Astoria Greengrass,

A ridiculously long fan fiction piece.  I wanted to examine redemption and grief, so I know that this is only a beginning, but it also isn't really mine to write, so it is just an exercise.

     The green grass of the pitch was lush and cool beneath his fingertips.  Sitting quietly on the field, so long after he had left school, he tried to remember the wind rushing through his hair as he sped over the greenness.  It was difficult to remember the good things without a bitter tang overwhelming the sweetness. Though the sky was a bright and cloudless blue, somewhat rare here in the north, shadows seemed to be his constant companion, dogging his steps and forever at his heels. It was especially quiet this afternoon, the children tucked into their classrooms poring over their work and teachers pacing quietly up and down the aisles, checking answers and coaxing out stubborn bits of thought.

     “May I sit?” The feminine voice behind him elicited a quickening of his heart rate.

    “Are you sure you want to do that?”

     She rewarded him with a soft chuckle. “I would not have asked if I didn’t.” She gently lowered herself to the grass beside him.

     “I’m sorry.  It’s just… well, I’ve not spoken to anyone willing to risk my company since…”

     “Since the Battle?  It’s been ages, Draco.  That’s awful.”  She laid a gentle hand on his.  “I’m so sorry.”

      “Don’t.” Removing his hand from beneath hers, he looked up at the Slytherin viewing box.

      “Sorry.”  She paused.  “I’m Astoria.  Astoria Greengrass.  My sister, Daphne, was in your year.”

     “Maybe.  I’m sorry, I try not to remember that time.”

      “I understand.”

     “I’m not sure that you do.”

      “Maybe not.” She sighed.  She paused for a moment. “I was a bit of a disappointment for my parents, I’m afraid to say. I didn’t turn out at all like they’d hoped I would.”  

      “I’m certainly not what my father hoped for.” The bitter knife of his voice was cutting and keen.  “I suppose it hardly matters.”

       “It only matters if you want it to.  But, Draco, whatever his faults-”

      “Don’t say he loved me or was proud of me, Astoria.  He wasn’t.  He was only concerned with himself, how he looked, how others saw him. No, it was made very clear that Lucius Malfoy was not proud of his son. In the last five years, he has barely spoken a civil word to me.”  Draco shook his head, his blond hair sparkling in a rare bit of sunlight. “It is as though when he looks at me, he remembers. How I failed. How I made him a joke.”

     Astoria sighed and let her hand fall back into her own lap.  She had followed the lanky young man from the main quad and out onto the Quidditch pitch intending to invite him to sit with her for the service.  It would be quite a departure, even for her, the disappointing daughter of a pure blood family.  She had not ever done what her parents thought she should and everything that Daphne did gave Astoria a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

     She had been invisible during her years at Hogwarts.  She was not in the least bit sorry that she had been sorted into Hufflepuff.  That slight separation from Daphne, and her parents, had opened new doors in what had been a very tightly controlled household. 

     “Draco.” Her voice was a quivering whisper. “May I sit with you at the service?”

     It was a rush of water, tumbling from her lips.

     For a moment, she sat stunned.  She’d said it. For a moment, her heart stuttered in her chest.

     His lips opened…

     “Malfoy.”  The familiar voice pierced the space between them and drove Draco away from her.

      “Potter.” Draco stood gingerly, brushing the grass from the seat of his trousers.

      Astoria rose from the grass.  She nodded softly to the others who had joined them.

     Ron Weasley, his bright red hair gleaming in the sun, stood stiffly, his hands curled in loose fists at his side, obviously ready for a confrontation if the need arose.  Hermione Granger looked sharp in her pantsuit, her posture upright and still.  Standing slightly in front of his friends, Harry Potter’s expression was guarded. 

      Granger had returned to Hogwarts after the last battle, while the school was being mended, to complete her education.  But Weasley and Potter had gone to be Aurors-in-training and then actual Aurors.  Now, like many other students who had survived the Battle of Hogwarts, they had returned for a formal service of memorial. 

     “Hello.  I’m Astoria.” She left her last name unspoken.  Her pale hand bridged the space gaping between them.

     Harry shook her hand lightly. “Harry.”

     “Ron.”  Ron shook her hand next, tighter but not uncomfortable.

     “Astoria. Hello, I’m Hermione.”  Hermione’s hand was warm but firm.

     Draco stood still beside her, almost like a statue. 

