Chapter Text
Draco straightens his tie in the mirror and frowns. It always looks better when Astoria does it, but she’ll be in enough of a hurry when she gets home.
It’s a big night for her, and even though she said she’d be home early to get ready, he knows her better than that. Knows that Friday afternoons are the favourite part of her work week, when everyone else has gone home and she can spend one-on-one time with the beasts she so loves. He smiles fondly, picturing the way the Thestrals stamp their feet when they catch her scent, and how she laughs, “I’m coming, my dears” every time. He’s never seen anything like it. Astoria Greengrass, Thestral whisperer. Astoria Greengrass, love of his life.
He’d never have believed it fifteen years ago. The war had done a number on him, like it had everyone else, but it had also come at a time when he should have been figuring out what he wanted. Aside from a few confusing dreams, Draco Malfoy hadn’t been one who thought much about love or attachments. His fumbling and ultimately unsuccessful attempts with Pansy in fifth year had convinced him that a girlfriend might be . . . stretching it, for him. And the horrific events of sixth year had convinced him that it hardly mattered. There had been more pressing concerns than who to snog, after all. Seventh year was a complete write off, blotted out by nightmares and cold sweat and the expectation that he would very likely die in the next six months. But he hadn’t. And so what? After the Battle, who would want him? No one did, not for a long time. He could barely stand the sight of himself.
But life went on, as it has a habit of doing. The Death Eater Trials were swift and efficient. His own trial ended in a lenient sentence because he hadn’t taken the mark, and no one could prove he’d killed anyone. He hadn’t killed anyone, for the record, but that’s how the papers put it: no one could prove he did. He was assigned menial jobs at the Ministry as a sort of community service to make amends. He was out of sight of the public, most of the time, really, which suited him fine. Sometimes he would spend days without speaking to a single soul.
The Ministry liked nothing better than to pat itself on the back, however, and would make a show of forgiveness and unity whenever it could, so he still received invitations to Ministry functions and celebrations. His sentence was nearly done when he decided to show up at the Equinox Banquet in March of 2003, just to spite them, maybe. It was there he met Astoria.
In a room full of people who either ignored him or outright sneered at his presence, Astoria walked right over to him and spoke to him like they were old friends. He hadn’t known what to make of it. She’d invited him to dance, and to his own shock, he accepted. It had been so long since anyone had been kind, since anyone had touched him at all, his eyes watered. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything. They ended up spending the entire night talking in a little cafe afterwards.
She confided later, when they had been seeing each other for a few months, that she’d had a massive pash on him at school, and that her fourteen-year-old self would never have forgiven her if she hadn’t tried to talk to him at least once. And after the war, after everything, she saw something in him he didn’t know was there.
They married against their parents’ wishes, causing Draco to break contact with his parents completely. If Astoria wasn’t good enough for them, no one would be. The two of them against the world would do just fine. He could face anything with her.
Astoria Greengrass, love of his life.
Where they in love? In the ways that mattered, yes. After many, many more talks over the years of their marriage, they both knew he preferred men. But that’s all it was: a preference. Whenever the topic was broached, he was quick to tell her that he was still very much attracted to her, and that he had no thought of being with anyone else. And it wasn’t a lie. Their sex life, while it couldn’t be called voracious, was good. There was a confidence to Astoria that brought him to his knees again and again. He loved her soft green eyes, her waves of dark hair spilling over the pillow, the smirk on her lips and the arch of her brow when she teased him. It took a long time, but he finally stopped asking what he’d done to deserve her.
He’s happy, now. It bubbles up inside him at unexpected moments. Whoever would have thought?
There’s a whine at the front door. Cupcake, their krup-maltese mix, a tightly wound ball of silvery white fluff, has taken up her post on the welcome mat in the hall. She knows what time Astoria is due home each day and, like clockwork, won’t budge until the doorknob turns. Each moment Astoria is late is pure torture for the ridiculous creature. But it’s not like Draco can’t sympathise. He prefers her home, too.
Finally, the latch clicks and they’re both put out of their misery. Cupcake yips like she’s been alone a thousand years and jumps directly into Astoria’s arms to smother her with kisses. Astoria kisses her back and coos into the soft fur.
“Draco, love, I’m being mauled again. Where are you?” she calls out after a moment. Draco emerges from their bedroom in his best dress robes. Three quick strides and he’s there to rescue her and plant a kiss on her cheek. She eyes him up and down and lets out a low whistle. “Mr. Malfoy, you look positively edible.” Draco blushes and smiles in spite of himself. “Stop it.” He glances pointedly at the clock. “How nice to have you home early.” She elbows him in the ribs before taking his face in her hands and kissing him softly. Her lips are warm and her hair tickles his jaw as he pulls her body to his.
“Is my dress ready?”
Draco nods. “In your closet. Are you?”
“Almost. I’ll have to shower, though,” she winks suggestively and tugs at his lapels.
“Darling, we don’t have time,” he murmurs, because it’s true.
“You’re probably right,” she sighs. “Later, then.”
“It’s a promise,” he smiles. “Now, go. You’re going to be amazing tonight.”
“I know,” she responds with a tip of her chin that’s always done him in.
***
Astoria is a natural in front of a crowd, even this one, a stuffy room of the old money wizarding elite. She gives her talk with a soft ease that still somehow manages to convey her love of magical creatures and her passion for their welfare. The guests are enthralled by her, and how could they not be?
It’s a black robe affair, the annual PRAMB dinner. Many of those in attendance are looking for a non-controversial post-war cause to support, and the Protection of Rare and Magical Beasts fits the bill perfectly. Astoria built it from the ground up, after learning how many creatures were used and abused by wizards on both sides of the war. She has a place in her heart for Thestrals, especially.
