Equinox

June 1998

'We're going to get through this together,' was the phrase his father had used the previous month. It had been said with constriction, almost like he was strangled by his words. A stern hand over the throat, stifling the pureblood prejudices that would otherwise come. Over the course of a week following the 2nd of May, everything had changed. They had defected from the Death Eaters, avoided Azkaban imprisonment, and the war had ended.

Draco Malfoy sealed the final box with spellotape and looked around his bedroom. The problem was that they weren't going to get through it together. His parents would do it together. He would do it alone.

'I'm moving out.' Draco had murmured over breakfast. The click of a spoon hitting the bowl had acted as a reactionary sound. The younger Malfoy had lifted his head to see the eyes of both parents following him with a cold, harsh glare.

'You're what.' Lucius spat. 'Why.'

'I'm moving out. I can't stay here and get on with my life. I can't breathe.' He croaked, 'It doesn't feel right, to stay in this house and pretend like nothing happened here.'

'Don't be so ridiculous. This whole house is symbolic of loyalty. Family. Trust.' Lucius scowled, his eyes piercing into the back of his skull.

'Trust? Listen to yourself. You may have defected from the Death Eaters, but it was only to save yourselves, all of us from imprisonment. Did you ever consider maybe defecting because it was wrong?'

'We're your parents. I'm your father. I know what's best for you. And this isn't it.'

'Do you know what's best for me? Let me go. Father.'

This had once been a place he had loved. A place he had called home in holidays, summers, and for 11 years of life.

This was no home anymore.

The apartment he had found on the outskirts of London was much more suited to him. Small, airy. High above the streets, he could see his surroundings of the muggle world. For the first time in his life, he was free, of his mother, of his father, of everything. It was quiet. Perfect. But how do you pull your life together when there are no foundations to build it on? How do you build your life when everything you were raised on for 17 years was a pack of lies?

November 2001

He met her in the drizzle of November.

The wind and storms of late Autumn had brought her with them. She was a hurricane in his narrow world of light rain. Her hair dark chocolate, and eyes a sombre blue. In the three years of solitude, occasionally visiting his parents, and experimenting with alchemy in his apartment, he had never reached out to others. Parkinson. Zabini. Crabbe. Nott. They were nothing but characters in a bad dream. Friends had never been made, just acquaintances, like those in The Apothecary. Every friend he had ever had in that past life was based on his father. His father and their friends' sons. Nobody had ever become friends with him because they liked him. It was all name and status.

And he was more than aware that he had been to jockey, whipping the horses to do as pleased.

'You look familiar.' A voice appeared at his right. The bottle of peppermint essence slipped out of his hand and shattered across the wooden flooring. 'Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you jump.'

A girl, a woman was knelt at his side, hair in a plait tightly pulled over her left shoulder. It looked strict, regulated. Wiping the floor, Draco noticed her hands were shaking.

'Here, let me help.' He quickly gathered the shards of glass, wandless, the 'muggle way.' He observed how, she too, was cleaning as if she had never used magic before. The girl could have muttered a scourgify, but instead was using a cloth and a disinfectant spray. It was odd, almost mysterious to see this on Diagon Alley.

'Thank you.' She replied, standing back to full height and brushing her hands across her paint and potion splattered apron. 'You really didn't have to-' Great. He thought I've made her nervous.

'Accidents happen, sorry for dropping the bottle.' Draco shrugged, and the girl's on-edge expression seemed to ease. He shuffled his feet a little, not knowing what to say. Was there anything more to say? 'Where you saying something to me?'

'Yeah... I said you looked familiar. I don't know where it's from, but there's something. It might be the hair, or your expression – I feel like I know you from somewhere.' She trailed, raising her eyebrows.

Oh here it comes, was the first thought that came to mind. She'd either be a Slytherin and brand him and his family 'traitors,' or would be from the red, yellow, or blue, and would throw an array of colourful derogatory terms at him. Maybe stinging jinxes too...

'I'm Draco.' He said, offering his hand from where it had been shoved deep in a trouser pocket.

The girl's mouth grew into a smile. It was the first time in a long time that someone had genuinely smiled at him. Not of contempt or sarcasm, but warmth and invitation. 'Astoria.' She added, and Astoria shook Draco's hand.

January 2002

They had settled on a muggle restaurant – away from the eyes of wizards and witches, and instead, anonymity amongst people who had probably never heard their names. Malfoy. Greengrass. Here, their past's meant nothing. Here, they were just Draco and Astoria. Two who, for people born in the 1980's had particularly strange names.

