#my body hates drastoria

[rivianaaa]

When I started to understand and ship the least like canon ship even though I like the fanon ship, I felt my morals are bending and my stomach churned and the urge to vomit was overwhelming. It's like my body is rejecting that thought.

[theprodigypenguin]

👀💚

A Slyther-heart, my first one!!! In honor of it, I’ll show you a WIP I was writing called “The Malfoy Lie”. Cursed Child Compliant and taking place the summer after Scorpius and Albus’ fourth year and all that mess with Delphini. It was my attempt to write about Drastoria, Scorbus, and explore Draco’s character and his relationship with Scorpius as well as his parents. NO this is NOT Dr@rry, I need that to be understood. I did intend to explore Harry and Draco slowly becoming legitimate friends, but there is NO ROMANCE. We good? Alright:

The Malfoy family was decidedly not sentimental or nostalgic. They didn’t normally dwell on memories, maybe because there were very few worth remembering, but ever since Scorpius had been born, some, at least, the majority in fact, had started to hold memories more closely.

The relationship between Draco and his parents was notably strained, and had been since he announced his intentions to marry Astoria; no, in fact, his relationship had been strained long before that. Back when they decided to open their home up to a monster. Lucius insisted, Lucius didn’t give his wife and son a choice in the matter, bowing and backing away as a dark form cloaked in black drifted across the floor like a phantom.

“Yes, this will do,” Draco remembered the voice perfectly, soft and silky and horrible. “An absolutely abysmal disgrace of a home, Lucius… but it will do.”

No surprise that he would insult the house Draco’s father was so proud of. A mansion, a manor, that had been in the Malfoy family for generations, millennia even for all he knew of it.

When he was small he used to love his home. It was big, the interior was like its own little town. He had vague memories of playing hide and seek with his mother, remembered she lost interest when he got a bit older so he made the house elf play with him instead, remembered he stopped once he started school. A lot stopped once he’d started school in fact.

Draco started to hate his home after his fifth year, when his father was arrested and sent to Azkaban. It became lonely, Draco remembered how scared he was, how he tried to look brave, how his mother cried with hands shaking, but placed a face of steel on her face, not letting anyone break through.

The memories of that time were contorted and poisoned into nightmares, sitting alone in his room hugging his knees to his chest, feeling like a child at seventeen and trying to remember how to breathe as he heard the screams of muggle borns enduring the torture of the Dark Lord.

Horrible, the laughter of his aunt, it contorted to something not as high pitched, morphed into a different voice, and the shrieking screams lowered in octave, into something distinctly male, distinctly familiar.

Delphini.

Scorpius. 

She was hurting him.

Draco woke with a start, jerking and gasping in the burning air around him, hands sweeping the bed unconsciously searching for Astoria, though he knew she wasn’t there. His night clothes were damp with sweat, his entire body shaking as he shoved away the covers and grabbed his wand from the bedside table, storming from the room and towards his son’s.

He tried to be as quiet as he could, hands shaking as he cracked open the door and slipped halfway inside, whispering lumos to light up the room in a dim glow, his heartbeat slowly starting to settle.

Scorpius was in bed, curled up and hugging his pillow, no creases to his face, peaceful. Draco leaned his back against the doorframe and drank in the air until his lungs had stopped hurting. Scorpius was fine, he was safe.

Draco wandered to the bed and reached down, pulling the covers higher over his son and sweeping his hair back, watching him burrow his face deeper into his pillow and murmur something incoherent. He was fine.

Draco, though, was not.

He ended up wandering the halls in a state of disturbed nostalgia, his night clothes sweat heavy and cold, drying in the hours he wandered and making him feel heavy and disgusting.

In the past when he had these kinds of nightmares, Astoria would be there to cradle his head and play with his hair, kissing his temple and promising he was safe, and so was Scorpius, and so was she. She was gone now, though. There was no one to help him through his nightmares, he certainly couldn’t expect his son to do anything about it. That was hardly his responsibility.

When Scorpius woke up that morning, Draco was in the drawing room at the mantle, staring somewhat blankly at the painting hanging above it, at the memorabilia and knick knacks sitting on the mantle, wand still in his hand and eyes heavy. He could see a different painting there, a hallucination from the past, one that Lucius and Bellatrix had hung, a profile of that… monster. He felt something sour in his mouth.

“Dad?” He jumped at least a foot in the air and spun around to look at Scorpius, who seemed puzzled, mostly awake with his hair a mess; it was getting longer, Draco realized. “You okay?”

Draco just blinked, but his son stayed in his place standing there, then nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Scorpius further questioned, and Draco felt a little bit of that pain lift.

He was so good, Scorpius was, so kind hearted. He was just like his mother.

Draco gave a nod, not wanting Scorpius to waste time worrying for him. “Hungry?”

“Oh, yea,” Scorpius answered, still looking very puzzled, and Draco put a hand on his shoulder in passing.

“Go sit down before me, I’ll join you in a bit.”

“Take your time,” Scorpius said. “I have a book to keep me company.” He grinned proudly, and it was contagious enough to bring a small, equally proud smile to Draco’s lips.

It was a task to wash away the nightmare from the previous night, more than once Draco had his face in his hands and something beastly in his throat, a scream he barely contained by reminding himself it was fine, Scorpius was safe, healthy, happy, sleeping peacefully and currently eating his fill.

