A/N: Written for the 9th February set of prompts in the thread Prompts, oh, Prompts at the NGF forum.
The prompts included antiquity, locket, reason, left behind, and the quote "Oh, yes, the past can hurt. But you can either run from it or learn from it," which is from The Lion King.
Many thanks to mew-tsubaki for beta-reading.
more than a consolation prize
Astoria held the red-haired girl in her arms and there was fog dancing on the fields and the sky was grey all over.
She whispered "You'll be okay," in her hair and hoped for Rose's tears to stop because they were reminiscent of crystals and the night wasn't clear enough for there to be anything shiny, shimmering.
The girl in her arms hiccupped and looked so fragile and young—as young as she was—and said, "Thanks, Mrs. Malfoy," and that time in the backyard of Malfoy Manor whilst a posh party inside played out…it was nothing but a woman consoling a heartbroken girl.
"No need to thank me."
"It's hard to imagine Scorpius is your son," Rose said between sniffles. "You're much nicer than that arsehole." The next second she put a hand in front of her mouth, and her eyes widened in horror. "Sorry, I didn't mean to insult—"
Astoria smiled. "Don't worry. He…actually deserves it."
They were a bit twisted, Rose thought as the liquid in her steaming mug spun round and round. Messed-up, screwed on wrongly.
Because last night they had fallen asleep on the sofa and last night Astoria had said, "Sometimes I miss Draco," and last night Rose had said, "You like it when you see me hurt, don't you?" and last night Astoria had said, "What makes you think that?" and last night Rose had stormed out of the bedroom and laid down on the sofa and last night Astoria had tiptoed up to her, whispered "Forgive me," and crawled under the blankets with her.
A bit closer, Rose urged herself.
Come on, come on.
She could smell Astoria's perfume now and she knew, she knew, she knew, she knew, Astoria wanted her to do it.
Neither of them moved.
A leaf blew past and rustled against the concrete and Rose wanted to look at it. But Astoria's eyes didn't want her to let go.
Their lips met.
Draco looked even paler in the grey suit he was wearing and Astoria hoped he wasn't sick. She wouldn't know how to handle that, because someone (probably Narcissa) would blame her if he was ill.
The silence in the waiting room was disturbed only when the girl by the reception disk moved her chair or tapped her pencil against the desk.
Small, golden dust granules levitated between the shiny furniture, antiquities in mahogany—extravagant but still not toomuch. Time seemed to have stopped.
A door opened. "Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?"
They rose at the exact same time and their eyes met briefly.
After sitting down in the office, the man beamed at them. Neither of them moved an inch. His smile faltered.
"All your papers are now finished; all you have to do is sign them and then the divorce will be complete."
Draco cleared his throat and rose a bit in his seat. Astoria leaned forward to grab the pen the man handed her.
"So?" she asked with raised eyebrows, pushing her sunglasses up on her nose.
"What?" Astoria asked, her eyes caught on the way Rose's bare and outstretched legs seemed to glow in the sunlight, which had a dark value to it because of the approaching evening.
Rose took off her sunglasses and sat up. "Is there an 'us' now, or…?"
"I like to think that," Astoria answered softly.
Rose didn't know when it had happened. It was only one time she had been close to Astoria, that evening more than a decade ago when she had found Scorpius—her boyfriend at the time—in a rather compromising situation with her cousin Albus. Astoria had been there for her, even though Scorpius was her son and Rose was just a gangly, naïve, believing-in-fairytales girl.
After that, time had passed quickly, because it had been those years of growing up, where everything had to be done with the fastest speed possible and childhood and adolescent years were left behind before realizing that maybe it would have been better to hold on to them.
And then, Rose had been on her way too work, just as she had been at this time every morning for six years (except for weekends because then she'd be in her bathtub warming up her body and having the scent of lavender fill her nostrils), and she bumped into a woman taller than her, and papers had been spread all over the pavement, fluttering out of the woman's briefcase like butterflies who had been waiting for a chance to escape and flee.
That had been the changing point. "Astoria?" she had asked, and she had received a "Rose?" in response.
That had been the start of something that now made it impossible to think of (longing for) anything but a pair of brown eyes and red painted lips, and dark, medium-length hair.
So maybe she actually knew exactly when it had happened.
A locket with a photo inside. A small piece of paper. A feather.
"Who's on the photo?"
"It's Uncle Scorpius when he was a baby, Gran."
"Oh, it's that locket." Rose felt the weight of it as it was dropped into her hand, and she closed her fingers around it, the cold surface and the shape of it bringing memories of a nightstand and unclipping it each night before sleeping. The clipping on, Astoria had done herself.
"Gran?" Her granddaughter's voice lured her back out of the reveries. "Are you all right?"
Rose cleared her throat. "Yes, dear. Now, what's on that paper?"
"It says, 'Oh, yes, the past can hurt. But you can either run from it or learn from it."
Rose chuckled. "Oh, I remember when she wrote that down. Did you know your Nana collected quotes?"
"She did?" Her voice shook a bit and Rose reached out for her hand. Soon it was there, in hers, pressing back.
"Yes, she began not long after I started losing my sight and she had to read to me. Now, the feather?"
"It's an owl's. A Tawny one's."
"Ah, Frowzy." Rose now felt tears beginning to prick the backs of her eyes. "Was that all, Sophie?"
"Yes, all of Nana's stuff."
"I want to keep that piece of paper. You can have the locket and the feather, if you want."
"I miss her."
"I do, too." And Rose was certain that even though the funeral was over, the cleaning-out had been done, and she had uttered words of how she was all right now and how they should stop worrying now, she would never stop missing Astoria. Never.
When Rose held their baby daughter, Astoria felt as though she could fly.
"She has your eyes," she said as she sat down next to Rose.
Rose raised her eyebrows. "And how is that even possible, when she's adopted, hun?"
"They twinkle as yours do."
Rose's cheeks coloured and Astoria leaned forward to kiss her, because yes, that had been very cheesy and Rose was bound to think she was silly, but it didn't matter because Astoria was flying.
"What's the point in trying to reason with you?"
Shattering. Thinking I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
"Astoria, you can't do this. You can't, because I…I don't…"
Thinking Oh please, don't cry. I didn't mean to. Wanting to catch every teardrop before it hits the floor because maybe it's going to break her for real if they aren't caught.
"Please, just say something."
Thinking Yes, say something. Ask for forgiveness. Do it!
"I need you."
"Rose, I'm…" Taking a deep breath, swallowing the pride. "…sorry."
Rose was happy. So very happy.
"I love you," Astoria whispered again, and the sound of it peppered Rose's entire body, made goose bumps appear and the tiny, light hairs on her skin stand straight up.
She was so happy.