A small, dimly lit booth in a Charing Cross pub. The lack of decadence and sophistication was everything that would make his father's skin crawl. Instead, it seemed warm. Welcoming. She was in a blue dress - almost a mirror of the evening sky, her hair in light curls, and eyes alight. Astoria was different.

He liked the way her smiles weren't contrasted with icy pupils. He liked the way she fiddled with her hands when she was thinking. He liked the way out of all the people he'd ever properly interacted with, she wasn't looking at him above or below – but they were equals. He liked how she seemed to genuinely listen and express interest in what he was saying; and in turn, so did he.

He just really liked her.

'I can't say I blame you for moving out. I would have done the same if I had been of age. Luckily, Hogwarts was there for those Slytherins who wanted to go back and weren't bothered by the changing laws.' Astoria smiled, twirling her fork around the spaghetti on the table.

'What exactly happened with you?' Draco edged, he already knew that she had had a similar experience to him, but now, having told her exactly what he had been through, he was curious to here of her story.

Astoria put her fork down and sighed, running a hand through her hair, like it was a relief to finally get it off her chest. 'It had been a long time coming, but it finally hit the summer after Professor Dumbledore died. Daphne and my parents were forever going on about how this was what we had been waiting for. We purebloods were finally taking back what was rightfully ours. Seeing the Prophet and realising that there were people who were good people; who hadn't done anything wrong. My mother father would cheer when he read that another muggle family had been killed, or another muggleborn had been captured. Whilst Thicknesse was in power, he worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Seeing his grin as he talked about who had been sent to Azkaban was sickening. Something just snapped, and suddenly I realised how twisted, and wrong everything was.'

'How did you do it?' Draco quietened, 'At Hogwarts, I mean.'

'Living there and having to contain your arguments, your disagreements with the vile things everybody else said was the hardest thing I've ever done. Being in a dorm with 4 girls who oppose your newfound values, and can never know about it, being in a house which was stereotyped as the epitome of Lord Voldemort's ideals, it was horrific. And the end of the war came. Whilst my parents wanted to stay united, I told them I was returning to Hogwarts in September no matter what they did. When that didn't work I moved into a friend's spare bedroom – her entire family would be Hufflepuffs if they weren't Muggles, lovely people. I completed my final two years, and then got a job in The Apothecary.'

'It's admirable you know, very admirable. You were able to do that at only 15. Put your foot down against your family. That takes a lot of determination.' Draco remarked

'Well, you know. We are Slytherins.' Astoria replied, raising her glass to him before taking a sip of the red wine. For the first time in a long, long time, Draco Malfoy laughed. It was a bubbling sensation – like he couldn't suppress the burning chuckle in his chest. After so many years, he thought he'd forgotten how to laugh. Apparently she could cure that too.

'So Daphne...'

'She's no sister. She never really was. Daphne was just there causing problems, causing pain. I hate that whenever people hear my surname is Greengrass, they immediately just think of Daphne, and assume I'm like her.'

Draco felt a pang of warmth towards Astoria, because he knew exactly how she felt. He'd spent nearly five years trying to grow above the Malfoy stereotype; to be a better person than his parents had raised him to be, and thankfully the attention had died down. It would never go completely, that he could never deny, but at least he wasn't yelled at in the streets anymore. 'I know what you mean...'

'Well, I'm not a Greengrass if you're not a Malfoy.' Astoria suggested and Draco grinned, clinking his glass with hers.

March 2002

Astoria Louise Greengrass brought colour into a monochrome life. Heck, he thought, in the four months they had been dating, she'd brought the rainbow.

Though she didn't have many belongings, each was bursting with vibrancy, and a story. As he looked at the boxes in his living room, Draco noticed how different what she owned was to his own things. He stuck to neutral, black, beige, white, and grey. She would 'pick the brightest colour that was available. But mainly blue, I love blue.' Everything he possessed was simplistic, whereas her items, now being levitated out of their boxes and to different places in the apartment, whilst again simple, had subtle hints at decadence and extra detail. Soon enough, his apartment, their apartment would look completely different to its formality of nearly four years.

'Why do you have so much colour?' Draco asked weakly as Astoria entered the living room, suitcase full of clothes in tow.

'I think the question you should be asking yourself is why do you have so little?' She laughed, 'And, why do you have such little variety in your wardrobe?'

Draco stood, almost as if to defend himself, 'Hey, at least I don't only wear black and grey anymore. I wear, blue, and green, you know.'

