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Draco was utterly lost in his wife’s eyes as they twirled together in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor. The war was firmly behind them, the stain on his name ever present but fading, and he had a wife, a life together ahead of them. Something to look forward to after two terrible years of war and Lord Voldemort living under his family’s roof, and after two more years of proving himself to the world.
Two years of biting and swallowing every unkind and vicious word he had ever spoken about Potter, Granger and even Weasley. Two years of Potter relentlessly fighting the Ministry on its notions of reparations, of imprisonment, of revenge.
The music swelled as the waltz approached the end, and he took his chance. He twirled Astoria underneath his raised left hand, smiling as she stood on the balls of her feet and gingerly followed his lead. Her lavender dress danced around her legs.
She saw his move coming from a mile away, but she giggled in his arms anyway as he dipped her. She leaned back and managed to look so happy he had to kiss her.
Astoria’s cheeks were positively blushing as she stood back up still holding his cheek with her left hand, right hand on his shoulder. Draco smiled into the kiss as she pulled back slightly.
“There goes propriety… there are other people in this ballroom with us, Draco.” She removed her hands from him and busied them with fixing wrinkles on her skirt that weren’t actually there. “I thought your parents wanted you to make a good impression on our guests.”
"It is my aim in life to leave an impression and I don't much care for ensuring it is a good one." Draco tilted his head, a smug grin on his face. “Though I do think you’ll make up for whatever I may lack.”
The warm smile she gave him could have thawed the winter frost right off the manor grounds and delayed winter altogether. Draco reached for her hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing her knuckles right next to the two rings he had slid down her long, thin fingers, only a few months apart of each other.
“Enough of that.”
“You don't know how lovely you are,” he said, “and you don’t know how lovely you look when I make you blush.”
Draco used her hand to guide her away from the dancefloor, and the two walked silently towards his parents. Narcissa offered them both a smile, clearly pleased with the sight of the two of them happy. Lucius tried to hide his amusement at seeing his son utterly besotted behind an air of feigned disapproval at the public demonstration of affection.
The young couple paid it absolutely no mind, not when the head of the Malfoy Manor had been known, for all their lives, for his very public love for his wife, and for the way at least one of his hands was to be found somewhere on Narcissa’s back, waist, or elbow at any given time during their parties.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught sight of Daphne. She walked towards them, hand on Zabini’s arm, limbs intertwined. Astoria had been playing matchmaker with the two of them, and Draco felt happy for his friends. They did make for a charming pair.
“Well, hello there. If you two lovebirds could be bothered to have spared a single glance for anyone else, you’d have noticed us trying to talk to you on the dancefloor,” Daphne said, a teasing edge to her voice.
“You meant to make conversation amidst a waltz?” Astoria asked, letting go of Draco to hug and kiss her sister on the cheek.
The sisters fell into a parallel conversation as Draco and Blaise greeted each other and engaged the senior Malfoys in conversation as well. Draco’s eye wandered off and towards Astoria every now and then. Blaise noticed, but let it slide. It wasn’t like he could keep his eyes off Daphne for long either.
At some point, Draco’s mind wandered right off and very far away from conversation. He was left admiring the two sisters. Astoria, pale and brunette in her lavender dress, and Daphne, blonde, her skin tone warmer, in her purple dress. Two sides to the same coin, one always brighter and the other softer. All their lives he had known them both, and all their lives they had been different yet perfectly matched to one another. Even in the colours they chose. Purple, bold and shiny, and lavender, safer but steady.
His chain of thought was interrupted by a playful elbow to his ribs.
“Get a napkin, Draco, before you start drooling,” Blaise teased.
That earned him a playful swat across the arm from Daphne.
“You let my brother-in-law drool over the sight of my sister in peace, and concern yourself about drooling thinking of me.”
Late at night, after the party was long over, Draco woke up with a feverish Astoria in his arms. Sweat clung to her brow and made both their bodies stick with it. She raised her head from his shoulder, a hand pushing her soft brown hair away from her neck. It too was damp.
“I feel sick,” she mumbled, which was extraordinary in and of itself.
“You are way too warm,” he said, kissing her temple. “I’ll run you a bath to cool off.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“And my wife woke up clearly unwell, so I’ll tend to her,” he replied, already sliding off from between the sheets, naked as he had fallen asleep.
