dddrastoria

Drastoria: established relationship, flirting at a party, for anon.

The parties are starting to wear on him. He’s not sure how much longer he can put up with the routine of dressing up, wining and dining, exchanging pleasantries and courtesies with people he couldn’t care less about. But he has to maintain the Malfoy image, particularly given how much rehabilitation it needs. Skipping out on events like this would make him seem everything they sought to avoid: self-centered, haughty, pompous.

How far they’d come.

So he puts up with it, because his mother and father put a great deal of hope in him. He isn’t going to let them down—not this time.

Truthfully, though, the only way he manages to get through these things is thanks to the young lady at his side. Astoria, though at first he’d been skeptical (his mother had practically hoisted her on him, and her enthusiasm had done little to faze him), very quickly wormed her way into Draco’s life. Though certainly not a  loud individual, her presence is undeniable. You notice her. You notice her easy smile, her bright eyes, her poise, and—when she did speak—her even and clear-as-a-bell voice. 

At least, Draco does. They’ve been an item for a few months now, and were it not been for her he would have gone mad.

Take now, for instance, the pair of them having just extricated themselves from a terrible conversation with some Ministry official Draco will inevitably fail to remember in an hour: despite his insistence to remain impatient and generally frustrated, Astoria is unfazed. Smiling, even, amused at the crinkle in his brow.

"Sparkling conversationalist, that one," she remarks.

He rolls his eyes. “Bright as the sun, even.”

"Clearly no match for your silver tongue, though," she continues. 

"Now you’re just taking the piss," he mutters.

She laughs openly now, and his heart warms at the sound (he smiles openly, too, and it’s thanks to her he’s learned how to do that). “What do you say we take a break?” she asks.

He sighs. “We can’t leave.”

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Drastoria: Astoria’s first time at Malfoy Manor.

Though this is not the first time Astoria has met Draco’s parents, it is the first time she’s been to the Malfoy home, and that occasion carries a weight all its own. If she is to marry Draco, the manor will someday belong to her as well. 

It’s no small amount of pressure, then. It would be completely understandable—almost expected—to be nervous. Draco wakes up that morning with a keen eye for any trace of anxiety. To his bemusement, he finds none: she dresses calmly, she pecks his cheek as she sits down for breakfast, her smiles come easily and so too is her stride. They link arms to Apparate to the manor, and even then Draco cannot sense any tensity in her stance.

He’s not sure whether to be worried or put at ease that she’s so relaxed. He worries it might come across as flippant, and that’s the last impression he wants his parents to get. Though he’s trying his hardest to establish himself as his own man, independent of his parents’ desires, he cannot deny the importance of their approval.

Any doubts he has, though, are quickly assuaged. She is poised and bright as ever, every word and movement perfectly placed. She charms a genuine smile from Lucius and kisses Narcissa’s cheek with nothing but sincerity. 

Draco, more than once, finds himself in awe. 

Conversation flows easily all through dinner, topics ranging from the Ministry to the peacocks in the front yard. Astoria asks just the right questions, conveying interest without prying, and being sure to give attention to both Lucius and Narcissa. Every so often she’ll meet Draco’s eyes and smile, and he is utterly helpless to do anything but smile back.

(He wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with the same person a second time.)

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Malfoys: Scorpius telling his parents he’s dating Lily, for anon.

Scorpius knew his parents were deeply in love- he’d always been aware of it, it was impossible not to be. They were always touching, and when he thought no one was around his father would often break his stony demeanor and grab a hold of her hands, spinning her around the room in a waltz. His mother would always be the first person to tell him that love was what mattered, more than anything.

He supposed that was supposed to mean he shouldn’t be scared about telling them he was dating Lily Potter, but he was. It was easy for his parents to claim love was what mattered when they had both married into good, Pureblooded Slytherin families, whilst Scorpius’ girlfriend was the next Gryffindor in a long line of them, with her heritage tainted by Muggle blood. The youngest Malfoy couldn’t possibly have cared less about any of that, but he didn’t know if his parents would see it the same way.

He nervously pushed open the door to the living room where they were both relaxing, wringing his hands and biting his lip. Astoria Malfoy’s legs were swung over his husband’s lap, his arm around her shoulders and their heads resting together. They looked at peace together, simply enjoying each other’s company, and Scorpius envied it. They’d never had to worry about their parents’ approval of their partners.

"Can I talk to you?" He asked quietly, glancing down at the floor. It probably would have been better if he stood tall, proud, unashamed of his choices, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

"Of course." Astoria replied, instantly moving to sit prim and properly on the sofa. Scorpius drew a shaky breath.

"I have a girlfriend." He blurted, holding up a hand as he saw his parents open their mouths to speak. "Please, hear me out. She’s not… a Slytherin. Or a Pureblood. She’s a Gryffindor. She’s Lily Potter." His words escaped all at once in a breathless rush, too frightened to pause. Silence fell over the room, and he saw his parents share a look.

