history repeats itself. somebody says this. (harry potter)
history repeats itself. somebody says this.
harry potter “No,” he says and touches his swollen eye. “No, Harry, you wouldn’t.” He smiles at you and it’s sad and there is something terribly final about it and he says fondly, “You always were a bit thick.” He leaves. (harry potter; harry potter/draco malfoy, astoria greengrass, pg-13, 3,175 words)
notes: because apparently h/d is my new FEELINGS DUMP! ship, i wrote this. it is a bit sad, but also a bit happy and also i feel like astoria is often just left out of h/d fics entirely (either they're divorced before it starts or something, but she's so rarely explored and i kind of love the idea of her.) oh, and i also have her cast as the impossibly gorgeous olga kurylenko, so she can be used as a reference if you want.
Verse. Chorus. Verse.
I’m sorry. We know how it works. The world is no longer mysterious.
(RICHARD SIKEN)
this was unlike the story
it was written to be
(JOANNA NEWSOM)
-
So there’s this boy that you went to school with and he is taller than you are and richer than you are and blonder than you are. He has a pouty, scowling mouth and when he growls insults at you, he’s sneering so much that the insult comes out oddly but you suppose it must be something spectacularly cutting.
He makes fun of the hand-knitted sweaters your best friend’s mother makes you and your scar and your dead parents.
And you think that you hate him.
-
You become an Auror.
He’s an Unspeakable, so sometimes you pass in the halls.
The most you ever do is nod at each other curtly as you go by. He’s so much thinner now and rarely meets your eye on the rare occasion you meet.
For some reason, this fills you with this burning desire to know him, so you corner him on a Thursday and say, “Malfoy” in what you hope is a most authoritative voice.
“Potter,” he returns and there’s this flash in his gray eyes - it reminds you of your school days and it excites you. He stands up straighter.
You say, “So.”
He says, “So.”
“Do you wanna… I dunno… Do you want to get a drink after work some time?”
And he does that smirk of his and oh, how you’ve missed that smirk and it’s July and you’re adults now and it’s strange. “I hardly think that would be appropriate,” he tells you and you deflate, just a little. He goes on, “I mean, Our Holy Savior, the Great and Wonderful and Powerful Potter seen with moi?” He extends his left arm and lifts his sleeve, baring his white forearm and the gnarly mass of scars there that was once the Dark Mark.
You deflate even more and he turns around.
Then he pauses.
He says, “I get off at nine. I’ll see you right here at that time on Friday. If you’re even a minute late, I’m going home.”
-
Astoria Greengrass is also an Auror, one level below you.
This will matter later.
-
It’s odd, you realize that night when you’re brushing your teeth, that you suddenly want his friendship or his… something. Companionship maybe, you don’t know the correct word for whatever this is. But anyway, this time, you are the one extending the invitation when he was the one who did so when you were eleven.
You slide in between your too-starched sheets and your apartment feels very empty and very large suddenly.
You dream of dragons that night.
-
After a few glasses of Firewhiskey you’re both laughing and silly and drunk and you give him back his wand. “Thanks,” you say and you grin and you’re both flushed and a bit sweaty from the heat and you add, “I mean, your wand defeated Voldemort.”
Malfoy chuckles and he leans in and kisses you right on the mouth and people might be staring but you don’t care because his mouth is hot and wet and his tongue is in your mouth and you kiss him back.
He pulls away and smoothes your hair away from your eyes. “Let’s take this somewhere more private, eh?”
And you don’t need to be told twice.
-
What starts as a drunken fuck quickly morphs into what Ron would call a “friends with benefits” situation where you are friends and you talk about your lives and your work and also give each other handies and blow jobs and, yes, you fuck quite often.
It’s a nice situation because it means you can been seen together in public and it gives you a lovely feeling of satisfaction when you see him in the halls talking to someone and rubbing his forearm where you’d grabbed him earlier to slam him against the wall and kissed him ‘til your lips were both red and bruised and swollen.
