Written for XxXRegretXxX's "Five Kisses" Challenge on HPFC.
last kiss (1)
Her nails leave bloody half moons in Daphne's arm, but no matter how hard she tries, she can't keep her sister from pulling away.
At that moment, she hates Professor Slughorn, with his talk of taking stands, "doing the right thing," and "asking for volunteers to act as reinforcements," like she's never hated anyone, and she'd give anything for her parents to appear and force Daphne to put her hand down .
"Don't go," she begs her sister, but she's crying so hard her speech is garbled. "Please don't go! Let's just go home!"
Daphne turns, and for an instant Asteria is flooded with relief, thinking she's changed her mind, but she just enfolds her in her arms and holds her tight.
"I love you, Asta," Daphne whispers against her hair and steps away.
"No! No!" She throws herself against her sister, trying to drag her to a stop. "Don't do this! Or at least let me go with you!"
"You're too young." She smoothes tears from Asteria's cheeks, and she can feel that her hands are shaking. "Give it a few years and then you can be the brave sister." She smiles, but her face is like a death mask. Asteria can almost see the bones through her flesh, and she knows in her heart, with the clarity of a premonition, that Daphne will not be confined by her body for much longer. She closes her eyes against it.
There is a kiss upon her cheek, cold and dry like a kiss from a marble angel, too fleeting, achingly precious, and then Daphne is gone, following Slughorn out into the streets of Hogsmeade.
She beats against the window—nopleasedon'tgodaphneiloveyoucomeback—until they are out of sight.
first kiss (2)
John Chen is a Hufflepuff in her year, smart, funny, and, oh, so handsome with his shining dark hair and eyes and smooth golden skin. He is also Muggle-born and frequently talks about things she can only imagine, like computers, airplanes, and x-rays. She cannot get enough of him.
She has friends in Hufflepuff by her sixth year, given that she has developed a reputation as a blood traitor and has to look for companionship outside of Slytherin, so she lets them know that she likes John and waits for the rumors to reach him. 'Asteria + John' is doodled in the margins of her diary, and she exhausts page after page dreaming of how their marriage—after a Muggle-style wedding, of course—will shock the old Death Eater families and how John can take her out into Muggle London and teach her everything.
When John smiles at her across the library, she feels a rush of triumph, and when he asks her to Hogsmeade weekend a few days later, she is so excited she almost can't say yes.
She likes to keep their relationship in the public eye. She parades him through the castle and Hogsmeade, sits with him at his table, and holds his hand everywhere they go, especially when they pass other Slytherins. She wants them all to know the fact that he's Muggle-born doesn't bother her a bit.
Even their first kiss is public. It's a little too slobbery, and John has one hand awkwardly on her shoulder the whole time, but she's still thrilled. Look at me, everyone, she thinks. I'm in love with a Muggle-born.
When John breaks up with her, a month later, it is also public: in the Great Hall where who knows how many people can hear him say, "I want to be with someone who wants me, not someone who wants to make a statement."
She hides in her bed, green curtains closed tight, too ashamed to show her face.
when every kiss is a promise (3)
Against her better judgment, she loves Draco.
She loves the sharp angles of his face, his even sharper wit, and his dark humor. She loves the way their bodies fit when they lay together, her head on his arm, his chest against her back.
Cool air hits her skin as he moves his arm, his hand stroking her from stomach to hip. His finger traces letters on her skin—DM, AG—as if she is the diary on which he scribes his dreams of the future. It frightens her, but she never makes any move to stop him, never clasps his hand or rolls out of reach. Her quiescence frightens her too.
His face is buried in her hair, and when he speaks, she can feel the words in her head. "You love me. I know you do."
She hides her own face against his inner arm where he is pale and unblemished and his blood pounds in blue-green lines just under the skin. Saying no would be a lie. Pretending her feelings do not matter would be an equal falsehood. She opts for truth.
"And I know you love me too."
"True." His breath is warm and sweet against her nape, and she wonders if she turned in his arms and kissed him if it would stop the question that is building in him again.
She's too late.
"So, why won't you marry me, Asteria?"
