#astoria malfoy

Day 6 : Angel

I need to do this meme to Scorpius

Day 2 : Love

My baby Scorpius being happy with Dad and Mum

some sketches of Astoria and Daphne Greengrass

a pair of Slytherin sisters, Astoria and Daphne Greengrass

enjoy this pastel boy <3

saw a little boy in a dinosaur poncho and had to draw little scorpius wearing one since @roonilbwazlibmade it canon that he’s in love with dinos

By@torestoreamends

13.7k words, G rated

Astoria Greengrass hates Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, and all round prejudiced asshole. It takes a year for her to change her mind, and another year to fall head-over-heels in love with him. This is the story of how it happens. 

I had the idea for this fic a while ago. I thought wouldn’t it be cool if Daphne introduces Astoria and Draco at a party, and wouldn’t it be even cooler if she starts off hating him, while he’s besotted with her from the first moment. It’s taken me a while to get round to writing it, but here we are! I will admit, as Astoria fell in love with Draco, I fell in love with the two of them as a couple. I think they’re wonderful, and I hope some of you will agree. 

Massive thanks to @abradystrix for betaing this, and thanks to @platinasi for flailing with me and being generally supportive while I wrote it. You’re both superb human beings. 

*

Astoria reaches out and grabs her sister by the arm, plucking her out of the crowd.

“Daphne, what is he doing here?”

Daphne tucks herself in beside Astoria, and peers around. “Who?”

Astoria tuts and nods in the direction of the tall, blond young man who’s just walked through the door. Draco Malfoy is the only person in the room wearing head-to-toe black. Robes, with formal suit trousers that make him look like he’s just left work and hasn’t had time to change into something more comfortable, although Astoria knows he doesn’t really have a job. He looks around at the party like it’s something dangerous and odd, and he has no idea what to do with it.

Astoria folds her arms and slumps back against the wall, glaring at him.

“Oh,” Daphne says, smiling. “Him.”

Astoria elbows her. “Stop that. Why is he here? You can’t have invited him. You’re not that stupid.” She shoots her sister a significant look.

Daphne gives a quiet sigh. “Why can’t I have invited him?” She looks at Astoria. “He was in my year at school. He’s not that bad-”

“Not that bad?” Astoria asks, voice rising with hysterical incredulity. It cuts across the noise of the party, and several people nearby look round at her, curious to see what all the noise is about. She gives them a forced smile and lowers her voice, leaning closer to Daphne.

“Not that bad these days,” Daphne clarifies, holding a hand up to stop her. “I know what you’re going to-”

“He’s a Death Eater,” Astoria hisses, glancing over her shoulder at Draco, who is now moving through the crowd. It parts before him like a wave, and as it closes behind him ripples of heads turn to follow his progress.

“Heused to be a Death Eater,” Daphne corrects. “He’s changed. It’s been years.”

“Two years isn’t that long,” Astoria says, looking round again to glare in Draco’s direction. “I don’t want him here.”

“You don’t have to want him here,” Daphne says, pushing off the wall. “It’s my birthday party. I invited him. And now I’m going to say hello. Do you want to come and be civil?”

Astoria folds her arms more tightly. “Not really. I suppose I’m not allowed to duel him, am I?”

Daphne grins. “You could. But you’d have to go outside. Mum would kill you if you started a fight in here. You know she just redecorated.”

Astoria rolls her eyes. “It’s too hot outside.”

“Then come and debate with him instead.” Daphne holds a hand out, and Astoria eyes her.

“You can’t debate with Death Eaters.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Daphne says, holding her hand out more insistently. “Come on. I know you’re bored. Just… don’t scare him too much.”

Astoria groans, but takes her sister’s hand, and allows herself to be dragged through the crowd in Draco’s direction. Daphne bounds up to him, the sequins on her dress glittering in the light, a beaming smile on her face.

“Good evening, Malfoy. I thought you weren’t going to come.”

Draco turns to face her, champagne flute in one hand. “I didn’t think I would,” he says, in the sort of bored voice that implies he owns the universe. “But my parents were being so unbearable I needed to escape the house for a bit.” He raises his glass to Daphne. “Many happy returns to you.”

She gives a little bobbing curtsy and gestures in Astoria’s direction. “Thank you very much. Malfoy, have you met my little sister Astoria?”

Draco looks at Astoria. His eyes are grey, like sheets of ice, or shards of slate. Cold and sharp, and, in her opinion, so uninteresting they’re hardly worth looking at.

“Astoria,” he says. “That’s a nice name.” He holds a hand out to her, but she ignores it.

“It’s from the Greek myths,” she says, injecting as much frost into her tone as she can manage. Daphne struggles to restrain a smile.

Draco looks at Astoria with genuine curiosity. “Of course. That’s traditional for your family, isn’t it? I was looking at your family tree the other day and-”

“Is that something you do a lot?” Astoria asks, cutting him off. “Reading family trees? I bet you have the whole Sacred 28 memorised, don’t you. So you can make sure you never have to interact with anyone who isn’t perfectly pure-blooded.” She spits the last word at him, and he blinks, but that’s all he gives away.

“Actually,” he says coolly, “I found it in one of my father’s books while I was tidying his study.” He glances at Daphne. “You can’t move in there for cursed books and dark objects. I might have a few items for you in the next couple of days, if I can sneak them away. I swear he’s been counting them all. I can’t touch anything these days without him throwing a tantrum.” He gives a bitter little sigh. 

Daphne gives him a sympathetic smile. “Well, we’d be grateful for anything you can get us. But,” she laughs, “it’s my birthday. I’m not supposed to be talking about work.”

“Of course not,” Draco says. “My sincerest apologies.” There’s a little sparkle of humour in his eyes, and Astoria pulls a face and looks away. She didn’t come here to watch her sister flirt with Draco Malfoy. “Are you having a good day?” Draco asks Daphne.

Daphne shrugs and her shoulders glitter in the enchanted light flooding the room. “It could have been worse. Twenty doesn’t feel much different to nineteen, to be honest. I’ve mostly been running round trying to organise things. There really wouldn’t have been a party without Astoria. She’s indispensable.” Daphne nudges Astoria on the arm, and Astoria looks round at her.

“That wasn’t what you told me earlier,” Astoria says. “When you were telling me off for putting too many lights everywhere.”

Daphne wraps an arm round her shoulders and gives her a squeeze. “I’ve since seen the error of my ways.”

“I think the lights are rather beautiful,” Draco says, glancing around at the room, at the hundreds of floating lights that make the space sparkle and shine. “You’ve done an excellent job.” He looks at Astoria and smiles.

Daphne’s expression twists into a barely restrained smirk, and she pats Astoria on the shoulder. “Yes she has. Oh! I’ve just spotted Vaisey on the other room. Astoria, you’ll entertain Draco for me, won’t you? Nice to have you here Draco. Talk to you later.” And then she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd in a glittering whirl.

“Daphne!” Astoria calls after her, but she doesn’t look back, and Astoria finds herself stranded, alone, with Draco Malfoy. She folds her arms and puts on her best icy smile. Draco doesn’t notice it. He’s fiddling with his champagne flute, long fingers tapping against the delicate crystal.

“So,” Astoria says. “What are you doing these days, Malfoy?” She says his name like it’s something dirty, which to her it is.

He looks up at her. “This and that,” he says. “A little alchemical research. Mostly I’ve been helping get the Manor back in some sort of inhabitable state.”

“Gosh,” Astoria says drily. “That must be such a hardship. I’m sorry Voldemort was such a destructive house guest.”

Draco blinks at her for a second, then looks down at his champagne. “What about you? You must have left Hogwarts by now.”

“I work at the Ministry,” Astoria says. “In the Muggle Liaison Office, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Do you really?” He asks. His tone is polite, but the faintest sneer crosses his face, like he can’t quite help himself.

Astoria pounces. She lifts her chin and looks at him. “And what’s wrong with that?”

Draco shrugs. “Nothing at all. You’re just so…”

“So?”

The sneer becomes almost a smirk. “I thought it was just idiots like Arthur Weasley who work with Muggles.”

Astoria narrows her eyes. “Can you negotiate two complex and often opposing legal systems, Malfoy? Presumably not. I bet you wouldn’t know a Muggle law if it bit you on the ass.”

Draco looks at her, and his smirk doesn’t fade an inch, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Exactly,” Astoria snaps. “Watch who you’re calling an idiot.” She steps in very close to him. “I know you’re keeping the Ministry happy by supplying my sister with dark artefacts from that hellhole of a house you live in, but I’ve got my eye on you Malfoy. One day you’re going to slip, and when you do I’ll be ready, and you’ll find out exactly how much you don’t know about Muggle laws. Or magical ones.” She gives him a long, cold look, then stalks away. As she retreats she can feel his eyes on her, but she ignores him. He’s beneath her notice.

—

Astoria stomps through the library with a stack of books tucked under her arm. Loose strands of hair fall into her eyes, and she blows them impatiently out of the way. Her stomach rumbles as she rushes up the stairs out of the law department. This was supposed to be her lunchtime, but her boss doesn’t believe in breaks, apparently.

For some reason she’s never understood, the books covering Muggle law are kept separate to the magical legal tomes. They’re tucked away in the Muggle Studies section right at the back of the library, which more than doubles the amount of time and effort trips down here take.

She runs through the stacks, counting the shelves, twisting and turning down the familiar path. One of the regulars in the Charms section, a wizened, elderly man, tips his deep purple hat to her as she passes, and she smiles at him. Her robes slip from one of her shoulders as she does, revealing the blouse underneath, and she shrugs them back on and keeps running. Past Transfiguration and Potions and Magical Beasts, down a flight of stairs into Alchemy.

Some of the books are sliding from her grip, and she contorts herself to try and keep hold of them as she runs, but eventually one slips and falls onto the carpet.

“Salazar,” she mutters, hopping to a halt and turning back. “I don’t have time for you to be so-” She reaches for the book, but someone else gets there first.