It never occurs to you that he could want more because you want more, you know you do, you want someone to share your big, empty, lonely apartment with and someone to love and you two have always wanted opposite things so you keep this opinion to yourself and are content to fuck him senseless and not cuddle afterwards.
That’s one thing about Draco, you realize after your second night together: He likes to get up immediately after sex and set about cleaning up and getting dressed, all while avoiding eye contact.
For some reason, this bothers you.
-
You remember kissing where his Dark Mark had been and he’d shuddered and sighed and breathed, “Harry,” into your hair as you ran your tongue over the mass of scar tissue.
This is the part where you fall in love with him and you try to memorize his face.
-
This goes on for six months.
You know that saying “it’s all too sweet to last?”
It’s real.
-
And you fight because of course, that’s the way you’ve always been and you don’t know or care what the fight was about but it eventually comes to blows and your nose is bleeding and he’s got a black eye and a bruise blooming on his chin.
You shout at him, “I don’t know what you want from me” and you want to cry but you won’t give him that satisfaction.
He just sighs.
“No,” he says and touches his swollen eye. “No, Harry, you wouldn’t.” He smiles at you and it’s sad and there is something terribly final about it and he says fondly, “You always were a bit thick.”
He leaves.
You are sick in the bathroom and he doesn’t return your owls.
-
So: Astoria Greengrass.
You meet her once and she’s this tall, beautiful thing with large green eyes and long black hair and she’s very, very good at her job. Former Ravenclaw, eventually a Chaser for her House team, pureblooded and arrogant and clever with a tongue quick to scold.
She clicks that tongue against the back of her teeth after she says her Ts and when she grins (which is rare), her eyes crinkle at the corners. She looks down her nose and lifts her chin when you speak to her.
You say, “I don’t remember you at Hogwarts,” and she replies “We ran in different circles” and oh, you absolutely did not miss the hint of condensation there, thanks.
She has red nails and you realize with a sick feeling that she really is perfect for Draco.
-
So of course Draco and Astoria date or it’s arranged or whatever but the point is, after five months, Astoria is wearing an ornate emerald and diamond ring on her finger and you hate her for it, but not as much as you hate yourself.
He sends Draco a Howler and doesn’t get anything back.
-
Draco is vindictive bastard, something that even the war couldn’t take from him, and he invites you to his engagement party.
And because you’re stupid and heartsick and lonely and your apartment is too big and too empty and too lonely, you accept.
It’s at Malfoy Manor and you don’t really know anyone there and you hang out in the corner, sipping your wine and watch Astoria laugh and mingle with her friends. She’s stunning in a red dress with her hair swept into an elegant knot and the ring glints on her finger and when Draco passes, she briefly rests her hand on the crook of his elbow and presses a kiss behind his ear.
Draco brings you a flute of champagne. “Why are you sulking?” he asks and those are the first words he’s spoken to you in over a year. His grey eyes are dancing and he’s clearly relishing in your misery.
You down it. “You know bloody well why,” you mutter.
He just smirks and leans in close, “Astoria’s pregnant.”
“Shotgun wedding then?” you ask dryly and of course he doesn’t know what the term means.
The silence is heavy and awkward.
You say, “I’m sorry.”
He says, “You always were a bit thick, Potter,” and he’s all fond and sad and final again and you want to say something, want to hit him or kiss him or cry or all three and then Astoria glides over.
“Oh, Draco,” she says with a wide grin at her fiancée. “I had no idea you and Potter were friends. How lovely.” Her hand tangles with Draco’s and you hate them both and you hate yourself.
And you can’t stand the sight of them together, so happy and in love and so you say, “I have to go. Early morning, you see,” and you Floo home.
-
“I’m not stupid, Potter.” Astoria drops her salad down on your desk at lunch and sits down uninvited opposite you.
You raise your eyebrows. “I’m well-aware of that,” and you are: Astoria could quite possibly rival Hermione in cleverness and braininess.
She taps her fingernails on the polished wood of your desk. “I know that you and Draco had an… affair. And I know that you’re still in love with him.”
You give a non-committal hum and scribble something down on the file in front of you and pretend not to listen.