'Yes, how expansive, Draco.'

November 2002

'I love you.'

Three words that meant so much. Three words he'd question if he'd ever hear outside of the realms of his parents. Whether they said that because they were obligated to love him or because they genuinely did though had alluded him for years now.

'Really?' He whispered, his heart felt like it had ground to a halt and was slowly gaining a steady beat, one two one two.

'Yeah,' Astoria said, tracing the side of his shoulder blade as they lay under the warm glow of the lamp, and roar of London at night washed over their souls, 'I do.'

'Astoria?'

'Yeah?'

'I- I love you too.'

'I should hope so.'

May 2003

'Marry me.'

'WHAT?' Nothing had provoked this; no particular words or actions had been shared between them. But the question had been boiling in Draco's blood for a month now. He wasn't sure what it was that had made him reach the point where he knew he needed to propose to her. One day he just woke p and knew, or that was at least how it felt. Maybe it had been the way she didn't hog the duvet, or the way she kicked him awake in the shins when he was snoring but waking on that sunny Tuesday, he knew that it was time.

Now they were here, walking to the Underground after a late evening in The Three Broomsticks with some of Astoria's friends. Well, technically they're your friends too Astoria had reassured him, though he wasn't so certain. Upon saying this, Astoria had stopped in her tracks, letting people move around the pair inside of heading towards the side of the pavement. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, but puddles were still dotted over the streets, and with a splash, Draco turned to face her.

'Astoria, I love you when I thought I'd never love anyone. You've – you've healed me when I felt broken. When I felt like I was on my own in this world. You're snarky, and determined and beautiful, and I couldn't love you more if I tried. Marry me, just for the hell of it, because we work, and I can't see us working without each other. Astoria Greengrass, will you marry me?'

'-Yes.' She blurted before Draco could even finish properly, as if in spite of the original shock of it, all along she had known what her answer would be. 'Yes, I will.'

He might have knelt in a puddle. He might have forgotten to take the ring out. He might have not known what he was doing, and everything had unravelled unexpectedly. But she said yes. But Draco Malfoy couldn't care less about what had gone wrong, she had said yes.

Before Draco could even pull out the ring from his coat pocket and push it onto her finger, Astoria had pulled him up from where he was knelt and pressed him into a kiss so strong he stumbled. Instead of breaking apart, Astoria continued to hold onto Draco, his hands lovingly holding her face as they kissed.

September 2004

The Wedding had been unnaturally small for a Malfoy. Begrudgingly, Lucius and Narcissa had attended, but aside from them, it had only been a few of Astoria's friends as their witnesses. The event had been quiet, brief, and simplistic. But it had been enough – they had each other, and that was enough.

September 2005

Now, after 12 long months, they were sat in the Malfoy Manor again.

'We've decided to give you the house.' Lucius said, looking toward Draco, he rarely made eye contact with Astoria. Whilst she may be his son's wife, their difference in values had never pleased him.

'Why? What about you two?' Draco asked incredulously.

'We're moving to France.' Lucius added, 'It's a new world in Britain, and we're not going to be able to take it back. There's nothing left for us here.' He glanced towards Narcissa and she nodded, as if they were passing unsaid words, 'It's time.'

'Besides, you'll need somewhere larger for once the baby arrives.' Narcissa remarked. Her eyes didn't have the spark of someone who was excited for the arrival of their first grandchild in four months time. She wore a smile, but it didn't seem one of warmth – more like smiling for the sake of smiling. Draco would forever hate his parents doing that, because he knew that their lack of warmth and affection was what had left him sleeping under two duvets in his apartment.

Astoria and she an expression of reassurance brought comfort to Draco as she spoke up, 'That's very kind Mr and Mrs Malfoy, thank you.'

He waited for one of them to say 'Please, call me Lucius' or 'please, call me Narcissa.' But it never came, in the 15 months they had known Astoria, those phrases had never come.

Silence fell again across the four Malfoys, before Lucius cleared his throat, and straightened in his seat. 'Speaking of... the baby.' He began, 'How will the child be raised?'

'What do you mean?' They should have seen this coming, but of course, of course they didn't. Nobody expects their parents to question their child's duty as a parent themselves. 'Go on. What do you mean, Father?'

'We mean, what values will the child be raised with?' Lucius said stiffly.

'Mr Malfoy, our child will be raised with the values which Draco and I have adopted since the war. That muggles, half bloods, muggle borns, squibs, and purebloods should all be treated equally.' Astoria replied, her voice tight and chin raised, ignoring the rolling of eyes Lucius gave in response.

