astoriamalfoy1

[astoriamalfoy1]

He knew the power he held over her, the way she would willingly bear the suffering, just to be granted a moment like this – a mercy laced with cruelty, a gift tainted by the hand that had broken her.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56884000/chapters/156310690?view_adult=true

[astoriamalfoy1]

TW: power imbalance, anxiety, submission, physical violence, emotional manipulation, references to non-con, pregnancy, crying, toxic masculinity

Lucius watched her, amused, as though relishing in the discomfort that flickered behind his daughter-in-law’s eyes. He moved with his usual measured grace, took his seat once more, as if this entire situation was merely another day’s business.

And then he said, with a quiet certainty of a man who holds every advantage: “The Dark Lord is pleased. You will meet him tonight.”

A pause.

“You will not speak unless spoken to. You will lower your gaze until he permits you otherwise. And you will kneel.”

Astoria stiffened. She did not respond, she could not. But he noticed the tension in her shoulders, the faint defiance in the way she squared her spine. It made his lips curl in something close to amusement.

Slowly, deliberately, he shifted in his chair, resting his hands on the arms of his throne-like seat. Then, with a languid wave of his fingers, he issued the command: “Show me.”

Her breath caught. She had expected many things, but not this. He wanted proof of her obedience. A rehearsal, a demonstration of her submission.

Lucius had ensured that she did not merely carry a Malfoy heir; she carried a future dictated by forces beyond her control. By him and by the Dark Lord.

Whatever she was before, whoever she thought she might be, had been swallowed whole by the power that surrounded her.

She did not move because her body simply refused to. It caused Lucius to rise, stepping forward to her, forcing her chin up with a bruising grip.

“I suggest you learn now, rather than in front of him. When you stand before the Dark Lord, you will not falter. You will not disgrace me.”

The dread was immediate, but so was her need to please him, so Astoria rose from the chair and kneeled in front of his standing figure. Her stomach twisted, but she obeyed. Not just because he had demanded it, but because some part of her could not bear to defy him.

As she kneeled before him, she realized that she had never just been his. She was a gift. A sacrifice. A tool to strengthen his position. She felt tears burning in her eyes at the crushing realization.

The moment dragged on longer than necessary. He let the silence stretch between them, watching her from above, letting her feel the weight of it, of what she had become.

After a long pause, when he finally spoke again, his voice was laced with quiet satisfaction. “Much better.”

[astoriamalfoy1]

Chapter 13: breathe me

TW: power imbalances, captivity, imprisonment, non-con, trauma bonding, crying

The fire cracked softly in the hearth, casting warm shadows against the dark wood of the study. A decanter of Firewhiskey sat between the two men - half-empty now. The hour was late, the Manor quiet.

Lucius leaned back in his chair, polished boots crossed neatly, a crystal glass resting in one hand. He looked composed, relaxed and unbothered.

Across from him, Yaxley reclined with a looser air, his jacket open, elbow hooked over the armrest. They’d been speaking of politics, power and control.

“I meant to ask”, Yaxley said, almost offhand, “what became of lovely Astoria after the last gathering?”

Lucius didn’t blink, just took a slow sip. “She’s been put somewhere quiet.”

“So…you’ve truly locked her away, then? Isolated, obedient little Astoria? That seems almost too generous to a punishment”, said Yaxley, smirking over his glass.

“Isolated?”, asked Lucius calmly without looking up. A faint smile flickered over his features while he sat his glass down with elegant precision. “Let’s not be dramatic. She’s confined, not forgotten.”

Yaxley chuckled. “Still - you surprise me. I never thought you the type to deny yourself.”

“I’m not.” Lucius leaned back, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Why would I punish myself for her behavior?”

Yaxley hummed in agreement. “So, the girl serves her purpose?”

“Daily. She learns faster that way”, responded Lucius smoothly. “She suffers, yes. But always under my hand and always for my pleasure.”