“Here,” Draco Malfoy says, picking up the book and handing it to her.

Astoria stares at him for a second. “What are you doing here?”

He looks around. “Here? It’s a public library. I’m looking at books. What are you doing here?”

“Working. I don’t have time to talk to you, Malfoy.” She takes her book from him, and gathers the whole stack against her chest. As she struggles to her feet a couple more slip onto the floor. Draco picks them up.

“Would you like some help?” He asks. “I don’t know why you don’t just levitate them.”

Astoria tuts. “I’m about to walk down a Muggle street. I can’t ‘just levitate them’. Would you put those on top?” She nods to the teetering stack that comes to just below her chin.

“I could conjure you a bag,” he offers, setting the two books carefully onto the pile.

Astoria clamps them beneath her chin and sets off walking. “I don’t need your help.”

She expects to leave Draco behind as she heads for the Muggle Studies section. There’s no way Draco would be caught dead in there, and he’s probably only in the library for the Alchemy books. But to her surprise and annoyance, he stays by her side as she moves through the shelves, wand drawn, ready to catch her books if she drops them.

“Are you following me?” She snaps, shooting him a hard look.

“No,” he says. “I’m walking in this direction.”

“These are the Muggle books,” she reminds him.

Draco’s cheeks flush with a faint pink tinge, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “I know which section I’m in. I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in this sort of thing, Malfoy.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Draco says. He gives Astoria a long look, seems to consider saying something, then decides against it. Instead, he waves his wand and summons a sturdy canvas bag, which he drapes over the top of Astoria’s books. “That’s in case you decide to stop being stubborn,” he says, and then he turns and walks away among the shelves.

Astoria watches him go for a moment, then she shakes her head and marches off to get the rest of her books. She tries her hardest to carry them all without the bag, but she just can’t hold them all, and they’re making her wrists and shoulders ache even worse than they usually do. Using Draco’s bag would be tantamount to admitting defeat, but she can’t deny it would be sensible. Of course she could summon her own bag and use that, but that would be petty to the point of stupidity. Plus, as good as she is at Conjuration, she isn’t entirely sure she could make something quite so sturdy. Draco has done a good job…

With a growl she starts shoving her books into the bag. At least he won’t see her using it. He’s probably long gone by now. Still, she checks the coast is clear before sneaking out towards the front desk. There’s no one around that she can see.

She keeps her head down as she moves back through the library. Occasionally people in here recognise her and want to chat, but she doesn’t have time for that today. There’s a hearing in a couple of hours and they need these books.

When she reaches the front desk there’s already someone there. Draco is leaning against the counter and chatting to the librarian while she stamps out his books.

“If there are any more you could recommend,” he says, “I’d certainly be interested. That other book was fascinating.”

“Of course, dear,” the librarian replies, giving him a warm smile. “There are plenty more where these came from. Research has exploded since the war.” She pushes her glasses up her nose and pushes his books across the counter to him.

“I’m sure it has,” he says, taking his books and looking down at them. “Have a good afternoon.”

“You too, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco turns from the counter, still studying his books, and he walks right into Astoria.

“Ouch,” she says, lifting her foot off the ground and rubbing it where he’s just stood on it.

“Astoria,” he says, eyes widening as he recognises her. “I’m sorry. Are you-”

“Fine. Completely fine.” She brushes him off, but as she’s about to move past him she recognises one of the books he’s carrying. “Is that-?” she asks, pointing at it.

Draco puts it behind his back. “It’s an Alchemy book,” he lies, without even a flicker of hesitation.

Astoria grins. “You’ve got a Muggle law book. I thought they were for idiots.”

Draco’s expression twists and tightens, and he seems to struggle with himself for a moment. Finally he draws himself up to his full height, which is quite impressive, especially accentuated by the robes, and the long legs, clad today in tight grey trousers. “You’re using my bag,” he says. “I thought you didn’t want my help?”

Astoria’s cheeks heat, and she narrows her eyes at him. “It seemed like a sensible option.”

Draco hugs his books to his chest. “A knowledge of Muggle law seemed like a sensible option too.”

For a moment they look at each other, and Astoria tries to work out what’s going on behind his unreadable, perfectly schooled expression. Then she shakes her head and brushes past him. Draco glances at her as she goes.

“Have a nice afternoon, Astoria.”

She pauses in getting the books out of the bag for the librarian to stamp, and looks up at him. “Yes,” she says, because she doesn’t really know what else to say.

—

Astoria ducks as a flock of interdepartmental memos shoot over her head like arrows. She follows them out of the lift onto Level Two, shuffling through the papers in her hand and not really looking where she’s going. This building is a maze, but she’s learned it so well in the last few months, that her feet just take her where she needs to go. Anyway, the corridors aren’t busy at the moment. Most people have gone home by this time on a Friday evening.

She’s so preoccupied with her papers that she doesn’t realise she has company until Daphne taps her on the arm. “Astoria!“ 

She looks up at her sister’s sing-song voice. "Daphne. I thought you would have left already." 

Daphne smiles and winds her scarf round her neck. "I’m on my way out now. Are you going to make it for dinner? I should warn Mum if you’re going to be late.”

Astoria looks back down at her papers. “I might be a bit… Tell her half an hour." 

Daphne nods. "An hour it is then." 

"Am I that bad?” Astoria glances up, running a hand through her hair. 

“Yes,” Daphne grins, “you are. What is it this time? Another one of those stupid Muggle Suppressionist gangs?”

Astoria shakes her head. “Do you remember how we had that campaign to try and find Selwyn? A Muggle Police Officer found him and tried to arrest him. She… she didn’t come out of it very well." 

Daphne blanches and puts a hand on Astoria’s shoulder. "I’ll tell Mum you’ll be late. I’ll make sure we save something for you." 

Astoria smiles weakly. "Thanks. I should get back…”

“Please actually finish your work this time,” Daphne calls, walking backwards down the corridor so she can keep looking at her sister. “I know you. You’ll spend all weekend thinking about it and you’ll be a total misery." 

Astoria nods. "I will. See you in a bit." 

Behind them the lift pings, ready to move again. Daphne sprints to it and puts her foot in to stop the doors closing. "You’re probably not interested,” she says, turning back once more. “But Draco Malfoy is round the corner.”

Astoria’s head snaps up. “What?" 

"I know,” Daphne says, grinning. “See you Astoria.” And she disappears into the lift, the golden doors sliding shut on her. 

Astoria watches her go, then she shakes her head and looks back at her papers. Why does it matter if Draco is here or not? The Malfoys are always snooping around at the Ministry. It’s hardly big news. 

She wanders on down the corridor, but pokes her head out before rounding the next corner. As much as it doesn’t matter whether Malfoy is here or not, she’s not keen to run into him. She has far too much work to do for that. 

He’s there in the corridor, because of course he is. All slicked-back blond hair, high-collared black robes, and sharp, handsome features. Wait, handsome? 

Astoria pulls back and flattens herself against the wall. Draco Malfoy is not handsome. Loathsome more like. He’s pale and angular and haughty, and- She pokes her head back round the corner. Okay, maybe he is a little bit handsome. In a repulsive sort of way. 

At the moment he’s standing there talking to a very harassed looking Harry Potter. Harry’s glasses are askew, and his hair has the stressed, wild look it gets when he’s been in meetings all day. It seems as though Draco has cornered him. He keeps glancing at his watch, and he’s slowly inching his way along the wall, making an apparent bid for freedom, while Draco keeps up an insistent monologue.

Astoria decides to rescue Harry. She needs a word with him anyway, and no one deserves to be trapped in a conversation with Draco Malfoy, especially not the saviour of the Wizarding World. She pats her hair to neaten it up, smooths a crease out of her skirt, then draws herself up straight and marches round the corner. 

“Harry,” she says, trying to sound like she’s surprised and relieved to see him. “I was hoping to run into you." 

Both Harry and Draco turn to look at her. Harry adjusts his glasses. Draco’s expression melts from a frown into a warm smile, which thaws the ice in his eyes. 

"Good evening, Astoria,” he says. 

“Hello,” Astoria replies, as coolly as she can when he’s smiling at her like that. Now that she’s noticed it, he really is quite handsome. She has to swallow hard to find her voice again, and does her best to avoid looking at Draco again. “Harry, do you have a second to talk about the Selwyn case?" 

Harry sighs and checks his watch. "Yes, I think so. But it’ll have to be quick. Ginny threatened me with the Bat Bogey Hex if I’m late for dinner again." 

Astoria smiles. "We can walk and talk.” She gestures down the corridor in the direction of their offices. 

Harry nods and glances back at Draco. “Send me all that stuff in an Owl and I’ll see what I can do, okay?" 

Draco inclines his head. "Anything you like, Potter.” He looks at Astoria. “I hope I’ll see you soon." 

Astoria resists the urge to reply ‘I wouldn’t count on it’, and instead shrugs. "Perhaps.”

His smile widens an inch, and his eyes sparkle like diamonds as he turns away. Astoria shakes her head and tries to remember what she wanted to talk to Harry about. Draco’s face has wiped all sensible thought from her brain.

They’re halfway down the hall to the Auror cubicles when Harry prompts her. “Selwyn,” he says. “You wanted to talk to him.”

“Yes! Of course.” She pulls out one of the papers from her stack. “I got your memo with the testimony; it’s perfect, thank you. I just wanted to ask though, do you happen to have a transcript of the message that went out on the Muggle news? I leant mine to Boot and he hasn’t given it back yet.”

Harry rubs his forehead and nods distractedly. “Yeah, yeah I might. I’ll have a look." 

"Great. And did you know about the discrepancy with-”

“The Obliviator’s report,” Harry groans. “It’s all I’ve heard about all day. Don’t worry. We’re working on it." 

"Of course,” Astoria says. She checks the page again and shakes her head. “I think that’s it.” She hugs the papers to her chest and looks at Harry. When she speaks she tries to keep her voice light and casual. “What, um… what did Malfoy want?”

