Author's Notes: I spell it Asteria because that's how JKR spelled it on the family tree. This was written as a gift for one of my friends.
Daphne was absolutely, positively, almost one-hundred-percent certain that it wasn't Imperius.
Or Amortentia.
Her mother had suggested both. After arriving back home in a towering temper, after interrogating Daphne about how much she had known about her sister's "dailiance," and after drinking half a bottle of sherrry, Hélène Greengrass had spent the rest of the afternoon lying on the settee spinning theories about how her youngest had wound up with, "Draco Malfoy, of all people."
First she had suggested the Imperius Curse. "Of course, he's capable of it, Daphne. You really believe he had Rosemerta under Imperius for a year and nothing untoward happened? Don't be so naïve."
They had argued about that for several hours with Daphne taking the stance that there was no reason to assume that Draco had ever used Imperius for reasons more deviant than trying to murder the Headmaster.
"Then, perhaps it's Amortentia or some other potion. He's an apprentice to a Potion Master after all and heaven only knows what sort of brews they still have around that Manor."
Daphne had clung to reason, reminding her mother that Asteria was a Healer and worked in a hospital with other Healers. Surely, if Draco had been dousing her with some potion, someone would have noticed.
After a few more hours of talking and after finishing off the sherry, her mother relented. While still maintaining that both theories were possible, Hélène Greengrass no longer seemed determined to Floo the Aurors and have them investigate.
As for Daphne, she could rest easy in the knowledge that her sister's relationship hadn't been the work of some Dark Curse or potion. Probably.
Rita Skeeter knew. You didn't spend decades in her line of work without learning a few things along the way.
One of the little things that everyone knew but no one spoke of was that most pure-blood families were practically impoverished. Their fortunes having dwindled ages ago, they only had their meager wages and the diminishing returns on their investments to keep them afloat. Some of them only had homes because they were tied by magic and blood to the crumbling manses they inhabited. They lived off of the credit their names could get them from local shops, of the hard work of their house-elves, and the occasional good marriage that brought fortune and opportunity their way.
The Greengrasses were such a family. They had certainly never been very wealthy by any stretch of the imagination but, unlike other families, they worked. Linus Greengrass was a respected juriswizard like his father and aunt before him.
And, like many pure-bloods, they married well. Linus had married the daughter of one of the wealthiest and oldest wizarding families in Britain. His eldest daughter, Kallisto, had married that Davies boy. Although a half-blood, Davies had a father high up in the Ministry and very nice job at Gringotts as an investment banker. The other Greengrass girl, Daphne, had snagged Ernie Macmillian – one of the two heirs to the biggest fortune in wizarding Britain. Very few people knew that either, as the Macmillians never flaunted their money the way others had. Warlock Ian Macmillain, the family patriarch, would often pontificate from his seat on the Wizengamot about the importance of working hard and living frugally.
As for Asteria, likely tired of the drudgery of being a Healer, she had tied herself to Draco Malfoy. The Malfoys had long-presented themselves as the pinnacle of wealth and power, and perhaps she had imagined herself being like Narcissa before her, draped in jewels and furs and the mistress of a great house.
Pity for her that it had always been a lie. Lucius had long-ago squandered everything his father and grandfather had built with his poor decisions both politically and financially. Even before You-Know-Who's return, the Malfoys had been in trouble. Now? Rita had it on good authority that they were all living off what would have been Draco's inheritance and the only thing of worth they had left was the house and a few of Narcissa's jewels that had yet to be pawned.
And Rita hoped to be there for the photo-op when the creditors came for that heirloom engagement ring on Asteria's hand.
Neville hoped it was because Malfoy had changed.
He didn't know it for certain. He and Malfoy had never been friends and Neville didn't expect that to change in the foreseeable future. But during their seventh year, something had shifted between them.