When Draco stepped into the dining room, he felt a little more like himself, though he didn’t bother to do more with his hair than tie it away from his face, he was too tired to do much else with it.

Scorpius was sitting at one side of the table at the far end, closest to the window. He was leaning over the table eating with a fork held clumsily in his left hand, right hand holding open his book. He kept missing his mouth when he attempted to maneuver the forkful of food into it, stabbing himself in the cheek and chin but not appearing too terribly bothered by it.

Draco smiled, waving his wand to open the curtains further and bask morning light over Scorpius, who looked up and smiled in greeting.

“You look a little better,” he said, and Draco arched an eyebrow as he took a seat at the head of the table just next to Scorpius.

It was a huge table, meant for banquets, but most of it was never utilized. So many meals, Draco remembered either eating alone, or down the table from his parents, and feeling so isolated from them. He didn’t want Scorpius to feel that way, so he and Astoria made it a point to always sit close to their son.

With the light coming in from behind Scorpius, there was a white glow around him, particularly against his hair. He looked almost out of place, something so perfect stuck in a house so cursed.

“Did I not before?” Draco asked, taking a cup that seemed to fill quickly with black coffee; he didn’t particularly enjoy it, but he needed the caffeine.

Scorpius just shrugged, closing his book and taking his fork in his right hand. “You just looked really tired. Did you sleep last night?”

“No,” Draco lied with a straight face. “I was finishing a crossword puzzle.”

Scorpius made a face. “You were not!”

Draco had to grin, looking at the window when there was a tap. Scorpius was on his feet before Draco, opening the window and letting the owl swoop into the room, landing on the table with a small bundle of post that Draco accepted as Scorpius sat back down and offered the large owl pieces of his sausage, pouring water into a small goblet for the bird to have.

Draco flipped through the mail, brandishing the first letter into the air. “Something for you,” he said, and Scorpius lit up. 

“Really? Who from?”

But honestly who else could it have been from? Scorpius eagerly accepted the letter with a grin that seemed to light up the entire room, and Draco went back to the mail in his hands. There were several things addressed to him aside from the Daily Prophet that he was half dreading to go through. Some of the handwriting he recognized without opening, and he held three of the letters with a tight look on his face.

Why would three former schoolmates be writing to him, after having a falling out with each of them and getting cut off from them all for more than fifteen years? He set them down to go through later, feeling very suspicious, and lifted the letter that was clearly from his mother.

He already knew what it would be about when he got it open, Narcissa saying she and Lucius would be stopping by to see them. Draco couldn’t imagine why they would need to, even when she explained she’d heard from an acquaintance that Scorpius had gotten into some trouble at school and they were going to stop in to see what happened. That was literally the last thing Draco wanted, and he was half ready to tell them not to come.

For the first time since the delegation at the Ministry discussing Delphini and the strict hold on her existence, prohibiting the Prophet from disclosing little more than her being a dark witch, Draco was grateful. At first he was furious with the Ministry, and Hermione, for withholding information that could both warn the wizarding community of the presence of a new, powerful dark witch, and successfully stamp out the rumors that Scorpius was Voldemort’s son.

Now, though, he was glad. His parents didn’t need to know Voldemort had a child. Who knows what they would say or do? His father especially. Sometimes Draco got the aching suspicion that he was still hoping for redemption in the eyes of an evil wizard, to be brought back up to the height he was at before his arrest. Lucius was old now, and desperate. Draco worried about what he might do to get what he wanted. He didn’t want that man around Scorpius.

“Dad!” Scorpius was practically glowing. “Albus invited me over for the weekend! Can I? Please? He said they got an extra pass into the Scamander Center! The wizard zoo! We went there with mum once, ages ago, you remember? Can I go?”

Draco stared at him for a minute. In the past, whenever Ginny had written asking if Scorpius wanted to stay over with Albus, he’d bitterly told her no, because he didn’t trust her, he didn’t trust any of them, he was just too protective. Now… he was even more protective, especially after the events of the previous school year, but… if Narcissa and Lucius were really going to show up…

“Sure.” Scorpius absolutely glowed. “Write to him and let him know, finish eating first, I don’t want you going there already hungry, and prepare an overnight bag.”

“Yes, sir!” Scorpius spun and jumped up, scrambling over to a table near the window that held a menagerie of items like quills, ink wells, paper, books, and cups.

He quickly scribbled down a reply and enclosed it before writing Albus’ name on it and giving it to the owl, who flapped its wings experimentally and puffed its chest proudly before swooping out the window.

He then dropped back into his seat and started to eat, a bit too fast. Draco told him to slow down, but of course he didn’t, hiccuping and laughing into his cup as Draco chuckled with him. Seeing Scorpius so excited made him feel a little lighter, even though he knew he’d have to deal with his parents, and the letters from his old peers, as soon as Scorpius was safely out of the house.

Draco figured if they were quick enough, they could be at the Potter’s before his parents showed up, and how gleeful it would be to make them wait. Maybe Draco would linger and talk with Ginny and Harry, just to make them wait longer. He could almost see the affronted scowl on his father’s face when he’d returned. It made him feel quite happy.

Not as happy as Scorpius of course, who was bouncing on his heels as he scrambled around getting ready, throwing clothes into his bag, taking the fastest shower in history before hopping on one foot down the hall trying to yank on his shoe, tripping halfway to his room and falling on his face.

“Calm down, Albus isn’t going anywhere,” Draco said through a huge grin, but Scorpius just scrambled to his feet with wide eyes.

