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“Shh, shh, you’re okay,” Astoria soothed, bouncing her son in her arms, kissing the top of his head as he cried. He continued to wail and twist in her arms, his little legs drumming uselessly in the air. “It’s okay,” she tried. “What’s wrong, huh?” 

She glanced nervously at the clock on the wall. Late, she thought. He’d never been this late. 

“It’s okay. You want daddy, don’t you,” she murmured. “He’s coming. He’ll be home soon.” 

“Dada?” he asked, through his tears. 

“Yeah, I know. I want him home too,” she said. 

The sound of the front door bursting open could be heard from downstairs and Astoria jumped. Why hadn’t Draco flooed in? Unless, it wasn’t Draco at all—

“Astoria!” she heard Draco shout from downstairs. His voice sounded tight and worried. “Where are you!” 

“The nursery!” she shouted, as loud as she could to be heard throughout the large manor. 

In less than a minute, Draco burst through the door, looking slightly panicked. Scorpius, the little traitor, stopped crying immediately, face breaking out in a grin, reaching his arms towards Draco. Draco smiled tightly, taking him from Astoria. “Hey,” he grunted, sighing when Scorpius rested his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes. 

Draco leaned in, giving her a hurried peck.  “Will he go down? I need to talk to you. Now.” 

“You’re the baby whisperer,” Astoria grumbled. 

He grinned. “Scorpius and I kindred spirits,” he said. His grin faded quickly as he put Scorpius down in his bed, tucking him in, kissing his forehead. 

“I’m his mother,” Astoria said, sighing. “I birthed him. Fed him. You’d think he’d appreciate me—”

“Astoria, you and I both know he fusses for whoever isn’t in the room. He’s a Malfoy. He likes to be difficult. It’s his nature. When he’s older, he’ll prefer you. You’re much more fun than I,” Draco said, sounding distracted. 

Once Scorpius was tucked in, Draco nodded his head, gesturing for her to follow them from the room. As soon as the door shut behind him, he took out his wand, beginning to cast several complicated wards and protection spells over the door, muttering under his breath. Astoria narrowed her eyes. 

She opened her mouth, ready to ask him just what he thought he was doing, when he whipped around, crushing her against him for a firm, searing kiss. The suddenness and urgency behind the kiss surprised her.

“What’s all this?” she asked, as he pulled her along to his study, slamming the door behind them. He picked her up, setting her on his desk, and then he kissed her with such force her spine arched from the weight. He took the clip that had been holding her hair up and tossed it across the room, all the while kissing her desperately, fiercely. He was shaking. 

He began to tear at her robes, kissing down her neck, edging her legs apart with his knee. “Draco,” she gasped, as he began to suck and nip at her pulse point. “What—are you—ah—alright?” 

He didn’t respond as he tore her clothing from her. She shivered as the air ghosted her skin. He took her hard, fast, pressing all of her buttons at once. She could only clutch onto him for dear life, his name the only word her lips could form. She snapped, coming apart with a final gasp of his name and he followed her a minute later with a guttural groan. 

He held her close to him for a moment, breathing hard, kissing her gently along her shoulder. “Tori darling,” he murmured. “Fuck.” 

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked, laughing nervously. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” she murmured. “Draco, what—”

He kissed her again, drawing her impossibly closer. She still sat naked on the desk, while he remained nearly fully clothed, only his trousers undone. He kissed down to her neck, nuzzling against the crook. She wrapped her arms around his neck, eyes widening with fear when she felt his tears against her skin. 

“Draco,” she repeated. “What’s wrong?” 

He began to dress her, carefully and tenderly. He kissed the top of each breast, before pulling her robes over her head. “They know. Tori, darling, they know. I don’t know how long we have—”

“So you fucked me on your desk?” Astoria shouted, incredulous. 

“Yes,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I could die tonight," he added, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

“Draco,” she hissed. “We’ve got to have an action plan! The Order said they’d get us out! That was the deal!” 

“They can’t, baby,” he said, zipping himself back up. 

“Filthy, dirty liars,” Astoria hissed. “Our son is asleep in his bed! How long do we have—”

“A day, maybe,” he said. “The Death Eaters aren’t aware that I know they suspect me of spying. They’ll take their time because they don’t think we’re going to make a run for it. Why would we if we didn’t know they were on to us?”

“We need to be out of the country by the time they come for us,” Astoria said, shaking. “We can’t apparate, they track all apparition activity—we’d have to cross the country and—the three of us won’t make it—”

“I know,” Draco whispered. “You’ll take Scorpius—”

“Draco, I can’t run from a battalion of Death Eaters on foot across Britain with our son. My health wouldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t be able to make the journey,” she whispered. “You need to take Scorpius—”

“Absolutely not!” he shouted. “Hell no.” 

“Draco—” she started. 

“No,” he said, voice low, deadly. His grip tightened, and she was reminded in that moment that as good as he was to her, he was a dangerous man. “If I have to tie you up and drag you across the country, I’ll fucking do it.” He seemed to realize how he’d sounded, because he gave her a false playful smirk, his eyes still molten steel. “Usually I prefer to tie you up under more enjoyable circumstances.” 

“Draco, be logical. Too much is at stake,” she whispered, cupping his face, tracing the angles with her thumbs. “You need to take our son, and I need to stay here—”

“Are you mad?” he hissed. “Astoria, I am not leaving you! Hell no! If I have to use the Imperius curse on you, I won’t hesitate to do it.” 

“Draco, that’s being a parent!” she shouted. “That’s life! We make sacrifices for our child! If I stay here, you won’t be slowed down, and it buys you time. They’d never believe you’d leave me behind—”

“Yeah, well, they’re right! Because I’m not leaving you behind!” Draco said. “I can hold them off! If anyone is staying, it should be me!”

“No, Draco. You have to take him. I can’t be his only parent left. It’s got to be you, it’s always been you. If I’m left with him, he’ll be an orphan at twelve. You have to go,” Astoria said, tearing up. 

“Bullshit! He needs you just as much as he needs me! If not more!” Draco pleaded . “I need you,” he whispered. “I need you—”

“It’s for our son, Draco. You know it has to be this way,” Astoria said, keeping her voice even. She kissed him, softly. He deepened their kiss, shuddering beneath her fingertips. He whispered a string of promises in French, Latin, English, kissing every feature of her face. Featherlight kisses trailed along her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, her ears, and finally, her lips. 

“No,” he whispered. “Please, please, please.” 

“Draco, let’s go,” she said. “We don’t have time.”

She turned, leaving him standing there in his study, fuming. She walked briskly to her son’s room, beginning to pack him a bag. Tears came to her eyes as she put away all of his little shoes and socks, and his t-shirts and trousers. She packed his stuffed dragon and the blanket she’d knitted for him while she was pregnant. 

Draco appeared in the doorway, frowning as he watched her move about the room. “Astoria, don’t do this,” he whispered. 

“Can you wake him up please?” she asked. “I’m going to pack you a bag.” 

She placed Scorpius’s bag at the foot of his bed and crossed the room. As she walked past Draco, he grabbed her wrist, halting her. “I love you,” he said, pleadingly, as if it was all she needed to hear to stay. 

“I love you too,” she said, softly, but firmly. She kissed his jaw. He released her, crossing the room, shaking their son awake. 

“Wake up,” he whispered. “Come on, Scorp.” 

As Astoria packed her husband’s things away, she felt her heart break with each item she stowed away. He was leaving, and she was staying. Her son was leaving, her Scorpius. The single two reasons for her existence, the two most important people in the world to her, her family, and they were leaving her. 

When Astoria met Draco at the door, he was grimly watching the window, a lost sort of expression on his face. 

She bent down, bringing Scorpius into her arms, hugging him tightly. “I love you,” she whispered. “So much.” 

Scorpius hugged her back, squirming impatiently in her arms. Astoria stood, telling herself that she absolutely must hold her tears until Draco left. If she cried, he’d take her with him and he wouldn’t give her a choice. 

Draco drew her close, giving her one last burning kiss. “I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too,” she said, again, smiling. “Don’t let him forget about me,” she said, looking down at Scorpius. “Okay? Please.” 

“Astoria,” he pleaded. He closed his eyes, steeling himself to leave her. When he opened them, he looked determined. “I’ll come back for you. I’ll get Scorpius to safety, and then I”m coming back—”

“No, Draco. He needs a parent. You have to stay alive—”

“I will,” he said. “I am coming back for you. And, you and I will both make it out alive. I promise.” 

With that, he picked their son up and stole away into the night, and Astoria waited until he was no longer visible to sink to the floor, sobbing as she leaned against the doorway.

“Here you are, a year since your husband fled like a coward. And still, he has yet to come for you,” the Dark Lord called to her from across the crowded dining room. 

Astoria sat between Rowle and Macnair, both horrible, handsy, and frightening. Astoria said nothing in response. What could she say? Macnair lifted a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. He whispered a threat to cut it, and then one to tear it out at the roots. 

“Yes,” she said, finally. “A year indeed.” 

“And your son, of course. Dear daddy managed to get him away.” 

Her son. He turned two years old, just yesterday. “Yes,” she echoed. “A failure on your part.” 

The Dark Lord had a furious, barely contained expression of rage on his face. “A failure on his part, to leave you in my hands.” 

I’ll come back for you. It was the promise that rang in her ears every day, and the one she hoped Draco would keep. He had never broken a promise to her yet, but she feared this might be the one time he did. But, she had made her decision. She had bought her son and her husband time; she had bought them their lives. It made no sense to despair now. 

He’d spied for The Order for five years without being caught. Then, he’d stumbled through the floo one night, telling her he had twenty-four hours to get them out, get them to safety. The Order had promised if things ever went south to smuggle them to a safe house, but Astoria had known that wouldn’t be possible. If they all left, they would be found out, and hunted down like rabbits. If Astoria stayed behind, they wouldn’t be suspicious. If she remained home and acted as if nothing was amiss, it would be at least one or two days before the Death Eaters realized Draco and Scorpius had left. Maybe more. 

Draco had been able to take Scorpius and get a sizable head start; they had made a great escape, humiliating the Death Eaters. As long as her husband and son were safe, staying behind was a sacrifice she would make again. 

Astoria was a survivor and she could survive this. It was not so bad. She had developed a way of coping, though she knew it was pathetic and borderline mad. She used her memory, every detail she could retrieve from her mind, to weave a version of her husband. In her mind, he was always with her, sitting next to her, or across from her, though he was no more than an illusion. 