Neville had spent much of his first four years being terrified of most everyone and everything, including Draco Malfoy. Like Snape, Malfoy had been only too ready to cut someone down with words and highlight their flaws for a jeering crowd and Neville had dreaded being the next victim. Part of the reason he had admired Harry and Ron was because they refused to be cowed. They didn't fear Snape and they certainly hadn't feared Malfoy: Harry had barely seemed to notice the buttons Malfoy had made in fourth year and even having half the school singing a song to mock him hadn't been enough to make Ron quit Quidditch. To him, they'd been fearless.
At the end of fifth year, he understood why. After standing up to several Death Eaters, including the people who had tortured his own parents, Neville realized that if he could survive this, he could survive anything. He had gone into his seventh year with that knowledge, letting it anchor him.
Malfoy, however, had been cut adrift. With Pansy handling the few of their duties as Heads that didn't deal with capturing anyone suspected of helping Potter and Crabbe and Goyle cozying up to the Carrows, Malfoy had faded into the background. Word had spread that the Malfoys had fallen out of favor with Voldemort, that he had taken over the Manor, taken Lucius' wand and, if they failed him again, he would have surely taken their lives.
The fear Neville had once felt had been replaced with pity. He had no longer seen the boy who terrorized him for years but, instead, saw someone who was in way over his head and was paying for it.
And he liked to think that Malfoy had realized the same.
Harry and Ron didn't have a clue.
"She seems all right," Ron said, wiggling his newly-reattached fingers with the words.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, brow furrowed as he looked over to where Asteria was now standing and talking to Malfoy.
He only knew her thanks to these occasional visits to St. Mungo's after something went wrong at the shop or while chasing a suspect but she really did seem all right. Smart, pleasant, and pretty. For the life of him, he never understood how Malfoy managed to pull such good-looking witches. Even Parkinson, miserable cow that she was, had been hot in a Slytherin sort of way.
"Think she has some sort of mental defect?"
Harry snorted. "Maybe she's inhaled too many potion fumes?"
Malfoy caught sight of the pair and wrapped a possessive arm around Asteria's waist in response. With a smirk to them, he guided her towards the door.
Ron rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't get it, Harry."
"Me neither."
Hermione thought it was obvious. Anyone who knew anything at all about human psychology could see what was happening here.
Her second year at Hogwarts had, in some ways, been more alienating and bewildering than her first. Like many of the other girls in her year, Hermione had had a crush on Lockhart. And while she had expected that it wouldn't be something she could talk to Ron and Harry about, she had hoped then that it would be something to share with the other girls. But it hadn't quite worked out that way. Other than a few giggle-filled chats, she remained as always, on the outside looking in.
She spent much of that summer and the following year reading self-help books. Many of them were rubbish but some came in handy, breaking down the mysteries of human interaction into logic and rules she could remember. Those books had helped when counseling Harry about his relationship with Cho and dealing with her own feelings about Ron.
Over the years, she had come to realize that life was far messier than she had thought at thirteen, but she still believed s few books had aptly described what was happening with Malfoy and Asteria Greengrass.
Asteria was a Healer, she was someone who had a need to save people. Much like Harry. But, unlike Harry, she obviously had more trouble separating her personal life from her professional. She wanted to save people from themselves, solve their problems for them, fix them. Daphne had said as much when she and Ernie had had dinner with Hermione and Ron the other week. After she had mentioned the stray animals that Asteria rescued as a child and how she had spent years trying to help a self-destructive friend, a pattern had emerged.
Hermione could easily imagine Asteria meeting Malfoy while he was in the grip of his downward spiral. After the war, he'd have been ruined and without many friends, and she would have taken it as a sign that he needed her help. Malfoy, for his part, was a follower at heart. He had always looked for someone to look up to and guide him, whether it had been his father, Professor Snape, or Voldemort. Asteria would fill that role.
It was all so obvious.
Horace Slughorn didn't know enough about either of them to say.
It was horrible to admit it, if only to himself, but it was the truth.