'Please. You're new to this family, Miss Greengrass,' Narcissa began 'but you'll soon learn.'

Draco cleared his throat, perhaps in hope of diffusing the tension that was growing between the four adults. This wasn't what they had come here for, even if they already knew that his parents didn't especially like Astoria. Astoria continued to have the belief that people could change, like they themselves had, but this was his parents. Draco knew they would never change their ways, grandchild or no grandchild. His blood felt colder as he looked between his parents, 'Spit it out then. What's the issue of the day?'

'Malfoy is a name of pureblood pride. We a true purebloods. And whilst some have degraded themselves, the name of Malfoy should not. As the heirs to the name, it is your responsibility to set aside the values you claim to have adapted into your lives of 'equality' and conform to tradition.'

'With all due respect Mr Malfoy, this is not you and your wife raising Draco. We will raise our son or daughter how we see fit, regardless of tradition.' Astoria interrupted, but Lucius held up a hand to silence her.

'It's not your place to say anything, Miss Greengrass. You defected from your family, dragging yourself down into the dirt to the point where you were working as a shop assistant on Diagon Alley.' Lucius sneered and Draco stood up.

'I have enough of this. Do you wonder why I, why we have kept such sparse contact? Because you can't accept that I'm different to you. I don't give a fuck about what you think is the 'right' way to raise a child, because even if you did know best, I did do it completely differently to how you raised me. You dragged me into killing Dumbledore for the sake of your status. I never made friends because of you, I never knew what love was as all you two ever did was talk about purebloods, and how muggleborns were scum. You never read to me, or baked with me, or took me to a park. You never let me call you Mum or Dad, it was always Mother and Father. I was your little adult awaiting orders from Voldemort, I was never your child.'

'Be quiet, Draco.' Narcissa snapped

'No.' Draco shouted, 'No I won't, and you'll never get it will you. No matter how many times you say it, we will never be like you, and I will never forgive what you made my childhood into. And don't you dare talk to my wife like that – her name is Astoria Malfoy, not Miss Greengrass, and she's the best thing that's ever happened to me. So thank you very much for the Manor, have fun in France, let us know when your leaving, and we'll move in. We'll owl you when your Grandchild arrives. Or did you forget that they would be related to you?'

For the first time, both Lucius and Narcissa looked taken aback, and as they departed from the drawing room, Draco exhaled a shaky breath.

'Do you know what I see when I enter this house?' Draco began, Astoria taking his hand as they made their way down the pebbled pathway. 'I see the Death Eater meeting in the dining room. I hear Hermione Granger screaming as she's tortured where we just sat. I see myself locking Ollivander in the cellar because I thought it was for the greater good.'

He stopped walking, letting the drizzling rain fall on their shoulders, their heads, their faces. 'How are we meant to live here. How are we meant to have a child grow up here, knowing what's happened behind those doors. How-how do we breathe?'

Astoria wrapped her coat around her growing stomach. At five months, they couldn't have hidden the pregnancy for much longer, although, had they not been meeting the Malfoy's, perhaps it would have remained a secret. 'Draco, we reinvent the name Malfoy. We already have, but we reinvent Malfoy Manor – call it something less ridiculous, get rid of that disgusting black paint, seal off rooms we don't want to use, like the Drawing Room. It's our house. We can reinvent it all...'

30th January 2006

'Do you want to hold him, love?' Astoria beamed, her face was shining with the sweat of the past 12 hours. In spite of such a long day, the ten minutes in which their son had been in the world were a whirlwind of smiles, kisses and tears.

'Okay...' Draco smiled looking over Astoria's shoulder at their miniature version of himself, he'd really, really hoped that perhaps they'd get Astoria's dark hair. 'Maybe the next one will.' His wife had added chuckling. Slowly, she passed over the now quiet baby to Draco.

May be he thought he'd break the child or drop them instead of catching. But as he held the small, blanketed bundle, for the first time in his life, he knew he'd do anything and everything to give them memories worth remembering. With a choked breathe, he reached a finger into the blankets, allowing their little boy to wrap his hand around the object. 'Hello Scorpius, you can call me Daddy.'

Authors Note – Sometimes characters, whether your own or not, talk to you. You hear them at the back of your head, and you listen. A couple of weeks ago, for the first time I heard Draco Malfoy talking to me, and I chose to listen to what he had to say. I've never written a fanfiction about Draco before now, and I've never really warmed to his character – but somewhere in my brain, he spoke to me; and this is what he said.