She did not do the same with her son. To attempt to conjure him would be too painful to bear. 

In Astoria’s mind, her husband sat just across from her, and he found her current situation very amusing. He met her gaze and smirked.

“Careful, Tori darling. I do like your hair. I’d hate for something to happen to it.,” he said, though only she heard him. Perhaps it was not the sanest coping mechanism, but it was the one that got her through the day. 

“I must say,” The Dark Lord said, leaning forward in his chair. “Several have asked for you.” 

“Asked for me?” Astoria asked, hollowly, tearing her gaze from the man that was not real. Asked for her. For her? To what? Kill her?

“To have you, yes.” 

Astoria froze, shock coloring her features. “I—sorry?” she asked, voice trembling. 

Not real Draco did not like the sound of that either. He raised an eyebrow, looking surprised. 

“Marry you. You are the sole possessor of quite a large fortune, now that your husband is dead—”

“He isn’t dead!” Astoria shouted, foolishly. Not Real Draco turned his gaze back to hers, rolling his eyes. 

“Your defense of my life is admirable,” he teased. She hated when he did this. He never seemed to take anything seriously. “But, it won’t win you any favors.” 

No one heard his fictitious comment save her. Laughter filled the room at her pronouncement. The men on either side of her jostled her roughly, one clamping a hand on her thigh, and the other gripping the back of her neck. 

“I’m afraid,” the Dark Lord spoke, calling her back to her horrid reality. “For all intents and purposes, as you are concerned, your husband is dead.” 

Astoria swallowed. The Dark Lord was right. 

“Seriously?” NotDraco complained. “The Dark Lord is right?” 

Shut up, she thought. I am tired of you. I wish you would go away. Then, she clutched tighter to the phantom of him that her addled mind had created, concentrating on keeping him present. No, she pleaded. I didn't mean it. Stay. You have to stay or I really will go mad. 

NotDraco smirked. “Relax. I believe you are already quite mad. Even if I did come for you, I am afraid you would be even more eccentric than when I left you. I’d still take you, of course. Madness and all.” 

She smiled. That would be something he would say. But, he didn’t say it. He wasn’t here. She couldn't forget the image she conjured was pretend. She needed her wits about her. 

“And, many come to me, everyday,” The Dark Lord said, interrupting her imaginary conversation. “Servants far greater and far more loyal than your husband ever was. And, they stake claim to your fortune. To you. Why you , I cannot imagine.” 

Astoria couldn’t either. She was frightfully plain looking. Cursed. Could not produce another heir. She was twenty-five, still young, but she would be dead in a little over a decade, surely. Her health was fine for now, but who knew how long it would last. Why go forth with the effort? 

“You give yourself little credit,” NotDraco said, smirking. “I always preferred you to any other. Believe me, there is no one else more beautiful.”

You say that, Astoria thought. No one else does. 

“I should hope not, ” NotDraco said, scoffing. “I like to be original, and it’s bad for my health to think of all these men trying to capture your attention with pretty words.” 

Astoria did not respond to NotDraco. Instead, she addressed the Dark Lord. “I would gladly give up the fortune and the house. It is yours to distribute as you will, my Lord. There is no need for—marriage. The wife of a traitor should belong to no loyal servant..” 

“Your loyalty is inspired,” NotDraco teased, kicking her under the table. She swore she could feel it, but she knew it was impossible. 

The Dark Lord smiled, scarlett eyes flashing with mirth. “That is not possible. The Malfoy fortune is warded. One cannot access it without legitimate claim, nor can you simply give it away. The enchantments are too powerful. The only way any man here can have it, is to marry you.” 

“No,” Astoria said, shaking her head. No such ward exists—”

“You are mistaken. It appeared your traitorous husband wanted to ensure your life. You die, the gold becomes unclaimable.” The Dark Lord watched as Astoria’s eyes grew wide with horror. “And, I’m afraid—not many liked your husband. The idea of having what he so obviously cherished most appeals to them almost as much as gold, grand houses, and jewels. A most fitting punishment. For you and him.” 

What he cherished most. Astoria swallowed.

“Not my Nimbus 2001,” NotDraco complained. “Astoria, dear, light of my life, do not let them take it! Or mount it!” 

Astoria glared at him. This was not the time to tease her. She thought, They mean to mount me!

NotDraco frowned, as though the choice required great deliberation. “ Fine. I’d rather them have the broom than you. But, you have to understand, there is no finer broom! The workmanship is excellent! I even named it after you.” 

You named it after Ellasandra Twinkle, the Witch Weekly model, Astoria thought angrily. 

“I was twelve, Astoria! I hadn’t yet met you! I’ve since rechristened it!” 

“My health has been miserable since the birth of my son. I doubt I could be any such fun,” Astoria lied, in protest, desperately pleading. It was not true in the slightest. Her health, though it would not last forever, by the grace of Circe, had rebounded. 

NotDraco laughed riotously. “ That isn’t true! Do you not remember the night I left? Astoria, you wicked liar.” 

“Not much work in it for you,” Rowle said, loudly, in her ear, breaking through the laugh of a ghost. “Just lie there on your back.”

NotDraco laughed louder. “I am not surprised in the slightest that he said that. I hope he is not your new husband. You are in for a miserable rest of your life if it’s him.” 

Shut up! I’m in this mess because of you and your stupid ward. So, don’t you dare laugh about this. Astoria’s hands shook as she waged a war with the tears threatening to spill. 

Every Death Eater laughed crudely at Rowle’s comment, except for a wizard at the end of the large dining room table who instead favored a cool expression. Astoria started. She had not seen him before. He was short, though still taller than her. He was stocky, with large, thick muscles, and a mop of brown hair atop his head. His eyes were black. 

“Who are you?” Astoria blurted. He had moved into the manor, her home, and she hadn’t even noticed him. 

“Ancil Chastain,” he said, in a cool, deep voice, a heavy french accent. The name sounded familiar to Astoria, though she could not place it. 

“Our newest recruit,” the Dark Lord said.  “He has come all the way from France, to join our cause. Consider him your husband’s replacement.” Chastain smirked, seeming to find that phrasing amusing. Astoria did not. 

Astoria considered Ancil Chastain. It was not uncommon for wizards such as him to appear amongst the ranks. Like-minded individuals all over the world traveled to Britain now, excited to be a part of Britain’s New World Order, excited by the opportunity to practice all sorts of horrid magic unrestrained. 

Now that she had noticed him, she was aware that his gaze was on her constantly, unwavering, steady. 

Astoria stared at her hands in her lap, biting her lip. He made her frightfully uncomfortable. 

“I see I have competition,” NotDraco teased. “You always did have a thing for the French. Do you remember, I’d whisper it in your ear as I—’

“And so,” The Dark Lord said, cutting off her figment of imagination, who looked righteously offended at the interruption of his undoubtedly filthy comment. “I must decide how to settle this dispute. Over your affairs.” 

Astoria swallowed, and said, “Well, would the money not go to Lucius and Narcissa? They live out of the way now, but it seems—right it should go to them. I should live as a widow. In their house.” 

Chastain smirked, leaning down the table, toward her.  “And,” he said. “You have such an affection for your in-laws?” Astoria fixed him with a cold glare. What gave him the right to speak? 

“Yes,” she lied. Narcissa and Lucius would hate her, hate that she was forced on them, but they would leave her alone. They lived in a summer home year round, far in the woods somewhere, retired, and she would be allowed to live the remainder of her days in peace. 

NotDraco laughed. “In peace? If my father is there, he will never give you a moment of peace.” 

“No, I think not,” The Dark Lord said. “Not when I have so many brave soldiers who have worked so hard. Do they not deserve the vast fortune you have? Do they not deserve revenge against the man that betrayed them?”  

Astoria bit her lip, refusing to respond. 

“And your husband, does he not deserve to be punished? But, he isn’t here. And you are. I’m afraid you will take that punishment,” the Dark Lord said, laughing. 

“The punishment should be death,” Astoria said, coolly. “You would have killed him. It is what I should suffer. By your own laws—”

“Silence,” the Dark Lord ordered, and Astoria followed his command. “Your punishment is as I say it is. And, who knows. He might come back to save you. Rescue you from the altar.” 

Astoria turned her head in disgust, looking down at the wood of the table. No doubt that was the real reason behind this ploy—to attempt to draw her husband from hiding with The Order. She wanted to laugh. They had her husband all wrong. Despite his change in allegiances, Draco was not Harry Potter. He did not do risky, last minute rescue missions. Especially not when he was responsible for their son. The threat of her becoming someone else's wife was not enough of a motivator. 

“ Tori, darling, don’t be so cynical. I am coming for you. I promised,” NotDraco said, sulking. 

“And now comes the time to decide, who shall get the honors,” The Dark Lord said, silkily. “How should we decide, gentlemen?” 

“Whoever has served you the longest!” Mulciber Senior shouted, earning a glare from his son. 

“Whoever has the most kills,” Macnair replied, eyes sparkling with madness. Oh no , thought Astoria. Not that one.  

“The strongest,” suggested Greyback. Astoria eyed him fearfully. 

“I think,” Chastain spoke, quietly. “It should go to the best wizard. Should it not?” 

NotDraco frowned. “ Astoria, I think you should run. This is sounding like dogs fighting, and I do not think you want to be the bone.” 

I can’t run, she thought. I’ll never make it. They’re always watching me. 

She did not have a wand, hadn’t held one in so long. She did not leave her room, except when they permitted. They even took the sheets from her bed, worried she would hang herself. She might have. 

NotDraco sighed. “I’ll be here. I wish I could really be here. You know that, right?” 

Astoria tried to tell herself she did. 

“And how is that decided?” asked Avery, angrily. “Impossible to determine.” 

“How else?” Chastain asked, voice calm, soft, and controlled. “A duel.” Astoria looked up, meeting his glittering black eyes. He smirked at her. 

Astoria said, “To the death,” hopefully. Let them take eachother out in the pursuit of gold and a fancy house. 

Chastain’s lip twitched. “No. I’m afraid not.” 

Astoria huffed in annoyance. “I suppose you plan to fight?” she asked, sneering. 

Chastain nodded. “I do. The prize is great.” 

Astoria scoffed and turned away, disgusted. The men on either side groped at her. Chastain’s eyes flashed dangerously, but Astoria thought it had perhaps been a trick of the light. 