She says nothing, and the room grows silent except for the patter of rain on the windows. On her bedside table, a framed picture from her tenth birthday cycles over and over. She watches herself open a large box with a frilly bow, squeal, and pounce on Daphne, hugging her tight. Daphne hugs her back, and they both beam for the camera.
She can't remember now what Daphne's present was that day, but she never forgets the final gift she gave her by fighting in the Final Battle, the gift that cost Daphne her life: freedom and a future, a life without fear, and something to truly be proud of…and now she loves a former Death Eater. How does this honor my sister's memory? The picture blurs and she closes her eyes, but not before a tear breaks free and slides down to wet Draco's arm. His muscle coils like a spring under her cheek.
"Asteria?" His voice is sad. "Why do you do this to yourself? To us?
She rolls onto her back, still circled by his arm, her head on his shoulder. "I always told myself I would have a different life," she whispers.
"Different how?"
She cries harder. "Different than purebloods and all the old families. Different than Slytherin-themed nurseries and dark artifacts in the china cabinet. "
"Marrying me won't change who you are. If I thought it would, I wouldn't want to marry you." He wipes tear from her cheeks with his thumb and shakes his head. "Sometimes you act like you're the only one the War changed…like you're the only one who learned anything. The Malfoys aren't like we used to be." His mouth quirks. "For one, the Ministry confiscated all our dark objects, so I'm afraid our china cabinets hold nothing but china. And we no longer sit around plotting the downfall of Muggles. That's so 1996."
She laughs despite herself. "So what do Malfoys talk about now?"
"Marry me and find out." He cups her face. "We're in love. Dumbledore said love was the most important thing there is. It took me a long time to understand how right he was." He lowered his mouth to hers, and the kiss was devastating—hot and sweet and reaching right down to her soul. "Say you'll marry me, Asta. I'll never ask you again."
Her eyes flutter open, and she loves his face so close to hers, so sharp and earnest. "I'll marry you. But no green-and-silver décor."
"It's a promise."
hello (4)
Exhausted, panting, she lets her head fall back to the mattress only to lift it again when nine pounds of baby boy is laid upon her chest. She touches him for the first time, her fingers on his bloody head. He squalls lustily, fists and feet that have pummeled her from the inside for months now waving in the air.
"You're here," she whispers shakily, her tears turning to laughter. "You're finally here!"
She is only vaguely aware of the delivery of the afterbirth and the moment when Draco carefully cuts the cord with severing charm. She is too busy staring at their son. The midwife buffs him gently, cleaning off the worst of the fluids, before wrapping him in a clean blanket and placing him in her arms. He is red and blotchy, his head has been compressed into a cone, and his hair—already white blond—is forming a startling cowlick right at the front as it dries.
She is certain she's never seen anyone so beautiful.
"He's beautiful," Draco says, echoing her thoughts in a choked voice. "He's…incredible, and so are you."
She smiles at him before focusing on their baby again. She offers him her breast, but he's disinterested for now, preferring to gaze up at her through bleary half-closed eyes instead. She touches his hands, two perfect little rosebuds curled tightly under his chin, and the skin is so soft it's unimaginable. Soon, there will be a parade of friends and relatives coming to see him: four proud grandparents, his future godparents, Asteria's cousins, and more, but she feels the absence of one more strongly than she has in years. "You're so loved," she whispers. "If your aunt was here, she'd love you too."
Draco rubs her shoulder in sympathy. "We still have to name him." He strokes his son's cheek with the back of one finger, and they both smile when he turns into the touch.
"Scorpius," she says, not inviting a discussion.
He makes a face. "Asta, 'Scorpius Malfoy' could be the villain in a melodrama."
"It's a great name," she insists. "Scorpius was a titan. It's a name that conveys strength."
"It certainly conveys something," her husband mutters. "Do you still want Hyperion for the middle?"
"That's right."
Draco shakes his head and grins. "All right. Scorpius Hyperion it is. But when he's eleven and hates his name, I'm laying all the blame at your feet, like my father did to my mum when I came to him asking what moment of madness led to Draco."
"He'll grow into it," Asteria said with confidence, "just as you did." She rocks the baby in her arms, touching her nose to his scalp and breathing in the scent of him, so primal and new. "Hello, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. I'm your mother, and I love you."