“Malfoy? Oh,” Harry runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “There’s a case he’s sort of helping with. And generally he has a lot of opinions. Too many opinions. I wish he’d just send Owls, but…” he waves a hand back in the direction of where they’d last seen Draco. “I think he likes to be seen.”

“The Malfoys have always skulked around here,” Astoria says. “I’m sorry he was bothering you." 

"I don’t mind,” Harry says. “At least he’s occasionally useful.” They arrive at his desk, which is a chaotic mess of parchment and files. He starts sifting through the detritus, and eventually comes up with a slightly coffee-stained file. He pulls out a couple of pages, scans them, and finally hands one to Astoria. “Is this what you’re after?" 

She looks down at it and nods. "That’s perfect.” She draws her wand and replicates the transcript. “I knew Malfoy was helping the artefacts team, but I didn’t know he was on board with the Aurors too.”

Harry makes a fruitless attempt to shuffle the files on his desk into some sort of order, but he quickly gives up. “He knows people. Connections get you everywhere in a case, and he seems willing to help, so…” He gives a one-shouldered shrug and starts pulling his travelling cloak on. “Listen, I’ve got to run. If you need anything else send me…” he trails off as he looks at the disaster that is his in-tray. “Don’t send me a memo. Run down and see me or something. You’ll figure it out." 

Astoria smiles and lays the file back on top of Harry’s mountains of paperwork. "I will. Have a good weekend, Harry." 

She takes the transcript back to her desk, where she flops down with a heavy sigh and kicks her shoes off, rubbing her feet. She flips open her case file and starts reading her notes, while she massages her toes. As an afterthought she waves her wand at one of the Muggle Biros in her pen pot, which poises itself on a bit of blank parchment, ready to take notes. 

She gets through a couple of paragraphs before her thoughts start to stray. She trails off mid-sentence in her dictation, and her enchanted Biro grinds to a messy halt. 

It makes sense for Malfoy to be hanging around the Ministry, chatting up whoever’s in power. That’s what the Malfoys have done for centuries. But the idea of him helping out for any good reason, because he’s changed, is laughable. This, making friends with the right people and being seen in the right places, is just how he works. 

But then again… Everyone at Hogwarts knew about him and Harry, how they hated each other. It’s amazing to see them talking, let alone working together. And he was reading that Muggle law book when she saw him a couple of months ago. It didn’t seem like the first one he’d read either. And that wasn’t for show, he tried to hide it, tried to lie about it. 

Is Draco Malfoy changing? Is that even possible? Can Death Eaters change? Maybe this is just another Malfoy game, a way of slithering out of trouble yet again, because Death Eaters don’t change, they don’t feel remorse or try to get better, do they? 

The image of Draco’s smiling face, eyes sparkling as he’d looked at her, swims unbidden to the front of her mind and she buries her face in her hands with a growl. She runs her fingers through her hair and tries not to think about him, but it’s impossible. He’s a curiosity, an attractive curiosity, and it’s almost as though he’s following her, popping up all over the place, sticking in her head and making her think. She doesn’t want to think, not about him, but apparently her stupid brain has other ideas.

Opening her eyes, she stares blankly down at her file, and shakes her head. She’s not getting anymore work done tonight, not now, not thanks to him. These papers will have to wait until Monday, when hopefully all thoughts of Draco Malfoy will be driven deep into the dustbin of her mind where they belong, by a weekend of Daphne’s sensible advice and their mother’s incessant gossip. 

With one last forlorn glance at all the work she isn’t going to do, she tucks the papers back into their file, and places it on top of her neat ‘to do’ pile. She slides her feet back into her shoes, winds her scarf round her neck, and pulls her coat on, before rushing away. As she leaves she vows to spend the entire evening moaning to Daphne about how Draco Malfoy is ruining her life, and society in general. 

—

Astoria sits cross-legged on the office floor, shoes abandoned by the door, surrounded by a mess of parchment. The department has been bombarded with Owls this morning, as the Ministry has just announced its new pro-Muggle legislation. The piles of parchment scattered across the office floor are the hundreds of responses that have already poured in from all around the country, and Astoria is the one who’s ended up having to sort through them all. 

Most of the letters are boring and generic, or have been sent by regular correspondents, who like to have their say on everything the Ministry does, from mundane regulations on cauldron thickness, all the way up to dramatic Auror raids on the few Death Eaters still at large. A couple are more interesting. 

There’s a lengthy and emotional letter from one of the St Oswald’s residents, detailing the story of her mother, a Muggleborn witch who’d fought in the wars against both Grindelwald and Voldemort. Another comes from a Hogwarts fourth year, a Slytherin, who is pleased to hear that Muggle Studies will be made a compulsory subject for all students. Now and then, the odd letter just spews abuse, and Astoria narrowly avoids a curse contained in one envelope, but most are at least interesting and well reasoned, even when she disagrees with them. 

She tosses a thick sheaf of parchment onto the pro pile, containing a letter and signatures from one of the most vocal Muggle support groups. It’s not at all surprising to find them among the wave of correspondents. They’ve been consulted about the legislation multiple times already, and are fully in favour of it. 

She smiles fondly at the familiar set of names as she picks the next letter off the pile. This one is a lot thinner, and when she flips it over to break the seal, she realises she recognises the crest. It’s the Malfoy coat of arms, accompanied by a small scattering of stars that Astoria recognises as Draco’s constellation. 

She stares down at it for a moment, taking in the delicate pattern stamped onto the green wax. Her fingers shakes ever so slightly, and she swallows hard. She turns the envelope over and over in her hands, but she can’t bring herself to open it. There could be anything inside. She has no idea what to expect of Draco anymore. Presumably this is the sort of thing he would oppose? 

His handwriting on the front of the envelope is very neat. Small and precise, apart from the expansive flourishes on his descenders, which seem to take up all the space left by their less flamboyant neighbours. She reads the address three times before, heart pounding, she decides she should just get on with reading the letter. She isn’t meant to care this much. It’s her job to read the letters, sort them, and hand them over, not to sit here and panic about what one of them might contain. 

"Pull yourself together,” she mutters to herself, and she slits open the seal. 

Inside the envelope is a single sheet of parchment, with a short letter written on it in the same neat handwriting. 

To whom it may concern,

I am writing to express my support for the newly proposed Muggle Protection and Education Act. 

Although I cannot offer my wholehearted agreement with every aspect of the legislation, I believe this to be a largely well-written, well considered, and necessary new law. I hope it will benefit and strengthen both Wizarding and Muggle society, and I would urge Wizengamot members to vote in favour of accepting it. 

Yours most sincerely, 

DM 

Astoria reads the letter through several times. With each reading she relaxes a little more, her heart rate slows, and she feels as though she can start to breathe again. 

Draco supports the legislation. Not completely, but he does support it. Enough to have bothered to write a letter and send it in. It’s a wonderful revelation. It shows that he might not be too awful after all, that he might deserve a chance… 

She reads the letter one final time, taking in more of the handwriting. She especially enjoys the way he writes the D of his initials; a broad, bold, sweeping curve, which leads to the spiky M. 

He hasn’t written out his full name, she realises. If you didn’t recognise the seal or the handwriting, there’d be no way of knowing that this letter came from Draco Malfoy. Perhaps that was deliberate, although Astoria doesn’t really understand why. Isn’t it the Malfoy way to show off about this sort of thing? Political opinions and beliefs? Especially when they favour the current government? 

She frowns down at the signature, trying to figure it out, but she can’t. She doesn’t understand Draco. She’d thought she did, she’d thought he was simple: a selfish, prejudiced man whose blood status matters more to him than anything else. But apparently not. At least not entirely. Draco Malfoy is an enigma. And Astoria has always quite enjoyed solving puzzles. 

She sets the letter aside, not on any of the piles for the moment, just to one side where she can see it out of the corner of her eye. Then she gets on with reading through the rest of the letters. Draco’s is the last one she files away, and even once she’s handed over all the correspondence and moved onto other jobs, that letter doesn’t leave her thoughts for the rest of the day. 

—

Later that evening, Astoria swirls out of the darkness with a flourish of her cloak, and twists her ankle as her heel catches in the crack between two paving slabs. She swears and hops on one foot for a moment, glaring down at the path. The heel of her new shoes isn’t broken, thank goodness, but she hits it with a Reparo just to make sure, then hobbles off up the path to her sister’s house. 

She knocks loudly and stands back to wait. It only takes a second before the door swings open of its own accord and she steps inside, kicking her shoes off before she ventures down the hall. 

The house is quiet. When she calls Daphne’s name it echoes along the corridor and up the stairs. All the lights are on, but there’s no sign of Daphne anywhere. Normally that just means she’s hidden away in the study at the back, working late, or on a Fire Call with someone. 

Astoria wanders deeper into the house. There’s a stack of post on a sideboard that she neatens up, and a copy of Witch Weekly that she briefly flicks through before pulling a face and dropping it onto the coffee table. Her sister has horrible taste in magazines. 

She goes into the kitchen, and she’s just drawn her wand to start making tea when the door to Daphne’s office opens and two people walk out. Daphne, accompanied by none other than Draco Malfoy. The mug Astoria had been levitating out of the cupboard smashes as she forgets what she’s doing and stares at him, the letter flying to the front of her mind once more. 

With a sweep of his wand, Draco repairs the mug, picks it up, and strides across the kitchen to hand it to her. “I believe you dropped this.”

Astoria feels as though her face is on fire. She takes the mug, fingers brushing Draco’s for a moment, which only makes her heart beat faster. “Y-yes,” she stutters. “Yes. Thank you.” She turns away from him and puts the mug safely back on the side where it can’t be broken again. She takes a moment to lean against the side and compose herself before turning back and pushing a smile onto her face. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Draco. Are you bothering my sister?" 

"Not bothering, I hope.” Draco glances at Daphne. “I had some items to deliver, and I happened to be passing by." 

