But after one more failed attempt at pursuing him with no avail, Astoria resigned herself to a life of loveless misery.
She gave birth to a baby girl named Grace eighteen months later; when the announcement was made in the paper, he set his secret garden on fire, and Astoria didn’t seem for an entire weekend. His son cried for his Father, and his wife cried for a love she knew she would never have. When he eventually returned, he looked even deader than before, and she wondered if she was living with a walking, talking corpse.
She got ill after that. The blood curse had set in; it was inevitable as Daphne had managed to escape it, but Astoria didn’t mind. At least there was a sell-by-date on this absolute sham of a life.
He didn’t notice as she got weaker and ill, didn’t notice the blood-stained tissues that she left in her wake. Didn’t notice her struggle with magic; he didn’t notice as she grew frail.
They gave her potions to prolong her life, and she often contemplated chucking them down the drain just to end it all for once and for all. But she loved her son so much; she loved watching him grow both inside her stomach and outside when he had a voice and legs.
She loved Draco, too, but that didn’t bring her any happiness.
She was pregnant again; Astoria had seen her waddling around Diagon Alley. She’d also seen her husband’s set jaw and how he’d clenched his fist when she rubbed her stomach as someone she knew bumped into her and asked about the impending arrival.
She knew what he was thinking, could read him like a book, that should have been his baby in there. They lost a lot of breakables that night; after he’d kissed their son good night, he’d taken to his study.
He forewent the firewhiskey that time, and she wondered why.
Her son was born on Scorpius’s Birthday. His name was Jude, there was an announcement in the Daily Prophet, and Astoria chose to ignore it. Her husband couldn’t, and as children filled their country Manor for his own son’s party, she greeted all the guests as her husband sat in the corner and drank the day away.
When her son turned five, she noticed how she was starting to shake more and more and could barely use her magic at all. She thought perhaps her husband would notice then, notice how ill she really was. He didn’t not, then anyway; she still loved him in a weird, twisted sort of way. The pain was almost excruciatingly beautiful, and she wasn’t sure who she pitied more, herself or her pathetic excuse of a heartbroken husband.
At some point in time, she had another child again, another daughter they named Sophia, Astoria rather liked the name. If they’d ever had another child, perhaps she would have suggested it.
Astoria started researching her husband’s family’s generational curse. She came up futile in terms of a solution, but what she discovered was alarming.
The witch who cast it back in the eighteen hundreds, a Malfoy, had murdered her sister, and she’d gone mad:
‘Any Malfoy will love one and one alone, and every Malfoy will ruin them entirely. Every fifty years, a soul bond will form; the Malfoy will never marry this woman, but the wife he does marry instead will forever be left asking why not me?’
Astoria laughed a harsh roar sound that rose from her throat. This was going to happen regardless, and she was just collateral damage. She cried then until she felt the sticky hands of her seven-year-old around her leg.
“Don’t cry, Mummy,” he peered up at her with his great big grey eyes, just like his Fathers.
“I’m not, sweetheart,” she told him as she carded her fingers through his almost white blonde locks.
She bit down on her tongue hard to stop the tears then.
He started to notice she was ill after that; it was getting harder to hide it, not that she had been for a while anyway. She had to constantly up her potion tally. She was tired a lot more and falling asleep at random points throughout the day. He’d constantly ask what was going on and why she couldn’t do things anymore; he wanted answers, and as she grew angrier at each question.
Why not me?
She snapped at him, “I have a blood curse, Draco. I’m dying, but don’t worry about it; you didn’t care whilst I was living, so why care now I’m dying?”
He tried, after that, to look after her more, and they spent a lot of time as a three. He never touched her, and she never tried to kiss him again; they both just accepted their fate. She knew her son would be left in good hands. Draco did love Scorpius; he just didn’t love her.
Draco was offered a job at the Ministry, but he didn’t even tell her he accepted it. Astoria didn’t even know what department he would be a part of. She’d played make-believe again, and she thought that he’d come around a little. She’d lied to herself again; she was even a fool now she was dying.
They didn’t need the money, but that didn’t matter. He took the job for her. He wanted to see her, wanted to be close to her. Her always her.
Why not me?
He’d had sex with her; she could practically smell the guilt and shame as he arrived home after work. He didn’t do it again.
Even when they were together, they weren’t happy; she thought that whatever fragile existence they had built would last right up until her death. She thought she could really pretend for those last few months.
Scorpius’s eighth Birthday approached far too quickly, and Astoria was struggling to be on her feet for even as little as two hours at a time. Her hair was limp, and her eyes were sunken in. Astoria had always been beautiful. She was told it all her life. She had bright green eyes and straight, dark black hair that fell to her bum; she’d always been thin but shapely. That was all gone now. She was too skinny and too ill, and by the end, she couldn’t manage the only thing she was good for to look pretty and placid. Her deathbed was ugly much like her life had been.
The last week of Astoria’s life was spent in bed with her son by her side. Family members drifted in and out of the room, crying and mourning before she’d even closed her lids for a final time. Draco was there, too. He took his hand in hers; his hand was warm, and it shocked her because it had been so long and because she had expected it to be cold like the rest of him was.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Tori,” he repeated like a mantra all week. He didn’t cry, but she hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t even expected that much emotion from him. She’d come to expect nothing of her ghost of a husband over the years. He most likely wanted redemption before she passed on, and even in her dying days, she wanted to give him a semblance of peace, and thus, she barely nodded and accepted his broken sorries. It wasn’t much, but it was enough in the end.
Narcissa and Lucius said their goodbyes, and the night before she died, a large bouquet of white roses appeared beside her.
Her last few moments left her wondering how he managed to find out that they were her favourites; she never read the card. If she had, she would have discovered they weren’t from him but from her.
Always her.
Why not me?