To his surprise, it was Draco who spoke.

"That’s fine." He said with a firm squeeze of his wife’s hand. "I can’t pretend that I’m… ecstatic, but it’s fine, Scorpius. It really is."

The young man sighed, leaning heavily against the wall as he was overcome by a wave of relief.

Drastoria: Astoria is secretly in Dumbledore’s Army for littleyellowslippers

“Where were you last night, Astoria?” Draco asks while repositioning the chess pieces on the board. His voice is light, unassuming, but Astoria recognises the cautionary undertone and she swallows, avoiding his grey eyes as she looks down and straightens the hem of her dress with a sharp tug. “Your move.”

She instructs her pawn, which moves willingly. “I was studying in the library,” she responds, her tone equally as inconsequential. The excuse is ingrained into her, an automatic response to curious Prefects who catch her when meetings run on. Draco doesn’t accept it like they do though; he shrugs a shoulder and meets her eyes, judging.

“Funny,” he says, “A first year told me he saw you on the seventh floor.” He nudges a piece with his finger, pushing it towards one of Astoria’s. The piece strikes her pawn and she cringes at the shattering sound.

“Shortcut.” Astoria watches Draco closely as she only half pays attention to what co-ordinates she was ordering a castle to. It slides across the board, towards one of Draco’s pieces, and is promptly dragged to the side of the board.

Draco reclines back in the emerald chair he sat in, arches a blonde eyebrow slightly. “On the seventh floor?”

He had an air about him, Astoria realises, that makes you think he doesn’t trust a word you’re saying. It’s irritating, especially when she knows she’s keeping a secret—a rather large one at that—from him.

“I went the wrong way.”

“By four floors?”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes.”

“I don’t believe even you could make such a large mistake, Greengrass.” Astoria opens her mouth to respond but Draco speaks over her; “Actually, you could.” He leans forward, over the board, till his face is inches from hers and she can see every blonde lash and pore, and whispers conspiratorially: “I think trusting Harry Potter is a big lack of judgement on your behalf.”

Astoria’s mouth stays open, struck speechless, as Draco pushes back from the table and flicks his king over in a fluid motion, surrendering.

“Checkmate,” he says with a wink. Only Astoria catches the double entendre in his words.

Drastoria: They have a daughter, for anon

“Astoria,” Draco said from the doorway, his muted tone exasperated but loving as he stared at his wife. Her hair lay in a pale sheet across her face as she leaned over Elara’s cot, their daughter sleeping soundly (for now). The tiny baby girl was only a few days old, and Astoria was still basking in the joy of new-motherhood.

“Hush, she’s sleeping,”

Draco just sighed slightly, a smile playing on his lips “You need to sleep when she does. We learned all this with Scorpius,” He reminded her, staying where he was.

“I can’t,” Astoria whispered back, the baby’s fingers wrapped around her fingertip “She’s got me trapped,” She added with a grin, before glancing back at Draco, still amazed at the fact they had another little baby all of their own. After Scorpius was born they had tried for years for another baby; it wasn’t until Scorpius turned five that they finally gave up. And  then, without even trying Astoria found out she was pregnant right on the eve of their son’s sixth birthday.

“It’s almost midnight,” Draco had wandered in next to her, his hand resting on her shoulder “You realise that when she wakes up screaming you’re going to regret this,” He said

“No I won’t,” Astoria answered easily. She was certain they she could never regret spending time with her baby girl, just like she never regretting doing exactly this when Scorpius was a baby. No matter how tired she was nothing would compare to watching her child sleeping soundly.

Drastoria: in which Astoria comes from a pureblood family similar to the Weasleys.

Draco had, of course, heard things about the Greengrasses.

Their daughters were beautiful, in an inelegant sort of way. They were nothing like the purebloods Draco had been raised with, not with the way they held themselves, and certainly not with the way they dressed. Daphne, the younger, wore what Draco presumed were hand-me-downs from her older sister, and they were usually crudely cinched at the waist and unfashionably long. But Daphne’s skirts weren’t the problem.

The sister from which she got them was.

Astoria, despite being a blood traitor and poor and a Slytherin who scoffed at Slytherin ideals, was enchanting.

When she walked past someone, she didn’t just look at them, she saw them, meeting their gaze with unfeeling, unyielding eyes and a chin lifted too proudly for a girl with secondhand books in her arms. When she spoke, her words were quiet and measured and cutting. She was witty. Fast. Faster than Draco. In short, other than the half-genuine smiles she offered mudbloods, Astoria behaved as if she had been raised in a proper pureblood society instead of in a house that hosted Molly Weasley’s brood every third Sunday for tea. She was an anomaly.

