A/N: Sorry for interrupting the first story before it starts but just a warning for this chapter. It does contain self-harm episode, character death.
Chapter 1A sky pregnant with darkness loomed overhead. Sparse droplets fell through the empty air of expansive grounds in a gentle pitter patter. The wet deterred many. Black umbrellas hoisted high. The wind whipped through the party with a sudden push, upturning umbrellas and pulling at their forlorn faces as they stared straight ahead with lack luster eyes.
Petals from hearty arrangements fluttered in the wind as a river of color in reminder of what happiness looked like. It stood out decidedly against the black ensemble of mourners gathered around a freshly dug grave. Rows and rows of flowers stood near the onyx headstone. The black marker joined a host of other stones in a foggy graveyard enclosed in hedges grown feet overhead, groomed to block out the cheery sunlight on days it dared enter.
Most other stones were grown over with luscious well-kept grass, apart from three others covered in shortened sprouts of the ancient grass. It took years for the thick carpet to grow in full. The graves were still too young to be completely claimed to the estate, still a freshened shock of grief.
Beside the mound of dirt stood a woman. A blank slate of features etched in beauty long drawn out by the harsh edges of life. The luster of her platinum blonde hair fell limp at her shoulders, in place by a few charms the elves knew.
A faraway haze clouded her eyes as she stared at the coffin presented in front of her. Thick mahogany carved from an ancient tree upon the grounds encased the body of her infant son, born sleeping. She carried the corpse of her son around inside her womb, a constant reminder of her failure, her pain, her tortured fate. Born to the world in death, a black shimmer out of her innards into the world as Pandora's box of blackness.
Oft she wondered, as she wandered through the shadowy edges of the forest, what she'd done to deserve a fate so cursed. She'd minded her parents, studied hard despite in lack of natural intellect, followed the path gently laid in front of her as a pureblooded witch did. She was kind and faithful. Not once did her heart raise in anger. Her patience flowed through her in compassion even when others did not understand.
Her marriage to a broken man was evidence of that. He was so truly broken and worn down that he hadn't the energy to lift his hopes. She was not his first choice for a wife; that was plainly clear. His heart belonged somewhere else, far lost after a war of good and evil. He'd lost whatever it was that kept him true. But she pushed forth when no other would spare a second look at his desperation. It broke her heart to see the strength of him so withered when she knew just how withstanding he was, inside himself.
It was by her effort that her husband emerged from a shell and picked up whatever remains were there to make himself a successful man and husband. Love was between them, not in the typical way, but of two friends bonded in their strength of loss.
The failure to produce any living souls from her body sank deeper than mere bodily failure. She knew its importance. When she hadn't promised passionate love, she'd promised to fulfill his duties alongside. Things were expected. Heirs were important. A line hinged on her ability.
Or inability.
It was a bitter taste against her tongue.
Still, she stood on the edge of abyss where her son was to be laid and dreamed of climbing inside with him. The endless dark was unbearable for her to picture his tiny frame trapped under the heavy growing weight of blackness.
How she wished it was her laid in the casket lined in fluffy pillows of satin and silk, precious white with enchanted lace woven through. An everlasting warming charm for her cold son. The chill of his empty soul not bared to the light.
The elves had dragged her from bed mere hours before and readied her when she hadn't the faintest desire to ever wake again. They had dragged her to breakfast where her husband was noticeably absent until the last few minutes.
It was a cold reception in the presence of her mother-in-law. She sat there, perched on the edge of her seat as pure born witches did, and chewed with intended grace, as if the funeral of her grandchild was not upon them.
The stare of the woman's eye only ever ventured forth to pierce her with distain. She was the last choice for her husband and his mother.
It was only a minute with her back turned that she'd hear the sharp voice of her mother-in-law as she spoke to her son.
"Even as distasteful as she was, your first one was better than this sorry witch. I wish you never married her."
Failure to produce an heir encouraged the hatred to emerge farther into daylight, less in passing mutters under breath.
Rain fell in thicker showers as the moments passed. The graveyard pooled underfoot. Soft mud drenched robe hems and boot heels as the families quickly departed from the depressing affair outside toward the socialite gathering within the manor where her mother-in-law boasted her prowess over the darkest of occasions to something meant for the papers.
Her own mother and father dipped away from sight, swallowed whole by the hedges. She scarcely noticed they arrived. It was beyond her care.
No, there was not much to care about now. Four children within hollow ground gave little meaning to much else there was in the world.
The entire world beneath her grasp, riches immense and unending, and she only wanted the little frozen bodies below the grass. Their precious bodies to be filled with fat ripples and joyous laughs, or even horrendous colicky screams. She'd gladly take it all. Nonstop crying, endless nursing, up all night and all day. The cycle of exhaustion and loneliness. It was her life already. Where was the reward? Where was her happy ending for all the suffering she endured just to carry them? Painful test after painful test. Spell after spell. Bitter potion upon sour bile. She'd paid the dues. She carried the weight.
Where was her reward?
"Astoria," a voice called out through the harsh applause of rain.
She'd hardly noticed, but now it down poured. Juicy rains drenched through her robes down to the cold bones beneath her flesh with ease. The very soul of her was numb. A little rain did not deter her.
"Astoria come away. It is time to leave." The voice was firm. It only wavered slight.
How she admired whatever place he stored his strength. It was a deep well. Hers was a dried puddle, all used up.
Her lips trembled as she watched the wood descend within the dark hole.
"No," she whispered.
A hand clasped her upper arm, pinching it in firm hold. "It is time for us to leave."
"I will never leave this place," was her reply before she felt her feet move out from under her, toward the split in the hedges where immaculate lawns awaited.
But even as she stepped out beside her husband into the domain that was theirs, she felt utterly trapped inside the foggy dark of the Malfoy family graveyard where her heart entirely rested.