     “We were going to the service.  Draco and I, I mean. Together.”

     “I don’t think I said that,” Draco said, quickly. “It doesn’t really feel right. “

     “Draco…”

      Her thought was interrupted by Harry’s next words.

      “No. You should come.” His voice was soft but sure. “I know you don’t feel exactly welcome, but this is important.  We should remember. All of it. The good things that happened and the bad things.”

     “I do remember them, Potter. Every day,” said Draco, his voice harsh and bitter. “Every day some witch reminds me who my father is, what he did, what I did. I don’t need to be at some ridiculous ceremony to remember that.”

     “No, you do.” Hermione stepped closer. “You really need to face the past, Draco. It will not be easy, of course, but it is vital that you have a presence here.”

     “No one cares if I show up, Granger.”

     “Firstly, my name is Hermione and, secondly, I care.”

     Astoria placed her hand on Draco’s arm.  “I care. I would appreciate it if you would come with me, sit with me.”

    Whether Granger’s frank assertion or Astoria’s soft appeal did the trick, the ensemble found their way into the Great Hall. 

   Harry and Ron walked quickly and with purpose.  Draco, sandwiched between the two women, shuffled along like a condemned man walking to the gallows.

    The Great Hall of Hogwarts, where first years were sorted, where meals were served and where not too long ago bodies had been laid in neat rows of fallen and wounded, was dressed in respectful mourning clothes. Rows and rows of chairs filled the room with expectancy. Beneath stained glass windows, once shattered, stood the ornate golden owl lecturn Dumbledore had spoken from.

    The flinch was instinctive.  Astoria turned her face to him and he stared ahead, refusing to meet her gaze.  In front of him stood the Headmistress.  McGonagall. 

    “Professor.” His voice was soft, not quite confident, not quite not. 

    “Mr. Malfoy.”  She responded in kind.

   “Professor McGonagall, how nice to see you again,” said Astoria, reaching her hand to her former Transfiguration teacher.

    “Astoria Greengrass, you have blossomed into a beauty.” 

    “Thank you, Professor.” Astoria blushed under the compliment.

***   ***   ***

     Students sat in somber silence, filling the chairs of the great hall in a sad mockery of the welcoming ceremony at the beginning of the school term.  Young students, soft and fresh in their new robes, feet bouncing softly with nerves.  Alumnae, harder and honed to keen edges, sat completely still.  Above their heads floating candles crackled softly, softening the room with a golden glow.

     At the back of the hall, they waited. 

    Draco could feel them waiting. 

    From the back of the Great Hall, a thin ribbon of cold air snaked through the rows, tickling cheeks and ruffling collars.  When the hairs on his arm began to rise, Draco looked up. Ghostly forms processed up the open aisle and along the wall.  Styles of dress ranged from medieval to modern.  A few he recognized from before, many he recognized from his classes.  Students, people he had known, had lived with and those he had fought with and against.  Tears stung his eyes.

    Unable to leave, he was forced to sit between Astoria and Hermione.  He felt his breath grow more shallow as his lungs constricted.  His heart was a stuttering mess. His mouth felt dry and his throat felt tight around a lump he suddenly felt.  He turned his head to speak to Astoria, but nothing would come out. He laid a trembling hand on hers. 

     Astoria turned and looked at him with a gentle expression on her face. 

      “It will be all right.” Her soft whisper floated into his ear.  “Just breathe.  In and out.”

      Her calmness flowed like an elixir through his frame, softening the hard edges of tension and cooling the burning shame that clutched the back of his neck.  He closed his eyes and let his body relax.

***   ***  ***

     Leaving the Great Hall, students, professors and alumnae mingled in a noisy throng. Passing ghostly forms were greeted with tears and soft smiles.  Soon, parents and guests would leave and classes would resume. 

     In one of the many courtyards, Draco stood stiffly next to a statue depicting a teacher and student standing back to back, wands raised.  The face of the student looked vaguely familiar, yet not enough to be a particular student. The teacher’s face reminded him of the ancient runes professor who had perished during the Battle. 

     Astoria touched his elbow as she approached.

    “I’m afraid that I have to leave for the station now, Draco.”  She smiled softly. “Would you like to walk with me?”

     “Better than staying here alone.”

     Astoria gathered her shawl around her shoulders and stepped toward the pathway. 

     “Safe journey, Miss Greengrass,” said a small passing Hufflepuff girl with an odd accent.  “Thank you for the advice.”

