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gyzymJuuuust a fun little aside. A response to this, which ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
purple_chalk can yell at me for linking to if she feels like it.
One
At his mother's funeral. He knew, of course, that she'd loved him; Potter had made that very clear, in his owl about the Battle. Still, she'd never actually said it, not to him, and even so it had gotten her killed, by a rogue maniac in Diagon on an otherwise average Tuesday afternoon.
Draco had been apartment hunting. Up the street. He hadn't even known she was in London.
He was, despite all this, surprised to find himself desolate at the loss, staring at her grave with a startling unselfish grief. Draco was used to being selfish, knew how to build his life around that particular character trait, and suddenly he hated himself, for killing her and for not killing her, for losing her and making her lose herself.
It was the pastor who said it, running a sad hand over his face. Draco didn't look at him.
Two
At that club, in the place, in the town, in England. Draco couldn't be more specific because he didn't really remember much about it; just the bloke who'd spoken. He'd been tallish and large-ish, but mostly he'd looked a lot like Crabbe, which had been nice. Comforting.
Three
After his father's first trial. That one was Potter, stupid, stupid Potter who kept insisting on showing his face places and being nice. Draco didn't want to like it, the kindness, but he did, it felt almost like friendship, and that made it worse.
Anyway he was outside having a cigarette thinking about appeals and sins and atonement and his mother, and Potter came from nowhere and said it. Draco couldn't even answer him--he just took another long drag and sighed. Potter put a hand on his shoulder for a minute, and he didn't say anything; he just stood there, being there. Draco wanted to cry, he was so grateful.
Four
Twenty minutes before his wedding. His bow-tie wouldn't tie and why were they called bow-ties if they WOULDN'T and oh, god, he'd conned this woman into marrying him under false pretenses because if she actually bothered to look closer she'd see it, how much better she could do, there were men out there who could tie their ties and get married without wanting to actually, you know, vomit all over the chapel and--
--Astoria opened the door, in her wedding dress, and said it. He looked at her, opened his mouth to say things about beauty or bad luck or, maybe, to commence with the vomiting, but she waved a hand and tied his bow-tie and called him stupid--for worrying or for putting his cufflinks on wrong, Draco wasn't sure. Then she pressed a kiss into the corner of his mouth and said "Buck up, 'High Society' is your middle name, and it's not like I'm going to jilt you, you idiot."
"But--" Draco started.
"In twenty minutes I'll be Mrs. Malfoy," she said. "Now shut up and brush your hair."
Five
Three weeks after Scorpius was born. Astoria fixed him with a mighty glare and said "Get out, get out and take him with you or I will kill you both, all I ask is a few hours of sleep and maybe a pastry, Draco, oh my god," and so he left, taking the baby with him.
What he didn't explain to Astoria--what he hadn't explained to anyone--was that he was afraid, for this baby and for himself. He'd had all these nightmares, when Astoria was pregnant, about her having the child and him just...not loving it, and watching its little face grow sharper and colder and still not loving it, no matter what, no matter how hard he tried. And then the child had been born, a beautiful boy, and Draco had felt his heart swell and crack with the pressure of this much love and thought what if it goes away, what if I wake up and it's gone. The worry made him careful and hesitant around the baby; if his love was conditional, he didn't want to know.
Despite this, Astoria had made it very clear that his life was conditional upon their absence, so he took little Scorpius to a park up the street. He sat on a bench and pulled out the warmed bottle of breast milk (ew ew ew, thought Draco) that his wife had given him.
Scorpius felt strange and heavy in his arms, squirmy and strong and fragile all at once, and Draco was terrified of him. He popped the bottle into his son's mouth and watched him drink, nearly trembling with the pressure. "Please," he whispered, without really knowing what he was asking for, "please, please." Then--and Draco planned on remembering it for the rest of his life--Scorpius pulled away from the bottle, and spat milk that had come out of Draco's wife all over Draco's face.