“I know!”

They were so close. Narcissa’s letter hadn’t given a time for when they’d be showing up, but Draco would only assume noon. No doubt his father couldn’t be bothered to come any sooner, not for something as unimportant as his own grandson. That’s what Draco had hoped for at least.

Until they got to the fireplace, Scorpius still bouncing in place as Draco reached for the floo powder on the mantle. “You told them we’d be coming by floo?”

“Yes!”

“Good, faster this way anyway,” but before he could even touch the powder, the fireplace erupted in green fire.

Draco backed away rapidly and stood in front of Scorpius, face twisted in irritation as his mother stepped out first. Her age was apparent in the lines of her face, but she wore it well, hair so neat and pinned up with silver clips, dressed pristinely and holding a small black hand purse. Lucius came next, exiting the fireplace with a single hand dusting ash from the shoulder of his black coat.

Draco felt himself steel in absolute indignation, keeping one arm down to keep Scorpius behind him, and Lucius tipped his head in both greeting and question.

“You won’t even greet your parents, Draco?”

“What’s the point in that? I know who you are, not like I’ve never seen you before.”

Scorpius gave a barely audible noise, something like a squeak, one hand clinging to the back of Draco’s coat. He wasn’t surprised. For all intensive purposes, Lucius Malfoy frightened him; and that was something Draco had never tolerated. 

He could never stand up to his father on his own before, but with the most important person in his life hiding behind him, Draco never felt braver.

“You’ll have to wait if you want to talk. We were just about to go out.”

“Out? When we’ve just arrived?” Lucius walked forward, still moving with a haunting elegance despite his age, sitting down on one of the couches and pointing to the one across from him with his walking stick. “Take a seat.”

“I’ll have to decline,” Draco said stiffly, his eyes set in a glare. “I’m taking Scorpius to a friend’s house. If you’re still here when I get back, I’d be happy to talk, but until then-”

"Sit down, Draco,” Lucius ordered in that familiar tone, and Draco knew if he wasn’t careful, this could end badly.

He didn’t want Scorpius exposed to this.

“… fine,” Draco relented, reaching back to wrap an arm around Scorpius, who was as stiff as a board, but had a brave look of defiance on his face that Draco felt extremely proud of.

He and Scorpius took the couch across from Narcissa and Lucius, and the coffee table separating them wasn’t nearly enough. Draco kept himself sitting as straight as he could, arms folded and hand lingering near the pocket of his coat where his wand was tucked away.

Scorpius was keeping the same posture, bag at his feet and hands clenched in his lap as he stared at the table top. For a long moment there was only silence. Draco was prepared to sit there until Harry realized they were late and came to investigate. Lucius would leave immediately if Harry Potter showed up; but not long after, Lucius finally spoke.

“Not even going to offer us a drink?”

“No,” Draco answered, and Lucius’ eye twitched a little. “Say what you want to say and get out.”

“Don’t be like that, Draco,” Narcissa chided him. “Did you not read my letter? We’re here for Scorpius.”

Scorpius glanced up through his eyelashes but didn’t raise his head as Draco spoke. “I read it. I just don’t care.”

“We were worried-”

"What did you hear? And from who?” Draco demanded.

Lucius was the one to answer him. “An old friend at the Daily Prophet,” he explained in a haughty voice, like he thought having newspaper friends made him so high and mighty. “He mentioned there being a bit of trouble at the school because of Scorpius and that…. Potter boy.”

Scorpius cringed, his face contorting in something like anger that he desperately hid by keeping his head bowed low, face shadowed. Draco was unsurprised. Of course he’d get angry that Lucius was spitting Albus’ name around like it was poison.

“What of it?”

“We only know vague details. One of the boys got hurt?” Narcissa asked this in a rather gentle voice, glancing at Scorpius, and Draco had to thank everything in existence she had a soft spot for her grandson, despite how he hadn’t been raised ‘correctly’.

“Albus broke his arm,” Draco answered.

“We heard someone was killed,” Lucius said, and Scorpius seemed to shiver. “It was left from the papers, the details of his death. A freak accident on the Quidditch pitch. Craig Bowker Junior.”

“That has nothing to do with Scorpius or Albus, and nothing to do with you.”

“Of course.” Lucius’ hands flexed around his walking stick. “It isn’t like Scorpius is our grandson or anything of the sort.”

“Since when did you care, father?”

“Do not patronize me,” Lucius snapped, but Draco had long since stopped caring about the bitterness in his tone. “I’m asking what happened out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Funny, I wasn’t aware you had one.”

By now, Astoria would be laughing so hard she’d be snorting, half trying to get Draco to stop riling his father up and half goading him on. Lucius’ face was growing redder and redder as his eyes bugged, even Narcissa looked utterly taken aback by Draco’s shortness and clear disinterest in discussing the situation. 

It was none of their business in the first place. He didn’t trust them enough to tell them the details, he would never risk his son like that, and… how truly sad it was that he didn’t think he could trust them.

“Al and I got into some trouble before we got to school,” Scorpius’ voice took Draco by surprise, and he turned to gape at him, and the look his son gave him. “It’s fine.”

“Scor-”

"Albus was trying to do something good, his heart was in the right place. The only thing that went wrong was who we trusted. We were manipulated by a witch who was falsely masquerading as the niece of an old wizard that Mister Potter knew from years ago.”