With Draco, it had been a conscious choice. At first, his reasons had been purely political. Horace had been so disappointed when he had learned what had become of Lucius. Disappointed, but not entirely surprised. After the first war, he had wanted to believe that it had been Imperius, that they could just forget the past, and make a clean break of it. Even with those optimistic hopes, it was hard to ignore the whispers. Over time, it became more and more apparent that those rumors were the truth, that Lucius and Narcissa had aligned themselves with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Later, as he spent more time around the students, teaching them and as their Head of House, he found he didn't want to get to know Draco. The boy was all anger and spite with a desperation that made Horace uncomfortable. Nothing at all like his parents had been at that age, both so graceful, charming, and clever. Draco, instead, had reminded him of a younger Severus but lacking in the former's brilliance.
As for Asteria, the truth there was even more harsh. If she hadn't been Daphne Greengrass's sister, he might have forgotten who she was entirely. As it was, he could only remember her as the photo negative to her sister: dull when Daphne was vivacious, quiet when Daphne was outspoken, swotty when Daphne had struggled with her lessons. In the three years he had taught her, she hadn't made much of an impression on him at all other than always doing a solid job in Potions. She had been easily forgettable, another face in the crowd.
And while he wished them both the best, he doubted he would even notice if he wasn't invited to the wedding.
Pansy understood and she might have been the only person in the world who did.
It had taken her some time to realize it but she hadn't been in love with Draco Malfoy. Rather she had been in love with the platonic ideal of Draco Malfoy.
She had loved him, she still did. But she loved him in the same way she did her brother or Daphne. She loved him as the boy she had grown up with, the one who had once slipped a caterpillar down her dress, and the one who had rescued her favorite doll from several rather rude gnomes.
But that hadn't been the boy with whom she had fallen in love. That boy had been the one who was the youngest Seeker for Slytherin in fifty years. The one who, while only a third year, had seventh years laughing at his jokes and inviting him to sit with them at their end of the table. The Draco she had fallen for had been the one who had half the school wearing anti-Potter buttons and singing "Weasley is our King." He had seemed unstoppable.
Blaise was better-looking and Theodore more clever but they, like every other boy in Slytherin, had seemed boring compared to Draco. They couldn't command a crowd like him and she hadn't felt like she was special for being seen with them. Being with Draco had made her seem invincible, like she was a part of something, like the two of them could take on the world.
Then the war came. When he had all but admitted he had joined the Dark Lord's ranks, she had been awestruck. It had only fed into her image of him as someone important, someone meant for great things. She had promised herself that she would do anything she could to help him.
Except he hadn't wanted her help. Vincent and Greg, yes, but not her. She had been pushed to the side while they made their plans.
After Potter had nearly gutted him, she thought things would change. They hadn't. Once he had been released from the hospital wing, he had broken up with her, telling her he, "couldn't do this right now."
She didn't even have the time to be livid; he had disappeared a few days later and she had spent the summer not even knowing if he was alive. When she returned the following year, she had hoped that he would realize the mistake he had made.
Instead she had realized that she didn't want him back. The Draco she had fallen in love with was no more; he had been replaced with a broken shell of person. Pansy had carried him that year and she had resented him for it all the while.
She could no longer find that boy she had fallen in love with but, after that year, she didn't expect to. And she supposed that Asteria, who never had the luxury of seeing him at his worst, could only see the best in him.
Narcissa couldn't even believe that this was in question.
She wasn't a fool; she realized that the Malfoy name no longer commanded the respect it once had. They had been shunned in favor of the darlings of the moment. But there were things in this world that could outlast the fickle attentions of the Daily Prophet and the political whims of the moment.
Family and blood, that was what was important. She had been taught that as a girl and she believed it to this day.
The Blacks and the Malfoys were wizarding Britain. There wasn't a pure-blood family of worth they weren't related by either blood or marriage. Her son was the sole scion to both and that was something even a self-righteous upstart like Asteria Greengrass could understand.
It was simply infuriating to watch Asteria dictate how he spoke and what he believed, all while wearing her engagement ring on her chunky little fingers. The only thing worse was how besotted Draco was with her; he refused to see fault with the girl. Even after she broke his heart and ran around with the scum of the wizarding world, he still looked at her as if she'd hung the moon.