Daphne smiles. "Never bothering, Draco. Would you two excuse me just a second? I need to grab something from upstairs.” She flashes Astoria a grin as she passes, and Astoria tries a silent appeal for help, which Daphne ignores. She disappears out into the hall, leaving Astoria and Draco alone together. 

Astoria looks down at her feet and fiddles with the buttons on the cuffs of her jacket. Draco shuffles his feet and tucks a strand of hair off his face. He seems to be growing it out, and it frames his face in soft, curling little wisps. 

“I managed to procure a few of my father’s more dangerous but less valuable items,” Draco explains after a moment of awkward silence. “I’d rather turn them in than have our house raided again. I’m not sure he’s in a healthy enough state for… you know. He’s easily upset.” He trails off and bows his head, looking down at his fingers as they run along the edge of the kitchen table.

Astoria takes a breath and tries to work out what she wants to say to him. “You sent a letter to the Ministry,” she blurts out after a moment. “You wrote a letter about the new Muggle Protection and Education Act. You didn’t sign it, but I read it, and I recognise your seal, and- and you supported it…” she runs out of steam and starts twisting her fingers together. 

Draco opens his mouth, then closes it again. He frowns, and seems to struggle with himself for several long seconds. “The Malfoys have always been influential in politics,” he says. “I don’t know why you’re surprised that I’m interested in current affairs." 

"But you weren’t…” Astoria looks up at him. “You weren’t opposing the legislation.”

“No,” Draco says bluntly, putting his hands in his pockets. “No. I wasn’t. But if it makes you feel better, my father and mother both are." 

"You didn’t sign the letter,” Astoria says. “Why didn’t you sign it?" 

"I didn’t realise I was required to sign every letter I write,” Draco says levelly, and Astoria recognises a bite of frost in his tone. 

“You don’t,” she says hurriedly. “Of course not. I just thought…” She shakes her head. “I didn’t understand… I’m sorry.” She looks him right in the face. “I’m glad you support it. It proves… I don’t know. I’m just glad." 

A satisfied smirk stretches across Draco’s face. "Astoria Greengrass approves of something I’ve done. This is a momentous occasion. I’ll have to remember this forever.”

“Yes,” Astoria replies, unable to keep herself from smiling. “You will, because it isn’t going to happen again any time soon.”

Draco laughs. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Astoria lifts her chin. “Perhaps it is.”

Draco grins. “Challenge accepted, then.” He gestures to the door. “I should probably go and get started right away. It seems I have a lot of hard work to do.” He gives Astoria a small, slightly ridiculous bow, and walks toward the door. 

As he goes, Astoria is seized by a moment of madness. She steps forward and calls after him. “Draco?”

He turns back to look at her. “Yes?”

She swallows. “It’s my birthday in a couple of weeks. I’m having a party. Would you like to come?”

Draco blinks at her, then a smile spreads across his face and his eyes go soft like silver silk. “That would be nice, thank you. Owl me the details and I’m sure I can find room for it in my social calendar.”

“Your social calendar,” Astoria snorts. 

“I’m very much in demand,” Draco says seriously. 

“I’m sure,” Astoria grins.

“I am!” Draco protests, and when Astoria continues to grin at him, he shakes his head and turns away. “Have a nice evening, Astoria.” She can hear the smile in his voice as he says it, and when she follows him to the door and watches him retreat down the hall, she’s certain she doesn’t imagine the new spring in his step, as though he’s walking on air.

Astoria leans in the doorway and grins until the front door snaps shut. At that precise moment Daphne materialises on the stairs. 

“Oh,” she says, a vision of innocence. “Has he gone?" 

Astoria turns on her sister. "You abandoned me with him deliberately! You didn’t have to fetch anything, did you?" 

Daphne skips down the stairs, smirking. "Are you not grateful?" 

Astoria glares mutinously at her for a moment, then looks down at her hands. "I invited him to my party,” she mutters. 

Daphne gives a shriek of delight and hugs her. “Did you ask him as your date?" 

"No!” Astoria protests, pushing her sister away. “I don’t like him like that.”

“Mmhmm?” Daphne says, a smug grin on her face. 

“I don’t!” Astoria says. Then, when Daphne doesn’t stop grinning she elbows her in the ribs. “I don’t… but I might need you to help me pick something to wear…”

“Okay!” Daphne chirps, and hugs her again. 

—

The party is too noisy. Astoria has been bounced from conversation to conversation all evening. Her feet are aching, her head is aching, her ears are aching, and she feels faint from the heat. The one person she’s been excited and anxious to see all week is here, she’s seen him, but she hasn’t had chance to talk to him all night, and now she’s going to have to leave before she passes out. 

She looks around one last time for Draco, but doesn’t spot him among the crowds, so she grabs a glass of water from a passing waiter and hurries out of the door into the cool hallway.

She sinks onto the stairs, sets the glass down beside her, and buries her face in her hands. Her circulation has always been terrible, so her hands are cold even though the rest of her is burning hot. They cool her down, to the point where she starts shivering. She hugs herself and curls up, wishing she’d worn a warmer dress. This one is beautiful, soft, and floaty, and enchanted to mimic the colour of the night sky - at the moment purple and pink at the top, with vivid red near the bottom, courtesy of the setting sun - but it isn’t warm, and now she’s sitting still, Astoria has never felt colder. 

She folds herself up as small as she can and tucks her fingers under her arms as she leans against the bannister. She could try and get a cardigan or a coat or something, but her feet ache from the stupid shoes she’s wearing, shoes she’ll never get off because they’re so intricately strapped to her feet, and she isn’t sure she could climb the stairs anyway. Her legs feel weak, and she’s not just shaking from the cold. She knows the difference. 

It’s been a long time since she was last really ill, in her third year at Hogwarts. She was alright one day, not well, but normal for her, but then she slowly deteriorated over a few days. It had been awful, she can still remember the pain and exhaustion, and she’s always been terrified of it happening again. Maybe this is it… She’s never been naive enough to believe it wouldn’t happen again at some point. 

She closes her eyes and rests her forehead against the bannister. This would be a great time for Daphne to come and rescue her. Her sister normally has a sixth sense for this sort of thing. It’s probably only a matter of time before she-

The door opens. Astoria looks up in hope, but she’s disappointed to see that it isn’t her sister. It’s actually the very last person she wants to see when she’s in a state like this. Draco Malfoy, looking as handsome and well put together as always. He’s wearing an icy blue jacket today, over a pristine white shirt. His neatly slicked hair falls almost to his shoulders, and his cheeks are pink from the heat of the party. Astoria turns away from him and tries to make herself invisible. Unfortunately it doesn’t work.

“Astoria,” he says, and his voice is flooded with concern. “I saw you leave. Are you alright?" 

She nods. "Fine,” she lies. “I’m fine. I just wanted some fresh air. You should go back inside." 

"But you’re out here. If I wait for you inside you’ll be accosted by at least a hundred people, and I’ll never get a look in. We Malfoys believe in taking opportunities when they’re presented to us.” He strides across the room, shoes clicking on the stone floor, and sits on the step beside her. “You’re shivering,” he says softly. “Are you sure you’re okay?" 

"It was too hot in there,” she murmurs. “But now I’m out here I’m cold…”

Without hesitation, Draco shrugs off his jacket and tries to wrap it round her shoulders. She does her best to push it away. 

“No, don’t. I don’t want you to get cold too." 

"I won’t,” Draco says confidently. “Besides, I’m wearing far more clothes than you are, and warmer ones. You need this far more than I do. Please. If I get cold I promise to steal it back. Does that make you happy?" 

Astoria thinks for a moment, then she nods and lets him slide the jacket round her shoulders. She doesn’t regret it. His warmth folds around her and she immediately relaxes a bit. She hugs the jacket closed. Even though he’s thin, she’s always been tiny thanks to her illness, so she’s swamped in all the blue fabric. 

Draco adjusts the collar of the jacket, and doesn’t remove his hand from her shoulder. "This is an excellent party, thank you for inviting me. I must say, your taste in music is exquisite." 

Astoria smiles. "I didn’t choose the music. Daphne insisted on playing DJ for the night." 

Draco frowns. "D… J?”

Astoria’s smile broadens and she glances up at him. “Muggles have them at parties, to look after the music.”

Draco nods. “Of course. Well, perhaps I should start borrowing Muggle dictionaries from the library next. Clearly I have a lot to learn." 

"I’m sure I have one you could borrow,” she offers, shuffling closer to him on the step. 

“That would certainly be enlightening,” he says. His hand slips sideways on her shoulder, until his arm is curled round her. She throws caution to the winds and leans against him. As she does, his hand brushes the bare skin on her shoulder and he screws his face up.

“Merlin, you’re freezing. How can a person be so cold?” He gathers her in closer and starts rubbing her shoulder to try and warm her up. 

“I have poor circulation,” she informs him. 

“If you get any colder you’re going to turn into an ice block. Here.” He draws his wand and waves it over her. 

Warmth trickles slowly through every fibre of her being. It’s like being plunged into the most perfect bath. It creeps and curls from her head, down her spine, spreading into her fingers, sinking into her bones, making her heart sing. Her toes, which had been starting to go numb, revive, and already she feels considerably less ill. She rubs her hands together and smiles at Draco. 

“You didn’t have to do that, but thank you." 

"Do you feel better?” He asks.

“A lot." 

"Then of course I had to do it,” he says, returning the smile. 

Astoria puts her feet flat on the floor and flexes her toes. “I think… I might be able to go back inside in a minute. At least my head doesn’t hurt anymore.” She looks around for her glass of water and picks it up, draining it in one. “My feet do though.” She sighs and relaxes against Draco’s side. 

“How can you move in those shoes?” He asks, looking down at them. “They’re just straps and stilettos. They can’t be comfortable." 

"They’re not,” Astoria says, stretching her feet out in front of her. “But they look nice. They make melook nice." 