Scorpius had a hell of a spit take, for an infant. He started howling, screaming at the top of his lungs--it was deafening and awful, and Draco looked down at him through milk-soaked hair and thought Oh. Maybe, for me, this isn't really the kind of love that goes away.
"I think," he said to the baby, gravely, "that I shall call you Spawn, for certainly no normal child could have come to such evil so young."
Scorpius looked back at him, briefly mocked his grave expression, and then vomited on his shirt. It was a nice shirt. He was, in fact, quite fond of it. As such, he was surprised to find himself laughing--real, honest laughter--as he wiped the spit-up from his son's face.
A woman sat down on the bench next to him. "You look like hell," she said, cheerily.
Draco grinned back at her. "Yeah," he said, laughter still heavy on his breath, "I bet I do."
purple_chalk can yell at me for linking to if she feels like it. One
At his mother's funeral. He knew, of course, that she'd loved him; Potter had made that very clear, in his owl about the Battle. Still, she'd never actually said it, not to him, and even so it had gotten her killed, by a rogue maniac in Diagon on an otherwise average Tuesday afternoon.
Draco had been apartment hunting. Up the street. He hadn't even known she was in London.
He was, despite all this, surprised to find himself desolate at the loss, staring at her grave with a startling unselfish grief. Draco was used to being selfish, knew how to build his life around that particular character trait, and suddenly he hated himself, for killing her and for not killing her, for losing her and making her lose herself.
It was the pastor who said it, running a sad hand over his face. Draco didn't look at him.
Two
At that club, in the place, in the town, in England. Draco couldn't be more specific because he didn't really remember much about it; just the bloke who'd spoken. He'd been tallish and large-ish, but mostly he'd looked a lot like Crabbe, which had been nice. Comforting.
Three
After his father's first trial. That one was Potter, stupid, stupid Potter who kept insisting on showing his face places and being nice. Draco didn't want to like it, the kindness, but he did, it felt almost like friendship, and that made it worse.
Anyway he was outside having a cigarette thinking about appeals and sins and atonement and his mother, and Potter came from nowhere and said it. Draco couldn't even answer him--he just took another long drag and sighed. Potter put a hand on his shoulder for a minute, and he didn't say anything; he just stood there, being there. Draco wanted to cry, he was so grateful.
Four
Twenty minutes before his wedding. His bow-tie wouldn't tie and why were they called bow-ties if they WOULDN'T and oh, god, he'd conned this woman into marrying him under false pretenses because if she actually bothered to look closer she'd see it, how much better she could do, there were men out there who could tie their ties and get married without wanting to actually, you know, vomit all over the chapel and--
--Astoria opened the door, in her wedding dress, and said it. He looked at her, opened his mouth to say things about beauty or bad luck or, maybe, to commence with the vomiting, but she waved a hand and tied his bow-tie and called him stupid--for worrying or for putting his cufflinks on wrong, Draco wasn't sure. Then she pressed a kiss into the corner of his mouth and said "Buck up, 'High Society' is your middle name, and it's not like I'm going to jilt you, you idiot."
"But--" Draco started.
"In twenty minutes I'll be Mrs. Malfoy," she said. "Now shut up and brush your hair."
Five
Three weeks after Scorpius was born. Astoria fixed him with a mighty glare and said "Get out, get out and take him with you or I will kill you both, all I ask is a few hours of sleep and maybe a pastry, Draco, oh my god," and so he left, taking the baby with him.
What he didn't explain to Astoria--what he hadn't explained to anyone--was that he was afraid, for this baby and for himself. He'd had all these nightmares, when Astoria was pregnant, about her having the child and him just...not loving it, and watching its little face grow sharper and colder and still not loving it, no matter what, no matter how hard he tried. And then the child had been born, a beautiful boy, and Draco had felt his heart swell and crack with the pressure of this much love and thought what if it goes away, what if I wake up and it's gone. The worry made him careful and hesitant around the baby; if his love was conditional, he didn't want to know.