“Is that so?” Lucius eyed him with a deadly look in his cold eyes, Draco quickly put an arm around Scorpius and glared back at his father. “And you were foolish enough to follow along with her?”

That had Draco bristling, but Scorpius just twisted his fingers together. “She seemed genuinely nice at first. She helped us, she… even helped me with Albus, when we got in kind of a fight. We just… were too distracted.”

“She killed that boy?” Narcissa assessed easily, and Draco nodded to her. “What happened to her? Did she hurt Scorpius?”

Draco inhaled sharply, Scorpius winced and rubbed at his wrists; there was a slight discoloration around them, scarring left over from Delphini’s bindings. Draco didn’t have to answer his mother as she covered her mouth with a hand, but Lucius just squinted.

“Where is she now?”

“Where do you think?” Draco asked. “Azkaban, and she’ll stay there.”

“No trial?”

“She’s awaiting trial, but she killed a student, kidnapped two more, and tortured Scorpius. She utilized two of the three forbidden curses, either one would have set her down for Azkaban, and she used two. What more proof do you need to convict her?”

“What was her reasoning for manipulating the boys?” Lucius asked, and Draco started to feel increasingly confused, suspicious, on edge, at all the questions.

“What did you say your friend’s name was? The one at the Prophet?”

“You’re not going to answer me?”

“I-it was from a prophecy.” Scorpius looked at Draco anxiously. “Something her… her step father told her.”

“That’s enough.” Draco met his eye. “You don’t have to say anymore. No, I’m asking you not to. No more. They don’t need to know. It’s none of their business.”

Scorpius actually seemed to relax, nodding slowly, and Lucius scoffed. “Is our grandson’s health not our business, Draco?”

“You don’t give a damn about his health, or mine.” Draco stood up. “We’re done here, feel free to leave any time. I’m bringing Scorpius to his friend’s house.”

“Friend. That Potter.” Lucius spit the name again. “What a disgrace you are-”

“Lucius!”

“-allowing your son to fraternize with the likes of them.” Lucius got to his feet. "It’s Potter’s fault our family is in shambles, don’t forget.”

“No, father.” Draco looked him dead in the eye. “Our family is in shambles because you were stupid enough to welcome a murderer into our home and our lives. You’re the one who soiled the Malfoy name, father, by disgracing it with dark magic. Me, a disgrace for trying to fix the mess you made. I revel in that disgrace.”

Draco supposed he should have seen the hit coming, but it happened so suddenly, half of him was distracted by the burst of green from the fireplace that he only noticed because his head had been forced in that direction when Lucius swung the back of his hand and the silver snake head of the end of his walking stick straight into Draco’s face.

A ring rose in his ears and a burn spread across his cheek as he staggered, somehow managing to stay stubbornly on his feet as Scorpius yelled for him, jumping up to grab his arm to help him stay standing. Draco had his wand in his hand and pointed at Lucius an instant later, and was dizzily stunned at what he saw.

Narcissa on her feet with her own wand in hand, the tip stuck under Lucius’ chin and digging into his throat, eyes wild. Lucius had both his hands held out in a type of submissive manner, there was blood on the silver snake head topping his walking stick, and Draco could feel it on his cheek.

What really took him by surprise was Harry Potter, standing at the end of the coffee table with his wand out, pointed at Lucius, eyes wide in both shock and fury. Perfect timing as usual, to see Lucius sucker punching his own son. Brilliant, really.

“How dare you.” Narcissa hissed, very much like a snake, and Lucius stared down at her across the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t look scared though, he looked annoyed and inconvenienced, cold eyes snapping to Draco, then Harry, then back again to his son.

“This isn’t the end of the discussion,” he said simply, taking a step back to alleviate the pressure of the wand digging into his neck. “There’s much of the situation you don’t understand, Draco. For your sake, and your son’s, I recommend reassessing what side you’re really on.”

“I’m on whatever side you aren’t,” Draco snapped. “Get out.”

Lucius glared, then looked at his wife, who sneered in anger, something told Draco they would be having a chat later. Then Lucius disapparated with a pop. Narcissa slowly lowered her wand, so did Draco, returning it to the pocket in his coat before lifting the same hand to tentatively touch his cheek.

“What exactly did I walk in on?” Harry asked suddenly, and Narcissa turned to glance at him, then at Draco.

“Family reunion,” Draco said bitterly, turning to Scorpius, who was shaking furiously. 

He had a look of anger on his face, fear in his watery eyes, clinging to Draco with both hands, staring at the spot where his grandfather had been just moments ago.

“I’m sorry, Scorpius. I wanted you out of the house before they showed up.”

“Dad… dad your face.” Scorpius shook, his voice trembled, Draco tried to keep his cheek covered so Scorpius wouldn’t see.

“Just a scratch, can’t really feel it.” He looked over at Harry, who was watching him closely. "We’re late then, are we?”

“… Albus was getting anxious,” Harry admitted slowly. “Suppose he had a right…”

“I had it settled.”

“Of course.”

“Dad.”

“I’m fine Scorpius.”

“But-”

“You know what that man is like.”

“I’m sorry.”

“This was hardly your fault.” Draco wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him close into a hug, hiding Scorpius’ face against his shoulder and pulling his hand from his face to squint at the blood before covering his cheek again.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, speaking to Harry, who had a wince on his face. “Would you mind taking him ahead? If your invitation still stands.”

Harry nodded. “It does. Albus is excited about it. This is the first time you’ve written back actually accepting a day out for them.”