Astoria presses on. “He’s still quite enamored with you as well.”
“He doesn’t act like it,” you mutter.
Astoria just snorts and picks at her salad. “Of course he doesn’t act like it, you silly pillock. You really hurt him a few months ago. But I can absolutely assure you that he still adores you.”
“He seems pretty happy with you,” you snap darkly.
She gives a smug smile. “And why shouldn’t he be? I’m beautiful, I’m a pureblood, I’m clever, I’m arrogant… We’re perfect for each other.” She must see your face fall because for the first time ever, you see her display a bit of kindness. “But I’m not heartless. I know that he’d be happier with you than me. Not to say that he’d be entirely unhappy with me but…” She trails off, shakes her head, gets to the point, “I wouldn’t be opposed to an open marriage.”
Your jaw drops, just a little. “What?”
“An open marriage,” she repeats slowly, clearly and you stupid prat is so blatantly implied that you want to tell her to not call you names.
“What do you get out of this?” you ask.
Astoria just smirks. “Have you seen Blaise Zabini?” and that’s that.
-
It’s Astoria who organizes the reunion; she tells Draco that they’re going to have dinner at some nice restaurant in Diagon Alley and Harry’s there instead of his fiancée.
Draco sits down and he says in a low voice, “I know why you’re here.”
You say, “I miss you,” and you mean it with every fiber of your being.
He just does that sad, final smile of his. “I know you do,” and somehow, you know what’s coming next before he even says it, “But we’ve got to move on.”
And you want to fight, want to make a scene and throw your plate and glass of wine at him, want to yell and scream and hit him and make him hurt as much as you do, but instead you ask “Why?” in this broken little voice that you hate.
He sighs. “Because we just…” He rubs at his eyes, “I know this might come as a shock to you, Golden Boy Potter, The Boy Who Scored, but sometimes you can’t always get what you want. Astoria and I are going to have a baby and I’m married to her -”
“ - and she said she was happy with an open relationship, so what’s the problem?” you demand and Draco just sighs.
“It’s not that easy,” he murmurs. “I want to be faithful to my wife, even if she’s not faithful to me. I want…” he trails off, sighs again, “I want to do this one thing right.”
And you’re sitting there frozen as he stands, puts on his coat, does up the buttons with nimble, white fingers. He lays down some Galleons. “Maybe in another life,” he murmurs before he leaves.
-
The following day, Astoria rests one hand on her growing belly and the other on your shoulder while you sit frozen at your desk the same way you sat frozen at the dinner table, long after Malfoy’s in his swirling black coat had exited the restaurant, she rests her hand on your shoulder and says, “I’m sorry,” and she’s sincere and it hurts so much.
-
It takes some time, but you start to move on eventually.
Astoria Malfoy gives birth to a little girl with black hair and grey eyes and they name her Cassiopeia and now that she’s a mother, she’s on leave for a few months.
You see her in Diagon Alley with her in-laws, little Cassie cradled delicately in her arms. You exchange a curt nod.
-
They have another child a few years later, Scorpius and you think the name is classic Malfoy and can’t help but chuckle when Ron tells you about it.
It hurts a little, more than you expected it would.
You never do get married.
-
You get used to your apartment eventually.
-
In March of 2009, you’re in Flourish and Blotts and a small thing runs into your knees. You are reminded momentarily of Dobby when you hear a young girl’s voice yell, “Bloody hell, Scorpius, learn to watch where you’re going” and the girl is there, pulling the boy away from your knees. She has sharp grey eyes and plaited black hair and she scoffs at her little brother. “Sorry,” she says to you and she can’t be more than six, but she already has an arrogant air about her. “My brother is a clumsy oaf.” For good measure, she kicks her brother in the ankles.
“Cassie, that’s enough,” comes an all-too-familiar voice and Draco Malfoy takes the girl’s hand in one of his and the boy’s hand in his other and he says, “I apologize for my children’s behavior I - oh” he says when he sees you.
He goes crimson.
Cassiopeia says, “This is my father.”