Yaxley leaned forward slightly, the firelight catching the glint in his eyes. “You always had taste; I admire that. She’s a fine piece, a tight little thing. Must be exquisite when she cries.”

“Exquisite is the right word”, he answered, pausing to take another sip from his drink. “Though some days, I prefer the begging.”

That made his friend laugh - a rough, genuine sound. “Merlin. I envy that control.”

Lucius paused. “She cries a lot. But now, she also thanks me.”

[astoriamalfoy1]

Chapter 12: broken

TW: imprisonment, captivity, physical violence, rape / non-con, trauma bonding, possessive behavior, toxic relationship, power imbalance

Hours later, the blood on her lip had dried.

Lucius sat in the chair beside the bed; his gaze was fixed at Astoria’s back. The slow rise and fall of her breathing. She hadn’t spoken once after. He liked that. It meant she understood.

She was pliable now. Not perfect, not yet - but close. He studied the curve of her spine beneath he sheets. Her silence wasn’t numbness, it was devotion. She hadn’t even asked about the boy this time. That pleased him more than anything.

He finished his drink and set the glass down quietly. Then he leaned forward, brushing her hair away from her neck. She didn’t stir. He kissed her once, lightly, behind her ear - a claiming, nothing more - before he straightened and left the room, locking the door behind him.

Astoria’s thighs ached where he had gripped her too hard. Her body still bore the heat of what he’d taken from her - not as a lover, but as a man who had claimed her, used her, walked away.

But he had chosen her. And now, her body bore his mark in more ways than one.

The bruises forming along her hips…the soreness between her legs…the sting at her lips…they were proof. That she still had worth. If he hated her, he wouldn’t have touched her. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have taken her.

Sometimes, it felt like love. When he touched her, when he pressed his mouth to her throat and whispered mine against her skin, she felt real again. Like more than a shadow locked in a room.

[astoriamalfoy1]

Snippet from Chapter 11: poison in my veins

TW: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, anxiety, trauma bonding, power imbalance, physical violence and abuse (mentioned)

Lucius didn’t rush; he never did. With a flick of his hand, a glass of Firewhiskey materialized beside him, the amber liquid catching the dim light. He picked it up with practiced ease, fingers curling around the crystal.

Then - he exhaled. A slow, deliberate release.

He brought the glass to his lips, took a measured sip, let the burn settle before placing it down with quiet precision. Only then did he turn his gaze back to Astoria. He tilted his head, studying her with the same detached curiosity one might reserve for a broken artifact.

“My dear”, he murmured, voice like silk concealing a knife. “You must begin to understand - actions, however unwise, come with consequences.”

He spoke with a chilling calm that masked how much he was enjoying this.

“Hurting you is not my desire”, he said with a sigh that reeked of practiced regret. His eyes, however, gleamed with quiet pleasure - he was far too composed for someone supposedly tormented. “But you leave me no reasonable alternative, do you?”

Astoria’s breath hitched. There was no malice in his tone, no heat in his words. Somehow, that made it worse.

Consequences. He made it sound so rational, so inevitable. As if all of this - the fear in her bones, the ache of being wrong and punished for it - were simply balances in a ledger she had failed to maintain.

Part of her knew the truth. Knew that the shimmer in his eyes wasn’t restraint, but delight. Knew that his control wasn’t care, it was conquest. And yet…

Her heart trembled with that familiar yearning - what if this time he meant it? What if there was still a version of him that loved her?

[astoriamalfoy1]

Chapter 11: poison in my veins

“I require structure”, he murmured, “because I expect more from you than you’ve given. Less defiance, more devotion. And not the kind mouthed in apology…”

Lucius leaned in, just enough to bring his mouth level with her ear.“…but the kind that reshapes you. If you truly wish to be forgiven”, he whispered, “then prove you are worthy of being kept.”