He didn’t bother with clothes. He rushed to their bathroom, gathering towels, running warm water into the bathtub, dropping a few scents into it too. He forced his worry down. He knew the curse of the Greengrasses, knew Astoria was afflicted with it. The curse would claim her down the line, he knew that, but he needed more time with her. He wanted a lifetime, and he refused to accept her fate.
Still, she was not to be put under the pressure of his worrying. Holding his composure, and holding his true feelings even closer, he walked back into their bedroom and gathered her in his arms. The way she simply wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder had every single alarm bell going in his mind.
He carried her to the tepid bath, and carefully dipped her in it. He picked up a soft washing cloth from a neat little pile kept under the twin sinks, plunged it into the water, and started washing the sweat away from her face.
He hadn’t bothered with lights, knowing his way around their rooms like he knew her body, but there was no moonlight here, and he was far too concerned with Astoria to make do with the faint outlines he could see in the darkness. He summoned his wand to his free hand, and pointed it at the farthest sconce, which lit up in a warm, soft, dark yellow light.
Astoria smiled, keeping her eyes closed, looking close to falling asleep again. In this light, her pallor was not that obvious, but Draco knew her skin should have looked golden, and not the sickly yellow he could clearly see. He washed every inch of her skin that he could reach without moving her, the worry within him soothed by the slow, repetitive motions, and by the cooling of her body.
She had been sickly through their years at Hogwarts, mostly from her fourth year onwards, and she had been sick before since they were married, but it hadn’t been like this. There had been no sudden fever, just a body that ached a little more every day, and a cough that rattled her lungs for weeks at a time and then gave way as mysteriously as it had come about.
The way she seemed to drift in and out of sleep in the bathtub was concerning too, to say the least. He knew she would not be physically able to drown, her legs too long for her head to go underwater, but his mind was screaming at him to do something about it. To keep her safe.
He moved quietly, holding her up by her shoulders as he slid in and sat behind her, arms and legs on each side of her, her back to his chest, her head to his shoulder, and his lips to her temple. He held her close, one arm across her waist, snug against her skin, as the other took the cloth across her chest, squeezing out water as he went, cooling her skin.
“Thank you,” she whispered, turning her head just a little further, kissing him on the angle of his jaw.
She usually told him not to fret, not to worry. She usually reassured him that she was just feeling under the weather. The fact that she had skipped all that and thanked him did not help his concerns.
He kept the water from cooling with his magic, and lost track of time. Once the fever had gone down, Astoria shivered against him, and he took that as his cue to move them back into bed.
She was awake for the whole of five minutes it took him to get up, carry her out of the water and into their bedroom, dry them both with two swishes of his wand, dress her in her periwinkle nightgown, put on his own navy-blue pyjamas, and tuck them back into bed. He held her close as she slept, but his eyes took hours to close.
Once morning light found them tangled together in bed again, Draco shielded her eyes from the sun as she drowsily blinked awake.
“Your fever broke.”
“I feel a little better. Must have been something I ate.”
It wasn’t, and they both knew it, but they could pretend for the sake of each other.
“How about breakfast in bed?”
“I’m not hungry, but you should have something.”
“Nice try, Toria. You still have to eat.”
“No.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said, moving her head from his chest to her pillow so that he could get up. “I’ll make sure all your favourites are on the menu.”
Astoria did not reply, drifting in and out of slumber as he put on his robe against the chilly autumn morning and went about summoning their house-elf.
He did manage to finagle a single toast, half a glass of fresh orange juice, and a cup of very sweet tea into her before she refused another bite and demanded to be allowed to go back to sleep.
“I’m just feeling under the weather, I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Stop fretting, I need a nap, that’s all.”
He complied, putting his own half eaten breakfast away. He did not tuck her into bed though. He hugged her close to his body, and found himself humming a lullaby while Astoria went back to sleep on his chest.
He watched the movement of her own chest, the steady rhythm of her breathing, looking for any signs of discomfort. He found none, but his worry did not leave him.
They stayed abed all morning, even when Astoria woke up a little later, claiming to feel much better yet still not feeling like getting up. Draco kept caressing her face, tilted up so that she could see him, humming every comforting tune he remembered his parents using to soothe him, willing it under her skin through his, hoping to soothe whatever ailed her.