“I like to think I’ve grown a bit more on that level this past year. The last thing I want to do is keep two good friends apart.” He arched an eyebrow and Harry rolled his eyes up in a sigh, turning.

"Come on, Scorpius.”

“But- dad-”

“I’ll stop by later,” Draco offered when Scorpius pulled back, running his hand into his blond hair to ruffle it. “After I’ve fixed myself up.”

“Do you want to come now?” Harry asked. “Ginny wouldn’t mind helping.”

“No, I think I still have some things to do here.” He glanced at his mother, who met his gaze with a painful one of her own. "I’ll come by floo later.”

“Fine.”

Scorpius still looked like he wanted to protest, torn between staying with Draco and going to see his friend. To alleviate the panic on his face, Draco squeezed his shoulder, shrugging.

“You have to admit, Scorp, that was pretty brave of your old man.” Scorpius’ lips twitched a little. “Think your mum would be proud of me?”

This made him smile, thankfully, and nod. “Yea, and mad you riled him enough to hit you. She’d probably call you an idiot.”

"That’s true.” He slid his hand down to Scorpius’ back and lead him towards the fireplace, picking up his son’s bag and handing it to him. "I’ll see you in a couple of hours, go enjoy yourself.”

“Okay…”

“No worrying about me.”

“Okay…”

Draco met Harry’s eye again, and in a few moments both he and his son were gone in a flare of green fire. When he turned to his mother, she had a strained look on her face, swallowing thickly and opening her mouth.

“Draco-”

“Wasn’t your doing.”

“No… we need to talk.”

“What about?”

“Your cousin,” Draco didn’t know what she was talking about, until she continued slowly, her voice low, like she was afraid Harry might still be around to hear her. “Delphini.”

[the-demelza-robins]

Tea, Greengrass?

a/n: Two Slytherins walk into St. Mungo’s... 

request: none - the words “tea, Greengrass?” popped into my head one night. 

words: 1.5k 

warnings: a blood curse

shameless self promotion: I have a multichap Drastoria fic that’s almost done. Read it here!

Read this story on FF.net

“Tea, Greengrass?”

The woman jumped; she’d been so preoccupied staring at the St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries reception floor  that she hadn’t noticed the shiny black shoes that were now occupying part of it. Cautiously looking up (she knew that voice from somewhere, she just couldn’t place it…), her eyes immediately narrowed when she saw the tall figure of Draco Malfoy looming over her. His angular face looked almost handsome in the sterile light of the waiting room, but of course she wasn’t going to tell him that.

He blinked at her, and she figured she’d been looking at him for a little too long.

Shaking her head as a response (her throat felt too constricted to talk), she tried to focus on anything or anyone else.

Instead of leaving, as any reasonable person would’ve done, the man set one paper cup of tea down on the end table besides Astoria’s couch and sat down. “Never thought I’d see you here,” he said conversationally.

She shrugged, watching out of the corner of her eye as he surveyed the waiting room, his face a mix between interest and disdain. “Most of these people are just fools, don’t you agree? Who doesn’t know how to mend a bloody nose?”

Astoria didn’t know how to mend a bloody nose, but what she did know was that the Malfoys - especially Draco - were known for their judgmental ways, and that it was best not to reveal any weakness while in close proximity to them. She stayed silent. His gaze shifted to her, no doubt looking for any signs of illness or injury. She knew he would find none. Only her close friends had noticed how her shoulders sagged a little more, or how her voice (when she could use it at all) was quieter and more raspy.

“You were much more vocal at Hogwarts, you know.”

She snorted. He seemed pleased to get a reaction out of her. Leaning back (his shoulder was close enough to hers that she could feel it), he took a sip of tea.

“You sure you don’t want some?”

Astoria nodded and pushed some jet-black hair out of her eyes. Her mother claimed she was going grey at the ripe old age of twenty-two. “I’d always known my little Asty was wise beyond her years,” Melodia Greengrass would say, tapping her daughter on the shoulder affectionately.  She was still ignorant - in denial that the blood curse still existed. Ignorant of the fact that her “little Asty” showed all of its symptoms.

God, how Astoria hated that nickname.

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at the large card with the words I’m rooting for you! emblazoned on the front. “Who’s the card for?”

There was no nonverbal way to answer this, but Astoria, feeling her throat contract painfully, knew that she was in no position to speak. In an effort to buy herself time, she picked up the tea and sipped some of it. It was scalding hot, as she had anticipated, but it did unblock her throat a little. Coughing a few times (and feeling like a complete fool), Astoria cleared her throat. “My mother.”

She was not ready.

“Your mother? What happened to her?”

Astoria glared at Malfoy. It was bad enough that she had to sit through this alone, but with someone else there - especially if that someone else was no other than Draco Malfoy - she’d never make it to the test results center.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to be polite,” the man said.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Malfoys? Polite? Never.

He must’ve seen the disbelief etched into her face, for he leaned forward, mirroring Astoria’s position when he’d first walked in. “We are polite sometimes, you know,” he muttered, staring at the floor. When she made no response, he switched his focus back to her. “What, have you gone mute or something?” he demanded.

“No,” she croaked, wincing at the pain that that small little word caused.

He stared at her for a few more seconds. “It’s usually polite to reply when people talk to you.”

“Ms. Greengrass?”