Please read the tags & trigger warnings and let me know what you think about the update :)

[astoriamalfoy1]

Preview: Chapter 11 - poison in my veins

TW: trauma bonding, emotional manipulation, anxiety, physical violence (mentioned), abuse (mentioned)

Astoria stirred, her breath shallow, caught somewhere between sleep and waking. The room was quiet when her eyes opened - still, soft, the kind of hush that made it hard to remember where the pain had begun and where it had paused. The blanket remained, draped over her like a whisper of warmth. 

Something in Astoria’s chest fluttered - not fear. Not exactly. 

He had been kind. Or had he? The memory played back in fragments: his touch, feather-light; his words, so rare and measured slid beneath her skin and settled. You did well. 

The ache lingered beneath her skin, but her mind clung instead to that moment of gentleness, wrapping in in silk and tucking it away like something precious. She told herself it mattered. That maybe, next time, he wouldn’t hurt her - if she just kept doing well. She had earned his softness. And she wanted to earn it again. 

A sudden presence near her bed shattered the illusion. A House Elf stood stiffly, its voice careful and clipped. 

“Master says you shall take a bath.” 

Astoria blinked, still disoriented for a moment before realization struck. It wasn’t a blanket. Not something given in care. A robe. 

The weight against her skin, the lingering scent - she knew what it was before her fingers hesitantly traced the edge of the fabric, confirming it. The robe of a Deatheater. 

Lucius hadn’t simply covered her. He had marked her with it. 

A shiver ran down her spine - not from the cold, but from the realization that whatever moment of tenderness she had thought she had been given…. was merely another calculated move. Obedience and submission. He had wrapped them around her. 

[astoriamalfoy1]

TW: power imbalance, trauma bonding, guilt, anxiety

Lucius didn’t speak. That would be too easy. Instead, he let the silence stretch, let her choke on it, let it settle into her bones like lead. He took his time, sipping his tea, surveying the Daily Prophet, making it painfully clear that she was not the priority there.

It was unbearable. Every bite felt tasteless, every swallow forced. She knew better than to avoid her plate - if she refused to eat, it would be taken as defiance. And she had already failed him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lucius set down his cup with quiet finality.

“You disappointed me.”

The words were simple, spoken without theatrics - but they stroke deeper than any blade.

Astoria lowered her head once more, shame crawling up her spine. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

Her voice was small, controlled. She knew not to offer excuses - he didn’t want them. He wanted submission. He wanted her to know she had disappointed him.

Lucius hummed in response - barely acknowledging her words, as if they held no value. He leaned back in his chair, studying her with the same calculating gaze as always.

“I suppose we’ll see how sorry you truly are.”

A promise. A sentence disguised as civility. Her stomach tightened.

“Follow me.” His voice was clipped, sharp - devoid of patience.

Astoria stumbled after him, struggling to match his long strides as he led her toward his office. He didn’t spare her so much as a glance. No further words, no indication of what awaited her beyond the silence.

At least he hadn’t abandoned her. Not yet.

[astoriamalfoy1]

Snippet from Chapter 10: me and the devil (updated)

TW: emotional manipulation, trauma bonding, power imbalance, forced separation of mother/child

Astoria had learned that time was not hers to command. Lucius had granted her hours with Scorpius, but only in intervals that suited him, when she was neither occupied as his assistant at the Ministry nor required within the Manor. And so, she lived within borrowed moments, carefully portioned like rare luxuries.

In the mornings, she held her son close, tracing the gentle curve of his cheek with her thumb, memorizing the way his tiny fingers curled instinctively around hers before he was taken away from her arms, his presence redistributed under Lucius’ watchful eyes.

She did not beg for more time; she knew the futility of it. Lucius had engineered a system where she was neither entirely estranged from her son nor truly allowed to be his mother without oversight. The house itself reflected the order – staff moving with silent efficiency, never acknowledging the unspoken tension. No one pitied her, not openly. That, too, would be a step too far in Lucius’ world.