Astoria kept her eyes on his, a thumb on his cheek drawing little circles, holding his gaze with all the knowledge of him and his troubles, just like she had years ago, when he had found himself falling slowly in love with her.
Her free hand fidgeted with the locket she kept around her neck at all times, dangling from a delicate, thin gold chain. He had seen her play with it for as long as he had known her, the same way Daphne would often be found absent-mindedly toying with hers. A gift from their mother, he knew, one that held a picture of the last Christmas they had with her, the last picture with a smiling father that they had.
The shadow that thoughts of such a thing cast fell long and wide upon him. Astoria found comfort in the locket, but he could not help but think she was carrying an ill-fated omen around her neck.
She was always quick to tell him Daphne kept hers on all the time, too, but they both never mentioned that Daphne had barely ever been sick her whole life, let alone clearly singled out by the curse as Astoria had been.
After three days of feeling a little off, staying abed, and waking up every night with the same fever, Astoria had taken a turn for the worse. She had been positively sick for ten days straight, barely able to keep any food down, sleeping whenever her body did not ache.
Draco had been beyond himself. He had demanded different Healers every time another told him they could not figure out what was wrong with Astoria, argued with every single one of them that this could not be the curse, the curse had never behaved this way, and all they had said to that was that maybe the curse had changed, maybe this was how it usually progressed, maybe they should check with Astoria’s father for the chronology of it.
He had refused to question the man on the natural course of the thing that had robbed him of both wife and mother. The Healers had, though, and the poor father had shown up dishevelled on the steps of Malfoy Manor, demanding to see his daughter.
They had watched over Astoria together for nearly a week, clinging on to hope of seeing any signs of improvement. Once, just once, when Narcissa had ordered them both away to shave and shower while she watched over her daughter-in-law, the man had broken into tears before Draco.
What he had told him then of how Astoria’s mother had faded away from life before his eyes, the very same way he remembered his own mother fading away, had not only kept Draco awake into the early hours of every morning since then, but also preyed on him through nightmares that woke him during the day when he eventually succumbed to exhaustion.
"I thought we had more time," he had told him. “Back when my wife was sick, I thought we would have more time to figure out a way to break the curse. I still wish we had more time together.”
Those words rattled him to the core. They haunted him now. He too thought they had more time. He too wished for more time together, for more time to break the curse.
Yet the puzzle remained. Astoria was not fading away. She was ill, truly ill, and he could not figure out what was making her so.
At night, he had laid in bed with her laying across his chest, her fever making her sweat through both her clothes and his, her laboured breath keeping him awake. He kept one hand drawing circles on her back, trying to comfort her as best he could. Once the fever broke, he would resume the usual routine of running her a bath, washing her as she struggled to remain awake and ended up falling asleep, her forehead pressed against his shoulder and neck, and then dressing her in a fresh nightgown and carrying her back to bed, now made with fresh, cool sheets that their house-elf was diligent about changing every night.
But right then and there, on the bed with his sick wife, he could only worry. What if Astoria wasn’t meant to fade away like the other women in her family? What if this was how the curse had chosen to take her?
“Don’t go, Toria. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me here, I don’t know what I’ll do without you, love,” he kept on repeating, whispering into the crown of her head, kissing the words into her hair. “I don’t want you to go. Fight this, love, please…”
After ten days, she had finally slept through the night unbothered by fever, and kept the tea and broth he had fed her down. They had cycled through her nightgowns as she woke up drenched in sweat day after day and night after night, and that morning found her again in the periwinkle garment that was her favourite.
He had been lingering in bed, on top of the covers, watching her sleep while he pretended to read a book in case she woke up. She had taken to telling him off for worrying too much and not caring for himself.
He scratched the short beard he had grown over the last four days. The movement of his arm brought with it a waft of body odour. He thought back to the last time he had showered and changed his shirt.
Three days ago. That added up. He sniffed, thinking he ought to shower and change before Astoria woke up again.
His wife stretched on the bed beside him, opening one eye at a time, scrunching her nose at the dim light from the grey day. He immediately pointed his wand at the curtains, ready to draw them close. Ready to fight the sun itself if it came to it.
“No, leave it. It’s fine. What time is it?”
He plucked his watch from the pocket in his trousers.
“Nearly half past two, love. How are you feeling?” he asked, putting the clock away again, shutting the book closed and tossing it to the feet of the bed.