It takes Draco a few minutes to compose himself but it’s enough time for Cassiopeia to disentangle herself from him and wander off to the children’s section. Draco pauses and says, “Scorpius, why don’t you go with her?” and gives him a small pat on the back. “Father’ll be there in a moment.”
The two of you stare at each other for a long, long time and God, you missed his shrewd grey eyes. You say, “How’s Astoria?”
He says, “Very well. She’s taken a desk job now, says it’s better now that we’ve got those two and…”
“Right,” you say. “They’re… they seem wonderful.”
“They are,” Draco answers. Then: “How are you?”
You could cut the tension with a knife. Across the store, Cassie is yelling at her little brother and threatens to throw a copy of Mr Maggis’s Magical Melons at his head. You both smile despite yourselves. “How are you?” he asks.
“I’m… good.”
“Good,” Draco says.
Another pause that feels like a lifetime.
A scream from across the room lets them know that Cassie really did throw the book at Scorpius and a moment later, Scorpius is running at his father and tugging at the leg of Draco’s trousers and crying and telling him that Cassie threw a book at him and it hit him in the leg and “she’s just evil, Daddy, she’s an awful witch.”
Cassie just sniffs with disdain and turns up her nose and it reminds you deeply of her mother.
Draco leans down and scoops up little Scorpius in his arms. “Here,” he says, “How about I buy you some ice cream to cheer you up?”
Scorpius stops crying immediately and when Cassie brightens, Draco says, “Cassie, if you don’t start behaving, you won’t get any, either. And you can bet that I’m going to tell your grandmother all about this and she won’t let you try on her jewelry and she definitely won’t comb your hair before bed.”
He puts Scorpius down on the ground and Cassie takes her brother’s hand. “C’mon, Score,” she says, suddenly all sunshine and candy floss sweetness. “Let’s go,” and she starts tugging him out the door.
Draco looks at you and you look away. “So,” he says for what feels like the millionth time. “Would you like to, er, come along?”
You pauses. “It’s just ice cream, right?” and you don’t dare to hope because hope only leads to disappointment which leads to madness which leads to picking up lanky, blonde, pretty young boys at bars and feeling emptier when they leave than you were before meeting them.
Watching his children out of the corner of his eye, Draco says, “You know… I’ve been thinking about that whole ‘open marriage’ thing and…” He clears his throat, “The offer still stands.” But he holds up his hands quickly, “I understand completely if you don’t want to accept it, though. Trust me. I sort of… I wasn’t fair to you. At all.”
“No, you weren’t,” you agree. You both watch Cassie and Scorpius watching the pair of you through the glass.
“I missed you,” Draco says, his voice barely above a whisper and he’s staring at his polished black shoes. “If we could try again… It’d be different this time. If we could just give it another go around. Astoria’s still okay with it, you know. If we could just try again…”
And you reach out and just tug on Draco’s sleeve. “Come on,” you say. “Your children are waiting.”
You grin at each other and walk out the door.
end.
a brief coda: Malfoy Manor is even bigger and colder than your apartment, but it’s not nearly as lonely. You share a bed with Draco Malfoy and the sheets aren’t overly starched and you’re pretty sure Lucius will never get over this arrangement but Narcissa accepts it with a cocked eyebrow and she shakes your hand and offers you a brandy.
You often wake up with either Cassiopeia or Scorpius in your bed and Cassie has her mother’s grin and scolding tongue and Scorpius is the spitting image of his father, but he’s timid and shy. You suspect Cassie will be his protector at Hogwarts.
It’s awkward, at first, sitting down at dinner with Lucius and Narcissa (mostly Lucius - Narcissa accepts you and if she finds anything odd, she keeps it to herself, but you don’t miss the glares Lucius sometimes shoots at you) but Astoria has the grace to sing your praises, probably to cover up her own extramarital affairs, but at least she doesn’t bring hers home.
Draco touches your hand under the table and that seems to say, it’ll be okay.
And you believe him.