Draco nods and looks at her. "I can agree with that." 

She knows she’s blushing, but she can’t help it. She ducks her head and brushes a stray bit of hair out of her eyes, hoping he can’t see how red she’s gone. "Well…” She pushes herself unsteadily to her feet. “People are probably missing me inside.” She steps off the stairs and discovers she still feels a bit faint. The world spins, and she reaches for something to hold onto, except there isn’t anything. But then Draco stands up beside her and grips her arm, holding her steady. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit for a bit longer?" 

She shakes her head. "No. But I might need to use you as a leaning post for a bit." 

"I’m yours for as long as you want me,” Draco says. 

He ends up staying by her side, holding her arm, for the rest of the night. 

—

Two days after her birthday, Astoria is admitted to St Mungo’s. She’s been told for years that the older she gets the worse the curse will affect her, but she never wanted to believe it. Now, though, she has no choice. She’d thought her illness in third year had been bad, but this is far worse. 

She’s so exhausted she sleeps almost constantly for a week. When she tries to move her whole body screams in agony. She bruises easily, and ends up looking a battered mess after just a short walk around her room. The one time she has the energy to try and read, she gets a paper cut that bleeds for hours. 

Mostly she just feels sick, and shaky, and a small part of her thinks that if this is going to get worse with time, maybe it would be best to just give up now. She’s not even sure what could be worse than this, but she isn’t that keen to find out. 

By the time she’s been in hospital for two weeks she’s starting to feel a bit better, and is also starting to get bored. Constant sleep sounds wonderful, but it gets a bit repetitive after a while. And there’s no one to talk to most of the time. Her mum and Daphne drop in and see her, Daphne is there every day for at least an hour or two, but they both have other things to do. Lives and jobs. Astoria has never wanted anyone else to stop living on her account, so she spends every weekday alone, at once wishing she had more to do and feeling too tired to do anything at all. 

On Tuesday morning, two weeks after the party, Astoria is not asleep. She’s curled up in bed, buried under a mountain of blankets, and the room is dark. She’s supposed to be sleeping, but she’s aching all over and finding it hard to drift off. Her mind is wide awake too, which doesn’t help. It’s buzzing with boredom, urging her to occupy it with some form of entertainment, be it a book or a person or really anything at all.

She’s still struggling to sleep when there’s a quiet knock on the door. Curious, she lifts her head just high enough to see over the top of all the blankets, and peers through the gloom. She’s not expecting any visitors, Daphne’s at work, and her Healer only left twenty minutes ago. 

“Come in,” she says, rubbing her eyes. For a moment she thinks whoever is outside can’t have heard her. Her voice is weak and hoarse at the moment, and she can’t project. She certainly can’t get out of bed to let anyone in. Maybe they’ll just stay standing out there until they get bored and leave. 

But then the door opens, and standing silhouetted against the light from the corridor is Draco. He hesitates on the threshold, looking torn between coming in or running away. “Is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to wake you…" 

Astoria shakes her head and struggles to claw herself upright, so she’s propped against her pillows. Her joints and head protest, and it takes several seconds, but finally she’s sitting up, and she hopes she looks at least a little bit dignified. "No,” she says, picking up her wand and directing it at the bedside lamp, which flickers into life. “Please come in." 

Draco steps inside, closing the door behind him, and hovers around by the foot of the bed. He looks like he doesn’t really know what to do with himself, uncomfortable and uncertain. He’s still wearing his coat and gloves. "I heard you were…” he trails off, gesturing to the bed. “Are you recovering?" 

"No,” Astoria says, a sharp bitterness in her voice. She runs her fingers through her hair and shakes her head. “Sorry. I-I am getting better. But I’m not going to… you know, get better.” She emphasises the last two words and separates them, hoping he’ll understand without her having to spell it out. “Not in the end…" 

He nods and looks down at his hands, but doesn’t say anything. Silence stretches between them, long and melancholy. In the half-light Draco’s eyes sparkle like rain on a grey day.  

Astoria takes a breath. She hates silences like this, the ones she always has to deal with once people realise what her illness means. "I, um. Did my sister tell you I was here?" 

Draco shakes his head and runs his fingers along the metal frame of the bed, right by Astoria’s feet. "No. I was at the Ministry and I noticed you weren’t at your desk. One of your colleagues told me you were sick.”

Despite the exhaustion and the pain, Astoria manages a weak smile. “Did you enquire about my health, Draco? That was sweet of you." 

His cheeks colour pink. "I did nothing of the sort. I was merely concerned that you might have been… kidnapped by a mad Muggle or something." 

"A mad Muggle,” Astoria repeats, shaking her head. “Never change, Draco." 

"I don’t intend to,” he says. He’s silent for a moment, then glances at her. “Once I knew you were ill I did ask your sister if I could visit. I didn’t want to intrude. I know you don’t like me much." 

Astoria frowns. "When have I ever said I didn’t like you?" 

Draco shrugs. "It was implied." 

She looks down at her hands and pulls the covers further up in her lap, bunching the material between her fingers. "Well, I don’t. Not like you. I think you’re decent. You’re certainly not boring." 

His expression twists into something unreadable. "I think there might be a compliment in there somewhere?”

Astoria sighs. “I was trying to be nice.” She brushes her hair out of her eyes with slightly shaky fingers. “I think I’m starting to… you’re the only person who’s come to visit me. Apart from Daphne and Mum. And at the party, you…” She smooths a crease out of her blanket. “I think I could consider you a friend at this point.”

Draco raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Could you? We’ve never had a conversation that lasted more than two minutes. Apart from at your birthday party, but I don’t think that counts. I was more a glorified leaning post than a conversation partner.”

Astoria looks up at him and smiles. “Well, now’s your chance.” She beckons him toward her. “Take your coat off, pretend you’re staying. You could even sit down if you wanted to be really daring." 

Draco hesitates. "Are you sure you’re not too tired? I don’t want to-”

“If I get tired I’ll just fall asleep while you’re talking at me. It’ll be obvious when I need you to leave." 

Draco smiles. "Alright then.” He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it up by the door, then he sits on the chair beside her and leans back, folding one leg over the other. “This room is rather nice. I always imagined hospital rooms would be a bit dingy an uncomfortable." 

Astoria looks around. "I think they give me a nicer one because they know I’m going to be here for a while.” She points her wand across the room at a pile of sweets lying abandoned on a table. “Would you like a Jelly Slug?’ She asks, glancing at Draco. "Or a bean? I have more sweets here than I could ever eat in my life. I think word’s got around that I like them…” She summons the packet of Jelly Slugs from the side and holds it out to Draco. “I’d offer them to my clients at work, but can you imagine a Muggle finding a vomit flavoured Bertie Bott’s Bean? It would amount to torture. I’d have to arrest myself.”

Draco smiles and takes a Slug. “Imagine if a Chocolate Frog got loose in the Muggle world. You could cause a diplomatic incident." 

Astoria sighs dramatically and bites the head off her Jelly Slug. "I’d never be allowed to work again. And I do quite like my job." 

"I’ve always been curious about that,” Draco says. “You’re a Greengrass. You’re a Pureblood. But you work with Muggles. It always felt like a-” He looks at her, eyes bright with genuine curiosity rather than contempt. “I don’t know. I’ve never understood." 

"If the war didn’t make you understand,” Astoria says, tone harsh, “then I can’t help you." 

Draco sighs. "I didn’t mean… I know why it’s important. But you could do anything. You could be anything. Why this? Why them?" 

Astoria shrugs and looks down at her hands. "Life is short. Why not do something worthwhile with it? No one else is going to defend them. The fact that I’m a Pureblood, whatever the hell that means, just makes it more important." 

Draco surveys her, leaning back in his seat. "You’re a far better person than me." 

"Everyone’s a better person than you, Draco.” She looks at him. “But don’t worry. The only way you can go from here is up." 

Draco seems to consider that for a moment before he smiles. "How inspirational,” he says drily. “You should have considered a career in motivational speaking." 

Astoria grins and eats another Jelly Slug. While she chews, Draco looks at the books on her bedside table. He flips through one, a Muggle novel, and sets it aside with a contemptuous expression. The next he opens up and his eyes widen. He plucks something out of it, a thin silver bookmark that he holds up, marking the page with his finger instead. 

"This was your birthday present. I bought you this. And you’re using it." 

"Oh,” Astoria smiles. “Yes. Normally I use scraps of parchment, but they always fall out. This is useful. It sort of sticks to the pages." 

"If you want to read at night it’ll light up too,” Draco informs her. “So you don’t have to mess around with your wand. I used to have one for reading under the covers." 

"Did you?” She asks. “I never thought of you as that much of a nerd.” She grins at him as she says it, teasing.

“I assure you,” Draco says, straight-faced, “I was an enormous nerd. It was the only way of trying to keep up with Hermione Granger. It didn’t work of course, but Father would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t at least tried." 

"I’ve hear you’re an Alchemy nerd these days. When you make your Elixir of Life you should let me have some.” She grins at him and curls up against her pillows. “But seriously. Tell me about Alchemy. I don’t know much about it." 

"I’d hate to bore you,” he says.

“My Healer will be grateful if you get me to fall asleep,” she says. “You might even be allowed back if you do that. Go on.” She settles down in bed, facing him, and listens as he begins to talk. Occasionally she interrupts his monologue with questions, but mostly she just lies there and listens. His voice is smooth and comforting, and the animation in it, the way he comes to life while he’s talking about his studies… it’s comforting, and beautiful. 

She closes her eyes while she listens, and as she falls irresistibly into sleep, her heart begins to fall too, slowly, beat by steady beat, in love with Draco Malfoy. 

—

When Astoria gets back to work a few weeks later, the first thing she finds on her desk is a package and a note. She sits down, kicks her shoes off because they’re already making her legs feel like jelly, and tears open the parcel. Several packs of mundane Muggle chocolate buttons spill out onto her desk, and she frowns down at them for a moment before remembering the note. 

