Loveless

'This is preposterous! To think I almost gave my son to these miscreants!' Narcissa’s voice precedes her unusually early visit to his bedroom. Draco groans and presses a pillow over his head. He has hoped to sleep for at least an hour more. 'Draco!' The bedroom door flies open, and if not for the cushioning charm, the rosewood of the door or the exclusive wallpaper Mother ordered from China could have suffered undeserved losses. 'Draco, darling, I’m so sorry this is happening to you! Oh, as if you haven’t suffered enough, my beautiful boy!' He braces himself for whatever might be coming and sits up on his bed. Narcissa looks honestly outraged. 'Mother, please… Get to the point already.' 'Ah, it’s the Greengrasses! They… They… Well, you won’t marry either of their girls, if this is what they are playing at!' Her eyes gleam with righteous anger. And she isn’t the type to exaggerate like Father, so this can’t be good. Draco feigns apathy to the best of his abilities. 'Whatever do you mean, Mother? Don’t make me guess, for Merlin’s sake, my brain is still sleeping.' She gives him a sorrowful glance, as if he’s terminally ill. The last time she had looked at him like this was when he was ordered to take the Dark Mark. 'I don’t even know how to say this, my love. That girl… Astoria, she- Ah, she is cursed!' All the sleepiness washes off in a split second and Draco jumps off his bed. He is trying to read his mother’s expression but even if she feels anything other than utter disappointment, it’s not showing. 'How on Earth did you find something like that out?' he asks warily. They had a dinner planned for today: the last crucible before their wedding. Astoria has already spent quite a lot of time in the Manor and has been nothing but amicable with Narcissa. They’ve discussed all the types of nonsense from rose bushes in the garden to Parisian dressing gowns. 'Well, her parents sent an owl to warn us she won’t be coming due to her health issues. Of course, we knew she’s a fragile little thing, she’s always been, but this is her eighth time in St. Mungo’s this year, and it’s only May.' Then her tone acquired an unexpected apologetic touch. 'And she was going to be your wife, darling — I had to make sure you won’t regret this, so I asked about her condition.' 'You wrote such a thing back to Greengrasses?' That’s the kind of straightforwardness which is heavily frowned upon in their circles. He would probably feel touched by Mother’s devotion if not for the panic flooding him right now. 'Back to- No! Oh, Merlin, they would just laugh it off and sugarcoat everything. I wrote to St. Mungo’s,' she explains and graces him with a quizzical glance. Which, to be fair, is well-deserved. He should’ve known better than to hope Narcissa Black-Malfoy would commit a breach of etiquette for any reason. 'Mother…' Draco groans with reproach. But she doesn’t notice or decides to ignore: 'You know I’m friends with Hecate Edgecombe, don’t you? So I wrote to dear Hecate and she was so nice to answer me this quickly and thoroughly. The girl has an intricate bloodcurse, and not only her, it’s hereditary! I am shocked their line is still extant! And to think we’ve almost let a curse ruin the Malfoy dynasty- Are you even listening, my love?' Draco is running around his bedroom getting dressed and gathering things. He writes a short note to Daph. Of course he’s not listening. 'I got the idea, Mother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a severely ill fiancee all alone in a hospital.' He puts on his suit robe and tries to leave but Narcissa steps back and blocks the door bodily. 'Sweet Salazar! Which part of the phrase “hereditary bloodcurse” did you miss?' She isn’t screaming, but her voice is ripe with histrionics. And he finally snaps. 'The part where I give a shit about it, Mother. Now please move, or I’ll have to move you myself.' She doesn’t budge an inch. Her eyes narrow dangerously. 'You didn’t just threaten your own mother, did you?' Draco heaves a sigh. Mother loves him. She does what she thinks is best for him. She knows nothing of him and Astoria. 'Mother, please. I’m aware that she is cursed, it changes nothing. I’ve been aware all along, even before we planned anything, and I’ve proposed nevertheless. Yes, we should have told you, and I’m sorry I stalled this for so long, but Astoria is the only woman for me, and she needs me right now. Please, let me through.' Narcissa’s expression changes from angry shock to a condolent one. 