(Also under the table, Cassie kicks you in the shins and flutters her long lashes at you innocently when you look at her. You can deal with this, you decide.)
harry potter “No,” he says and touches his swollen eye. “No, Harry, you wouldn’t.” He smiles at you and it’s sad and there is something terribly final about it and he says fondly, “You always were a bit thick.” He leaves. (harry potter; harry potter/draco malfoy, astoria greengrass, pg-13, 3,175 words)
notes: because apparently h/d is my new FEELINGS DUMP! ship, i wrote this. it is a bit sad, but also a bit happy and also i feel like astoria is often just left out of h/d fics entirely (either they're divorced before it starts or something, but she's so rarely explored and i kind of love the idea of her.) oh, and i also have her cast as the impossibly gorgeous olga kurylenko, so she can be used as a reference if you want.
Verse. Chorus. Verse.
I’m sorry. We know how it works. The world is no longer mysterious.
(RICHARD SIKEN)
this was unlike the story
it was written to be
(JOANNA NEWSOM)
-
So there’s this boy that you went to school with and he is taller than you are and richer than you are and blonder than you are. He has a pouty, scowling mouth and when he growls insults at you, he’s sneering so much that the insult comes out oddly but you suppose it must be something spectacularly cutting.
He makes fun of the hand-knitted sweaters your best friend’s mother makes you and your scar and your dead parents.
And you think that you hate him.
-
You become an Auror.
He’s an Unspeakable, so sometimes you pass in the halls.
The most you ever do is nod at each other curtly as you go by. He’s so much thinner now and rarely meets your eye on the rare occasion you meet.
For some reason, this fills you with this burning desire to know him, so you corner him on a Thursday and say, “Malfoy” in what you hope is a most authoritative voice.
“Potter,” he returns and there’s this flash in his gray eyes - it reminds you of your school days and it excites you. He stands up straighter.
You say, “So.”
He says, “So.”
“Do you wanna… I dunno… Do you want to get a drink after work some time?”
And he does that smirk of his and oh, how you’ve missed that smirk and it’s July and you’re adults now and it’s strange. “I hardly think that would be appropriate,” he tells you and you deflate, just a little. He goes on, “I mean, Our Holy Savior, the Great and Wonderful and Powerful Potter seen with moi?” He extends his left arm and lifts his sleeve, baring his white forearm and the gnarly mass of scars there that was once the Dark Mark.
You deflate even more and he turns around.
Then he pauses.
He says, “I get off at nine. I’ll see you right here at that time on Friday. If you’re even a minute late, I’m going home.”
-
Astoria Greengrass is also an Auror, one level below you.
This will matter later.
-
It’s odd, you realize that night when you’re brushing your teeth, that you suddenly want his friendship or his… something. Companionship maybe, you don’t know the correct word for whatever this is. But anyway, this time, you are the one extending the invitation when he was the one who did so when you were eleven.
You slide in between your too-starched sheets and your apartment feels very empty and very large suddenly.
You dream of dragons that night.
-
After a few glasses of Firewhiskey you’re both laughing and silly and drunk and you give him back his wand. “Thanks,” you say and you grin and you’re both flushed and a bit sweaty from the heat and you add, “I mean, your wand defeated Voldemort.”
Malfoy chuckles and he leans in and kisses you right on the mouth and people might be staring but you don’t care because his mouth is hot and wet and his tongue is in your mouth and you kiss him back.
He pulls away and smoothes your hair away from your eyes. “Let’s take this somewhere more private, eh?”
And you don’t need to be told twice.
-
What starts as a drunken fuck quickly morphs into what Ron would call a “friends with benefits” situation where you are friends and you talk about your lives and your work and also give each other handies and blow jobs and, yes, you fuck quite often.
It’s a nice situation because it means you can been seen together in public and it gives you a lovely feeling of satisfaction when you see him in the halls talking to someone and rubbing his forearm where you’d grabbed him earlier to slam him against the wall and kissed him ‘til your lips were both red and bruised and swollen.
It never occurs to you that he could want more because you want more, you know you do, you want someone to share your big, empty, lonely apartment with and someone to love and you two have always wanted opposite things so you keep this opinion to yourself and are content to fuck him senseless and not cuddle afterwards.