She breaks the seal without looking at it, and slides out the single small square of parchment. There are three words written there, and two familiar, precise letters. 

For the Muggles, 

DM 

Astoria gives a snort of laughter and buries her face in her hands. Her grin blossoms across her face, and joy floods through her. Any nerves she’d had about being back at work melt away in an instant. 

She picks up her quill and a scrap of parchment, and scribbles a reply. Thankfully there’s no one else in the office yet to judge her as she skids barefoot across the tiled floor and runs off to the Owl Mail room downstairs. 

That afternoon, a response comes sauntering into her office in the form of Draco himself. Today he’s wearing a green shirt and perfectly tailored grey trousers. When Astoria spots him, her first instinct is to hide in her cubicle. He looks too good to exist, and she’s supposed to be working. Work is impossible with Draco in the vicinity.

Unfortunately, he knows which desk is hers, and he comes over and leans in the entry-way. The way he’s draping himself against it tells her he knows exactly how good he looks. She makes sure to take her time finishing the document she’s reading before finally looking up at him. 

“Oh, hello Draco. What are you doing here?" 

He smirks down at her. "I had some business to do, but I thought I’d drop by while I’m in the building. How is it being back at the Ministry grindstone?" 

"It was fine until you showed up,” Astoria says, deadpan. “I can’t believe you sent me chocolate buttons. Where did you get them from?”

“I stole them,” Draco replies, without a flicker, then he grins at her look of horror. “Of course I didn’t. My delinquent days are behind me. I ordered them from that shop on Diagon Alley that sells Muggle sweets.” He picks up one of the packets and inspects it. “Are they good? I’ve never tried them." 

She steals it back from him, tears it open, and offers him a button. "Try one." 

Draco pulls a disgusted face. "It’s a Mugglesweet…" 

Astoria rolls her eyes. "It’s chocolate, Draco. Muggle chocolate is no different from Magical chocolate. It won’t kill you." 

"It might,” he says, but when he catches her look he takes the button and eats it. There’s a thoughtful frown on his face as he chews and swallows, then he shakes his head. “Magical chocolate is better. I’m all for greater acceptance, but really. Magical chocolate is clearly far superior." 

Astoria shrugs and throws a couple more buttons into her mouth. "All the more for me then.” She waves a hand at Draco, shooing him away. “Leave now, Malfoy. I have work to do." 

He leans in closer. "What are you doing?" 

She sets the buttons aside and opens her file. "Top secret and highly confidential work for the Ministry of Magic, which is none of your business." 

He plucks the top sheet out of her file. "Artefact investigation? I thought this was your sister’s department." 

Astoria snatches it back. "It is, but this one hurt a Muggle. It’s a pocket watch that ages you when you open it up to check the time. It was sold as an antique to this elderly Muggle woman, who… well…” she swallows. “She died. I’m trying to help her husband get compensation, but it was stolen before we could get a look at it, so I have no idea who it came from or who has it now. It could be with some other unsuspecting person as we speak.”

Draco reaches out a hand. “Do you have any information about the watch?” As he waits for her to find the right bit of parchment he unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt and absentmindedly rolls his sleeves up. Even th

By@ijustwalkintomordor

5K words, G rated

Albus isn’t looking forward to returning to Hogwarts for his third year, but he is looking forward to seeing his excitable, bubbly best friend. What he finds on the train is very different from the Scorpius he’s used to, and Albus decides to do everything he can to protect Scorpius while he grieves his mother’s death.

*

“I thought you’d send an owl…” Albus says, feeling more and more lost by the second. After leaving his father in a huff he’d been looking forward to having a laugh with Scorpius – his best friend is usually full of bad jokes and exaggerated tales coming back from the summer. Albus is convinced he stores them up when they’re apart just to let them pour out on the train ride to Hogwarts, and he would have been grateful for it today, but the Scorpius he’s found… well, it’s not the one he was expecting.

“I couldn’t work out what to say,” Scorpius mutters, hunched over in his seat. He’s good at making himself small. Albus knows this. It comes in handy on nights they don’t get priority seating in the common room, or when they have to study in the dorm, huddled up on one of their beds because the common room was too loud and the library too full of bullies.

Now it’s not useful. Now it’s painful for Albus to see. Scorpius isn’t hunched over a book or taking up as little space as possible just because he can. Scorpius is collapsing in on himself, his arms tight around his waist like he’s coming apart at the seams and trying to hold himself together.

Albus sinks into the seat across from him. “And now I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” Scorpius mutters.

Albus searches for the right thing – something to help Scorpius hold himself together in some way. ‘I’m sorry’ is useless. Scorpius knows Albus is sorry. Everyone is sorry when a child loses their mother. Albus doesn’t have any sweets to offer him – that’s Scorpius’ territory and he’s come to trust his friend’s ability to curate their Hogwarts Express snacks. He wracks his brain but comes up empty.

Full of flies and bits of fluff indeed, Albus thinks bitterly.

“Is there anything…?” Albus asks. He’d happily take some instruction – a list of things his friend needs. Things he can do or get to help, but he knows it isn’t that simple.

Scorpius looks up at him for the first time, and Albus takes in the state of his face – paler than normal with deep dark circles under his eyes that nearly look like bruises. Albus supposes this must feel like getting punched.

“Come to the funeral?” Scorpius asks. He doesn’t look hopeful. He looks desperate.

“Of course,” Albus says quickly, nearly offended that Scorpius even feels he has to ask.

“And be my good friend.”

Albus doesn’t feel like he’s a very good friend right now. He feels particularly rotten instead. How long ago had this happened? How long has Scorpius been grieving with only his father at his side? It must have been a couple days at least if Draco was willing to let him leave. But even then… Scorpius shouldn’t be here.

“Anything,” Albus says. “When did…”

He doesn’t want to finish the question. Scorpius knows what it is anyway and starts picking at a loose thread on the seat cushion. Their designated compartment is the most damaged on the train, which assures them privacy on each journey to and from the castle. Albus has always simultaneously hated the Hogwarts Express and harboured a soft spot for it. Hogwarts sometimes feels like a prison and he dreads returning all summer – at least at home he can escape the gaggle of Gryffindors he lives with by locking himself in his bedroom – but the Hogwarts Express is also where he met Scorpius, and Hogwarts is the only place he gets to see his best friend. 

“Thursday afternoon,” Scorpius says. It’s Sunday now and Albus isn’t sure if he’s glad Scorpius had at least a couple days to adjust or if he’s upset Scorpius hadn’t sent an owl in such a considerable amount of time. Albus’ mum would have certainly let him take some Floo powder to get to the Malfoy Manor. She might have even delivered him herself.

“Oh,” is all Albus knows to say. He wracks his brain for an indication of what to do. He’s been around grief so rarely, and normally he’d be grateful that his entire family is alive and healthy, but right now he’s at a disadvantage. He’s never watched anyone comfort someone who’s lost a parent or anyone close. He doesn’t know what to do.

Scorpius looks down again, his hair hanging in his eyes. It’s limp like he’s gone a day too long without washing it, which is a sure indicator that Scorpius isn’t handling this well at all. Albus has joked more than once that his middle name should be hygiene instead of Hyperion.

Albus, feeling quite lame and useless, gets up from his seat and slowly moves over to sit next to Scorpius. He wonders what his dad would do if Ron was sitting beside him, looking like he was about to cry. Would he hug him? Probably, but Albus has never seen Scorpius hug anyone aside from his mum, and Albus doesn’t think he wants to remind Scorpius of that right now. He’s at a loss now and he wouldn’t know what to do if Scorpius really did start crying…

Albus does the only thing he knows to do. It always works when Scorpius is anxious about things at Hogwarts, and he hopes it applies to grief too. 

“Aunt Hermione was over last night,” Albus lies. “She was talking with mum and dad and something came up about the Goblins and wand legislation and the Goblin Rebellion of 16-something. I was too afraid to ask her why it mattered…”

“Why it mattered?” Scorpius asks, looking at Albus from under his hair. His arms loosen around his waist. “Albus, the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 is one of the most important events in goblin-wizard relations and the development of the wizarding court system as we know it today.”

“Right,” Albus says. He knew all of this, of course. He’d written the end of his History of Magic homework earlier in the week. He leans back in his seat, arranging his face into the most disinterested and lazy expression he has. “But I just don’t see how it’s important now.”

“How it’s important now?” Scorpius is truly insulted now. He sits up, staring at Albus with wide, red eyes that are painful to look at, but Albus does anyway. “Albus Severus, you really need to read the chapter in A History of Magic. Bathilda Bagshot has a wonderfully concise chapter – you could catch up in no time.”

“I forgot my copy,” Albus gambles. There’s a good chance Scorpius has the book in his bag instead of his trunk. It’s his favourite and he usually keeps it on-hand when he’s upset. “Mum’s already sending it. I left it on my desk.”

Scorpius sighs and what little bit of posture he’s regained falls away as he slumps over, this time in irritation with Albus, but Albus is certain it’s better than thinking of his mum’s body back at the Manor, awaiting burial. Scorpius dutifully gets up and starts rummaging in his bag on the floor for something, and Albus is pleased to find his prediction is accurate. Still, he has one more question before he devotes himself wholly to distracting Scorpius.

“Before you start lecturing me,” Albus says, as if this hadn’t been his plan, “why did you come back so soon? McGonagall would have given you time.”

Scorpius’ hand pauses over the barely-visible spine of History of Magic. He’s bent down and since he hasn’t put his robes on yet, he’s in just his jumper. Albus is dismayed to find he can count individual vertebrae on Scorpius’ back as he moves. Clearly, he’s lost some weight. The summer wasn’t kind. 

“My dad has his parents,” Scorpius said. “I’ve never really gotten along with my grandfather, as you know. Instead of staying there, I…”

Scorpius trails off and stands, uselessly attempting to smooth down his jumper. He clutches his leather-bound copy of History of Magic to his chest as one would hold a teddy bear.