A new voice cut over the din of the waiting room, and Astoria stood up quickly. Her head felt light and unattached to the rest of her body (something which she was sure was not a good thing) as she walked over to the nurse that was waiting for her by the hallway that led to the examination rooms. She scrutinized the young woman’s face - were there any hints regarding the outcome of the test in her expression?

“Let’s go,” the nurse said, her smile bright. Was it a pity smile, or a genuine one? What did it mean?

Astoria knew she’d soon find out.

The examination room they put her in was bare. St. Mungo’s, Astoria knew, didn’t have much expense to spend on such frivolities such as the decor in such rooms, but the woman couldn’t help but wonder if a brighter coat of paint would decrease waiting-room anxiety. She was familiar with this kind of anxiety because she’d experienced it every time she’d gone to the Wizarding hospital - that period of time when she had nothing to do but pace within the confines of the ten by five space and wait for a piece of life-changing information.

It was harder to pace, now, but she still managed. Her feet echoed across the linoleum floor until a knock sounded on the door.

She froze, then cleared her throat. “Come in.”

What had her mother said? “Hold your head up high, dear, and shoulders back. Don’t soil the Greengrass name by being improper.” Astoria had laughed when Melodia had first suggested this (“I’m sure what’s left of the Greengrass name is already damaged beyond repair, Mother”), but now, of course, she straightened her back and lifted her chin up. Over the course of her life, she’d come to realize that pretend ambivalence made her feel more in control.

A heavyset woman with her mouth set in a grim line entered the room, barely taking in Astoria before sitting down on the stool across from the examination table and drawing in a deep breath.

“No easy way to put it,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, kid. You’ve got the curse.”

And just like that, Astoria’s life imploded.

The woman didn’t mess around. After giving the life-changing diagnosis, she made herself busy by mixing Astoria’s hair into an almost-finished Symptom Smashing potion, which the young Slytherin would take every night before dinner, no exceptions. Feeling like a ghost, the patient left the room after a hurried goodbye. She dodged nurses and other patients in the hallway, a question bouncing through her mind. Who do I tell?

Her mother, surely. But perhaps Daphne first - after all, Melodia Greengrass could be very stubborn when she wanted to and it would take a lot to convince her that her daughter really had the curse.

Her friends, probably. She had few - she had always been a quiet girl with a sardonic exterior beneath the surface that not many people got to see.

Not Draco Malfoy, who was standing in the reception area, waiting for her. No, she should definitely not tell Draco Malfoy, should definitely not walk over to him, should definitely not wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him.

She shouldn’t do those things, shouldn’t have done those things, because that’s exactly what she did - walked over to him and kissed him.

He shouldn’t have reciprocated, shouldn’t have put his arms around her waist.

Shouldn’t, couldn’t.

Did.

And when they finally broke apart, and something like a smile passed through Draco’s face, and Astoria realized that she’d just made out with the Slytherin prince in the middle of the reception room at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, it was too late.

Something had passed between them, and even as she removed her arms from his neck and he disentangled his from her waist, they still stood close.

“I have a blood curse,” she whispered into his ear. It sounded like a joke, why did it sound like a joke? It shouldn’t - it was her life, her future, her hopes and dreams all extinguished quickly. But on her tongue and in her (somewhat tired) head, it sounded like the funniest thing ever. A blood curse.

This was not part of the plan. Her mother would freak out. A sickly daughter had no prospects, no potential suitors (not like she’d had many before). And speaking of suitors, she realized she’d just kissed the most wanted bachelor in the Pureblood community. It was a mistake.

To put it more bluntly - she was hopeless. A disappointment. Her mother would love her in her own twisted way, but her father? Forget it.

They’d take her inheritance away, of course. She wouldn’t survive to see her parents die. No prospects, no money - it was hilarious. A wrench in the machine which was set on rebuilding the Greengrass name.

Draco’s gray eyes flicked around the waiting room before landing on her again. “We should go,” he muttered. “Coffee?”

She smiled. “What about tea?”

After all, she had nothing to lose. Her life was already being thrown away.

And besides, that kiss hadn’t been that bad.

[wordsaremything]

Drastoria Drabble

Just a little thing I wrote up about Draco and Astoria. Just because I wanted to and I’m obsessed with Draco Malfoy.

2490 words.

The Slytherin table bustled around him as Draco studied the Potter Stinks badge in his hand. He couldn’t help but think that this was one of his better ideas. Alright, maybe it wasn’t completely his idea. Theodore Nott helped quite a bit to make them look as perfect as Draco wanted them but that didn’t stop him from taking local credit from all his fellow Slytherins.

And he should take credit for it all. It was his idea after all.

Before he was ready, Pansy Parkinson parked herself right beside him. She was sporting one of the badges and her signature grin. “These have really been a hit, Draco,” she said, tapping the green badge and sending it back to the yellow Support Cedric Diggory, “Even with Hufflepuffs! But mostly the Gryffindors hate them.”

Draco lifted his eyes towards the Gryffindor table. They did look rather… ruffled. He smirked. “Well, that was the intention,” he replied

“I’ve got everyone to wear one!” Pansy continued, and looked around her at her gaggle of girl friends. They all puffed out their chests and flicked their hair so Draco could see their badges clearly. It was like watching himself win.

Draco gave them all a devilish grin. “Well done, ladies. This ought to knock those lions down a few pegs,” he said and swelled just a bit more at the girls’ giggles in answer. And maybe bloody Potter and his friends will stop walking around like royalty. Suddenly, Daphne Greengrass piped up.