“Better. How do I look?”
“A little better. But you have to eat something.” He moved, leaning over and across her to reach the bowl of broth he had been keeping warm, waiting for her.
Astoria exhaled forcefully from where she lay in bed. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed, just enough to get him to move away.
He sat back on his side of the bed, bowl in hand, a bewildered expression on his face.
"You need to take a shower," she said, back of her hand to her mouth and nose. “I’m sorry, I know you’ve been caring for me, but this is a little much Draco. You smell.”
“Did you just gag?”
“Sorry, love, but how long have you been using that same shirt?”
“Three days,” he replied sheepishly. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“You’ve been letting me sweat on you at night, caring for me round the clock, pacing the room – don’t think I haven’t noticed – like a caged animal, and physically carrying me to and from the bed. You’ve bathed me every day, you could extend yourself the same courtesy,” she teased.
Draco allowed his expression to turn into a smile for the first time since this whole ordeal had started. If she was capable of humour she must certainly be getting better.
Still, his feathers were a little riled. He put on his best feigned offence glare, extended the bowl of broth to his wife, and turned his body away from her, legs dangling over the edge of the bed.
“Fine, but you have to eat this.”
She giggled, and did not cough, as she pushed her body up to a seating position. Draco settled the bowl on his nightstand to help her, adjusting pillows behind her back. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he offered her the bowl again.
She took it, humming as she felt the warmth of the porcelain permeate her fingers. She blew on it a little, her breath pushing the rivulets of steam away, and took a deep breath in, smelling the broth.
“It smells good. Have you been keeping our poor house-elf busy cooking fresh broth every day?”
“Yes, and I won’t hear a thing about it. Have your soup, I’ll be in the shower. Call me if you need anything, I’ll keep the door open.”
When Draco emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp, fresh clothes on, and a cleanly shaved face, he found Astoria sitting in bed with her eyes closed, a nauseous look on her face, and only half the broth eaten. The bowl sat very still on her hands.
“What’s wrong?”
He hurried to her side, removing the bowl from her hands and reaching for a porcelain basin on her nightstand as he sat next to her.
“I don’t know. The broth smelled lovely, and it tasted so good, but it’s like my stomach has decided it is the foulest thing now, three seconds ago.” She leaned forward, reaching for him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tight. “What is that smell on you?” She pushed herself back and off him before he could hug her back.
“My usual cologne. The one you gave me for my birthday.”
Astoria was now looking away from him, hand still on his shoulder, keeping the distance between them.
“I may actually throw up.”
“But you like it!”
“Until just now I did. Merlin, I don’t mean to be crass, but will you please get away from me, Draco? It’s too much. The cologne, the broth…” She gagged, her whole body convulsing with nausea.
“I’m getting the Healers in here again.”
“No, Draco, it’s fine. It will go away, I’m sure.”
“It’s not fine, and it’s new.”
“I’ve been vomiting for days now.”
“Because you had a fever and your stomach couldn’t keep anything down. You never said smells were making you nauseous. You’re finally getting better; I’m not taking the risk.”
He turned away from her, walking out of their bedroom. Astoria could hear him talk to the house-elf in their private sitting room. Their fireplaces were still not connected to the Floo Network, a matter of mutual distrust between the Malfoys and the Ministry. She heard the house-elf pop away, and pop back after a few seconds, and then her husband’s steps became more audible as he moved back towards her.
“Should I shower again?”
The pleading look she gave him was all he needed. He went back into their bathroom and came out wearing yet another set of clothes for good measure, entirely free from any scents but that of plain soap.
Almost a week later, a new Healer stood in their bedroom. The one that had answered Draco’s call had been tactless, and he had swiftly dismissed him. This time, a witch with kind eyes had cared for Astoria.
She had been diligent and thorough when she had first seen to Astoria, two days ago, and she had returned today to tell them she knew the answer to their problem.
"Are you sure?" Draco sat down on the bed, eyes unseeing, not sure if he was allowed to feel the way he was feeling.
The Healer smiled, placing her hand on Draco’s shoulder.
“I am absolutely sure. I don’t quite know yet why Astoria has been this sick for the past two weeks, but I do know why she’s been so nauseous ever since she got a little better.”