“Well, I wanted to come back here where I could be with my only friend. At least for a bit. I sort of…” He trails off and fidgets with the frayed corner of the well-worn book and looks down. “I sort of insisted. Fought him on it.”

Albus isn’t sure if he’s happy to hear that or if it adds more pressure. Regardless, he takes a breath and stares at Scorpius’ overly-pale face for a moment before patting the empty seat beside him. They both know Albus is just trying to distract him – it’s painfully obvious – but Scorpius takes a seat anyway and gives Albus a grateful smile.

—

Albus has never spent a lot of energy appreciating Hogwarts. He grew up hearing tales of its grandeur and the castle didn’t have many surprises for him when he arrived. Scorpius, however, found that the school met all his expectations perfectly upon arrival, much to his delight. He’d been ecstatic to return in their second year, and Albus hoped as they walked towards the carriages that the sight of the turrets and towers would brighten Scorpius’ spirits.

He’d forgotten, of course, about the Thestrals.

Scorpius is chattering on about their lessons this year – the things he hopes they’ll be learning. He’s so wrapped up in what he was saying that Albus realises what’s going to happen before it happens. One of the carriages, already full of students, is pulling away, pulled by an invisible being, and Albus freezes, remembering his father’s tale of the first time he’d seen the Thestrals. Albus still isn’t able to see them, as he’s been lucky enough to avoid seeing someone die thus far, but Scorpius… 

“Hey!” Albus says, jumping in front of Scorpius. “I’ve got an idea!“ 

“Oh, no,” Scorpius says automatically. “Albus, I don’t really have the energy for any of your ideas,” he says, drawing air quotes around the last word. In doing so his bag slips from his shoulder and he awkwardly scrambles to catch it, giving Albus the opportunity to wheel him around back toward the train.

 "It’s a good idea,“ Albus says. "A safe idea. Not like sitting on the edge of the Owlery.”

Scorpius shudders at the memory and follows Albus against the heavy current of students heading towards the castle. Albus doesn’t have to look hard to locate his mark once they get to the train – Hagrid towers over a slew of excited first years.

“What are you doing, Albus?” Scorpius mutters, hunched over a bit as they approach the crowd. Albus places both hands on Scorpius’ shoulders as they reach the back of it and straightens his friend’s collar. Scorpius Malfoy is never disheveled – ever – and he doesn’t want to give anyone extra reason to stare at him.

“Can you stay here? For just a moment?” Albus asks. One of the first years has stopped and is staring at them, and Albus isn’t sure which one of them is of more interest.

Scorpius carefully eyes the little girl and she scurries off, afraid. He sighs.

“Sure.”

Albus hates to leave him but knows it’s only for a moment. He pushes his way through the crowd – carefully at first and then without care. His best friend is far more important than the comfort of some snot-nosed first years, he decides, and doesn’t stop until he gets to Hagrid. 

He calls up to his dad’s friend. Albus has never minded Hagrid – he’s always been very nice to the Potters and always brings fun presents, even if they are a little weird. Better than Uncle Neville’s, at least (he wanted birthday gifts, not amateur herbology projects). 

“Hagrid!” Albus yells, but the giant is too busy corralling first years.

“Firs’ years!” he bellows. “Firs’ years, this way!”

Albus stands on his toes and looks at Scorpius, who’s already got his arms wrapped back around himself. Now that he’s not aware he’s being observed, his eyes are shifting back and forth warily. He’s vulnerable and exposed – something Albus needs to remedy quickly.

He grabs a fistful of Hagrid’s robes and tugs at them. When Hagrid doesn’t respond, he yanks harder, knocking a few sausages loose from his pocket. Hagrid turns and looks down at him, a grin growing beneath his wild gray beard. He’s an overgrown, ruddy Santa Claus and if he can give Albus what he needs right now, he promises he’ll ask for nothing at Christmas.

“Albus!” Hagrid cries. “Good ter see yeh, but ’m ‘fraid now’s not the time. ‘Bout ter get these firs’ years off-”

“Hagrid, I need your help!” Albus says loudly and motions for Hagrid to bend over. He’s taller than the first years, but not nearly tall enough to have a somewhat private conversation with an eight and a half foot man. Hagrid frowns and bends down, and Albus gets as close to him as he can.

“Can Scorpius and I go across on the boats?”

“Al, yeh know I can’ do tha’,” Hagrid says.

“Hagrid, he loves Hogwarts,” Albus says, bordering on whining. “And his mum died a few days ago, and the Thestrals… please?”

Hagrid pulls back and looks at Albus’ face, and Albus uses the only trick he has available. He stares up at Hagrid desperately with his wide green eyes, hoping he looks enough like his father in that moment to pull it off. It’s something he rarely hopes for.

Hagrid’s face softens beneath the tangle of wild hair and he looks at Scorpius. Albus see’s he’s taken to hugging his copy of History of Magic again and is tracing his finger over the raised logo on the book.

“Alrigh’,” Hagrid says. “Yeh can ride in the boat with me.”

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Albus says quickly, and much to his own surprise hugs Hagrid’s arm, as it’s the closest thing he can reach. He runs off before Hagrid can say anything else, and by the time he reaches Scorpius again Hagrid has started leading the first years down toward the shore where the boats are docked.

“What was all that about?” Scorpius asks, glum.

“I don’t like the carriages. Do you?” Albus asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “It’s really not fair that we only get to see Hogwarts from the lake once. Fortunately, I’m a Potter.”

“You convinced him to let us take the boats?” Scorpius asks. Albus nods, and is so relieved when Scorpius’ mouth twitches into a bit of a smile. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Albus,” Scorpius says.

“Of course I did,” Albus says. He slings his arm around Scorpius’ shoulders and ushers him along behind the first years. “Besides – if we’d stayed at the carriages we would have wound up with Polly Chapman.”

It’s telling that Scorpius doesn’t use this opportunity to bring up his undying love for Rose Granger-Weasley and the fact that he hasn’t seen her yet. They make their way down to the water and wait until Hagrid has all the first years situated in their boats, and Albus watches as Scorpius tucks his book away for safekeeping.

 "All righ’ you two,“ Hagrid says when only the three of them are left. He points to the large boat at the center of the line and Albus and Scorpius move towards it. They step into the mud and Albus is pleased to see Scorpius grimace at the sinking sensation. It means his Malfoy Neatness Sensibility is still fully intact.

Albus climbs in first and takes Scorpius’ bag from him, since he seems a bit imbalanced. Scorpius even lets him assist his transfer into the boat, taking Albus’ hand for stability. He sits down on the bench at Albus’ side, staring blankly ahead into the darkness of the lake and mutters 'thanks’ as Hagrid climbs in behind them.

At once, all the boats start to move. They glide into the glassy surface of the lake with ease, cutting into the water and creating ripples. Their view of the trees is unobscured, as Hagrid’s boat leads the others. Albus can only see a couple more in his periphery.

"Fun, right?” Albus says, hopeful. He looks at Scorpius’ pale face as he stares out across the water. The sun set about a half hour ago and they’re lit by the warm glow of the boat’s lantern. It does a little for Scorpius’ complexion, but nothing at all could mitigate the miserable expression on his face.

Albus looks over his shoulder at Hagrid, seeking help from the only adult around who might know what to do. But Hagrid is looking at Scorpius with pity and just shakes his head at Albus, shrugging his great shoulders. He’s got nothing to offer. 

Albus stays quiet for a few more minutes until they round a hill that juts into the water. The castle comes into view in one fabulous moment.

The first time they did this it was drizzling and the moon was obscured by clouds. Tonight it’s clear enough that Albus could count the windows on each of the towers if he’d had the time. The Great Hall is a glowing beacon ahead of them, and its reflection in the still water magnifies the light. 

Albus looks at Scorpius. There’s a small, sad smile on his face. His eyes are soft as he looks up at the castle, sniffling a little bit as he does so. Albus doesn’t say anything as Scorpius wipes a bit of moisture from under his eyes.

“It still gives me tingles,” Scorpius says. “The castle, I mean. Seeing it for the first time after summer.”

“Geek,” Albus says affectionately.

“Yeah,” Scorpius laughs. “I know you don’t like it here, but…”

“But you do,” Albus supplies. Scorpius nods, his mouth curving into a small frown. 

“Mum liked it here too,” he says weakly. “She was afraid when she was a kid that she wouldn’t get to come. My grandparents… they were afraid it would take years off her life, or that a simple accident would…”

He swallows hard, his eyes still glued to the castle as it slowly draws nearer. “She said she loved the food the most. Mum always loved sweets, and here she could have as much dessert as she wanted.”

“We should have one of everything tonight, then,” Albus says. “For her.”

Scorpius looks at him, and Albus isn’t surprised at all to see tears running down his cheeks. He’d have been more surprised if he wasn’tcrying.

“Your sugar tolerance isn’t as high as mine,” Scorpius says. “You can’t keep up.”

It takes a second for Albus to process that Scorpius is joking, but when he does, his first real grin of the day breaks across his face and it makes Scorpius smile a bit too. Just a bit.

“Thanks, Albus,” Scorpius says, and it’s so sincere that Albus doesn’t know what to say. He wants so badly to comfort Scorpius – to make something feel better and he hopes he’s done it, at least a little. Albus just nods and looks back up at the castle with Scorpius, and tries his best to stay sturdy and still when Scorpius leans into his side as though he can’t support his own weight anymore.

—

The feast is exceptional, and Albus is so glad to see that the kitchens have sent up some of everything for dessert. The small sting of Lily being sorted into Gryffindor is overshadowed by the misery on Scorpius’ face, and Albus wholly devotes himself to the dessert mission. He’s even foregone his usual second helping of mashed potatoes to leave room for some treacle tart and pumpkin pie, which Scorpius serves him with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.