Lucius had never entertained the notion that motherhood required sentimentality. Astoria’s presence in Scorpius’ life was not about nurturing – it was about structure, maintaining balance within the carefully curated order he had designed.

The child was cared for. That was enough. He had a nurse, a routine, and a future meticulously laid out before him. Who cradled him, who whispered lullabies when the house fell silent – these were trivial details, irrelevant to the greater purpose of shaping an heir.

Astoria, though granted hours with the child, was not granted indulgences. Her time was practical, arranged around her duties, never allowed to interfere with what truly mattered. She also knew that he could take Scorpius fully from her at any moment.

And so, the arrangement stood – not born of cruelty, but necessity.

For Lucius, sentiment was an unstable force, an element he had spent a lifetime tempering. He did not concern himself with Astoria’s quiet suffering or the way she measured time in the minutes spent holding her son. These things had no bearing on Scorpius’ future, and he had no patience for distractions.

Finally - I've updated all 10 chapters of my story. Suddenly, it has 20k more words. Now I'll continue working on chapter 11.

[astoriamalfoy1]

TW: power imbalance, fear, intimidation, toxic masculinity

Lucius Malfoy was no ordinary threat. He moved towards her like a specter of ruin - his presence alone was enough to constrict the very air in her lungs. Cold calculation gleamed in his eyes as he traced the desperate flicker in hers, his smirk laced with quiet amusement as he observed her retreat, cornering herself at the unforgiving stone wall. Did she truly believe escape was an option?

His movement was so effortless, so inevitable. The air in the dimly lit room was thick with tension, the flickering candlelight barely slicing through the oppressive shadows that curled around the bookshelves. Astoria stumbled backwards, the cold stone biting into her skin through the fabric of her dress. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a frantic rhythm of terror as Lucius Malfoy stepped forward with calculated ease, his presence a suffocating force that filled the shrinking space between them.

He reveled in her fear, his lips curling into a sinister smirk, amusement glinting like ice in his grey eyes. She could feel the shift in the air, the quiet satisfaction that radiated from him, as if her reaction had been exactly what he anticipated. Exactly what he wanted.

She swallowed hard, her throat tight, forcing herself to breathe, to steady herself, to keep control, to hold onto whatever fragile composure remained. But even now she knew – there was no control. Not here, not with him.

A violent crash split the silence. Glass shattered at his feet as he threw his crystal glass on the floor with an unexpected force, its glinting fragments reflecting the hollow cruelty in his smirk.

[astoriamalfoy1]

snippet from chapter 9: apocalypse (updated)

TW: trauma bonding, emotional manipulation, physical violence, dependency, power imbalance, toxic relationship

The breath she didn’t realize she had been holding slipped free. Forgiven. She had pleased him. The suffering was over.

Lucius broke the kiss, but his touch ghosted over her cheek, deceptively soft, a cruel mimicry of affection.

The relief was immediate – terrifyingly immediate. She swallowed, her pulse hammering, shame curling tightly in her chest. Even now – especially now – his approval felt like oxygen. The pain meant nothing. If he forgave her, if he let her see Scorpius, it would all be worth it.

And so, she stood tall, swallowed the ache, and whispered: “Thank you, Sir.”  The words felt absurd. She knew that. But they were real, and she meant them.

These fleeting moments of tenderness were everything to her – fragile, precious, the only light in an endless abyss. She clung to them with quiet desperation, willing them to drown out the agony twisting through her body, the hollow ache of what he had done.

She forced herself to forget, to surrender to this illusion of kindness, because it was all she had.

And he knew. He knew the power he held over her, the way she would willingly bear the suffering, just to be granted a moment like this – a mercy laced with cruelty, a gift tainted by the hand that had broken her.

He merely observed, as if assessing the sincerity of her gratitude. She didn’t flinch under his gaze – she had learned not to. Instead, she bowed her head slightly, a silent offering, an apology she wasn’t sure she owed but gave freely anyway.

Forgiveness meant safety. It meant the storm had passed – for now. And for that, she was grateful. There was only one thing left she hoped for.

