Written for smutty_claus livejournal. Thanks to my beta, drcjsnider. I spell it "Astoria" because my recipient for the fest requested that spelling.

December 25th

There was a sudden, loud bang and along with the ringing in his ears and the smoke and falling paper, Draco felt something clamp around his head.

"I had happily forgotten about this."

He looked across the table to see his son wearing a tin crown painted gold and adorned with "gems" of blue and brown glass.

Draco pulled his own crown – silver paint with green and white glass – off his head and tossed it aside. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Scorpius pause before reluctantly doing the same.

His son and wife had always worn their crowns for the duration of the meal and sometimes for the rest of the day. Some years, dinner had even been postponed while the pair talked him into playing one of the games that had been inside the crackers.

With an annoyed flick of his wand, he cleared the rest of the paper and toys from the table. "It's a bit silly to keep having those, don't you think?"

His cheeks turning pink, Scorpius didn't meet his eyes but nodded all the same. He wordlessly Vanished his crown.

Before Draco had a chance to give in to his better judgment and call off the charade of a meal, the food appeared on their plates. Out of habit, he raised his goblet. "Happy Christmas."

"Yeah," Scorpius muttered, half-heartedly doing the same.

Draco glanced across the table, to the empty chair that would have been Astoria's. It didn't happen as often but he still found himself looking for her, expecting to see her sitting across from him or feel her next to him in bed. Each time he realized his mistake, it was as if she had left him all over again.

The crackling of the fire and scrape of metal against china were the only sounds in the room as the two ate. For a second, Draco thought it odd that Scorpius would be so quiet but thinking on it more, he couldn't think of the last time it had just been the two of them sitting down for a meal.

"I saw you writing in your netbook earlier, working on another piece?"

Scorpius shook his head, eyes on his plate. "I just published one last night."

"Right."

He had managed to forget about it for a few hours – an angry screed about how the emphasis on pure-blood when sorting for Slytherin had to be abolished if the British Wizarding world was ever to make meaningful progress.

"I read it," Draco said, pushing a forkful of oyster stuffing in his mouth to quash the urge to say more.

"Yeah. You and four other people."

He raised an eyebrow at this. "Well, it's Christmas, Scorpius. Most people don't want to spend their holidays reading why everything they know and believe is wrong."

Scorpius frowned. "Guess you're right."

Feeling guilty that the conversation had taken the turn it had, Draco changed the topic. "So, what time will you be leaving tomorrow morning? I'll be in meetings all day, of course, but I'll have the house-elves here early to make you breakfast."

His son looked at him as if he'd congratulated him on his latest article. "What are you talking about?"

"The Boxing Day Hunt. I know your Mum invited you." Daphne had mentioned it. "I know you don't care much for the sport but you've always loved flying and I hear your granny will let you use her best Granian."

"I'm not going," he sulked, turning his attention back to his food.

Draco set his fork down. "And why not?"

"I don't want to spend time with iher/i."

"Her? You mean iyour mother/i?"

"Who else?"

It was strange. His entire life, Scorpius had favored his mother over him and Draco had always been a little bit envious of the bond the two shared. The petty sense of satisfaction that rose up in him quickly died and was replaced by a sense of unease. His family was falling apart.

Looking him straight in the eye, Draco told him, "You're going."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. It's the holidays, you should spend some of them with your mother."

"Then let her come here! It's Christmas and where is she? Off with that prat Wood -"

"She's visiting her family, you know that."

"Yeah, and I bet she's introducing them all to her new boyfriend."

Draco sat back, the words hitting him like a hex.

"I mean, it's obvious isn't it," Scorpius continued. "They're going to Ministry functions together, they must be serious."

"No, it isn't obvious. There's no reason to think she is that serious about him." Draco said the words with such confidence that he was tempted to believe them.

"Whatever," Scorpius grumbled, taking a vicious bite of his turkey leg. "I know she only married you for your money."

"And how do you know that?"

"Everyone knows that, it was in the papers when you married."

"Scorpius, I would have thought that you of all people knew that the Daily Prophet is more interested in half-truths and propaganda than it is in real journalism."

With a particularly mulish look in his green eyes, his son stared at him over his goblet. "So how much of it is a lie then?"

Insufferable brat.

"Our parents, our mothers to be exact, thought that the marriage would be beneficial for both our families after the damage caused by the war. Granny Greengrass thought that the Malfoy... resources," Scorpius smirked at Draco's choice of words "Would help your Aunt Daphne who had been attacked by a werewolf during the Battle of Hogwarts, as you know."

His son had the good sense to look chastened at that.

"And my mother thought that my marrying into a family with a good reputation would help with our rather poor one." Not wanting to give up on their pureblood ideals entirely, there had been few families that were suitable. Pure though they were, the Weasleys were too far beneath them in manner to be a serious choice even if they would have had agreed and the Macmillians and the Longbottoms had only produced sons. The Greengrasses, and Astoria in particular, were the most logical choice.

It wasn't an ideal situation for anyone at the time but it had seemed the best one available.

"So neither of you loved each other. Well, things make more sense now."

Draco threw down his napkin. "It means, we understood what was expected of us and were willing to do what was required. Something you still need to learn."