That was Draco’s excuse for catching up to her after a Transfiguration class in which he had found himself glancing at her every few moments.

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Drastoria: Finding out they’re pregnant again, for anon.

“Scorpius. There’s Momma’s little boy.” Astoria said when her son crawled at her feet. Draco was out at work in the early afternoon, and there was a cake in the oven that she was baking for when he got home. She’d spent the time that it was in the oven taking a million pictures of her little joy.

She had an apron over that little white dress. The dress drove Draco wild and it might have been the one that had gotten them in this mess.

She lit candles, and Scorpius sat in his pen, gargling as little babies do. With all the planning that she had done, it didn’t stop her from racing to the bathroom at the first signs of nausea.

Draco found her in the bathroom sitting on the toilet looking very green.

“Astoria?”  Draco kneeled by her side. His hand rested on her knee. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter.” Astoria said, peering up at him.

“Are you sick?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.” Draco was already grinning. “Aren’t you happy?”

“The stupid morning sickness made me burn my cake.” Astoria pouted, but he bent down to kiss her. The look of sadness disappearing. 

Drastoria: A pairing I think deserves some recognition, for anon

She was nice to him.

It was the stupidest reason to like someone, he knew, but not many people were nice to Draco, especially after Potter got his father thrown into Azkaban. They were no longer afraid of him, so his power had gone.

Without power in Slytherin, you were nothing.

But not to Astoria Greengrass. A seemingly quiet girl who laughed louder than Draco had heard in a long time, especially at something he’d said. A girl who’s brown hair was usually pulled up into a messy bun, her wand shoved in it to keep it in place. A girl who was not only pretty, with her green eyes and slender figure, but intelligent too.

So Draco found himself gravitating towards her – in class, at meals, and in the Common Room (or more likely the library).

On her part, Astoria liked the quiet and cold boy who opened up and smiled with her, who would help her if she struggled without condescension, and take her criticism with a quiet nod. He was beautiful, sure, but that was only part of the appeal. He was smart and funny and sometimes (although he’d probably vehemently deny it) sweet. The number of times Draco had lifted her bag off of her shoulder without comment, or made her smile when she was stressed were slowly building up.

Drastoria: Noticing things at a party, for anon.

Draco had come to the party determined not to notice anything about Astoria Greengrass. She was too- much, he felt. She made his knees weak and his stomach flutter, and he disliked how small and unimportant she made him feel. It had made him determined to ignore her, for as long as he lived, but so far it was not something he had had much success in that night. She was impossible to ignore.

He noticed the way that her dress caught the light as it shimmered, and he wondered what material it was. It looked like velvet, in a deep moss green colour. He noticed the way that the thin straps around her upper arms seemed rich against her creamy skin, the swell of her breasts that the sweetheart necklace failed to cover. He noticed how the fabric hugged her figure tightly at the waist before relaxing, outlining the smooth curves of her hips and then running down to pool at her feet.

He noticed the deft grip her fingers had on her glass of red wine; relaxed, a picture of elegance and decorum. He noticed the flush that the alcohol had left on her cheeks.

He noticed how vibrantly green her eyes were, a few shades lighter than her dress, and the smoky shadow that outlined them. He noticed the rich crimson colour her lips had been painted, a perfect pout. He noticed the blunt line of her black bangs, casting a shadow over her face that made him think of mysteries.

He noticed the bright white of her teeth as she smiled, the tinkling, bell-like sound of her laugh when it drifted to his ears like music across the room.

He noticed how she would brush off any suitors who came to her, her eyes glinting whenever she would occasionally glance over to where he leaned against a wall, isolated in a corner.

He noticed how his heart sped up when their eyes met, how his guts would twist and turn uncomfortably and his face would heat up.

Draco could only think of two words:

Oh, fuck.

Drastoria: Draco thinking about how Astoria had changed him, for anon.

Draco often looked back on his life in those big moments. When he first kissed her, he thought of the first time he mounted a broom, and that he’d fallen flat on his bum. Much to the dismay of a very angry and disgruntled Lucius Malfoy.

When he asked her to marry her, he thought of when he first saw her. She was a scrawny first year girl with long Auburn hair and brilliant blue eyes. He’d positively detested her and her elder sister. Her robes were hand-me-downs, and they were too long for her slender frame.

He had been taught to detest her. His father had spoken of hers days before, Rutherford Greengrass was head of the Auror office. He had married a Muggle, and that had taken all the worth from his high position.

The happiness of the moment altered the sourness of first thoughts.

But now, when he looked into the face of his very own son, Draco thought of every bad thing that he’d ever done to anyone. She’d changed everything that he’d ever thought malicious or wrong in the world.

He saw greatness in her and what she believed in.

She had made him a better man, and he hoped to be a better father than he’d been given. 