A smirk curled at the edge of his mouth. How easily molded she had become.

He let the silence stretch, watching the way she held herself, the way she waited – always waiting – as if the very air around them belonged to him. And in truth, it did.

“Take a bath. Dress up nicely for me. Meet me for dinner in two hours – then, we will discuss everything else.”

Astoria’s heart clenched. Everything else. Could that mean – him?  The mere thought sent a tremor through her body. Her son, her sweet boy. Her gaze locked onto his, desperate to find something – any hint, any flicker of intent – but his grey eyes remained unreadable. Cold, calculating.

The words were simple, yet Lucius saw the way she latched onto them, the way hope flickered in her gaze despite everything she had endured. Her son. So that was what she clung to, what kept her from breaking entirely.

He would let that hope live – just barely. Enough to keep her pliant. Enough to remind her that, in the end, it was him who decided whether she was granted mercy or denied it.

“Yes, Sir.” A whisper. An offering.

“Good girl”, he praised, watching her as he stepped back.

The power was rapturous, the knowledge that her suffering – her obedience – was entirely his to command.

Lucius summoned a House Elf. The creature kept its head bowed, trembling slightly, as if it too could feel the chill that had settled over the room. It did not look at either of them – but Astoria knew. It knew. It had seen the marks, the bruises, the silent proof of his cruelty.

It draped a cloak around Astoria before whisking her away; her breath caught in her throat. One last glance at Lucius. One last reminder of the monster who ruled her world.

He turned toward the window and allowed himself a single breath of amusement. She was learning.

The Elf Apparated her away – in the dim-lit bathroom of her room. Warm steam curled through the air, lavender mixing with the scent of solitude. The Elf poured her a bath, its hands still trembling, as if it too could feel the weight of everything unspoken.

Astoria simply let herself sink into the heat, letting the water embrace her in a way he never would. But the chill of his presence remained.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56884000/chapters/156310690

[astoriamalfoy1]

She was his to break, his to restore, his to mold into whatever shape best suited his intentions.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56884000/chapters/144638296

[astoriamalfoy1]

This was the price she owed for carrying his blood – and he would ensure she paid it in full.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56884000/chapters/152686984?view_adult=true

[astoriamalfoy1]

TW: pregnancy, infidelity, drinking

Lucius stood near the grand fireplace in his office, swirling a glass of Firewhiskey in slow, deliberate movements. He didn’t bother to look at Draco as he spoke.

“Your wife”, he said, tone clipped and measured, “She’s pregnant.”

Draco froze. For a second, he didn’t speak, as if making sure he had heard correctly. Then, his expression shifted – relief, pure and unfiltered, washing over his features.

“She’s – Merlin –“

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s incredible.”

Lucius finally looked at him, his grey eyes unreadable.

Draco laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair, still processing.

“This – this is everything I hoped for.”

Lucius studied him for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. He considered, briefly, telling Draco the truth – that this wasn’t his success. That he had ensured the continuation of the Malfoy bloodline. That fate had required intervention.

[astoriamalfoy1]

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Read a stellar fic but don’t know what to say? You’re not alone! Here’s a simple formula to craft a blurb:

What was the intended emotion? “This broke my heart, well done.” or “This was so sweet!”

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That’s it! You don’t even need to hit all 3 points. But doing so will create a well-rounded comment that hits on all the things the author is hoping to hear.

Example comment:

This fic is so tragic, it tugs on my heartstrings. I really liked the part where he comforts the crying girl—the way you described her tears was beautiful. My favourite line:

“His words wrenched the air from her lungs. Marcus was not here to play with her; he wished to escort her to a ball.”

Don’t do this:

Call out mistakes or typos

Say how you would have written it differently

Mention what you didn’t like

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But I would want someone to tell me, if this were my fic. This isn’t your fic, so you need to ask first if they are open to criticism, like this: “Nice fic! I liked xyz. If you want critical feedback, let me know.”