By the time they’ve had some of everything and start making their way toward the Slytherin dungeon, Albus is feeling well and truly awful. Scorpius is bemoaning that last bit of fudge, saying that it was the final square that did him in, but Albus is pretty sure the damage was done with his second slice of pie and the extra fruit tart he ate. 

The first years are divided into two groups in the common room – those who are excited to be in Slytherin and those who think Sorting Hat has made a most grievous error. Albus asked James last year if this happened in Gryffindor and he said no, so Albus is sure it’s a Slytherin-only phenomenon. The room is covered with students catching up and meeting for the first time. The Great Hall is large enough that the number of students isn’t overwhelming, but the common room is packed, and Albus doesn’t really want to be a part of it. 

“Do you want to go to the dorm?” Albus asks. He looks at Scorpius for the first time since they’ve entered and finds him white as a sheet, his eyes darting from face to face and cluster to cluster. He’s overcome and it shows. Albus places a careful hand above his elbow and guides Scorpius towards the dorms. 

Scorpius is pliant and follows along easily. Albus doesn’t let go until they reach the passage to the dorms, but Scorpius stays beside him, his eyes blank as he stares ahead.

“Common room is busy,” Scorpius mutters.

“It’s too loud,” Albus says. He wouldn’t contradict him even if he had wanted to stay out there. “Too many people.”

“I really just want to go to bed,” Scorpius says. There’s a bit of shame lingering in his voice and on his face, and Albus looks at him as he pushes the door to their dorm open.

“I don’t blame you,” Albus says. “It’s been a long day.”

Scorpius gives a noncommittal hum and tosses his bag onto his bed before flopping down onto the mattress. It’s dramatic, but not wholly unwarranted. Albus sighs and rubs his face, wishing (not for the first time) that his best friend came with an instruction manual.

And that’s when he sees it.

Scorpius’ trunk is situated at the foot of the bed, and on the front of it, painted in bright, blocky red letters is “Scorpius H. Voldemort.”

It’s not inventive. It’s actually rather stupid, and Albus knows it’s not the name calling that bothers Scorpius so much – it’s the implication that his mother went to bed with the Dark Lord, and today is not the day for Scorpius to have to think about that.

Albus’ thumb works over the seed markings along the handle of his wand as he draws it from the pocket of his robes. A cleaning spell and some stain-cleaning potion should do it – the paint doesn’t look like it’s enchanted – but he needs to get Scorpius out of the room.

“Scorp?”

Scorpius responds with a pained moan from his bed.

“Don’t you think a shower would help you feel better?”

He gives another pained groan as he rolls onto his side, hugging his pillow.

“I read something over the summer,” Albus lies. “On the Muggle internet. It said that when you’ve had too much sugar a hot shower or bath can aid in digestion.”

“Why on earth would you have read that?”

“Because you do this at least three times a year,” Albus replies. “That’s why. I knew you’d need it.”

Scorpius struggles into a sitting position, his hand on his stomach as it grumbles angrily at him. Even Albus’ isn’t doing that, but he supposes the stress Scorpius is under is having hidden effects as well.

“Albus Severus,” Scorpius says. “That’s incredibly thoughtful.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Albus grumbles. He shuffles over and sits atop the defaced trunk, letting his robes fan out so they cover the writing. He disguises the action by plucking the copy of History of Magic from Scorpius’ nearby bag and opens it to a random page.

He hears telltale sounds of Scorpius rummaging in the wardrobe for pyjamas – the House Elves always put the clothes away first – and a few seconds later Scorpius appears in front of him. The green glow from the lake gives him a sickly look – it usually does but tonight it’s pronounced, and the circles under his eyes look deep and painful.

“Nice relaxing shower,” Albus urges. “Make your stomach feel better.”

Scorpius just nods and heads towards the bathroom, dragging his feet. He opens the door and the bright light of the bathroom leaks into the dorm room, and Albus hopes Scorpius doesn’t look back because he doesn’t think he’s entirely covered the red paint.

Fortunately, Scorpius is too weary to do anything like that. He just kicks the door closed behind himself, his feet heavy and his arms dangling at his sides.

Albus slams the book shut and throws it back on the bed as soon as he hears the water start running. He swings into action, crouching in front of Scorpius’ otherwise pristine trunk – it must be new – and examines the damage. The paint is nearly dry and is barely tacky to the touch. He hopes it will come off easily. He grabs his wand and casts a few Scourgifies across the canvas. For nearly five minutes he siphons off the paint, concentrating as hard as he can until only a faint, unreadable shadow remains.

For that, he needs his mum’s help.

Albus dives over to his bed and opens his trunk. He rummages around, throwing things onto the floor indiscriminately. His quills stop ink bottles from rolling away and he tosses his scarf up onto his bed. He digs until he finds it – a small bag with a few potions in it with a note tied around the drawstring-

For emergencies.

Love you,

Mum

Tears well in Albus’ eyes unexpectedly. He’s never gotten on well with his dad, but his mum… she always seemed to understand him, or understood that she didn’t and listened when he needed her to. It takes him a second to connect why he’s feeling such overwhelming gratitude – gratitude so strong it’s crippling.

His mum is alive and well. She’s at home now, probably cleaning up from supper or sitting on the sofa with a book wrapped in her worn bathrobe that Albus and Lily bought for her at Christmas at least five years ago. He imagines her now, wrapped in the soft pink cotton, smiling as she turns a page, accepting a glass of wine from Harry as he joins her, and Albus instantly wishes he were at home where he could hug her and tell her he loves her.

He doesn’t have time for that, though. He looks at the vials inside – one for stomach upsets, one for sleep, and one for stains. He grabs the right one and looks around for a cloth. If he goes into the bathroom to grab one, Scorpius will start chatting and he won’t be able to finish the job, so Albus grabs the nearest thing he can and heads back over.

He splashes the clear potion onto the green and grey stipes of his scarf and starts rubbing it on the trunk. The potion isn’t meant for knit – the fibers of the scarf start to discolor – but Albus doesn’t care. He’s got a few galleons stowed at the bottom of his trunk for emergencies like this one. He can order another one from the school.

Sometimes, he thinks as he desperately rubs the potion into the 'V’, sacrifices must be made.

He’s nearly satisfied with his work when he hears the water shut off in the bathroom. Albus scrambles for his wand and siphons off the excess moisture and casts lumos to check his work. There’s not a mark on the trunk and he grins, satisfied. He throws his ruined scarf under his bed, corks the vial of stain potion, and tosses it back into his trunk. With only a minute left, he haphazardly tosses his things back into the trunk and has just barely thrown himself down onto his own bed when Scorpius emerges in blue striped pajamas, drying his hair.

“Feel better?” Albus asks.

Scorpius sniffs as he pulls the bathroom door closed. He’s been crying. Albus would regret sending him off for a few minutes of solitude if he didn’t know seeing the trunk would be worse. Besides… sometimes it’s better to let it out.

“A bit,” Scorpius confesses as he sits on his bed. “Stomach still hurts, though.”

“Well, you can’t have everything,” Albus half-teases, and Scorpius gives him a weary smile that’s barely visible in the low light of the room.

“I think I’m going to sleep now,” Scorpius says weakly, as if asking if that’s okay. Albus sits up and looks at him. They face one another, and Albus grips the edge of his bed, trying to keep his own swirling emotions at bay because this isn’t about him at all. He doesn’t have a right to feel grateful that his mom is alive, guilty because he’s grateful, sad because he didn’t get the fun Scorpius he’s used to, or desperate because he wants to make his friend feel better. He doesn’t have a right to those things, and decides that the best course of action is to just help Scorpius feel like things can be normal again someday.

“Okay,” Albus says. “But if you can’t sleep or something in the middle of the night, wake me up?”

Scorpius gives a weak nod, and Albus knows he won’t do it even if he can’t sleep.

“I have some Sleeping Draught,” Albus offers. “If you need it.”

“Dad gave me some,” Scorpius says. “But… thanks.”

“It’s okay if you need mine. Mum made me take it with me-”

“No, Albus,” Scorpius interrupts, but his voice is kind. He looks up at Albus and stares directly into his eyes. It’s so sincere that Albus can’t do anything but stare back. Much like he’s been the rest of the day, Albus is at a loss for what to say or do.

“Thank you,” Scorpius says earnestly, and Albus knows he means for more than the potion offer. Albus gives him a weak nod, and watches as Scorpius tugs the hangings around his bed, leaving only a bit open between them like they always do, just in case. 

Albus watches him through the curtains as he settles in, curling around his pillow. He can barely hear the ruckus from the common room from here and he knows it’s early. Their dorm mates won’t even be considering bed for at least another hour. The last thing he wants to do is disturb Scorpius if he can get some rest, so Albus waits until he hears Scorpius’ breathing level out before digging in his bag and succumbing to some of his own anxiety.

He draws out a bit of parchment and an envelope, and settles it atop a book. After casting lumos, he stares down at the blank page. He doesn’t know what to say, but knows he needs to figure it out now if he wants the letter to go out in the morning post. He grabs a Muggle pen (a gift from Aunt Hermione) and starts to write.

Dear mum,

I love you.

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We look forward to hearing from you soon!

Thanks to everyone who’s signed up so far! We’re really excited to have you all taking part. If you’re thinking about signing up or aren’t sure, you still have a few days! Send us an ask with any questions and we’ll be happy to answer, or if you want to get involved let us know whether you want to write a fic or submit some art (fic writers, don’t forget to mention whether you’ll need a beta or not), by midnight BST on Monday the 21st of August. Also, if you’d like to help with betaing fics please drop us an ask. This event really is the more the merrier so get involved!

If you don’t want to submit any fic or art, maybe you’d like to help inspire our writers and artists by sending in prompts? All back to Hogwarts themed ideas are welcome, and if there’s a particular pairing you’d love to see let us know that too.

Much love to you all, and thanks for your enthusiasm so far.

Astoria Malfoy (neé Greengrass)

Draco & Astoria Moodboard

Scorpius Malfoy Moodboard