That’s one thing about Draco, you realize after your second night together: He likes to get up immediately after sex and set about cleaning up and getting dressed, all while avoiding eye contact.
For some reason, this bothers you.
-
You remember kissing where his Dark Mark had been and he’d shuddered and sighed and breathed, “Harry,” into your hair as you ran your tongue over the mass of scar tissue.
This is the part where you fall in love with him and you try to memorize his face.
-
This goes on for six months.
You know that saying “it’s all too sweet to last?”
It’s real.
-
And you fight because of course, that’s the way you’ve always been and you don’t know or care what the fight was about but it eventually comes to blows and your nose is bleeding and he’s got a black eye and a bruise blooming on his chin.
You shout at him, “I don’t know what you want from me” and you want to cry but you won’t give him that satisfaction.
He just sighs.
“No,” he says and touches his swollen eye. “No, Harry, you wouldn’t.” He smiles at you and it’s sad and there is something terribly final about it and he says fondly, “You always were a bit thick.”
He leaves.
You are sick in the bathroom and he doesn’t return your owls.
-
So: Astoria Greengrass.
You meet her once and she’s this tall, beautiful thing with large green eyes and long black hair and she’s very, very good at her job. Former Ravenclaw, eventually a Chaser for her House team, pureblooded and arrogant and clever with a tongue quick to scold.
She clicks that tongue against the back of her teeth after she says her Ts and when she grins (which is rare), her eyes crinkle at the corners. She looks down her nose and lifts her chin when you speak to her.
You say, “I don’t remember you at Hogwarts,” and she replies “We ran in different circles” and oh, you absolutely did not miss the hint of condensation there, thanks.
She has red nails and you realize with a sick feeling that she really is perfect for Draco.
-
So of course Draco and Astoria date or it’s arranged or whatever but the point is, after five months, Astoria is wearing an ornate emerald and diamond ring on her finger and you hate her for it, but not as much as you hate yourself.
He sends Draco a Howler and doesn’t get anything back.
-
Draco is vindictive bastard, something that even the war couldn’t take from him, and he invites you to his engagement party.
And because you’re stupid and heartsick and lonely and your apartment is too big and too empty and too lonely, you accept.
It’s at Malfoy Manor and you don’t really know anyone there and you hang out in the corner, sipping your wine and watch Astoria laugh and mingle with her friends. She’s stunning in a red dress with her hair swept into an elegant knot and the ring glints on her finger and when Draco passes, she briefly rests her hand on the crook of his elbow and presses a kiss behind his ear.
Draco brings you a flute of champagne. “Why are you sulking?” he asks and those are the first words he’s spoken to you in over a year. His grey eyes are dancing and he’s clearly relishing in your misery.
You down it. “You know bloody well why,” you mutter.
He just smirks and leans in close, “Astoria’s pregnant.”
“Shotgun wedding then?” you ask dryly and of course he doesn’t know what the term means.
The silence is heavy and awkward.
You say, “I’m sorry.”
He says, “You always were a bit thick, Potter,” and he’s all fond and sad and final again and you want to say something, want to hit him or kiss him or cry or all three and then Astoria glides over.
“Oh, Draco,” she says with a wide grin at her fiancée. “I had no idea you and Potter were friends. How lovely.” Her hand tangles with Draco’s and you hate them both and you hate yourself.
And you can’t stand the sight of them together, so happy and in love and so you say, “I have to go. Early morning, you see,” and you Floo home.
-
“I’m not stupid, Potter.” Astoria drops her salad down on your desk at lunch and sits down uninvited opposite you.
You raise your eyebrows. “I’m well-aware of that,” and you are: Astoria could quite possibly rival Hermione in cleverness and braininess.
She taps her fingernails on the polished wood of your desk. “I know that you and Draco had an… affair. And I know that you’re still in love with him.”
You give a non-committal hum and scribble something down on the file in front of you and pretend not to listen.