Astoria turned toward the window, staring out at the rainy grounds. She wished, desperately, for a miracle. 

NotDraco was quiet, staring at her from across the room. He got up, and walked towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I”m sorry,” he whispered. “But, remember, our son is safe. Safe with me, far away. Isn’t that important?” 

“The most important,” she whispered, smiling at him. Then, she remembered she mustn’t look mad, mustn't show weakness. She could pretend when they locked her in her room, the room she used to share. There, she could pretend all she wanted.

“A wizard’s duel,” the Dark Lord said, as if testing the idea on his tongue. “Yes, this is entertaining. The prize, a vast fortune, a grand house, and, a cursed wife—a blessing really.” Astoria did not miss the mocking way he referenced her curse, as if she should be lucky they even wanted to touch her.

Astoria cried out, desperately. “Most of them have wives!” 

“Most of their wives are dead,” the Dark Lord said, smiling evilly. “It seems, after having a few children, they—had most unfortunate accidents.” 

Astoria swallowed. Death Eater’s went through wives quickly. 

Astoria sank low in her seat. 

“It is settled,” the Dark Lord said. “A week. A week, and there will be a duel.” 

Astoria closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. 

NotDraco whispered in her ear, “I could come. I have a week. And, even if I don’t make it by then, just because you are married does not mean I will not come.” 

“I can’t marry another,” Astoria said, outloud. “I can’t.” 

No one seemed to hear her, except Chastain, who raised an eyebrow and pulled a flask from his coat. He brought the flask to his lips, taking a long, deep sip. Astoria narrowed her eyes. He winked. 

“Is the drink provided not enough?” Astoria asked him scathingly, gesturing toward the ample supply of wine brought from her husband’s very expensive and impressively stocked wine cellar.

Chastain smirked. “I prefer something a little stronger.” 

“A drunkard, then,” Astoria spat, the other Death Eaters all talking over her, about one thing or another. She had learned long ago it was better for one’s stomach not to pay attention. 

Chastain laughed. “You do not drink, Miss Greengrass?”

Astoria stiffened. “It’s Malfoy,” she said, hotly. 

“Is it? And where is your husband?” Chastain asked, spreading his arms wide. 

NotDraco sighed. “He is horrible, Astoria. You should hope it is not him who wins. The others are stupid, easy to manipulate. Him? You know nothing of him.” 

“He’s coming,” Astoria said. He wasn’t. 

Chastain laughed. “Is he? How can you be sure?” 

Astoria couldn’t be. 

“Astoria, remember, if I were to come and get you, no one could suspect a thing. You must have them believe I abandoned you,” NotDraco reminded. 

You have, Astoria thought. 

“I cannot be sure,” Astoria said, finally. “He isn’t coming. The risk is too great.” The minute the words left her mouth, she knew a part of her believed them. 

Chastain smiled, widely, as though the prospect pleased him. “You do not have faith in his abilities?”

Astoria didn’t answer. She laid her head back against her chair and closed her eyes, not even bothering to shove Rowle’s questing hands away. 

“You shouldn’t touch her,” Chastain said to Rowle. “She is from a good family, distinguished line. Not a half-blood you picked up at a brothel.” 

NotDraco’s hand was still on her shoulder, and he whispered in her ear. “A gentleman and a purist.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Have you?” Chastain asked, voice low and dangerous. “Touched her.” Astoria’s brow furrowed. Why did he care? 

“No more than this.” 

“It should be less,” he said, calmly. “She is a Greengrass.” 

“Malfoy,” Astoria whispered, half-heartedly. 

Chastain looked in her direction, smiling as the hands left her slowly. “Your loyalty is ill-advised.” 

“As is yours,” Astoria said, eyes flickering to the monster at the head of the table. “You’re new? You should leave. You should have never come. It is a lie—” 

Rowle backhanded Astoria across the face. She cursed, hand flying to her cheek. Tears fell despite her best efforts. NotDraco cursed and stroked her cheek, running his fingertips over it lightly. “Oh, darling,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. You have to know that. You know that, don’t you?”

“It’s me or our son,” she whispered. 

Light flashed in her peripheral vision, and Astoria turned her head, eyes wide. Rowle fell over, cracking his head against the table, blood trickling from a wound near his temple. Astoria gasped, as did several others. 

“Did you do that?” Macnair hissed, grabbing her arm. 

“I haven’t a wand,” Astoria said. “Of course not.” 

This satisfied them. “Too much to drink,” said Avery. “He always was a drunkard.” 

Astoria had not seen who cursed him and she certainly had no objections to whoever had. Astoria spent the rest of her evening with the Death Eaters, avoiding Chastain’s watchful gaze and desperately trying to devise a way out. 

Finally, the Dark Lord waved his skeletal, white hand. “Take her away.” 

Several rose for the honor and Astoria’s stomach churned. They had been fairly respectable, all things considered. Mostly. But, now considering the state of things, Astoria could not ensure they would not attack her. 

“Chastain, take her.” 

No. Astoria looked sick, but NotDraco grabbed her hand, pulled her up. “I’ll be here. I can’t do anything, but I’ll be here.” 

She nodded. Chastain extended a thick, large hand, and she took it, having no other option. His wide black eyes were filled with an emotion she recognized, and it filled her with dread. 

Desire. 

He had defended her earlier, but perhaps only to save her for himself. 

Macnair patted her bum in farewell and Chastain looked livid. Possessive, thought Astoria. In his mind, he had already won. But, it she was now pulling him away, eager to get back to her room. NotDraco walked beside her, glowering at Chastain and her, at their joined hands. Astoria begged him not to be angry at her with her eyes. You decide if he’s angry, Astoria reminded herself. He wasn’t real, and she couldn’t forget it. No matter how tempting the madness was. 

The door to the dining room closed with a snap. Astoria wrenched her hand from Chastain’s grasp and started toward her— their room as quickly as she could. 

“Miss Greengrass,” he said, jogging to catch up with her. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” 

“Believe me,” Astoria spat. “The pleasure is solely yours.” 

 “I heard of you,” Chastain said, tone teasing. “The great beauty, kept as a relic for a kill not made.” 

“Great beauty? Sorry to disappoint,” she said, flatly. 

“Oh, Miss Greengrass. You do not disappoint,” he said, eyes glimmering with mischief. “It seems you're quite popular around here.” 

“With Death Eaters?” Astoria asked, briskly. “I wasn’t. But, the claim to the fortune excites them. And, there is nothing they hate more than the fact my husband bested them, did what no one thought possible. Fooled them and escaped to tell the tale. They have convinced themselves that having me is the ultimate revenge.” 

“It would be,” Chastain said, smiling. “I have no doubt your husband would be furious at the very thought.” Astoria narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing. “Have you been able to fend them off?” he asked.

Astoria glared sharply at him. “Yes. Why? Care to challenge me? I’ll fight you. I’ll scratch your eyes out—”

“No. I won’t have you tonight,” Chastain said, smirking, interrupting her tirade. “But I will eventually.”

Astoria was more than a little stunned by the cheek. “You will never have me,” she hissed, whirling around to face him. “It’s clear what you have done. You think yourself the best wizard, so, you suggest a duel. Well, you are a fool! I doubt you know which end of your wand to point versus which end to hold.” 

Chastain looked as if he took great amusement from her. “Darling, aren’t you a treat. I assure you, I am a talented wizard.” 

Astoria darted back a step and started once more for the bedroom. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered. 

“A treat? Or Darling.” 

“The second,” she murmured. 

“Tell me, darling,” he said, easily keeping up with her quick pace.  “Are you angry at your husband? For leaving you?” 

“No! He was very brave. Our son would not have survived without him.” 

“Your son would not have survived without you staying behind. Do not give him so much credit, Miss Greengrass. You’re the braver of the two,” Chastain said, and Astoria clenched her fists. 

“We would both suffer anything for our son,” Astoria said, finally, after a heavy silence. 

Chastain, for the first time, looked grave. “And, have you suffered?”

“What do you think?” Astoria asked, tone humorless. 

“Rowle. He has hit you often?” Chastain asked. 

“No. I usually keep my mouth shut. Tonight, you have inspired new anger,” Astoria said, coldly. 

“And what a pretty mouth it is,” he teased, smirking in a way that felt familiar, and even the remark itself seemed so very much like—Astoira wanted to vomit. He couldn't touch her. Please. “I’m sorry,” he said, quickly, surprising her. “I forget—myself.” 

NotDraco, leading the way to the bedroom, looked back at him. “Careful, Astoria. He is confident. He looked a room full of dark wizards in the face and promised to duel them. You must be careful.” 

Or instead, she could plot. “Chastain,” she said, carefully. “You feel you can win?” 

“Yes,” he said, immediately. 

“Might I ask a favor?” she said. “If you win.” 

“I thought you did not—”

“Someone will win. And, it is you I ask the favor of.” 

Chastain smirked. “Well, I will allow you to ask.” 

NotDraco looked concerned. “Astoria, be careful. So careful.” 

“If you win, don’t take me.” 

Chastain stopped and Astoria stopped as well, turning to face him. “Take you? What do you mean? You are part of the prize.” 

“Have it. The gold, the jewels. The Manor. I have seen the family treasury. It is more than you could ever imagine. I swear it to you.” 

“And, if it is not the gold I seek?” Chastain asked, taking a step forward. 

Astoria took a deep breath. “I am not blind, Chastain. I am a plain, boring woman. You must marry me to get the riches, for that is how the wards work. I understand. I only ask you to leave me be. Let the marriage be in name only. Surely, you do not desire me. Not so much that you— please. ” 

Chastain shook his head. “On the contrary. There is no one I desire more.” 

“You have only just met me—”

“Look at you,’ he whispered, black eyes darkening as he gave her a once over.  “How could I not desire you? I—I am duelling for you.” 

“I am someone else's,” she hissed, taking a step back. 

“You are mine,” he assured, walking ahead of her. 

“I suppose you know the way to the bedroom,” Astoria quipped, shaking her head as she edged in front of him, refusing to be led through her own house. ‘Let me walk in front. This is not your house.” If she could get to her bedroom first, she had a better chance of shutting him out, warding him off. 

Chastian smiled. “I see,” he said. “Of course, Miss Greengrass.” 

“Malfoy,” Astoria reminded, stubbornly. He grinned, widely. 