Narcissa's only consolation was that Lucius understood and agreed with her entirely. Together, they had agreed to give them her engagement ring knowing that there was a Chastity Enchantment on it. The only one who would be able to remove the ring from her finger would be Draco and if she proved as faithless as she had before, they would know.
It pained her that she had to hide this from Draco but it was clear that her son could not be sensible when it came to the Greengrass girl. And after what they'd been through, Narcissa would be damned if she saw her son humiliated and the family name dragged through the mud again.
She believed in blood, she always had, and blood would out.
Draco was certain he knew the answer.
It was a ridiculous answer. Soppy and sometimes baffling but he knew he was right. She had already said as much to him on several occasions.
Asteria was with him because she believed in him.
And that was a strange notion because no one in his life ever truly had.
Pansy had come closest. She had believed in him or a version of him that was indestructible and flawless. Being young and stupid, he had believed in this version too and would have happily continued doing so if reality hadn't intruded.
All it had taken was his aunt telling him that the Dark Lord wanted to meet him, that he'd heard about him and was impressed, and Draco had been ready to join his ranks. Once he had, he hadn't thought about what he had been tasked with until he returned to Hogwarts. Instead he had spent those weeks feeling vindicated. It no longer mattered if his professors had spent all their time fawning over Potter and Granger: the Dark Lord had chosen him, had seen him as worthy of the mission. After years of being desperate to prove himself, he finally had his chance.
He'd had his first real row with his mother when he had told her. Ridiculous as it was now, Draco had honestly expected her to be proud. Instead, she had been terrified and that had only made him feel slighted.
His parents would move heaven and earth for him but they had little faith in him. To them, he was a perpetual child who had to be protected and guided for his own good. His mother coddled him and if she had it her way, he'd never work, never leave home, and do nothing more taxing than helping her with her garden. His father expected a bit more independence from him than that but not much. As far as his father was concerned, he couldn't be trusted to make the right decisions. "Don't be so naive/foolish/reckless, Draco" had been his constant refrain.
He knew his parents loved him, but he also knew they didn't trust him. No one who knew him, who knew his flaws and shortcomings, had. Until Asteria. Even after everything he'd done and everything he told her, she believed him capable of better.
And the not-quite-funny thing was he sometimes worried she was wrong to think so.
For Asteria, the answer was in moments like these.
Of all the things that she had anticipated, she would have never guessed that Draco Malfoy liked to cuddle. It had been so strange after their first night together, to have him wrap one arm around her waist, pull her closer, and bury his face in her shoulder. They had stayed like that for much of the night, him curled up behind her, his legs tangled with hers.
Asteria hadn't expected that. She hadn't thought that Draco would be the sort to remember she loved pain au chocolat and surprise her with it in the morning, that he would read her the "Warlock's Hairy Heart" when she was sick and couldn't sleep, or that he'd be content to spend hours in bed fully-clothed just talking or holding her close. She felt a tad guilty for it, but she had never thought that the obnoxious and arrogant boy she had known could also be so gentle and loving.
Of course, he was still the same prat who had to cheat at every single game they played – cards or Quidditch – because he couldn't stand to lose, the same one who insisted he couldn't do anything more in the kitchen than make tea and toast, and the same one who still hadn't outgrown his tendency to retell his jokes over and over again. She was aware of all that much worse.
She looked over at him, watching his lashes flutter as he forced himself to open his eyes. He didn't sleep well, he hadn't since the war. It was why she was loathe to wake him on the rare mornings when he slept longer than she did.
"Morning," he murmured, his eyes bright and his voice rough.
"Good morning," she whispered back, kissing him lightly on the mouth. He wrapped an arm around her and nuzzled her shoulder, his eyes closing as if he were ready to go back to sleep.
Asteria knew him; she knew what he had done and who he wanted to be. And she didn't love him because of that or in spite of it. She wasn't sure if she could give any one reason why she was with him and if she could, she couldn't promise that reason wouldn't change the next day. The truth of the matter was this:
She loved him because she did.