Drastoria: Astoria is a Ravenclaw, for anon

Draco Malfoy had a thing for Ravenclaws and no one could do anything about it.

They were smart, intuitive and had just the right balance of snarky and sweet, and heck if Draco could resist snarky birds.

So when the tall bespectacled brunette Ravenclaw marched calmly up to the Slytherin table one fine Saturday morning, Draco was intrigued. He raised a fine blond eyebrow at her.

“Could you pass the toast, please? We’re out of it at our table.” Her tone was brisk and her voice, clear. Draco smirked.

“Well, I’m particularly fond of toast, myself, and I was just about to grab a piece. Why don’t you try the Hufflepuffs? They’re always falling all over themselves to please, as it is.”

The girl’s cool grey eyes took on a steely glint. She pursed her lips and said, “Why don’t you just take what you want and give the plate to me now? Or were you planning on eating the entire plate?” It was her turn to smirk, now.

Salazar’s snake, this girl had some nerve. Making fun of Draco Malfoy at his own table? Braver wizards wouldn’t dare. He had to admit she had guts. Draco smiled broadly at the girl.

“Why don’t you come and take it, then?” he prompted, blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.

The girl didn’t skip a beat. She walked up to him, slid the plate out of his loose grip and took a couple of steps back. “Nice meeting you,” Her smirk was still firmly in place.

Draco’s jaw dropped. What had she just done?

By the time he had even begun to regain his usual suave composure, the girl had sharply turned on her heels and was striding back to her own table. Momentarily distracted by the hypnotic swing of her hips, Draco snapped himself out of it and yelled. “Oi! What did you say your name was?”

The girl didn’t even bother to turn around. “I didn’t.”

Draco chuckled softly. Yes, Ravenclaws, and that one in particular, were definitely something. 

(Drastoria, for anon.)

Astoria Greengrass made Draco distinctly uncomfortable, and it was starting to grate on his nerves. They were only casual acquaintances, almost friends; they knew each other well enough to justify Draco being invited to a party at her parent’s large and opulent home. Once, Malfoy Manor had hosted such parties, but no longer.

Astoria was standing across the room in an emerald green gown that tumbled to the floor, a glass of sparkling liquid in her hand and her dark hair piled up in an artful arrangement of curls on the top of her head. A diamond on a silver chain glimmered at her breast. She was elegant and undeniably beautiful, and more than that, Draco wanted her. He wanted Astoria in a way that he had never wanted Pansy Parkinson, or indeed any of the other girls he’d met during his time at school. Astoria, he thought, was in a class of his own. She shared his status; she was graceful; she was intelligent and occasionally witty. And sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t looking at her, he saw a look in her eyes that suggested she had heard a great many terrible things about him (most of them true) and she pitied him for them. When they talked, the conversation ran away with them.

If people had been dancing in the hall, he would have asked for her hand. But no one was dancing, and the other side of the room seemed an awfully long way away. Still, as he watched her, Astoria glanced away in the middle of laughing at a balding old wizard’s joke and caught his eye. It could have been a trick of the light from the chandelier, or wishful thinking, but Draco thought she winked. She definitely smiled at him.

He turned, defiantly, away from the young woman. Yes, he wanted her like he’d never wanted anything else. it made him feel powerless, like he was caught under an enchantment. He disliked not being the one in control, and yet her ability to take control was one thing he loved about Astoria. 

She made him incredibly uncomfortable. In the very best way.

Drastoria: arguing about the past, for Raquel

“Oh, so what, you’re just going to get up and leave again?” Astoria yelled, and Draco stopped, turning back to face her.

“You are never going to let that go, are you?” He shouted back, stepping into the room again. “How many times do you want me to apologise?”

Astoria threw up her hands. “Oh, I don’t know, until I know you won’t do it again? Why do you think I waited this long to tell you about this pregnancy when you ran out on me the last time?”

“For one night. I wasn’t ready to be a father, I’m still not. You didn’t have the childhood I did, you have a clue of how parenting is supposed to work; I don’t!” He paused, taking a deep breath. “This is ridiculous, Tori. I was going to Floo a Healer, not run out on you.” He took a step towards his wife, face sombre.

Astoria remained stoic until his arms wrapped around her, and she relaxed into him, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. “I’m just afraid that it’ll be the same as last time, and we’ll lose him too.” She whispered, and Draco stroked her hair soothingly. “And you leaving with that panicked look – it brought me right back to it.”

“I know, and I am truly sorry that I left. But this baby will be fine,” he gently lifted her chin up so she looked at him, teary eyes meeting stormy grey. “You’ll have the finest Healers, we’ll go for weekly check-ups; I’ll take time off work if it’ll make you feel better.” He offered.

Astoria smiled. “And have you stir-crazy and bouncing off of the walls? I think we’ll get enough of that if the baby comes.”

When.” Draco corrected, pulling his wife into him once more.