Don’t give backhanded compliments. “I don’t personally like tragedy, but I can see how some people would like this fic.” Don’t say this to someone. It’s not the compliment you think it is.

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[astoriamalfoy1]

Snippet from Chapter 3: fire meet gasoline (recently updated)

TW: physical violence, abuse, drinking (mentioned), anger, non-con (mentioned), anxiety

Astoria reached for the door, pulling it shut behind her - but before it clicked into place, a hand seized her wrist. Iron-tight and unyielding.

Air vanished; the world twisted. 

Astoria gasped, lungs straining against the suffocating pull of Disapparition. And then - impact. Cold, hard. She staggered backward, but the force of a body pressing into her pinned her in place. Breathless. Trapped. 

Astoria didn't even need to look up, she knew that it was him.

The sharp crack of Lucius’ voice cut through the silence the moment they were alone.

“Do you have any idea how disgraceful that was?” His tone was venomous, fury rolling off him in waves. “Your lateness and laughing with those incompetent, pathetic excuses for wizards while everyone watched?”

His cane slammed against the floor right beside her, a sharp, impatient gesture as he struggled to contain himself – but he didn’t. His voice raised further, lashing out like a whip.

“Do you have no respect? No understanding of what is expected of you?”

His usual polished veneer cracked, and for the first time, the full weight of his fury crashed down upon Astoria. 

She tried to speak - tried to form a single word, a breath, a sound - but nothing came. Her throat closed, her body rigid with the kind of fear that stole movement, that silenced instinct. There was no haze now, no distortion - the man before her was painfully, terrifyingly clear. And he was expecting her to respond. 

"Oh, now you're quiet?!" His voice cut through the air, sharp and livid, and before she could process it, the back of his hand struck her face - hard, fast, unrelenting. The impact rang through her skull. 

"The past hours, you had plenty to say, didn't you?"  His words hissed through clenched teeth, laced with contempt. 

The world shrank. Astoria's breath caught in her throat, shock coursing through her body before her mind could fully grasp what had happened. There was a sharp sting - a fleeting, superficial sensation - but beneath it, something deeper cracked. 

She didn't move. Didn't speak. The weight of realization crushed down on her, heavier than his presence, heavier than the remnants of the evening still lingering in her alcohol-clouded thoughts. The moment stretched, suffocating, as if time itself recoiled at the change. 

Lucius stood before her, chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. It hadn't been planned. He had always been deliberate, controlled - every action calculated, every consequence considered. But tonight, something else stirred beneath that certainty, something unspoken. 

He had expected her reaction. The tension that rippled through her limbs, the way her breath hitched but didn't fully escape.

But what he hadn't expected was the quiet satisfaction that followed - the way his own pulse quickened, how the sharp edge of amusement curled at the corner of his mouth before he could suppress it. 

He acknowledged that he derived pleasure from her suffering. The awareness emboldened him, removed whatever thin restraint had existed before. He found himself watching her more closely - not just for a flicker of defiance, but for the raw vulnerability that fed his power. 

He was still furious because she did not talk to him, but he also felt his erection pressing painfully against his trousers. The tears in Astoria's eyes and the slightly bleeding cut on her cheek, caused by his Malfoy family ring, and her heavy, scared breathing made his already prominent erection throbbing.

He wanted her to suffer, to cry and most importantly to fuck her until she wasn't able to walk for days. Hard and repeatedly.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56884000/chapters/145154767

[astoriamalfoy1]

Snippet from Chapter 8 (recently updated)

TW: childbirth, power imbalance, trauma bonding, infidelity, anxiety, possessive behaviour

The sterile scent of potions and clean linen clung to the air, thick and inescapable drowsiness blurred at the edges of Astoria’s consciousness, the effects of the pain potion ebbing away as she drifted back to the surface of wakefulness.

The moment her lashes fluttered open, she became aware of the hush – a silence too deliberate, too controlled. And then she saw him.