'Draco, are you trying to say you love her, my angel? Oh, sweet boy, how unfortunate… Merlin knows, you weren’t born under a lucky star…' Draco can’t stand it when she wails like this. It’s not some star that made them miserable. They did it with their own hands. Most of his thoughts are probably written on his face, because Narcissa cuts herself short and adds what she hopes will save this unbearable conversation: 'No, obviously, she is a nice girl: perfect manners, lovely face, impeccable lineage- I swear, if not for the curse-' 'Well, the curse is there,' he retorts. 'I can’t do anything about it, you can’t do anything about it, I’m pretty sure even St Mungo himself would be ultimately helpless. But I’m marrying her or I’m not marrying, period. And it’s not that I’m asking anyone’s permission, I’m the head of this bloody house.' After a quick battle of stares, Narcissa finally steps aside. Which is good, since Draco was this close to Apparating straight from his bedroom, and that would raise unnecessary questions from the Ministry. 'Such behaviour doesn’t deserve love, darling. Especially yours,' she utters, when he passes her. Love. Does he honestly love Astoria? Draco can’t say… But she’s the closest to what he supposes love must feel like. And she definitely deserves that and so much more. *** Draco had known the younger Greengrass daughter quite literally her whole life. Not that he remembered, of course, but his two-year-old self graced her very first birthday party with his presence. Ever since then, she had been somewhere in the picture, much like any other pureblooded kid. After all, theirs was a tight-knitted circle. Yet, if anyone asked him about Astoria Greengrass, for most of his life Draco wouldn’t have been able to say more than a person just introduced to the girl. She was quiet, offish, and had such poor health that her parents took her back home after barely a half of her First year. And that was mostly it. Draco didn’t even know she had returned until he stumbled onto her quite literally in one of Hogwarts' corridors. He was coming from the Room of Requirement, jittery as ever, glancing behind his back every other second, when his foot caught on something and he nearly fell. He turned around, furious, just to find out that this something was a girl’s leg. A Ravenclaw student was slumped over in the middle of an empty corridor, her head dangling to the side. Running away had been his first instinct. Turn away and run, not looking or thinking back. She hadn’t made a sound when he practically kicked her in the leg earlier, so she must have been out cold. Chances of her seeing him were minimal. But… Given Draco’s luck lately — in terms of catastrophes, minimal chances meant a solid one hundred percent. He squatted down next to the girl and pulled her closer. A stray strand of hair hiding her face fell back and he suddenly knew who this Ravenclaw was and why she was lying unconscious in the middle of a school corridor after hours. Somehow, it had always been obvious they were sisters, even though Astoria hardly looked anything like Daph. Her hair was darker — still blond, but muted, boring. Dark brown eyes, secretive, strikingly different from Daphne’s blue, open gaze. Astoria clearly kept to herself as if aided by her very appearance. She wasn’t exactly ugly or even plain, but one could easily overlook her presence — especially next to her baby-doll older sister. The girl’s blue tie caught Draco’s eyes again, and he vaguely recalled Daphne’s frustration about the Hat not sorting her sister to Slytherin. They’d been Third-years then, and he had agreed with Daph deeply: it must be Slytherin or nothing for them, and to affront a scion of any Sacred 28 family in such a way… Idiots. Little ignorant idiots, that’s what all of them had been, caring about bloody school houses. 'Rennervate,' Draco mumbled, pointing his wand at the girl’s solar plexus. She immediately tore her eyes open with a sharp gasp. It took her a couple moments to figure out where she was and what had happened. 'Astoria, right?' he enquired, mostly to calm her down than to ascertain anything. 'I didn’t know you were back from homeschooling.' 'Oh… Hello, Draco.' She forced out a feeble smile. 'Thank you for help. I was going back to the dorm, but apparently I got lost. Again. The stairs must have moved or…' He didn’t have time for her whining. The earlier they made it to Pomfrey’s, the less grumpy the old mare would get. 'I’m sorry to bother you further, but could you please walk me to the tower? I’m not sure I’ll manage the climb on my own and everyone is-' 'Wait. What tower? I’m taking you to the Hospital Wing.' 