The estate's shadow greeted them with indifference. So many were laid to rest below its trusted protection. It hardly mattered who it was. The second they dipped below the fleshy earth, the estate swallowed them into consciousness. Their magic bonded to the essence within the walls.
No matter how long she lived there, the manor treated her as guest. Imposter. Like she resided in a position unfit for her. Station reserved for another.
The despair had long since died away. She no longer cared whether she belonged or not. In fact, it was clear she didn't. But her husband fought for her to be there anyway, beside the torn feeling in his gut.
He tried to grab hold of her hand, but she left it limp by her side.
A deep sigh split through the still of quieting rain. "We will try again and again. No matter how long it takes, we will always try."
"No." She said it so resolutely. "This is my end."
"We cannot give up."
Give up. The moment she felt magic die inside her, for a fourth time, the will to give was gone. All given. There was no place left to give from. She was entirely buried beneath the ground yet forced to walk amongst the living in twisted punishment.
"I will not be responsible for another death," she replied flatly.
They stepped through the threshold, entered the manor without ceremony as all the guests were too busily entertained by their elder hostess. Only hostess, if she thought about it. A living guest in her own home.
Her husband flicked his wand, hanging her cloak in place with the others. His grey eyes scoured over her face, a feeling that once invoked great shame, but the day of her final child's funeral was the one time that she remained fixed in his gaze unfazed by his insulted scowl.
"It was not your fault," he said. "It was mine. All of them are my fault. This bloody cursed family."
Her face remained untouched by any onslaught of emotion. A ghost of herself. Witch half consumed by nothingness. She stayed put, arms limp at her sides, strands of hair stuck to her cheeks without attention.
Her husband grabbed hold of her shoulders and forced his gaze into hers. "Do not give up. We can do this."
Although she nodded, he knew very well that it was indeed her end of the matter. Her side-step of his touch as he reached out for her. The witch he needed was long gone, and in her place was an apparition that kept his daze alive. An ending he dreamed of all his nights. Happiness in a place so filled with hate. Children to fill a void in his broken heart so that his sleepless nights amounted to something other than emptiness.
Astoria glided through the gathering. She felt as hollow as a crushed eggshell. Her heart barely thumped beneath her aching breast, still engorged with first milk. The Healer prescribed something to ease the pain, but she refused. The pain made it real. The reminder of what hopes did. The heavy feeling at her chest of the complete failure she was to a man who'd shown her only kindness and friendship.
It almost made her feel sad.
Almost.
She hadn't felt anything in a long time.
That night she stared out over the expanse of Malfoy Manor with nothing but empty eyes. She saw all the things it was, but not the beautiful that she remembered was there. All she saw were flowers on stem, battered down by the heavy rain. Grass crumpled underfoot of guests. The lake reflected utter black under a sky so filled with melancholy clouds. Little mounds of dirt ravaged by gnomes, ones that forever plagued the house elves on staff.
But once her eyes turned up above, she saw an entirely different reflection. Brilliant stars shined through darkness and clouds in impossible feat. They burned bright and brighter. No matter how the darkness closed in, they sat comfortably amongst the company of so many above.
Her son's constellation was there. The grouping burned brightest within her retinas as she stared off to the happy place her son's being resided. Clouds moved round the constellation like they knew his power. His calling.
It called to her.
"Come, Mother," it cried out to her. "It is time to leave."
Indeed, it was… time to leave.
Astoria summoned her quill and parchment. Her delicate strokes bled beautifully for once. So precious and with purpose. For once, she was doing something enthralling to her soul.
She placed the note atop her bedspread for the one who found her. The only person alive who cared for her, and yet was broken by the fortune she could not bring to his dignity. There was no restoration for him that came with her. It was elsewhere.
Underneath her bed, fixed in a small wooden box were a few things she needed. Her fingers traced the carvings of her own fingers that lined its entirely, stretched through a night sky of constellations and brilliant moons. Only her tears would reveal the secrets within.
The smooth wood rested in hand, splayed open with little things found within. Four velvet pouches with blonde curls stored within. She fingered each one gently, careful to save every last hair for her husband whom would come to appreciate the memory in time. A small handkerchief rested along the bottom. It scented the box with a heavenly aroma.
Her firstborn. She slept with the handkerchief for three days before her heart finally stopped.
Astoria rubbed the cloth against her nose and inhaled deeply. So heavy and drowsy, her fingers trembled at the exertion to place the box against the parchment.
The very little last bit of her offered up so that he might know peace.
She found her strength to find a vial within her pockets. The small glass felt unbelievably heavy. She'd carried it around with her for months, unable to end it all with the faintest bit of selfish hope that her son would be born awake, like she'd dreamed the nightmare of losing his soul from hers.
It took her months of subtle research before she found the one potion, so rare, that would surely keep her from being revived no matter how extensive the efforts. Bloodroot potion. Death in a bottle.
Her eyes glistened back out toward the stars. Her son's stars still burned. Waiting for her.
"It is time to leave," they called out. "Come, Mother. The end is near."
For the first time in years, her eyes bubbled with tears but not of sadness. Relief. It was soon to be the happy ending she hoped for. A fate with her children within the sky. Their love as unending as the sky above.
A body thudded to the floor. It seized violently, shaking her legs and neck until one wicked tremor cracked her skull against a bedpost and stilled instantly. Beneath layers of black tulle and satin laid a pair of cream-white ankles. Clutched in hand was a handwoven handkerchief embroidered in dainty bluebell flowers edged in cream.
Just overhead atop a perfectly made bed of pastel yellow and lilac were the last words of Astoria Malfoy.
Our children called me home. Do not forget me, Draco, or her. She was your love and I was your friend. We both deserve to see you happy. I'm sorry it was not me that could.