Unfortunately, Thestrals are one of the harder sells. They aren’t cute or powerful or known to be of much practical use, but Astoria insists they are gentle, social creatures, and have long been mistreated by magickind, nevermind the fact that some people can’t even see them. Her proposal for a Thestral sanctuary is ambitious, even for her. The space needed for them to run and fly and mate is substantial, even magically speaking, but if anyone can bring it to fruition, it’s Astoria.
She taps her wand for the next slide, projected on the wall behind her, and Draco can’t help but feel proud of the ways he’s contributed to this project. He worked tirelessly, for months, on a photograph development serum that would allow photos to be developed directly from memories in a Pensieve--allowing even those who haven’t seen death to see Thestrals. This way, everyone can quite literally see them the way Astoria does.
The photo projected above them is a rare capture of Draco himself with a young male Thestral. He has one hand on the creature’s spine and holds out a palmful of three frozen mice. The Thestral snorts, lapping them up like sugar lumps, then nuzzles into Draco’s neck, causing him to startle and laugh.
“So, you see,” Astoria says with clear affection, “though he seems dangerous and reptilian, he’s really a smart, gentle creature.” A beat. “And then there’s the Thestral.”
The crowd bursts into uproarious laughter. A older wizard sitting at Draco’s table pats him on the shoulder while Draco shakes his head and smirks at his wife.
The next slide shows the enclosure they currently have available to house the Thestrals.
“When Thestrals retire from serving wizards, they are either set ‘free’--a death sentence for domesticated animals--or they are brought here, where our facilities are woefully inadequate. They are not mating, which suggests they are distressed, and they die of muscular atrophy if they do not have ample opportunity for running and flying. We can do better.”
The crowd murmurs their agreement.
“Tonight, I was hoping I’d be able to announce that we’ve reached our financial goals for the expansion we so desperately need, but unfortunately, we still do not have the funds necessary to break ground on this project.”
The crowd tuts and sighs in disappointment.
“But with another year of fundraising,” Astoria continues firmly, “along with the money we raise here tonight, I believe we can reach our goal and expand the Thestral Habitat to triple its current size, as well as hire the staff needed to tend to these magnificent, misunderstood beasts.”
Applause and enthusiastic nods all around.
The lights go up and Astoria finishes her speech. “Thank you all for your tremendous support. Enjoy the evening.”
Draco’s smile is so wide it threatens to split his face, and he’s clapping so hard his hands are numb.
Astoria leaves to join him as the band kicks up.
“Well done, darling,” he whispers in her ear.
“Thank you, love,” she whispers back, and pulls him onto the dance floor. The band strikes up an instrumental version of “Loving You,” and he shoots her a look. It’s their song. She throws her palms up before placing them around his neck. “I had nothing to do with it. It’s a very popular song, you know.”
Draco nods slowly while keeping his cynical expression.
“Oh, hush up,” Astoria laughs and tilts her head up to kiss him.
They sway to the music together, but halfway through the song, Astoria stumbles. Draco catches her.
“Alright, there?” He raises a playful brow. “Hit the gin a little early this evening, did we?”
“I’m fine,” she laughs, but something doesn’t seem right. Her skin is suddenly pale, nearly translucent.
“Darling,” Draco stops moving, steadies her by her elbows. “Astoria, you don’t look well. I think we should go home.”
She looks like she’s about to protest, but then nods grimly, which scares him even more.
“All right, let’s get your coat,” he says quickly, feeling a terrible urgency rising in his chest. “We’ll Apparate from--” but before he can finish the thought, she collapses in his arms.
***
When Blaise brings Draco back to the flat at four in the morning, he’s still in shock.
The sequence of events plays over and over in a loop. Astoria’s face, pale and drawn, her eyes closed, body limp, the healers in the emergency ward asking him questions, telling him words like “blood curse,” “generational,” “no prior symptoms,” “irreversible,” “fatal.” Hearing himself saying, “No, no, no, no, no.” Shivering, reaching out to touch her face, kiss her, hold her, refusing to move until Blaise drags him away.
His mind cycles back to the beginning of the evening. “Mr. Malfoy, you look positively edible.” Hand on her hip in a blue sequin evening gown. Did he tell her she looked breathtaking? Spinning her in his arms. Feeling her breath in his ear. Swaying together. Her face turning grey.
There was nothing. Nothing he could have done.
It’s not real. It’s not happening. She’ll come through the door at any moment. Cupcake will go apeshit as usual. They’ll laugh. They’ll kiss. They’ll fuck.
Not this. This is a nightmare.
He can feel her hand on his elbow, guiding him into the sitting room. But it’s not her, it’s Blaise.
“Steady on, mate,” Blaise says into the echoing silence. “I can stay with you.”
“No.” Draco finds his voice. “No. I’d rather be alone. I need to take Cupcake out. I--”
“I’ll take Cupcake out, I can do that at least.”
“No,” Draco insists, more forceful. “I’ll do it. Go, Blaise, please.”
Blaise locks eyes with him. “Floo me, anytime, anywhere, if you need anything. Yeah?”
Draco gives a barely perceptible nod and lowers his eyes. He can feel his throat tightening.
Blaise draws him into a strong, shoulder-crushing hug, and something inside Draco breaks. He sobs into his oldest friend’s neck until his voice is raw and his tears are spent.
“There now, well done,” Blaise murmurs, “well done.”
Finally Draco steps back and runs a hand through his hair.
Blaise leaves with a grim smile and one last pat on Draco’s shoulder. “Honestly. Any time.” The door clicks shut.
Cupcake looks up from where she was asleep on the mat and whines.
“Sorry, Cup,” Draco rasps as he slumps down. “She’s not coming home.” He curls up beside her, stroking her fur.