They reached her door and he took a drink from his flask. Astoria scoffed. It seemed he couldn’t go an hour without alcohol. If she wanted to shut him out, she would have to be quick. She opened the door and darted inside, trying to shut it quickly behind her. He grabbed the door, preventing her from closing it. “Wait,” he pleaded. 

“No,” she cried, panicking. “Leave. You can’t! Please!” 

He forced the door open and Astoria ran to the bathroom. They had taken the door off the bathroom after she had locked herself in trying to avoid a Death Eater meeting her presence had been required at. There would be no hiding now. Stupid. She shouldn’t have wasted the door on such trivial defiance. 

She grabbed her razor from the bathroom, the one thing they hadn’t thought to take, and she popped the blade from the encasing. She’d slit his throat.

He stood in the doorway, having not crossed into her bedroom. She held the sharp blade in her hand. 

“Don’t come in,” she hissed. “I’ll cut you. I will.”

“I already told you I wouldn’t touch you,” he said, calmly. “You don’t need to be frightened.” 

“Stay away!” she hissed. 

“I will. Until next week.” 

“I’ll die before then! Before I’m sold off like a cow.” she whispered. Chastain flicked his wand, and the blade spun out of her hands, slicing her palms as it flew through the bedroom doorway, and hit the wall of the corridor with a thunk, blade quivering where it was embedded in the wood. 

Chastain did enter her room then, and she closed her eyes, backing up until she hit the bathroom wall. She heard his footsteps coming closer and closer and he grabbed her wrist, gently. She opened her eyes. He stood very close, but not threateningly close. He took his wand, healing the shallow cuts caused by his summoning of the razor blade. 

“Sorry,” he said. “You can’t kill yourself.” 

“I wasn’t going to,” she said, flushing with anger. “ I was going for you.” 

“I know,’ he said, gently. 

Then, he dropped her healed hands and took a step back, putting a large amount of distance between them. “I’m scaring you,’” he whispered. “I don’t want to. I just—I have to talk to you. I have to look at you.” His expression was that of a lover, tortured by her presence, and that scared her more than anything else. 

“He’s mad, darling. You can see it. Who falls in love with someone they’ve known for hours?” NotDraco warned. 

“You don’t have to do any such thing. What are you, a pathetic schoolboy? Get out,” Astoria said, shoving his chest. Hard. 

He laughed. “I wish you were good at occlumency.” 

Astoria froze. “Are you reading my mind?” she asked, fearfully. She was—fair at occlumency, but not good. Not that good. 

“You suck,” NotDraco said, smirking. “ Terrible, really, despite my best efforts. You are simply too expressive.” 

“No,” Chastain said. “Though you should learn not to be so expressive.” 

NotDraco angled himself in front of her, though he couldn’t really protect her. “ Careful,” he whispered. NotDraco walked behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Healing you is a ruse. Don’t trust him. Trust me.” Then, he said, “Promise me you will be more careful.” 

“I promise,” Astoria whispered, looking behind her. 

“Who are you talking to?” Chastain asked, narrowing his eyes. 

“No one,” she said, quickly. 

He nodded, slowly “Be careful, Miss Greengrass.” 

“It’s Malfoy. Get out,” Astoria  whispered. 

He did. He left her standing in her bathroom, alone and shivering, with a ghost her only company. 

Over the next few days, no one came to her. They fed her, of course. But, that was all. Sometimes, they would come to the door, calling lewd things, banging on it. She tried not to be so afraid. 

Two days before the duel, NotDraco was laying on their bed, flicking through one of her romance novels. Not really, of course. They had taken all her books. But, he was reading an illusion. A NotBook, she should say. She laughed to herself. She was losing it. 

“You hate my books,” Astoria teased. 

“Yes, but there is something in here you are supposed to remember. I’ll find it for you,” NotDraco said, rather haughtily. “Has Chastain come to shout through your door?” 

“No,” Astoria said. “Surprisingly. He was quite a beast that night.” What was she supposed to remember? She doubted anything of importance could be in one of her old, trashy romance novels. 

“Was he? He seemed tame.”

“You didn’t see the way he looked at me,” Astoria argued, laying on the bed, imagining she was resting her head on his chest. She sighed. “His gaze was so full of desire, want, and I would say love, but that’s impossible. It makes me so frightened. I’m afraid he—I can’t betray you.” 

“You know I would prefer you alive and Astoria Chastain than dead and Astoria Malfoy. He might be okay. He seems different from the others. He might protect you.” 

“He isn’t you,’ Astoria whispered, tears beginning to prick her eyes. “He is not the man I love.” 

“I love you,” NotDraco whispered back. 

Astoria sighed, softly. “I missed his second birthday,” she whispered, thinking of Scorpius. “He must be so upset.” 

“He’s only two. He probably won’t even remember you,” NotDraco said. Astoria turned away from him, angry. He put a hand on her back and said, “I’m sorry. I say things without thinking. You know that.” 

“I do know that,” she whispered. “I know that.” 

A loud bang sounded on the door. Astoria cursed, and curled closer to a person that wasn’t there. “Shh,” Not Draco whispered. “I’m right here.”  

No, you aren’t , thought Astoria. But, she pretended he was. It was easier that way. 

“Doll,” a voice called, rough and horrid. Astoria’s heart sank. He had come. Rabastan Lestrange. He had not been at the meeting a few nights ago, and a part of her hoped that he would not come to the manor at all. But, he was the one assigned to go after her son and husband, and he hadn’t been able to catch them. He’d suffered hours torture for the trasngression. He’d seek revenge. 

“Go away,” Astoria shouted, her voice sounding far stronger than she felt. 

“Why would I? I chased your husband and son for miles. And, they slipped away. But you? I’ll get you.” 

Rabastan had been the one to discover Draco was feeding information back to the Order. 

Draco. He’d been so sure that if he did get caught, The Order could get them out. 

But, they hadn’t had time. 

I’ll come back for you , he’d whispered, in between desperate kisses, in between the urge to have her one last time, her robes tearing in his hands and his lips trying to map her body before he left her forever. The memory had constantly replayed in her mind, and it never was any less painful to relive. 

Astoria forced herself back to reality, leaving the memory behind. She couldn’t get lost in the past anymore than she already had. 

“You were weak. He got away,” Astoria said, laughing. “Shout through my door all you want. It won’t save your reputation. He bested you.” 

“Did he? Then why are you here? He loved you, you know. I wonder what it would do to him, to know I’m hurting you.” 

NotDraco glared at the door, before turning to look at her. “It would kill me,” he whispered. 

“I wonder if he’ll come for you. The Dark Lord thinks he will. It’s our last chance. To draw out the snake. The rat. The traitor. He hides so well.” 

“You’re a fool,” Astoria said, laughing. “He isn’t coming.” 

NotDraco turned to her, a smirk on his lips. “I might.”  

The day before the duel, there was a knock on her door. Astoria never answered knocks, but she heard the lock turn in the door, and a voice called, “Can I come in?” 

Chastain. 

“No,” Astoria said, fearfully. NotDraco was sitting on the window seat and he lifted his head, looking toward the door. 

“ He really likes you. Should I be jealous? ” NotDraco teased. 

“Of course not, Draco,” she hissed. 

Chastain opened the door, and Astoria got up from the bed, so as not to give him any ideas, and stubbornly sat next to NotDraco on the window seat.  

“You talk to him,” Chastain whispered, closing the door behind him. “Your husband.” 

“I’d have to be mad,” Astoria said, coolly. 

NotDraco huffed. “You know, I’ve been loyal, sticking by you this whole time. A little gratitude would be nice, darling.” 

Astoria huffed, and gave him a look to be quiet. 

Chastain closed his eyes, as if pained. “I—am here to give you instructions. For tomorrow.” 

Astoria said nothing. She glared at him, eyes blazing. She imagined wrapping her hands around his neck, choking him.

Chastain ran a hand over his face. “Tomorrow, those willing will duel. That night, you marry the victor. You need to wear a wedding dress—”

“I haven’t one.” 

Chastain swallowed. This whole thing was his idea. She didn't know why he looked so guilty. 

“The old one,” he whispered. “They want you to wear it.” 

Astoria gasped. “No. No,” she hissed. “That isn’t for you ,” she spat. 

And, it wasn’t. She’d been nineteen when she married, nearly six years ago. She had picked her dress out, smiling, laughing, happy. Her eyes had been bright, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. She’d looked at each dress and thought, would Draco like this? And, he had liked the one she picked. It had been for him. And her. For their day. And she wouldn’t wear it for them. She wouldn’t participate in their attempts to shame her and make a mockery of her. 

Chastain looked as though the order made him uncomfortable, but he sighed and crossed the room to her wardrobe. 

NotDraco held her back from getting up, which really meant she was holding herself back, but it felt good to imagine he was there, an arm wrapped over her stomach, keeping her close to him, keeping her safe. NotDraco’s phantom lips pressed against her temple. 

“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s just a dress. You know I don’t care about that. You know I want you safe, and alive. Do what you have to do.” 

“I need you,” she whispered. “I need you now and I—” she stopped. She had to be careful. She had to keep her wits about her. 

Chastain turned at the sound of her pleading with her imaginary phantom, the ghost in her head. He looked miserable, desperate even, and she retreated further back against the window, wishing she could hide from him. 

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, and then stopped and turned around. He reached toward the back of the wardrobe, where the dress was hanging, and he took it, holding it out, staring at it. He looked almost wistful and the expression on his face sickened Astoria. 

“I won’t fit into it,” Astoria lied, desperately. “I’ve gotten fat.” 

NotDraco burst into laughter, his body shaking against hers. “Don’t be ridiculous, ” he said, scoffing. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Chastain said, scoffing. 

The dress was white, a trumpet gown, with lace sleeves and small beaded flowers on the bodice. Astoria turned away from it, tears in her eyes. Chastain laid it on the bed and turned to her. 

“It won’t be as bad as you think,” he promised. 

“Oh you say that,” Astoria hissed. “You are so confident you will win! Well, I have seen them. They are talented wizards. Even Greyback. So—Merlin! Even if you win, I will still—you are no better than the rest of them.” 

“There are no good Death Eaters?” Chastain asked, quietly. 

‘“One!” shouted Astoria. “And he isn’t here. And you aren’t good! I swear by—’

NotDraco grabbed her wrist, silencing her . “Don’t make him angry. Give me one more day. I might make it. It sounds like the Dark Lord is turning it into a big production. To mock me. So, it’s possible I’ll have heard about it. It’s possible I’m coming. Don’t die before I get here, ” he pleaded. 