'No!' She sounded louder, harsher and more desperate than someone barely conscious should. Draco shivered and staggered back. Astoria obviously noticed that and hurried to take the edge off her aggressive answer. 'Sorry! I only meant that’s… It’s not necessary, really. I just need a good night’s sleep, that’s all.' She added a little laugh at the end, a sad, pathetic sound, that wouldn’t be able to fool even a moron like King Weasley. 'Yeah, good one. Now hold on to me and let’s go.' 'I’m not going to the Hospital Wing, Draco Malfoy, you can’t make me,' she grumbled and hugged her knees, turning into a ball of resentment, vaguely related to Bludgers. Draco rose abruptly to his feet. His irritation grew by the minute. He already had a daring assassination on his to-do list — babysitting young witches was a bit too much. 'I can cast an Imperio on you.' She tittered, her face still buried in her knees. 'No you can’t, that’s a ticket to Azkaban.' He could. He’d already Imperiused Madam Rosmerta. Wasn’t that hard. 'I can take points from Ravenclaw,' he offered instead, deliberately fixing his Prefect badge. 'You’re out after hours, it would be about forty or fifty…' She faced him again, her eyes overflowing with tears. 'Don’t you get it? A couple more visits to Pomfrey, and they’d send me back home!' Home. He’d give anything to be at home again. His was now a cold crypt infested with plunderers Lord Voldemort deemed suitable to bring there with him. Desperate times, huh? 'So what, you’d better die, but in Hogwarts?' he asked after successfully conquering the urge to bark at the girl because of her sheer stupidity. 'Yes. Yes, I would.' Foolish, foolish child. If she only knew what Draco knew, she’d run home immediately. She’d hug her parents before the Dark Lord came for them, she’d admire the green lawns before Werewolves turned them into muddy training grounds, she’d breathe in all the cosy scents before every room started smelling of blood and mould… 'Suit yourself,' Draco rolled his eyes and sweeped the girl from the floor. Carrying her seemed less time-consuming. 'No!' She tried to break free, but there was barely enough energy in her body to lift a hand. 'Stop fussing. Or do you want me to use Incarcerous?' He pressed her closer to restrain even that futile resistance. His load went still and muttered with all resentment in the world: 'No, I don’t, Prefect Malfoy, please excuse my behaviour.' They were at least one third of the way up the tower when Astoria suddenly tore her face away from his shoulder, and her wet, tear-stained face brightened with relief. 'It’s not- You didn’t- It’s- it’s not the Hospital Wing!' 'Very observant, miss Greengrass. It’s the Ravenclaw tower.' He felt the frantic tension in her body seep away like an evil spirit after an exorcism. 'Thank you,' she whispered, and they didn’t utter another word until he put her down in front of the raven-ornate door. 'What’s the only thing that grows when you give it away?' croaked the raven, and its beak swung shut with a loud clunk. Draco cocked his head to the side. 'Your passwords are answers to riddles?' She looked at him as if he’d asked how many hours makes a day. 'You didn’t know?' 'Never have given a damn about other houses.' She gave a light chuckle. 'Slytherin or nothing, yeah… Well, I didn’t have the privilege to be picky.' Her voice almost died out by the end of the sentence. They stood in awkward silence for what seemed terribly long to Draco, so he picked up the previous topic. 'So, is there a time limit for these password riddles?' 'No. If you can’t guess, you just wait for someone else to crack it.' More awkward silence. 'Well, I’d better go anyway. You should rest. See you.' 'Yes, you too. Say hi to Daph for me.' Draco was already a dozen steps down the stairs, when she called out: 'Thank you. Truly. You are the first person here who’s listened to me and not my disease.' 'No problem, Astoria. Just don’t tell anyone. Otherwise people would accuse me if you die or something.' She beamed with a delightful smile and eagerly nodded. Obnoxious girl! Going down the endless stairs of Ravenclaw tower Draco pondered over her last words. To put it simply, she thanked him whole-heartedly for not giving a fuck. Since the only reason he didn’t drag her to Pomfrey, didn’t ‘listen to her disease’ — was his total indifference. If the next day started with Dumbledore shedding crocodile tears for a deceased Greengrass girl, Draco’s only regret would be that the bell tolled not for the old wanker himself. Sympathy was now too luxurious of a concept for Draco Lucius Malfoy, a dead boy walking.