Highs
DISCLAIMER: HP isn't mine.
Another Draco/Astoria drabble. I love them so. Post-war.
I'd always wondered why they just had Scorpius. DH never specifically said they didn't have any other kids, so maybe I'm assuming. Either way, this is what I came up with. This one is bittersweet…mostly bitter. Hope you enjoy.
His hands yearn to slide down her abdomen, to feel her swollen womb and touch the swell of skin that houses their babe.
But he fears this will "freak" her out. Astoria has been moody of late, and attributes it to "hormones," something he knows nothing of. Hormones would be an imaginary potion farted out by unicorns for all he knows. What he does know is that his wife has said a number of times these hormones are affecting her emotions, and that hormones are a result of the pregnancy.
The new Malfoy. Scorpius. Or, maybe, Andromeda Siria. They aren't yet sure of the sex. Astoria said it does't matter, all she wants was a healthy baby. Secretly, he wants a boy. Draco supposes, though, that he could settle with a little girl.
At night, they lie together, Astoria curled around her belly and Draco curled around Astoria. She often takes his hand to press against the baby, letting him feel the tiny bumps that skirt across her tight skin, or experience the small kicks. He listens to their combined breathing, the inhales and the exhales, remembering at time in his life when he thought his lungs would stop, just stop, during the wars, after the wars, and meeting her. He marvels at their creation-which, so far, has only shown itself as his wife's severe mood swings and a lump of skin that occasionally jiggles with a kick.
They're oh-so lazy these days. He's avoided all work, left business matters to his partners. Astoria has ignored all invitations for social calls. Occasionally, they visit Diagon Alley for small shopping trips, new books, baby clothes, furniture. Astoria tries to sneak potion supplies in, but he has a keen eye. The mediwizards said that potionmaking wasn't technically unhealthy, merely could prove risky when one is carrying. Draco has altogether banned it. His wife insists his fear is silly. The caldrons stay in the cupboard.
While he can ban potions, buying excessive amounts of toys, and refrain from alcohol, there is something Malfoy can't do-touch his wife's swollen womb without her consent. He fears she will recoil, he worries that the babe-the perfect and pure babe-will be tainted by his very touch. It is his. He will always claim this child as his. Yet he can't bear the thought of ruining such a canvas with his unruly brush. Parents always fear; Draco is beyond trepidation and has crossed over to sheer horror.
It keeps him up at night, sometimes. Alone, in the library that has always given him comfort, brooding over lukewarm mugs of tea (as Astoria has to endure an absence from drink, he must as well), Draco waits for every dawn, each day bringing him closer to his son or daughter. Maybe then, then…
Sometimes Astoria will wake to find the bed empty. She will pad down the hall, up the stairs, to find her husband. There she will loom quietly above the armchair, running slightly-enlarged fingers through his white-blond mane, sighing. She will stand before him, taking his wrists in hand, and making him touch the swell of her belly. And, always, he will sigh.
Later, when she has lost so much blood, when the mediwitch has mournfully told him that they will never bear children again, he will weep while holding Scorpius for the first time. Weep for his wife, his premature babe who now struggles for life, and the children they now will never have. And, a small part of him will weep for all of the times he restrained his touch. For now he will never again have a pregnant wife. They will never have an Andromeda. They will be three, instead of the many he'd once hoped for.
They had beautiful highs and horrific lows. But now, they mostly have each other.
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