Astoria sighed and stared out the window. “I’m trying. But I need you here.” 

“I’m right here,” NotDraco promised. Astoria reached out to touch him, and her fingers felt nothing but air. Chastain grabbed her wrist, and his rough hands felt startlingly real. She yelped and tried to retreat father back, but there was nowhere left to go. 

“You see him too. Your husband,” Chastain said, frowning. 

NotDraco shook his head. “He can’t know about me. You have to keep me a secret.” 

“No,” Astoria said. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” She had to remember not to talk to NotDraco aloud. 

Chastain stared at her a long time, before gesturing to the wedding dress on the bed. “Wear it. They’ll get angry if you refuse.” She imagined he meant the Cruciatus Curse.

Astoria stood, roughly, and reached for her wedding dress. She tore it straight down the middle, ripping the beads off the bodice, tearing the lace from the sleeve. Chastain watched her, a grimace on his face. 

Astoria threw the fabric at his feet. “I wear that for him. And no one else,” she said, her voice deadly. “I’ll take the cruciatus curse. I’ll take it a thousand times.” 

Chastain’s eyes widened. 

A distant, rational thought asked her when she’d gotten so self destructive. 

NotDraco let out a low whistle. “Well, aren’t you something.” 

Chastain swallowed hard. “Aren’t you something,” he breathed, waving his wand, repairing the dress. “You won’t need to take the cruciatus. But, if you don’t wear it, they will imperius you. And, I don’t think you want that. I don’t think your husband would want that either—”

“You don’t get to talk about him,” Astoria hissed. “You don’t know what he would want.” 

Chastain said nothing for a long time. “I’m sorry,” he said, finally. “Wear the dress”

And he left her standing there, fuming. 

NotDraco said, “I don’t want you under the Imperius curse. You need your mind. Wear it. You know I don’t care about silly things like who sees you in a wedding dress.” 

“I care!” Astoria wailed. “I care!” 

She launched herself at him, hitting his chest and kicking him, and really, she was hitting nothing, and she looked insane. She didn’t just look insane. She was insane. Almost a year with only yourself and the worst men on the face of the earth for company will do that to someone.

“Easy on the goods, sweetheart!” NotDraco hissed. “It’s really tough being the pretty one, and I don’t need you to ruin this for me. For the both of us, for that matter!”

“Shut up!” Astoria hissed. “Go away! You left anyway, so leave again!” 

She blinked and he was gone. Astoria cried, harder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please come back. I’m sorry! I need you tomorrow! Come back!” 

He didn’t. Try as she might, she could not make him reappear to her again. 

Astoria crossed the room and tried desperately to open her window, to smash it. Panic was setting in, and she felt trapped. She was trapped. She pushed against the window, tears running down her face. She knew they had guards around the perimeter. There would be no escape. But, she could jump. That was, in a sense, escape. 

The window didn’t break. Astoria huffed. 

She turned toward the bathroom. Should she try to drown herself? It was possible. The bathtub was certainly large enough; but it would be hard to fight the instinct to breathe. 

“Don’t fall apart”, she whispered. She fell to the floor, sobbing. She needed to get herself together. She hadn’t fallen apart in a year, and she could last a little lounger. 

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Just please come back. I’ll do anything. Just please—I need you. I can’t do this. I lied. I can’t stay behind. I thought they would kill me. I never—they’ll hurt me. You have to come back. I’m so afraid. Please.” 

No one answered. 

“Please!” she sobbed. “I need you. I need you. I need you—”

Chastain came back, opening the door and Astoria screamed in fear, crawling backwards on her hands and feet. He had a determined look in his eye and it scared her. He raised his wand, pointing it straight between her eyes. Astoria reached for the bedside lamp and ripped it from the wall, throwing it at him. He ducked, effortlessly, and once again aimed his wand in her direction. 

“Imperio,” he whispered. 

Astoria froze in place, the fear, hurt, despair, and anger slipping away, replaced by a heavy, warm fog. 

Chastain reached for her, and she smiled, dreamily, letting him gather her in his arms and push her gently onto the bed. She stared at the ceiling, a deep, suppressed part of her telling her to fight. Fight goddamn it. 

But, she didn’t. Maybe, a part of her longed for the imperius curse. To just be done. To have an excuse not to fight any more. 

Chastain didn’t undress her, as Astoria had been dreamily expecting. He only smoothed his hand over her features, traced her lips, brushed back her hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” 

Astoria shivered. She wished they hadn’t taken all the sheets and covers off of her bed. The weather was getting colder. Astoria smiled gratefully when Chastain swung his cloak off his shoulders, covering her with it.

“Sleep,” he ordered. “You’re going to go to sleep. You’re going to be calm. I’m sorry, but you’re killing yourself in here and I can’t—

Astoria’s eyes were already closing. Sleep sounded wonderful. 

When she awoke, she knew immediately the curse had been lifted. Astoria threw his cloak off in disgust. 

“Draco?” she whispered, hoping he was back. 

NotDraco didn't answer. He was gone for good, it seemed. But, he’d told her to put on the dress, and so she did. NotDraco kept her alive. He was her common sense, her instincts. What he said, went. No matter what. 

She would do as she was told. She had to stay alive. Even if he came for her a year later, it would be worth it. She got up, showered, brushed her long, brown hair out, and put on the dress. She did take off the beading though, sliding the iridescent beads off the threads and leaving them scattered on the wooden floor of their bedroom. She tore the lace sleeves from the dress, leaving the gown looking plain and drab. She was determined that it would not be the same dress. The dress looked passable, but she would know the difference. 

A knock sounded at her door, and Astoria opened it, revealing Avery and Rowle, wearing horrid, matching leering smiles.  “Hello,” she said, hollowly. 

“A pretty bride,” Rowle cooed. 

Astoria said nothing. 

“You know,” Avery said, smiling wickedly. “The Dark Lord thinks this is a clever trap. He’s confident your husband will show today. He thinks he’s coming. To save you.” 

“He isn’t,” Astoria said. 

“We will see,” Rowle said, laughing. 

They escort her to the lawn where a great white tent has been set up, with rows and rows of plush seats, as well as a roped off area acting as a makeshift arena. They shoved her down in a seat that reminded Astoria of the one at the Wizengamot. The thick chains wrapped around her the moment she was seated. 

Astoria closed her eyes, resigned. She needed to focus. Whether she liked it or not, this was happening. Astoria tried to evaluate the outcome of the duel. 

 She mentally ran through who she thought would attempt to win. Avery would. Rowle. Macnair. Both Mulcibers. But, she didn’t think the odds were in their favor. 

Yaxley might win . Rookwood as well. But, she knew Rabastan Lestrange was likely the real victor. 

In order, she hoped Rookwood would win, then Yaxley, and please, not Rabastan Lestrange. 

Then, there was Greyback. Surely, he wouldn’t fight. Or, he might, but he would lose. It was a wizard's duel. Not a common brawl. 

Astoria sighed. Chastain. She had no idea his skills, but she hoped he was not the victor. There was something—painful about him. He riled her. And, he had used the Imperius curse on her. To—well, to do nothing, but it was still out of line. 

Chastain wanted her. That much was clear. At least, with say, Yaxley, he would play with her for a few months, unlikely to use any real dark magic on her, and then, he would forget about her. Despite what Chastain claimed, Astoria was no famous beauty. This battle is for two things, gold, and to attempt to draw her husband from hiding. It is not for her. Only to Chastain, deranged fool he is, is this a duel for her. 

“You know what I’ve realized,” NotDraco said, in her ear. Astoria gasped in surprise

“Don't leave!” she pleaded aloud, nearly crying tears of relief at the sight of him coming to sit cross legged on the lawn in front of her. 

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, Ancil Chastain. You know that name! I can’t believe you haven’t remembered it.” 

“I—huh?” 

“Those trashy, cheesy, disgusting series of romance novels you read. Who is the main character!” 

“Enchanted Hearts? It’s Hyacinth Thistlebrook,” Astoria said, raising an eyebrow. Why was her, admittedly embarrassing choice of novels  important right now? 

“No, ” NotDraco said, shaking his head. “ The one you would leave me for.” 

“I never said that. You just tease me about it. And, his name is Rowan Doveland,” Astoria said, shaking her head. “I don’t see what this has to do with—”

“Book seven, part three. What is the premise!” NotDraco shouted, waving his hands excitedly. 

“I—can’t remember! I’m sorry! I haven't read book seven in a long time! Er—I remember Hyacinth is kidnapped by this band of evil vampires. And, they threaten to turn her into a vampire by a certain date. Because, the vampires are at war with Doveland and his warlock clan, and they are holding her for ransom or something.” 

“Yes,” NotDRaco said, rolling his eyes. “ Call that a plot? Disgusting, really.” 

Astoria sighed. “Don’t make fun. That’s all I remember. Don’t you remember?” 

“No,” NotDraco said, scoffing. “Like I read those stupid books. You talk my ear off about them often enough.” He sighed. 

“You read the racy scenes,” Astoria accused, raising an eyebrow. 

“Of course. I had to know what got my little witch all hot and bothered,” he said, smirking. “What made you tick. But, the point is, there is something there that you need to remember.” 

“Well, I’ll think about it, Draco.” Astoria paused. “And, you don’t know?” Astoria asked. 

“I’m not really here, darling. If you don’t know, then I certainly won’t, ” NotDraco reminded. 

“Well, yes but—” Astoria started. 

“Talking to your husband again?” Chastain asked, coming to stand in front of her, stepping right on NotDraco’s trouser leg. NotDraco tried to shove him off, looking askance. 

“Does he know the thread count in these? I’ll kill him, Tori. I really will.” 

Astoria sighed. “I—yes. I’m mad. So see? You don’t want to marry me,” she pleaded. 

“What do you talk about? With your husband.” Chastain asked, leaning forward, resting his hands on the arms of the chair. 

Astoria couldn’t lean back. She was still chained to the chair. 

“Nothing that you need to concern yourself with,” Astoria hissed. “And last night, you put the Imperius curse on me!”

“You were trying to jump out the window, Miss Greengrass.” 

“Malfoy,” Astoria growled. “And—I wasn’t going to. Not really. So, there was no need for all of that.” 

“You would really rather die than be with another man?” Chastain asked. 