She kisses his silky brow, and the intensity of her feelings brings tears to her eyes.
good-bye (5)
Eleven years is far too young to go so far from home. It's ludicrous. How did her parents stand it? She has a distant memory of the platform and being too excited over her first ride on the Hogwarts Express to stand still. At the time, she thought her mother silly for crying and her father sentimental for hugging her so hard.
She understands better now.
Between them, Scorpius bounces on his toes, chattering non-stop about the red locomotive and the hundreds of kids around them. He's impatient with her fussing, already ready to grab the trunk she carefully packed and board the train. She holds on just a little longer.
"What House d'you think I'll be Sorted into, Mum?" he asks for the tenth time that week.
Probably Slytherin, she thinks, knowing her son's nature is very much like his father's…and her's as well. "You'll have to wait and see. You'll know by tonight, and you can write us from your new Common Room."
"I can't wait!" His bouncing intensifies until his cowlick flops up and down.
Draco puts his hand on his son's head, both calming him and trying futilely to smooth his hair. "Whatever House you're Sorted into, we'll be proud of you." He winks at Asteria and she rolls her eyes; they made a deal five years ago, trading sexual favors from Asteria for what she called 'positive, egalitarian Sorting talk' from Draco, shortly after Scorpius read Hogwarts: A History for Children and began asking what House would be his. It is a bargain Draco enthusiastically keeps.
"Look!" Scorpius stills, his voice dropping to an excited whisper. "That's Harry Potter! I have his Chocolate Frog card."
The whole family looks up and spots various Potters and Weasleys studying them before they all turn away by silent, mutual consent.
"Do you think they're in my year?" Scorpius whispers, and Asteria looks back at the little dark-haired boy and red-haired girl and nods. "Maybe. They look like they're about your age."
"Cool!" he exclaims, and she watches Weasley say something under his breath, and hopes he's not stirring up old animosities for a new generation. Their children are different than they were and deserve a fresh start.
"I knew Ginny Potter a little when I was in school," she offers her son. "She always seemed nice."
"That's because you were never attacked by bogies with bat wings," Draco mutters.
Scorpius's nose wrinkles. "That boy's mum attacked you with bogies, Dad?"
"He deserved it," Asteria assures him, and Draco snorts.
Scorpius tugs on Draco's coat. "Did you deserve it, Dad?"
"Yes, probably." He shrugs.
Now it's Asteria's turn to snort.
"All right, definitely. I admit it. She was justified in scarring me for life." Scorpius giggles and the two of them watch Draco lug the trunk over to the train and lift it aboard. The minute hand inches closer to the locomotive's departure time, and families around them begin saying their last good-byes as children squeeze onto the train.
Draco kneels before their son. "Be good, Scorp. Be friendly and mind your manners just like your mother taught you, and I promise no one will sic bogies on you."
"I will." He busses his dad's cheek and gives him a quick hug.
Asteria's already crying when he turns to her. "I'll send you treats," she vows. "Promise me you'll write." He nods and she hugs him. "This is your first great adventure," she whispers in his ear. "Have fun and be happy." Be free and live, she adds silently.
He hugs her around the neck and kisses her, a careless little boy kiss, all sloppy and sweet, so precious, and tells her he'll miss her before jumping onto the train. Her heart hurts knowing it will be months before she kisses him again.
Scorpius's head and arm poke out a window and he waves as the train pulls out. She and Draco stand on the edge of the platform, both waving until the train is out of sight.
"He'll be fine," Draco promises. "We'll see him in December."
"I know." She rests her head against his shoulder. "It feels like such a long time away, though."
He wraps his arm around her and steers her toward the wall that will take them out into King's Cross. "Well, here's something to take your mind off it: The house is all ours again until then, and I believe you owe me for that 'positive, egalitarian Sorting talk' I did back there."
She laughs. "You realize he'll finally be Sorted in a few hours, and this is the last time you'll be able to pull this trick, right?"
"Well, then, I better make this one count."
A/N: The title comes from this anonymous quote: Why do we close our eyes when we sleep? When we cry? When we imagine? When we kiss? It's because the most beautiful things in the world are unseen.