     Astoria smiled, as softly to this child as she had at Draco. “You are very welcome, Celine. I look forward to seeing great things from you.”

     As the young girl left them, Draco’s eyebrows raised in a silent query.

     “She’s American.  Hogwarts is new to her.” Astoria shrugged.  “She just needed a little support.”

     They passed the remainder of their walk to the waiting carriages in silence, enjoying the breeze and the soft murmur of the trees.

***   ***  ***

      The sun was peeping over the lush green lawn of Malfoy Manor with a shyness only it possessed, hiding behind soft white clouds and then sliding out to dapple the grass with light.  The upper branches of the trees around the Manor swayed in the gently blowing wind.  The scent of roses wafted along the pathways.

      Narcissa Malfoy sorted through the mail absent-mindedly and noted a slender envelope with her son’s name written in a delicate and feminine hand.

      “Draco?”  she called.  “Draco, you have a letter.”

      Draco appeared in the door.  “A letter?  Who would write me?”

      Chuckling softly, Narcissa handed the envelope to Draco and smiled. “I suppose you should open it and find out, sweet boy.”

     Draco took the envelope and retreated to a sitting area off the main hall. 

     He examined the ivory envelope and its delicate handwriting.  Draco slid a letter opener under the seal flap and gently slice the letter open. He pulled the folded paper from the envelope and opened the letter.  A soft floral rose from the page.  It fluttered from his hands and folded itself gently into a paper model of her lips.  Her voice floated as gently from it as her perfume had.

      “Dear Draco, I cannot say enough how much I enjoyed our discussion after the service.  I have been considering your arguments and your suggestions and I concur.  We should be allowed to determine our own destinies.  I, therefore, posit the following:  You and I will meet again. Shall we say noon on June 21^st at Crystalline? If by chance you have not wandered down Diagon Alley of late, it is the newest fine dining experience and faces Madame Malkin’s. Please come, Draco. Astoria.”

***   ***  ***

    Draco and Astoria apparated onto the lush lawn of Malfoy Manor.  He turned his head and smiled at her.  Holding out his hand, he said, “Shall we?”

    Astoria placed her left hand in his. The ring twinkled on her finger and she was dazzled.  “I don’t think I will get used to seeing this on my finger.”

    Draco chuckled.  “I know it isn’t the most beautiful thing, Astoria, but it has been in the family for ages.” 

    “I treasure it, Draco.”  She curled her hand to chest, touching the small golden ring worn nearly smooth with its green amethyst stone to her chest. “I would not have a huge diamond over your ring.”

    “Come on. I want to show them my bride.”  Draco pulled her hand and drew her across the lawn to the door of his family home.

     As they approached the door swung open allowing them to enter the mansion. 

     “Mother?” Draco called.  “Father? Is anyone home?”

     Lucius Malfoy’s pointed face appeared in the doorway of the drawing room.  The past six years had etched themselves on his face with heavy hands and not kindly.  His grey eyes were watery, but were still arrogantly held.  His white hair, once flowing and lush, was straw-like and stiff.  His mouth bent with a cruelness upon his son.

     “Must you enter this home like a noisy muggle hooligan?”

     “I’m sorry, Father.  I suppose I let my excitement get away from me.”  Draco tried to look contrite, but, a small smile on his own pointed lips, he could not quite manage.

     “Draco, darling.” His mother entered the hallway from the dining room and wrapped her arms around her son’s shoulders. 

     “Mother, Father.  I have some news.  I asked Astoria to be my wife and she has agreed.”  Draco reached back to Astoria and pulled her close to his side.

      Lucius’ chin rose.

      Narcissa moved quickly to her husband’s side.  “Darling,” she warned.

      Astoria smiled softly.  “I know it seems sudden. But Draco and I…”

      Lucius turned sharply and strode back into the drawing room. Narcissa followed pulling his elbow.

      Draco sighed.

      “Draco.” Astoria wiped a tear from her eye. “I suppose that was to be expected.”

      “Don’t excuse him, Astoria. Or her. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care what they think. The only thing they ever taught me was how to hate, how to judge other people, how everyone else was less. It was stupid then and more so now.”

       “It isn’t really their fault, Draco.  They were raised to be believe those things.  They were raised to believe in blood purity and all that rubbish.  It is bound to be hard to change after a lifetime of that.”  Astoria could feel the tears on her cheeks, but let them fall.