Astoria sighed. “Yes,” she whispered. “I would.” She wouldn’t just be with another man; they would make her life miserable. They would hurt her. It would be a fate worse than death. 

“ Your husband would never want that,” Chastain said. “He would be sorry to think he made you believe that.” 

“It isn’t what he would want. It’s what I would want. And—don’t you dare speak as if you know him! Get away from me!” he hissed. It wasn’t just being with another man. It would be torture. Rabastan was sure to win and if he did, she’d have no life at all. If anything, dying would be the right thing to do. If Draco didn’t come for her today, she was sure Rabastan would do every awful thing to her he could think of to bait him. And Astoria knew Rabastan could think of many an awful thing. 

Chastain’s black eyes filled with amusement, and his awful mess of brown hair was ruffled slightly by the wind. He smirked. “Kiss me for good luck.” 

“Never,” Astoria spat, fear filling her. She hadn’t kissed anyone since Draco. She wanted nothing more in the world than to keep it that way.

NotDraco reached forward, brushing his fingers along the hem of her dress. “You made alterations.” He must be trying to ease her fear, distract her. 

Chastain’s eyes lazily drifted over her form. “You made alterations,” he said. “To the dress.” 

“Yes,” she hissed. “I did.”

“You took all the pretty little things off the dress, but you didn’t do much about the pretty little thing inside of the dress,” Chastain said, fingers flicking to the neckline. He was teasing her, so much like—she closed her eyes.

Astoria began to tremble with fright. Tonight—tonight she’d be—Chastain looked immediately sorry. 

“I—I’m sorry,” he said, guiltily. “I forget—I haven’t seen you in so—it makes it hard to think clearly.” 

“Go away,” she pleaded. “Please don’t hurt me.” 

Chastain looked deadly serious. “I would never hurt you.” Astoria had lost the strength to respond to him. She opened her eyes, meeting his, and finding nothing but startling sincerity. A talented actor, she had to admit. 

Chastain hovered near her, looking as though he wanted to say something else, looking as if he wanted to ease her fear, and a few times, his hands flexed, as though he was moments from reaching out and offering some sort of comforting touch. It made her sick, his caring facade. He must have seen her disgusted look, because he dipped his head in what must have been false deference and took a step backwards. He left her and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

Astoria closed her eyes. Rowan Doveland. Hyacinth Thistlebrook. Book Seven. So? There were twenty books in that series, and book seven had been one of her least favorites. Rowan had been too soft with Hyacinth. Too—sappy. In bed and in speech. She usually skipped it. 

Astoria had been placed on a slightly raised platform, where she alone sat. On the opposite end of the makeshift arena sat The Dark Lord. She was grateful she didn't have to sit next to him. A ministry official, who looked quite nervous, instead had the honors. He had papers clutched in his hand and Astoria realized he must be the one who would officiate the wedding, and deal with the required documents. She would sign nothing. 

Astoria focussed determindley on NotDraco, trying to puzzle his words out . “Why is the book so important?” 

“I don’t know! I’m just telling you it is.” 

“Draco, come on—”

“Doll” a voice whispered in her ear. Astora froze. 

“Who are you talking to?” Rabastan asked. 

“Hello, Rabastan,” she said, evenly. 

“Who were you talking to?” Rabastan repeated, smiling a sick sort of smile. 

“No one,” Astoria repeated. “I was praying to Circe for this to stop.” 

Rabastan placed his mouth on her neck. It was hot, wet, and claiming. Astoria couldn’t shift away. 

He pulled back, his eyes glittering. “I hated your husband,” he whispered. “Hated him. And now, I’ll have his gold. His wife.” 

Astoria gave him a disgusted glare. She was worried he’d win. He certainly could. 

“Don’t look so afraid. I’ll take great pleasure in having you. If only to spite your husband. That’s the beauty of it. Thought he was such a clever little spy. And, he managed to slip away. But, he left you. That’s how I will punish him.”

“He won’t know what you’re doing to me,” Astoria said, firmly. “He won’t see this.” 

“I wonder if we could take a picture of you. As I have you tonight. I bet you’ll cry. You’ll cry, won’t you? He’ll come for you then,” Rabastan whispered. 

She scoffed. “If you are taking a picture, I’ll smile.” 

“Perhaps that will hurt him even more,” Rabastan said, looking at her threateningly. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re pretty enough. But, I really want the gold. And the satisfaction that I have everything of his. Even you.” 

“You’re the one that let him get away,” Astoria hissed, just because she knew it would make him angry. She was goading him. One hit, one Killing curse, and she would win. “You were supposed to catch him. You chased him for miles and he still got away. You can punish me, but it won’t make you a better wizard.”

Rabastan drew his wand. Astoria closed her eyes. It was clear. As soon as this was over, they would make any attempt to draw her husband out of hiding, and she made excellent bait. But her son was two. And he ought to have at least one parent last him to adulthood, and it had always been she who would die first anyway. Draco couldn't rescue her if she was dead. 

“Lestrange!” Chastain called from across the sunlit lawn. He took a sip from his hip flask. “Are you ready? I wouldn’t be talking big just yet.” 

Astoria would never thank Chastain. But, she was grateful he had diverted Rabastan’s ire. Despite her plan, she hadn’t really wanted to die. Making peace with death and wanting it are two different things. She knew that well enough. Astoria was shaking in fear. NotDraco smoothed his hands over her face, trying to calm her. It didn’t work. 

“I could still come,” NotDraco said, but even he didn’t seem to have faith in his real counterpart. 

“Yeah,” Astoria whispered. “You could.” He could. But he wouldn’t.

“ Maybe—maybe not by today. But, I could come and get you after—after this. I know it’s not ideal, but this place is crawling with Death Eaters,” NotDraco said, musing to himself now. 

Astoria swallowed. NotDraco continued. “I mean, Malfoy Manor is hard to break out of. But, say you move into—Yaxley or Rookwood’s home. It would be much easier for me to get you there.” 

“They are inheriting the manor,” Astoria reminded. “I’ll never leave.” Then, she bit her lip. “Would you even still want me? After—after—”

NotDraco scoffed. “ Of course. Don’t be ridiculous. If I haven’t come, you know that I can’t. If I could, I would. You know that,” NotDraco assured. 

Astoria tried to smile. Did she know that? Astoria looked at the scene before her and she realized she had never felt more alone. 

Chastain continued his vigilant stare and only looked away when Astoria felt she was going to be sick.

She closed her eyes, refusing to watch the duel. She was not particularly religious, but she spent every minute praying desperately. 

Predictably, Rabastan was in the final round and her stomach tightened, feeling as though a great serpent was curling around it, threatening to squeeze the life from her. Surprisingly, Chastain was as good a dueler as he claimed to be, winning most every fight with ease. 

As the two of them faced each other on opposite sides of the arena, Astoria couldn’t decide who she wanted to win.  

Flashes of light and the smells of smoke filled the air. The men dueled so quickly, it was hard for Astoria to follow them. Several times, Chastain had to duck; it was clear he was the better dueler, but he fought awkwardly, as if he wasn’t used to his own body. 

With a final, artistic looking arc of silver light from Chastain’s wand, Rabastan was thrown backwards, where he lay unmoving. 

Astoria gasped, her chest heaving. She looked wildly to her left for NotDraco, but he wasn’t there. He had disappeared again. 

The Dark Lord smiled. “It seems the rookie has surprised us all. Congratulations, Ancil Chastain. “You win gold, a manor, and—the woman.” 

Astoria tried desperately to run, but it didn’t matter. The chains held fast. They only let her go when Rowle and Macnair had a firm grip on each arm. 

To say Astoria fought valiantly would be an understatement. She thrashed, kicked, screamed. She hit, bit, and spat. The two men, much stronger than she, were bleeding in several places. She managed to gouge Rowle’s left eye, and she hoped the next time she saw him, he was sporting an eyepatch. 

Chastain seemed to watch her with a deep sense of regret, mixed with—pride. It bothered her. 

The ministry official stuttered through the ceremony, and under the eyes of the law only, Astoria Malfoy was now Astoria Chastain. 

Chastain reached for her with his thick, ropy arm. Astoria launched herself at him, trying to scratch at his throat. “Petrificus Totalus,” he whispered. Astoria went as stiff as a board, and would have fallen, had he not caught her.

NotDraco didn’t come to her, no matter how much she wished for it. 

“Where will you take her?” asked Yaxley, as Chastain held her stiff, rigid form. 

“Away. For a week. I am just married,” Chastain said, as if it were a great joke. It is, Astoria thought. It is to them. “I’ll want plenty of privacy,” he added, earning raucous laughter from his fellows. 

“We were hoping you’d let us watch,” Rowle complained. 

“Maybe when I’m bored with her,” Chastain said, shrugging.

And, arm around her waist, he apparated, Astoria in tow. 

They stood in front of a grand house and Chastain levitated her inside while she was trapped inside her magical prison, unable to cry and scream, unable to fight. 

Chastain deposited her in the bedroom, and she fell to her knees, sobbing. Draco hadn’t come. Maybe it had been stupid, but for a moment, she had believed he would.  

“Astoria,” Chastain said, placing a hand on her shoulder, trying to turn her around. Astoria launched herself at him, ready to claw and tear. She would fight. She promised herself that. Chastain grabbed her wrists, keeping her at bay. 

“Tori, darling, come on. I’m not going to hurt you, okay? Listen—”

“Don’t call me that!” she sobbed. “You don’t get to call me that!” 

She drummed her hands against his chest, which he seemed happy to let her do, but any time she attempted to go for the jugular, he easily restrained her. 

“Astoria—”

“Don’t!” she cried. “Stay away from me! I hate you!” 

He flinched and slowly backed her toward the bed. 

“No! Please, don’t, I—“

“I’m not going to hurt you!” he pleaded. “Just calm down—”

“I’ll kill you,” she hissed. “You aren’t going to know when. But know this. Every second you keep me alive—every second you touch me, I will be planning, and plotting and—” She scratched his face, leaving bloody trails down his cheek.

“Incarcerous,” he said, and she screamed as ropes bound her wrists and ankles. He pushed her onto the bed and she thrashed what little she could, fear gripping her heart. He took several steps back, and held up his hands in surrender. “Calm down,” he said, his voice gruff, accent thick. He used his wand to heal his face, shaking his head as he observed the damage in the mirror, a low whistle leaving his lips.