“Tori!”

Draco looked up and watched a small brunette stop in her tracks. He recognized the girl as Daphne’s younger sister, but he couldn’t place the face with a name past whatever Daphne just called her.

The blonde continued. “Where’s your badge?” she asked expectantly.

The younger one turned around, slowly, to face the rest of them. She wasn’t wearing one of their badges. He checked. Then he waited until she answered.

“I’m not wearing it,” the girl replied, squaring her shoulders.

Pansy scoffed. “Of course you’ll wear it–”

“No,” she cut off sharply, “Sorry, Daph.” And then she turned and walked swiftly from the Great Hall.

Draco grimaced. Merlin, what an attitude. “What’s her problem?” he asked, turning his head towards Daphne.

Her cheeks were flushed. “Sorry, my kid sister… she’s too much like our father, spends all her time with her nose in a book. She couldn’t care any less for the real world,” she said and promptly tapped her badge so it was green again.

Potter Stinks.

“Remind me of her name,” Draco continued as he pinned his back to his robe.

“Astoria...”

Draco hummed quietly in recognition but didn’t think too much further about it. He wondered what else he could do to spoil Potter’s second big break.

“What are you doing?”

Draco jumped and smacked his head on the bannister. He cursed quietly and pressed his hand over the smarting spot before looking up. A familiar brunette was standing there, one thin eyebrow raised in question.

“I was scoping out the entrance to the seventh floor,” Draco replied, rising to his feet. He climbed up one step for good measure. “Now you’ve done in my plan.”

Astoria Greengrass looked to become even more confused, her eyebrows drawing in and the corners of her mouth dipping down. “You do know how ridiculous that sounds, don’t you? Is this all for Umbridge?”

Draco scoffed and brushed by her. However, before he could reach the landing, the staircase started to move. He grabbed the banister for support without even needing to think about it. When he looked back up at Astoria, she looked a little more smug. It was an odd expression on her, considering she didn’t do much emoting to begin with.

“What do you know about it?” he demanded of her.

“Hardly anything other than the fact that she’s using you for spies.”

“It’s for extra credit!”

She crossed her arms. “Sounds like favoritism to me. Notice you’re all Slytherins?” Draco didn’t reply. “And I know you’ve been taking unnecessary points away from the other Houses as well. Gryffindor’s nearly in the negatives.”

He ground his teeth and looked away. He consciously knew it was all about favoritism and stamping out Umbridge’s opposition, and he really enjoyed making the Gryffindors suffer. But for some reason, when she pointed it all out so daintily, it made him feel a little… well, guilty. Just a bit.

“What do you care, anyway?” Draco demanded harshly, “Our House will win, no more annoying Gryffindors… This is better. Things are getting better and you… just go back to your bloody books!”

Astoria didn’t reply or change expression, rather just climbed down the stairs past him on her way. Oh, she was infuriating. Did she just… not have a soul? She didn’t even blush at his curse word. There was something wrong with her, honestly.

There was something wrong with him.

Shaking, vomiting, dizziness, the works. Mother said he was ill. Mother said he should come home. No, she didn’t understand. Home was too far away, and it wasn’t really home anyway. Not anymore.

He used to be able to think of Hogwarts as home. Soon, that would be taken away too. And that would be entirely his own fault. His decision. His assignment.

The enchanted mirror he had sitting before him was not as pretty as he would have liked, but it would do the job well enough. Dumbledore loved all his strange little trinkets… no doubt if he got this from a student admirer he would put it up in his office. Then, at least Draco would know when he was and wasn’t there. As long as he had his own looking glass on his person, he could spy quite easily. It was perfect.

A flash of movement in the mirror caught his eye. It was late, past curfew. Everyone should already be in bed. He turned, and in the dim light of the common room, he spotted a girl. A few torches lit up at the fresh movement, and it revealed to be Astoria. She looked drawn, sad. But not nearly as much as Draco did.

“What do you want?” he demanded sharply.

She didn't answer right away. She took a few steps closer to where he stood against the wall of the common room. He shrunk away as if trying to blend in with the pale wall. Astoria stopped and he looked away. He was Draco Malfoy. Malfoys don't cringe from anything, especially girls.

Another wave of nausea swept over him and he grabbed the nearby table for balance. The mirror rattled. Astoria paused, and when Draco looked up again she was in the light. The moon was filtering in the windows, casting a greenish and shaky light through the moving water of the Black Lake. Even then, she looked surer than he did.

“Are you okay?”

Draco stared at her. She was the only person to ever ask how he was feeling. Everyone else only asked how his assignment was coming along.

“Yes.”

“You're lying.”

It wasn’t an accusation, simply a statement of something they both knew to be true, but it still made Draco’s blood boil. How dare she accuse him of being a liar. How dare she be able to see right through him.

“Mind your own damn business for once, Greengrass,” he snarled at her, although it was more at his own shoes. He couldn’t look up; he couldn’t look at her concerned expression, nor could he bare to lift his head in case his vision started to swim again.

Astoria’s feet took a few steps closer. “Draco, please. At least… let me get you some water,” she said, barely above a whisper. He wouldn’t have been able to hear her if the fire had been going.

“No.”

She took another persistent step forward. “Draco, please, I can help–”

“I don’t need your help!” Draco shouted at her. The force of the yell shook his frail body, which in turn shook the table he had been working on, which caused the mirror to fall and shatter. That was the catalyst to send Draco Malfoy back down, down into a black hole shaped so much like the tattoo on his left arm. And he fell.