"Are you sure?" Astoria asked in turn, sitting upright against the veritable mountain of pillows her husband had sourced for her comfort. “I’ve been late before, and it was nothing.”
“Well, it is not nothing this time around. You’re about eight weeks pregnant. May I offer my congratulations to the both of you? Or was this not something you wanted?” The Healer looked at them both, a puzzled look on her face. “Because if that is the case, I can help with that too. There are safe ways-”
“No. No, that’s fine. I mean, congratulations are fine,” Astoria managed to say, a smile breaking on her face.
Only then did Draco felt allowed to be happy.
“Is it? Fine, I mean?”
They had talked of children, but they hadn’t planned on becoming parents yet, not for a little longer. Not when Astoria shied from Draco’s concerns about what a pregnancy might mean for her health.
“It’s fine, Draco. It really is.”
“Well, I guess that’s my cue, then. I’ll stop by later this week, to check on you and answer any questions you might have, yes?” The Healer had made herself busy, averting her eyes as she put away her instruments into her neat leather gladstone bag. “Congratulations to you both. See you soon.”
She bowed her head and took her leave.
Draco reached for Astoria’s hand, squeezed it with a smile on his lips, and stood up.
“Just give me a second, love.”
He walked the Healer out of the bedroom, bidding her wait just outside their private quarters.
“What about the curse? She was so sick… how will this affect her?”
“I can’t tell you. I don’t know. What I do know is that Greengrass women have been living and having children despite the curse for a couple of centuries now.”
“But if the baby made her this sick-”
“I know. We’ll cross that bridge if we have to.”
“Promise me you’ll care for my wife above… above our… unborn child.”
“I always do. Now go be happy with your wife. And you may want to breach this subject with her.”
“Is there anything we can do to be sure this baby won’t harm her? I don’t want children if it means losing Astoria.”
“Enough of this, Mr. Malfoy. Her mother had two daughters and was perfectly fine-”
“Her mother never showed any signs of the curse until after those daughters were born. Astoria has been sickly ever since she was fourteen.”
“And I’m here to keep her healthy and safe through this pregnancy to the best of my abilities. This,” she said, gesturing to the space between them, “is a conversation you need to have with her. Make plans. Make contingency plans, if you must.”
Astoria surprised them both by leaning on the door frame, and serving her husband a glare that had him standing up straighter like a child caught at fault.
“Don’t you dare ask questions behind my back.”
“You shouldn’t be out of bed, Toria. You’re too weak.”
“I’m not. Not anymore. And you know better than this.”
“I should leave you to it,” the Healer said, hurrying away.
“Thank you. You were wonderful. I want you to be my Healer from here on out, would that be possible?” Astoria asked.
“Yes, surely. Is there anything else I can do for you now?”
“Would you please look into the pregnancies of women born to the Greengrasses? I know my father won’t like it, but we keep very detailed records about all the women the curse took.”
“St. Mungo’s has files on some of them. I could certainly look into them.”
“No. Whatever St. Mungo’s has is probably not nearly enough. We have tomes of records going back all the way to the first Greengrass claimed by the curse. It was a daughter of the cursed wizard, his favourite child. I’ll get permission from my father, my sister will help me. Will you study them? I want this child, but I want to be here to see them grow up.”
“Certainly. Let me know how and when I can reach your family records, and I will use all the knowledge I can gather from them to better help you.”
“Thank you. I’d like a word with my husband, now. Alone.”
Astoria stood tall, head held high. The Healer bowed her head again and left them. The house-elf popped into the corridor, offered his hand to her, and popped away to St. Mungo’s. Draco wished she had asked to Apparate away. He would have an excuse to walk her to the Apparition point and that would have bought him a little time.
His wife moved away from him, back to their bedroom, and he followed. She stood by the window, looking out.
Draco moved closer to her, who had placed both her hands on her belly, on a swell that wasn’t visible yet. He placed his hand on hers, wrapping his arm around her waist, and kissed her cheek.
“Thank you.”
“Whatever for? Sweating on you and sleeping for two weeks straight?”
“For making me the happiest I’ve ever been.”
She turned her head to kiss him squarely on the mouth.
“This doesn’t have to be any harder than it needed be, Draco. I am scared, but I need you with me. Not worrying about me on your own.”
Draco nodded into their kiss. “Together, then.” She smiled.