He turned to her, taking a step towards her. Astoria was very aware of her situation, tied up and on a bed. 

“Don’t,” she pleaded. 

“I’m not going to,” he said, slowly. “Okay? I would never take you against your will.” 

“I won’t ever be willing,” she told him, shaking her head. “So you might as well just leave me alone.” 

“I can’t do that, Tori, darling—”

“Don’t call me that!’” she sobbed. “Please, I hate it.” 

“Hate it?” he asked, sitting down across from her, back against the wall. “You don’t hate it.” 

“Yes, I do,” she said. “I hate it when you call me that.” 

Chastain sighed, heavily. “If I untie you, will you sit still?” 

“No,” she said, fiercely. “I meant what I said. I will kill you.” It occurred to her that if she had said that yes, she would sit still, she might have a better chance of killing him. 

Chastain looked physically pained, as though her words were knives on his skin. Astoria shook her head in disbelief. He really fancied himself in love with her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d tell you, but you wouldn’t believe me. I don’t want to upset you.” Tell her? Tell her what?

“You’re in love with me,” Astoria breathed, disgusted. “You actually think you’re in love with me.” 

“Yes,” he said, earnestly. “I am.” 

“You’re insane,” she said, shaking her head. “You are actually insane.” 

He scoffed, growing angry. He started toward her, but stopped when she called out, “No, please. I’m sorry.” 

He gave her a haunted sort of look. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“Oh please. I see the way you look at me. You want me—”

“Desperately,” Chastain said, smirking, as if something was very funny. “There is no one I desire more.” Astoria gave him her coldest glare, but he only laughed. “But, I would never touch you if you did not wish for it. I will amend however, in about an hour, you may be begging for me.”

She gagged. “Someone’s confident.” 

“Quite,” he said, smirking. 

She shuddered, mustering a fierce glare, though all she wanted to do was cry.

He sighed, giving her a rueful smile. “I hate to upset you, you know. I could tell you, now that we’re alone, but you wouldn’t believe me.” 

“Believe what?” she asked. 

“It’s me,” he said, laughing. “Draco.” 

She flinched. “You’re insane,” she whispered. “Stay away from me. Don’t say that to me again.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll see,” he said, unbothered. 

“As you could ever be him,” Astoria spat, angry that even in her pain, he still wanted to mock her. “My husband is better than you in every conceivable way.” 

Chastain was, perhaps, traditionally attractive, but he was not at all Astoira’s type. He was very broad, almost like a woodcutter. His hands were large. He was on the shorter side, though his height was greater than hers. He had messy brown hair and black eyes. She preferred tall, graceful, lithe, lean. With pale hair, grey eyes, an angular face. Sharp cheekbones. Draco. 

Astoria thought of her wedding night, six years ago. She had been a virgin, terribly afraid then too. But, Draco had been so sweet, so careful, all the while making her feel so desirable. Since then, of course, she was not quite so timid and he was not quite so honorable. Now, she was terrified. Chastain watched her, hungrily, as though drinking in every detail. The more she insulted him, the more she praised her husband, the more gratified he seemed. 

Chastain’s smirk deepened. “Tell me of this husband,” he said, casually.

“No,” Astoria said, fiercely. 

“Come now,” Chastain said, laughing. “Tell me. All that I must live up to.” 

Astoria glared at him. “He is far more attractive than you. Wittier. A better person. I love him. And you? I hate you. I wish you dead. You will never live up to him.” 

Chastain smirked, seemingly in high spirits. “Oh?” he said. “And, did he please you? Your husband?” 

Astoria flushed. “I’m not speaking of that with you.” 

“Indulge me,” Chastain murmured, eyes flashing. If she kept him talking, she bought herself time. 

Astoria swallowed. “Fine. Yes. Immensely. You would never compare, could never compare.” 

“Really? And why is that?” Chastain shifted in his seat, staring at her with obvious hunger. 

“I don’t get your meaning,” Astoria said.

“What did he do? That pleased you?”

Astoria turned from him. “So you can copy him? Please. Even if I gave you detailed instructions, you would fall short. I will never willingly let you touch me. So, it doesn't matter.”

Chastain shrugged, unbothered. “Not a nice thing to say to your husband on your wedding night.”

“You are not my husband,” Astoria hissed. “I am already married. I did not consent to a marriage. This union is void, do you hear me? A sham.” 

“I am your husband,” he said, sincerely. 

Astoria scoffed. “This is the most miserable night of my life, I hope you know.”

Chastain sighed. “I’m sorry our wedding night is not up to your expectations. I assume the first one was better?”

She’d been so happy that night. She sighed in relief, as the memory came to mind. Not that it mattered, in the grand scheme of things, and not that Draco would have cared either way, but he had been her first, and that was at least something they could not take. 

“Yes,” she said, quietly. “He will be better than you in every conceivable way. I love him.”  

“I would assume you love him. You have been so good, so loyal, so brave. I believe you have surpassed his expectations,” Chastain whispered. “Perhaps, he is not the great man you think. Perhaps he is afraid to reveal himself to you. You say you love him, that you do not hate him. But, I do not believe it to be true.” 

Astoria bit her lip. “I could never hate him,” she said. “If you hope to turn me against him, I should tell you it will take more than that.” 

“Believe me, that is not my wish.” 

Astoria had to plan. She closed her eyes, thinking. She was away from the Manor, with only one Death Eater to contend with, instead of the fifty she had been facing. This was her chance. He fancied himself in love with her? Fine. 

She opened her eyes and began to wince, sniffling and wriggling. She gave a pained cry and he was up immediately, striding across the room toward her. 

“What?” he asked, eyes scanning her form, searching for injury. 

“The ropes,” she cried. “Please. I’ll be good. They’re too tight—”

He pointed his wand and the ropes vanished instantly. “Why didn’t you say something?” he said, grabbing an arm and inspecting it for rope burns. His touch was incredibly gentle, his face was drawn tight with a mixture of guilt and concern. Astoria whimpered, pathetically, laying it on thick. He helped her sit up, and even though his very touch made her nauseous, she leaned into him slightly, sniffling. His hand brushed her hair out of her face. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I—you will not hurt me?” she asked, carefully. 

“No,” he said. 

She sighed. “I suppose we are stuck together,” she said, airily. “Perhaps—I must make my peace with it.” 

Chastain stiffend. “Oh,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her, very displeased by her words. Astoria was surprised. Had that not been what he wanted? She reached out, touching him, though every cell in her body burned in disgust. He shuddered when she placed a hand on his cheek, looking angry, and yet, as if he couldn’t help but lean into her touch.

She leaned in, as if to kiss him, and he flinched, but he seemed unable to stop himself from moving forward. Just before she kissed him, she slapped him. Hard. 

He groaned and she grabbed his wand, attempting to tug it from his grasp. His smirk was back and he looked pleased that she was fighting him, despite the fierce red handprint on his face. He managed to keep his wand and Astoria hurriedly crawled backwards to the corner, afraid of retaliation. 

He shook his head, giving her a sly grin. “A clever plan. The ropes didn’t hurt, did they.” 

“Shut it,” she hissed. “You’re sick! You want me to fight you. You like that I’m afraid.” 

His grin faded. “No,” he said, softly. “I’m sorry that you are afraid. It’s killing me. I—Astoria, it really is me. I’m not lying to you—”

“Really,” she said, coolly. “If you are planning to sleep with me, that is a poor attempt to woo me.” 

He sighed. “I gave you a clue.” 

“You gave me nothing,” she hissed. 

He looked guilty and checked his watch. “Not long now,” he said, gently. 

Astoria tensed. “What are you waiting for?” 

Chastain didn’t answer. He sighed and stood, walking toward her. She shook her head, begging, “Please. Please don’t,” but instead of grabbing her, he stopped a few paces in front of her and sat down on the floor, facing her. 

“Ancil Chastain,” he said. “You know where that is from.” 

“I know nothing,” she said. “I don’t know who you are—“

“Enchanted Hearts. That dreadful book series,” he said, smirking. 

Astoria’s eyes widened. “ You read Enchanted Hearts?” she asked, incredulously. 

“Parts of it, yes,” he said, grinning. “You’re a fan?” 

Astoria bit her lip. “I’ve read all twenty books. At least a dozen times. Except the seventh. It’s my least favorite. I usually skip it.” Keep him talking.

Chastain groaned. “What? Why?” 

“I’m not discussing the finer points of my taste in books with you!” 

He smirked. “You don’t remember the plot of Book Seven?” 

Astoria glared at him. NotDraco had told her it was important, but she didn’t remember. “Tell me it,” she said, desperately. “Please.” Perhaps if he would tell her, she would understand what NotDraco, and by extension, her subconscious, had been trying to tell her. 

He laughed. “You tell me. Let us see what you remember, yes?” 

Astoria took a deep breath. “I—Hyacinth Thistebrook is—with Rowan Doveland’s warlock clan. And the warlocks are currently feuding with a band of evil vampires. Hyacinth is lured from hiding by a vampire child who pretends to be hurt. I know she was kidnapped for ransom.” 

Chastain smirked. Astoria narrowed her eyes. His face—was thinner. Had he been eating? The change seemed sudden. His hair seemed lighter. Was it the lighting? He leaned forward. “Is that all you remember?” 

“I—no. Rowan Doveland is given a month to surrender to the vampires, or Hyacinth will be turned into a vampire. That’s it. I’m sorry.” 

Chastain’s clothes looked baggy now, and his ankles were showing considerably past the hem of his pants. Astoria thought he needed new clothes. These fit him horribly. 

“I’ll tell you the rest,” he said, grinning. 

“A vampire comes, claiming to be from an ancient clan of vampires, one’s with faces so beautiful, they must hide behind masks, because one look will kill a human instantly. Really, the plots of these books are horrible. But, you and I both know you don’t read them for the plot,” Chastain teased. 

Astoria flushed. “I—”

He continued, interrupting her. “The vampire lord from the rival clan is able to convince the vampires to let him have Hyacinth. And, as he drags her away to suck her blood, Hyacinth rips off his mask, because she’d rather die from seeing his face than become a vampire.” Astoria had thought his eyes were black, but now they looked paler. His skin was losing it’s tan. 

Astoria sighed. Chastain was right. The books were horrible. 

“But, it’s Rowan in disguise,” Chastain announced, giving her that same, easy, familiar smirk, the one she should have recognized all along.