     Draco brushed them away with his thumbs, smoothing the wetness into her alabaster skin. “We changed.  How can they still see things that way, when all it did was lead to death and destruction?”

      “I’ll go.  We can try again later.”

     “No. I’m not going to give in to them this time. They will have to accept that you are the one I love.”  Draco stepped to the right and walked to the drawing room door. “I will not let them come between us. Stay here.”

     He gathered himself at the door. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the drawing room.

***   ***  ***

     “I don’t care. Let it end with me.”

     “No, Draco, I will not allow it.”

     “It isn’t about you!”

     Tiny crystals tinkled lightly as they rattled. The Malfoy men had been locked together in the manor study for two hours and the discussion between them growing louder as it continued.

***   ***  ***

     Alone in the aviary, Astoria’s pale green eyes followed the flight of a pair of smallish birds.  A bright green bird about the size of Draco’s hand alit on a long limb in the corner of the light filled room and peered back at her where she sat in a small chair. The bird twisted its head first to the right and then to the left peer at her as if it were trying to deduce her thoughts. Its mate soon perched near it and began to preen its paler feathers.

     “It’s all right, little bird,” Astoria said, patting the arm of the chair. “Would you like a treat?”       

    The green bird walked sideways along the limb, but did not approach.

    “Are you talking to that creature like some common child?”  Her father in law’s harsh whisper caused Astoria’s heart to jump painfully in her chest.

     “Oh, my… you startled me,” she said, putting a hand to her pounding heart.

    “Ridiculous girl.  Draco should marry a woman who could give him a child to carry the family name. Ridiculous girl.” Lucius spun on his heel and with a flourish of his robes rushed from the aviary.

     Astoria closed her eyes, trapping a sheen of tears and whispered, “I agree, but I love him so.”

***   ***  ***

      “Well, he won’t be appearing in the cabbage patch, Draco.  How did you think he was going to arrive?”  Astoria’s eyes danced. 

       “I thought we had already discussed children, Astoria, and agreed that it was too risky to try for one.” Draco turned his wife in his arms and peered into her eyes.

        Astoria shook her head.  “You decided. I never agreed to that.  I know the risks. 

***   ***  ***

          Astoria took a shuddering breath and relaxed as best she could into the cushion of the winged chair.  She looked over at the bassinet and at her husband as he leaned over it, cooing at their son.  Her pale lips curved in quiet happiness.  Her eyes fluttered.  She propped her chin on her fingers and let her eyes close. Her boys, Draco and Scorpius.

      ***   ***  ***

     Draco chuckled as Astoria tried to blame the engine’s steam for the tears in her eyes.  He knew better, of course, because he had himself wiped a tear from his cheek, when she wasn’t looking.  How his young Scorpius had grown still surprised him. It didn’t seem so long ago that he had cradled just a tiny bit of a thing in his arms. Today, as the train pulled away with his boy on it, heading for Hogwarts, Draco tried not to remember how his own school years had begun and especially tried to forget how they ended.

     “I don’t think I can manage without him, Draco,” she said softly.  “I just don’t think I can.”

     “He’ll be fine, darling. He won’t be alone.” Draco took her hand, placed it on his arm and patted it reassuringly. “Hogwarts won’t let him be alone.”

      ***   ***  ***

     The summer sky over Malfoy Manor was growing darker and heavier.  The mood inside the Manor reflected the weather with an eerie accuracy.  The birds had stopped singing and even the wind had ceased, bending trees and blooms around the estate without touching one on it.  The roses still bloomed obliviously, but their fragrance cloyed too strongly. 

     Draco sat beside the bed and held Astoria’s hand.  He breathed slow and quietly, measuring her breath with his own.   His eyes swept over her face and stung brightly.

Her breaths were growing shallower and he often found his hitching as he waited for the next. For the last.

He gazed at his sleeping son.   
      Scorpius lay beside his mother, his head near her shoulder.  He had tucked himself onto the bed atop the duvet.  His legs had grown long and lean in the last two years. His hands cupped his cheek, fingers curled gently.

     Draco leaned close to her ear. 

     “Don’t leave me, Astoria,” he whispered huskily.

     His tears fell onto the pillow beside her head.

      “Draco.” Her voice was just a memory. “Love you, Draco.”

      Her breath sighed from her lips and was gone.

      “Astoria.”