Lucius Malfoy stood at the foot of her bed, his posture regal, his expression unreadable. In his arms lay the child – their child. The newborn was swaddled in pristine white, barely stirring as Lucius traced the delicate curve of his cheek with the tip of a gloved finger. A gesture that, to an outside observer, might have seemed almost tender.

But Astoria knew better. There was nothing gentle about possession.

Her pulse quickened, but she lacked the strength to sit up. She could only watch. Observe how Lucius held the baby like an object of victory, as if he had crafted perfection itself. He finally shifted his gaze toward her, eyes gleaming with a cool satisfaction that sent a chill down her spine.

“You’ve done well”, he murmured, his voice smooth, practiced. No warmth, just acknowledgement. A statement of success, not sentiment.

Astoria’s throat tightened, the trauma sitting heavy in her chest, yet her body betrayed her. She had long since learned to anticipate his approval, to crave it despite the cruelty embedded in their dynamic. Some deep-rooted part of her – a fragment of herself she despised – needed his validation. Needed the illusion of care, however tainted.

He stepped closer, extending the child toward her, but his grasp remained firm, controlling the moment.

“See what you have given this family”, he continued, his tone laced with quiet authority. “A son. A legacy. The future.”

She swallowed hard, exhaustion battling the storm within her. She should recoil, reject this scene, this deception. But instead, she simply reached forward, trembling fingers blushing against the blanket. A shudder ran through her, the sensation both sacred and sickening.

And for a fleeting second, her gaze met his. He knew. He knew she would not resist him, not truly. Because the chains he had forged – ones invisible yet unbreakable – still bound her in ways neither of them had to speak aloud.

The soft click of the door broke the charged silence. The weight of the moment shifted instantly, but Lucius did not flinch, nor did he relinquish control. Instead, his grip on Scorpius remained firm, purposeful, as though he were holding not just a child, but an unspoken truth.

Draco stepped in first, his movements swift yet measured, his gaze immediately falling on his wife before flickering toward his father and the baby in his arms. Narcissa followed with quiet grace, her presence diffusing the tension just enough for Astoria to draw in a steadier breath.

“You’re awake”, Draco observed, his voice edged with relief.

He moved closer to the bed, his hand instinctively reaching for hers, but his father’s presence loomed between them like an unspoken barrier. Astoria squeezed Draco’s fingers nonetheless, holding onto the illusion of stability.

Narcissa, on the other hand, gravitated towards the child. Her lips curled into the faintest smirk as she rested a delicate hand on Scorpius’ chest.

“He’s beautiful”, she murmured, the pride in her voice both genuine and expected.

Lucius, ever composed, finally turned, allowing Draco his first clear view of the newborn. A slow, careful breath left Draco’s lips as he studied his son – his official son. The resemblance was striking, almost uncanny. The sharp Malfoy features, the aristocratic structure of his face, the unmistakable platinum blonde hair.

No one would question, because how could they? Draco himself was a reflection of his father, and so the child’s resemblance to Lucius was a simple consequence of genetics. No one would look deeper. No one would ask.

Lucius placed Scorpius into Draco’s arms with measured elegance, the transfer smooth and practiced.

“A worthy heir”, Lucius declared, his tone carrying the weight of certainty and finality.

Draco held the tiny bundle in his arms, the warmth of his son settling against him like an anchor. His fingers trembled slightly as he traced the soft curve of Scorpius’ cheek, as if he were still trying to grasp the reality of it – that this child, this perfect little creation, was his. His heir. His legacy.

Draco exhaled slowly, his grip on the baby tightening just slightly.

“He’s perfect”, he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

Lucius nodded approvingly from his place near the bedside, and Narcissa’s eyes shimmered with quiet affection.

Astoria watched silently, trapped somewhere between relief and sorrow. Draco would never question. And maybe, just maybe, that was the most tragic thing of it all.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56884000/chapters/152686984