Astoria froze and Chastain’s smirk deepened. Ancil Chastain. Ancil Chastain. She wanted to kick herself. 

“Tell me, Tori, darling.” Chastain commanded. “What’s the name he uses? Rowan Doveland. When he’s in disguise.” 

Astoria rubbed her eyes, blinking wildly as Chastain melted away into—no, it couldn’t be. “Ancil Chastain,” Astoria whispered.

Draco smirked. “Well done,” he said. 

Astoria threw herself across the space between them, arms flying around his neck, and she knocked him onto his back, a grunt of pain emitting from his lips. 

“Bastard,” she hissed, clutching his face in her hands, hardly daring to believe it. She leaned down, kissing him fiercely, desperately. The moment their lips met, she knew it was really him. Nothing could feel this right, nothing could compare. He was real, here, in front of her. 

Astoria trembled atop him, shaking with little sobs, a mixture of relief and anger coursing through her veins. “Shh,” he whispered, his hand curling around her waist.  “I’ve got you,” he assured. 

She wanted to kill him, kiss him, cry and laugh. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, angrily. “Do you have any idea how frightened I’ve been this whole week?” 

“I couldn’t have. Occlumency. Tori, yours leaves much to be admired. If I told you, The Dark Lord would have known.” His tone was pleading and his hand gripped her waist tightly. 

Astoria kissed him again, raking her hands through his hair, trembling from emotion on top of him. “Once we were here, you should have told me” 

“I tried. Twice.” 

“I can’t believe you,” she hissed. “If there was ever a worse time for sarcastic little jokes—”

“I was trying to lighten the mood! I thought you’d appreciate them later.” 

“ Tell me about your husband? Does he please you? ” Astoria mocked, glowering. “Leave it to you to stroke your ego any chance you get.” 

“It was one of the only chances I might have to get an honest, unbiased take! It’s not often you get to hear a review of your performance,” Draco defended. 

“You’re one to talk of honesty—”

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “I—the truth is, I couldn’t help myself. Okay? I’d see you and I would forget that you didn’t know who I was! It had been so long and I couldn’t resist complimenting you, I couldn’t resist wanting you, couldn't resist talking to you. And I was terrified that the minute you realized it was me, you’d hate me for leaving you. I’m still terrified of that.” His voice broke. “I wanted you to admit that you hated me, so I pushed you, but you never did,” 

“You are an idiot,” Astoria said. She huffed, tears welling in her eyes. She kissed him once more, desperately. His hand gripped her waist, tightly, pulling her further against him. “Why did it take you so long?” she whispered. “To come and get me.” 

He looked devastated at her question. “Tori, darling, I was here the minute I could be. I—you were watched closely. I tried to get you twice before, and barely escaped with my life, both times.” 

Astoria furrowed her brow. “I never knew.” 

“They likely wouldn’t have told you. This plan took months, Tori. I had to pretend to be a Death Eater for a considerable amount of time before they would let me attend meetings, and start—staking claim to manors, gold, and wives.” 

She smiled. “How long were you in the Manor?” 

“A week before you saw me. I—Astoria I did everything I could. You have to believe me—”

She kissed him, ardently, her tears dripping onto his face. “I do,”  she whispered. “You’ve never broken a promise.” 

She could feel him laugh from under her. 

“Scorpius! Is he—” she began.

“Oh, fine. An absolute terror. He misses you, constantly. He always preferred you to me anyway, and I’ve been able to do little in the manner of consoling him.” Astoria laughed, shaking her head. 

Astoria kissed every inch of his face, his nose, his eyelids, his brow, his chin, the line of his cheekbones, and then, finally, his lips. “Draco,” she breathed. “I—what are we doing here?” she asked, looking around at the sparse bedroom inside the empty, old mansion. 

“Waiting,” he murmured. “The Order is extracting us from this point in a few hours.  We’ll take a portkey—”

She pressed herself further into him. “A few hours?” 

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “A few hours. You’ll be there in time to kiss your son good morning.” 

Astoria was helpless to stop the wide grin creeping across her face. “Really?” she asked. 

“Really,” he said.

Draco rolled to the side, pinning her under him, grinning wolfishly. “But, we do have a few hours,” he said. “It is our wedding night.” 

“Where are we?” Astoria asked, admiring the outline of her husband as he hovered above her. 

“Somewhere in Estonia,” he said, kissing her clavicle. He smirked against her skin. “This is sort of our honeymoon.” 

“I must say, this pales in comparison to the Maldives,” Astoria teased, threading her hands through his hair, tugging lightly. 

“I can’t pick a winner every time,” he defended, grinning. “Where did Rowan Doveland take Hyacinth on their honeymoon? Or did he ever make an honest woman of her?” Draco mocked. 

“Tuscany,” sang Astoria. “Book thirteen.” 

“Damn Merlinda Ensorcell. That author has ruined men everywhere, you know. I fear we shall all be spending the rest of our lives attempting to be Rowan Doveland,” Draco said, laughing. 

Astoria kissed the tip of his lovely nose. “You’ve come close this past week. Ingenious plan, really. Impossible you pulled it off.” 

“Well, I did my best, darling,” he said, bunching up her ruined white dress as he slid a hand up her thigh. Her breath hitched and her favorite wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The tip of his wand touched the fabric of her dress. “I want to see you,” he murmured. 

Astoria nodded, gasping as the fabric of her dress melted away with his whispered spell. Draco groaned at the sight of her in her underwear before he vanished that too, sitting on his knees, eyes drinking in every detail. 

“More beautiful,” he whispered, his hand following the curve of her waist. “You’ve gotten more beautiful.” 

“Don’t be silly,” she mumbled, blushing. She wished he’d get out of his ill-fitted clothing.

He kissed her, softly, gently, hands shaking as they traveled down the length of her body, caressing every inch of her skin with something akin to reverence. His breath had grown ragged and his grey eyes darkened to a smoky hue. 

“You,” she whispered, tugging at the back of his shirt. He nodded, standing over her as he removed his clothes quickly. Her eyes slid greedily over his lean, lithe form, over his alabaster skin covered with silver scars like spider-webbing, and the faded mark on his left arm. He pulled her to her feet, kissing the inside of her wrist. 

“I’m not doing this on the floor,” he said, guiding her to the bed. His hands found their way to her arse, squeezing. She squeaked and his lip twitched with amusement. His hands kneaded her flesh as he watched her expression with hunger. 

“I’m ticklish there,” she murmured, cheeks pink. Time apart had made her shy. 

“I remember,” he said, cheekily as he pushed her back onto the mattress. 

“You remember?” she asked, mostly teasing. 

“I forget nothing,” he said, as he settled over her. “I didn’t forget this spot,” he said as he kissed the junction between her neck and shoulder, sucking lightly, unable to hide his pleased smile as she cried out. “Or this one,” he said as he moved his lips to the underside of her breasts. Her breath hitched, a mixture of a whine and gasp leaving her lips. He kissed his way down to her stomach, purposefully stroking her sides lightly with his fingertips, from under her breasts to the bottom of her ribs. “Especially not this one,” he said, as his lips curled around her hipbone. She jolted upwards, emitting a strangled moan. 

“I stand corrected,” she breathed. 

“There’s one more,” he said, eyes flashing. He pulled apart her legs, pressing his lips to the hollow of her left knee. 

“Draco,” she gasped. “Please.” 

“Not yet,” he said. “It’s been a long time, darling.” He smirked. “I haven’t even told you all the things I missed.” 

“Can it wait?” she pleaded. 

‘No, it can’t,” he whispered. “It really can’t.” He cupped her breasts. “I missed these,” he teased.

“Charming,” she said, trying to sound offended, but she found it difficult in her current circumstances. His lips brushed across the skin of her chest, teasing every inch, turning her insides to a deliciously tortuous inferno. 

“I missed you,” he said, his voice breaking as he buried his head in chest. “Your laugh, your eyes, your hair. Your voice. All your little jokes. Your ridiculous romance novels.” Astoria laughed, running her fingers through his hair. “I’ve barely been able to sleep,” he whispered. “I needed you next to me.” 

“Draco, I missed you ,” she said. “You have no idea how much—”

“I pined for you,” he said, cutting her off, shaking his head. I yearned for you, and you were gone and it was all my fault.” 

“No,” she said, cupping his face in her hands. “It wasn’t your fault—”

“Shh,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “It was, Tori. And I’m so, so, sorry.” 

“Draco, don’t,” she pleaded.

“You were so brave, so loyal, so—incredible and I didn’t deserve any of it,” he said. 

“Everything I have, you deserve.” He shook his head, smiling sadly. 

He filled her and Astoria wanted to cry at how good it felt, how wonderful it was to be his again. He let out another low groan. “Never again,” he said. “I’m never leaving you again.” 

After, he lay beside her, stroking her hair, eyes half closed. “I love you,” he whispered. 

Astoria grinned slyly, as she sat up, moving to straddle him. “I love you too.” HIs eyes began to darken yet again as she leaned down to kiss him. “I haven’t told you all the things I missed,” Astoria echoed, teasing, as she began to kiss along his jaw. 

The morning came and Astoria was glad to be dressed in actual clothes, glad to have a wand in her hand, glad to be walking up a hill with her husband toward the Order’s encampment. 

Bill Weasley had arrived at the Estonian safe house, port key in hand, ready to deliver them to safety. Now, he led them towards a collection of tents against a backdrop of rolling green hills. 

Astoria held Draco’s hand tightly, scanning anxiously for Scorpius, stomach in knots. “He isn’t going to recognize me,” she said. 

“He will,” Draco said, surely, squeezing her hand. 

“Where is he?” she asked, craning her neck. 

“Probably with the Potters. He’s fond of them, unfortunately, despite my best efforts. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.” Draco gave a sigh of mock disgust. “I even made up nursery rhymes about how awful the lot of them are. Didn’t work.” 

Astoria caught sight of Scorpius, poking his head out of a tent flap, giving her a gap-toothed grin. Astoria raced towards him, scooping him up in her arms, hugging him so tightly he likely couldn’t breathe. She knew from the smile on his face that he knew her, and she burst into what was probably a very embarrassing and unattractive display of tears. Draco placed a hand on her shoulder, grinning down at the pair of them. 

Astoria held close the most important person in the world to her, the son she thought she’d never see again. “It’s real,” she whispered. 

Draco knelt beside the two of them, his arm curling around her shoulders. “It’s real,” he assured. “It’s all real.”