Astoria was there before he could really connect with the stone floor of the dungeons. It didn’t occur to either of them in that moment to just wave a wand and fix the glass. Instead, dry sobs wracked Draco’s body. He had long since spent all his tears.

“Astoria, I’ve m-made a terrible mis-mistake–”

She put one hand on the back of his head, and the other on his back. “I know.”

“I can’t do this… I have to… he’ll kill me, he’ll kill us all, my mother–”

She gulped. She didn’t have to ask who. “I know,” she repeated. It wasn’t a secret that Draco had been chosen.

“I killed people, Astoria. Innocent people are dead. Because of me.”

He forgot the last shred of his pride and let his forehead fall against Astoria’s shoulder. And he sat there, on the floor of the common room he had spent six years of his life in, and allowed Astoria Greengrass to hold him. The broken looking glass remained untouched beside them.

Draco had a mission. He was tired of feeling sorry for himself, and his family, and allowing those who were under him to walk all over them. If either the dark or the light triumphed in this war, there was no doubt the Malfoys would all lose their lives. The Dark Lord had stripped them of all their former splendor. And the Order… Draco knew Potter would never see him as an equal.

From the looks of Hogwarts, it didn’t look like his old school enemy was very close to victory. Draco had apparated into the dungeons, in search of the Slytherins, as that was their normal lair. But when he arrived, the east wing of the castle was crumbling above them. The dungeons were chaos. Draco supposed he only needed Crabbe and Goyle for this– they had been bumbling idiots for their entire school career, but at least they were stupid enough to go along with Draco’s stupid plan.

“You’re actually going to do it this time?” Crabbe asked him as they made haste towards the seventh floor, “Kill him? Deliver him to the Dark Lord? Not chicken out?”

Draco ground his teeth. At this point, the Malfoys’ last chance was if Draco helped turn Harry Potter over to Voldemort. He had to try one last time. “Crabbe. Shut your gob.”

“This is serious, Malfoy–” Crabbe stopped immediately. Draco had pulled his wand –his mother’s wand, actually, Draco still couldn’t believe she was in this hell without one– and pressed it against Crabbe’s jugular. He had purposefully done it with his left hand, so his sleeve edged down to reveal the top of the Dark Mark. Old school friends or not, Draco was the Death Eater here.

“Do as I say,” he said through his teeth and turned his gaze to Goyle, “Got anything to add?” Goyle shook his head quickly. “Good. Let’s go.”

So the three of them continued. When Draco rounded a corner on a back staircase, he froze. At the top of the same was a brunette with a bow in her hair and her wand grasped tightly in her right hand. Astoria Greengrass.

They just sort of stared at each other. Astoria had been at school the entire time the Death Eaters were in charge. Draco had not. It had been a long time since they had seen each other.

“Go,” Draco told Crabbe and Goyle, and they kept going up the steps. They pushed past Astoria as if she weren’t even there. He studied her. Tatty Slytherin uniform, wand, and a gash on her cheek. “Are you fighting?”

She nodded, her expression set.

“For Potter’s side?”

“I’m not about to go down without a fight.”

“You don’t have to fight! You would be safe if Potter was murdered at your feet!”

“That’s why I have to fight!” she cried, “I would be able to live on, but what about the Hufflepuff girl who sat next to me in Potions? Or the muggleborn boy who helped me with my Arithmancy homework?”

Draco sighed and took a few steps up, lessening the space between them. “Astoria, don’t be ridiculous.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “What are you doing here then?” Then her eyes dropped inevitably to his left arm. Under her gaze, he felt self conscious about it. On reflex he covered the Dark Mark with his right hand.

“Astoria–”

“You can make the right decision here, Draco,” Astoria said, stepping down and further lessening the space between them, “You can say no. Finally. You don’t deserve this.”

Draco shook his head. “You don’t understand. My family–”

“Does not rely solely on you. My father was asked to be a Death Eater, you know, he told me. He said he couldn’t do it, he had to keep his family out of the war. They backed off because of his blood, because his name is Hyperion Greengrass. You joined for the same reason. ” She sighed., “But maybe I don’t understand.”

Astoria made to keep going down the staircase past him, but he grabbed her arm. She stopped. They were on the same step. She was taller than he remembered. He reached up and touched the cut on her cheek. “It’s not safe,” he told her.

“No,” she said. She gently laid her hand on his forearm. “But I’m used to that.”

He let her go. She ran passed him, closer and closer to the fray of the battle. Now that she was gone, Draco found himself able to focus again. Maybe he could actually do something this time. Try to forget about Astoria.

It didn’t work. His plan went dismally. Draco Malfoy owed his life to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. And Crabbe’s death as well.

A day later Draco sat with his parents among the aftermath of the battle. Narcissa and Lucius were both silent, but his mother hadn’t let go of his hand for he didn’t know how long. Draco stared at the table before him. It was charred and marked. He saw Astoria in the castle again, once. She stood with a small group of Slytherins who had chosen to fight in the battle, and the cut on her face was closed up. Pink and shiny, which means she was freshly healed. And she smiled. She didn’t smile at him. Draco knew she didn’t see him. She probably knew he would end up in Azkaban for all he did.

Then she did turn, and he met her eyes. Astoria took a moment to take in the scene around him. Then, she did smile at him.