Astoria presses on. “He’s still quite enamored with you as well.”
“He doesn’t act like it,” you mutter.
Astoria just snorts and picks at her salad. “Of course he doesn’t act like it, you silly pillock. You really hurt him a few months ago. But I can absolutely assure you that he still adores you.”
“He seems pretty happy with you,” you snap darkly.
She gives a smug smile. “And why shouldn’t he be? I’m beautiful, I’m a pureblood, I’m clever, I’m arrogant… We’re perfect for each other.” She must see your face fall because for the first time ever, you see her display a bit of kindness. “But I’m not heartless. I know that he’d be happier with you than me. Not to say that he’d be entirely unhappy with me but…” She trails off, shakes her head, gets to the point, “I wouldn’t be opposed to an open marriage.”
Your jaw drops, just a little. “What?”
“An open marriage,” she repeats slowly, clearly and you stupid prat is so blatantly implied that you want to tell her to not call you names.
“What do you get out of this?” you ask.
Astoria just smirks. “Have you seen Blaise Zabini?” and that’s that.
-
It’s Astoria who organizes the reunion; she tells Draco that they’re going to have dinner at some nice restaurant in Diagon Alley and Harry’s there instead of his fiancée.
Draco sits down and he says in a low voice, “I know why you’re here.”
You say, “I miss you,” and you mean it with every fiber of your being.
He just does that sad, final smile of his. “I know you do,” and somehow, you know what’s coming next before he even says it, “But we’ve got to move on.”
And you want to fight, want to make a scene and throw your plate and glass of wine at him, want to yell and scream and hit him and make him hurt as much as you do, but instead you ask “Why?” in this broken little voice that you hate.
He sighs. “Because we just…” He rubs at his eyes, “I know this might come as a shock to you, Golden Boy Potter, The Boy Who Scored, but sometimes you can’t always get what you want. Astoria and I are going to have a baby and I’m married to her -”
“ - and she said she was happy with an open relationship, so what’s the problem?” you demand and Draco just sighs.
“It’s not that easy,” he murmurs. “I want to be faithful to my wife, even if she’s not faithful to me. I want…” he trails off, sighs again, “I want to do this one thing right.”
And you’re sitting there frozen as he stands, puts on his coat, does up the buttons with nimble, white fingers. He lays down some Galleons. “Maybe in another life,” he murmurs before he leaves.
-
The following day, Astoria rests one hand on her growing belly and the other on your shoulder while you sit frozen at your desk the same way you sat frozen at the dinner table, long after Malfoy’s in his swirling black coat had exited the restaurant, she rests her hand on your shoulder and says, “I’m sorry,” and she’s sincere and it hurts so much.
-
It takes some time, but you start to move on eventually.
Astoria Malfoy gives birth to a little girl with black hair and grey eyes and they name her Cassiopeia and now that she’s a mother, she’s on leave for a few months.
You see her in Diagon Alley with her in-laws, little Cassie cradled delicately in her arms. You exchange a curt nod.
-
They have another child a few years later, Scorpius and you think the name is classic Malfoy and can’t help but chuckle when Ron tells you about it.
It hurts a little, more than you expected it would.
You never do get married.
-
You get used to your apartment eventually.
-
In March of 2009, you’re in Flourish and Blotts and a small thing runs into your knees. You are reminded momentarily of Dobby when you hear a young girl’s voice yell, “Bloody hell, Scorpius, learn to watch where you’re going” and the girl is there, pulling the boy away from your knees. She has sharp grey eyes and plaited black hair and she scoffs at her little brother. “Sorry,” she says to you and she can’t be more than six, but she already has an arrogant air about her. “My brother is a clumsy oaf.” For good measure, she kicks her brother in the ankles.
“Cassie, that’s enough,” comes an all-too-familiar voice and Draco Malfoy takes the girl’s hand in one of his and the boy’s hand in his other and he says, “I apologize for my children’s behavior I - oh” he says when he sees you.
He goes crimson.
Cassiopeia says, “This is my father.”