Despite this, Astoria had made it very clear that his life was conditional upon their absence, so he took little Scorpius to a park up the street. He sat on a bench and pulled out the warmed bottle of breast milk (ew ew ew, thought Draco) that his wife had given him.
Scorpius felt strange and heavy in his arms, squirmy and strong and fragile all at once, and Draco was terrified of him. He popped the bottle into his son's mouth and watched him drink, nearly trembling with the pressure. "Please," he whispered, without really knowing what he was asking for, "please, please." Then--and Draco planned on remembering it for the rest of his life--Scorpius pulled away from the bottle, and spat milk that had come out of Draco's wife all over Draco's face.
Scorpius had a hell of a spit take, for an infant. He started howling, screaming at the top of his lungs--it was deafening and awful, and Draco looked down at him through milk-soaked hair and thought Oh. Maybe, for me, this isn't really the kind of love that goes away.
"I think," he said to the baby, gravely, "that I shall call you Spawn, for certainly no normal child could have come to such evil so young."
Scorpius looked back at him, briefly mocked his grave expression, and then vomited on his shirt. It was a nice shirt. He was, in fact, quite fond of it. As such, he was surprised to find himself laughing--real, honest laughter--as he wiped the spit-up from his son's face.
A woman sat down on the bench next to him. "You look like hell," she said, cheerily.
Draco grinned back at her. "Yeah," he said, laughter still heavy on his breath, "I bet I do."
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no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 12:25 am (UTC)#5 is exactly what being spit-up on for the first time is like.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 05:32 pm (UTC)How is the little one?! Is he sleeping through the night, etc?
no subject
Date: 2010-01-07 02:19 am (UTC)Hopefully I'll get him trained out of it soon. =) He's a good baby, though.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 02:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 05:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 02:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 05:27 pm (UTC)I'm glad in particular you liked #4; I have a lot of fun with Astoria. At some point (not now, NOT NOW, but when I have actual time to do so) I'd love to do a full story with her as a central focus. I enjoy a good EWE story as much as the next girl, and I sailed into fandom back in the day on the good ship H/D, but it bums me out, the way people paint her. In most fics I read she's shrill and manipulative or meek and terrified, and I just want to shake people.
JKR gave us an almost entirely undefined female character she can't ruin in a later book--why not make her a strong female character? Why not make her funny and smart and pulled together and ballsy? We so rarely get the chance, with the Potterverse women--so often have to go back through and undo what JKR's done to them. And it's a blank canvas, and I understand, I do, that people want the H/D to work out, but oh my god. If that's what we do to female characters without any canon personality traits, then that's on us, and that sucks.
Aaand sorry, didn't mean to get so into that. In conclusion: thanks for the praise it's much appreciated :D
no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 05:41 pm (UTC)DO IT!!! *cheerleads* I'd love to see that. I never thought I'd care about her, but 1.) I've developed a weird kink for Draco het lately, cough, and 2.) I think that kink has been fuelled by some good Draco/Astoria I've seen around, although not nearly enough of it. You're right: she's a blank slate but one that could be so supremely awesome. And her marriage to Draco could go in so many different directions, just like Lucius/Narcissa: is it a love match with kinky awesomeness? A friendship match where one or both of them are actually gay? A combination of both (which I've seen done to GREAT effect but only in the background to other stories) whereby they have sort of an open marriage but are devoted to each other? a;lksjdfl;skjdf SO MANY POSSIBILITIES.
Here, my Narcissa icon can double as Astoria. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 05:49 pm (UTC)Also, damn it, your comment gave me an idea for the plot of an Astoria-centered piece, and now I'm going to have to write that. But I'm going to...I don't know. Promise myself I won't write this one until the Marauder epic is done, I guess. Or maybe I'll do a little tiny version to tide me over--like a 3:00 snack.
I think that's the best plan. Yes. :D
(I quite like your Narcissa/Astoria icon, by the by.)