It takes Draco a few minutes to compose himself but it’s enough time for Cassiopeia to disentangle herself from him and wander off to the children’s section. Draco pauses and says, “Scorpius, why don’t you go with her?” and gives him a small pat on the back. “Father’ll be there in a moment.”
The two of you stare at each other for a long, long time and God, you missed his shrewd grey eyes. You say, “How’s Astoria?”
He says, “Very well. She’s taken a desk job now, says it’s better now that we’ve got those two and…”
“Right,” you say. “They’re… they seem wonderful.”
“They are,” Draco answers. Then: “How are you?”
You could cut the tension with a knife. Across the store, Cassie is yelling at her little brother and threatens to throw a copy of Mr Maggis’s Magical Melons at his head. You both smile despite yourselves. “How are you?” he asks.
“I’m… good.”
“Good,” Draco says.
Another pause that feels like a lifetime.
A scream from across the room lets them know that Cassie really did throw the book at Scorpius and a moment later, Scorpius is running at his father and tugging at the leg of Draco’s trousers and crying and telling him that Cassie threw a book at him and it hit him in the leg and “she’s just evil, Daddy, she’s an awful witch.”
Cassie just sniffs with disdain and turns up her nose and it reminds you deeply of her mother.
Draco leans down and scoops up little Scorpius in his arms. “Here,” he says, “How about I buy you some ice cream to cheer you up?”
Scorpius stops crying immediately and when Cassie brightens, Draco says, “Cassie, if you don’t start behaving, you won’t get any, either. And you can bet that I’m going to tell your grandmother all about this and she won’t let you try on her jewelry and she definitely won’t comb your hair before bed.”
He puts Scorpius down on the ground and Cassie takes her brother’s hand. “C’mon, Score,” she says, suddenly all sunshine and candy floss sweetness. “Let’s go,” and she starts tugging him out the door.
Draco looks at you and you look away. “So,” he says for what feels like the millionth time. “Would you like to, er, come along?”
You pauses. “It’s just ice cream, right?” and you don’t dare to hope because hope only leads to disappointment which leads to madness which leads to picking up lanky, blonde, pretty young boys at bars and feeling emptier when they leave than you were before meeting them.
Watching his children out of the corner of his eye, Draco says, “You know… I’ve been thinking about that whole ‘open marriage’ thing and…” He clears his throat, “The offer still stands.” But he holds up his hands quickly, “I understand completely if you don’t want to accept it, though. Trust me. I sort of… I wasn’t fair to you. At all.”
“No, you weren’t,” you agree. You both watch Cassie and Scorpius watching the pair of you through the glass.
“I missed you,” Draco says, his voice barely above a whisper and he’s staring at his polished black shoes. “If we could try again… It’d be different this time. If we could just give it another go around. Astoria’s still okay with it, you know. If we could just try again…”
And you reach out and just tug on Draco’s sleeve. “Come on,” you say. “Your children are waiting.”
You grin at each other and walk out the door.
end.
a brief coda: Malfoy Manor is even bigger and colder than your apartment, but it’s not nearly as lonely. You share a bed with Draco Malfoy and the sheets aren’t overly starched and you’re pretty sure Lucius will never get over this arrangement but Narcissa accepts it with a cocked eyebrow and she shakes your hand and offers you a brandy.
You often wake up with either Cassiopeia or Scorpius in your bed and Cassie has her mother’s grin and scolding tongue and Scorpius is the spitting image of his father, but he’s timid and shy. You suspect Cassie will be his protector at Hogwarts.
It’s awkward, at first, sitting down at dinner with Lucius and Narcissa (mostly Lucius - Narcissa accepts you and if she finds anything odd, she keeps it to herself, but you don’t miss the glares Lucius sometimes shoots at you) but Astoria has the grace to sing your praises, probably to cover up her own extramarital affairs, but at least she doesn’t bring hers home.
Draco touches your hand under the table and that seems to say, it’ll be okay.
And you believe him.
(Also under the table, Cassie kicks you in the shins and flutters her long lashes at you innocently when you look at her. You can deal with this, you decide.)