December 26th

Her netbook on her lap, Rose opened it and flipped through the pages. There was mail she still had to respond to, including pictures Auror Thomas had sent of her holiday in Spain. The week before Rose had spent nearly an hour trying to explain how to send pictures and that you had to press them to the pages face up, not face down like you were making a scrapbook, before you said the incantation and they were saved to the book.

Half the pictures were blank. Rose could only guess that Heather hadn't remembered and had decided to do it both ways in the hopes that some pictures would come through.

She turned the page to the one she reserved for Scorpius and her heart sank as she found it hadn't been updated. There'd been no mail since Christmas Eve, no messages, no owls, no nothing.

A sudden movement beside her caused her to look up and she saw her dad standing, she nearly did the same, thinking they were cheering, when she realized he was just calling the pasty vendor over.

"Well, that was unpleasant," her mum said, coming to sit down next to her.

Rose glanced at her but it was Ron who answered. "Those two still fighting, eh?"

"Worse than ever, I'm afraid. They're arguing entirely in French."

Rose looked behind her. Just as she had expected, Dominique and Louis were still in their seats and Victoire was still curled up in Teddy's arms. That left only two possible suspects.

"Why are Auntie Fleur and her sister fighting?" she asked and Ron beamed.

"See that? Future Head Auror material right here."

"Basic deductive reasoning," Hermione countered before turning to her daughter. "Though, you are correct, dear. As for why-"

"Gabrielle has a thing for married blokes from the sound of it," her dad answered, eyes back on the match.

Hermione glared at him, her frown only deepening when her husband didn't notice, his attention entirely on the Harpies and the Wasps as they battled it out on the pitch. "Ron!"

He jumped, nearly losing hold of his half-eaten pasty. "What? What's up?"

"I don't think that was appropriate."

Ron glanced at his daughter, as if hoping for some help but Rose could only smile and give the smallest of shrugs.

"She's eighteen!"

Behind her, Hermione sighed. "That still doesn't mean you should go broadcasting Gabrielle's personal business."

"I had a little help there, as I recall," he said, giving his wife a pointed look. Then, in a voice that suggested he was laying down his trump card, he added, "Besides they're French."

Rose smiled and her mother laughed, asking. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything! You know how the French are. They don't think anything of hooking up with married people. You're always hearing stories about some famous French writer or politician dying and his wife and mistress standing together at the funeral. It's their culture," he finished sagely.

"Well, either Fleur has missed out on some important aspects of her own culture or the French are not a monolith."

Grinning, he waggled his brows at his wife. "Or she's just sore because Gabrielle's stealing all the interesting married men."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Really? Did she miss a few?"

Feeling as if the argument had suddenly turned into some bizarre form of foreplay, Rose excused herself. "I think I need a pasty too."

Netbook in hand, she didn't wait for a response before heading for the aisles.

Rose wished she could talk Hugo into trading seats with her but he, like most of their cousins, had brought someone. The Weasley-Potters were sprawled out over several rows and walking past each had her feeling more and more dejected. There were the newlyweds, Teddy and Victoire, there was Hugo and his Hufflepuff, there was Dominique and her flavor of the week. Even Al had brought Lysander with him, the first time they'd ever been together at a family event like this. She passed the happy couple as they sat side-by-side, thighs pressed against each other and heads bowed as they tried to get as close to one another as the seats would allow. Other than herself, the only other people over the age of fifteen who came alone were Roxy and Gabrielle. From the sounds of it, Gabrielle probably only came alone because there weren't enough seats for both her lover and his wife.

Finally at the top of the steps, Rose leaned against the railing and opened her book again. She knew if she kept doing this she might break down and write to him first which was exactly what she did not want to do. She wasn't wrong. It had been eighteen months since they'd left Hogwarts. Scorpius should have some direction or some signs that he knew what direction was.

It was as if he didn't care at all.

Four months ago, right after he declared it "a bit of fun," she had taken it upon herself to start reading every edition of The Daily Word. Other than noting that "The Bi-Monthly Word" might be a more fitting name, she was impressed . He really did make some strong arguments and have some very good ideas. He was very clever. People said she was but Rose always felt it was more hard work than raw brilliance. With Scorpius it was the exact opposite, loads of raw brilliance and no hard work.

Without even meaning to, weeks ago she had found herself reading up on the W.A.D.A, its musical theater and its orchestra. And since Gabrielle had come to visit, she'd been peppering her with questions about the summit, trying to learn more in the hopes that if she ever did meet Mr. or Mrs. Malfoy, she'd be able to talk intelligently with them about their work and about their son. She wanted them to know that she was interested, that she was serious.

She wasn't even sure Scorpius knew what G.N.A.W. stood for.

Sometimes it was as if he didn't care about anything at all but shagging her, winning pub quizzes, and writing the occasional article. She didn't need him to be Trainee Healer, but she needed him to do something; a steady job at the Leaky as a bartender would be enough.

Louis, Al, and Freddie had done most of the heavy lifting for her when it came to introducing a Malfoy to her family. Her parents already knew him as their friend, the Fourth Musketeer, as it were. They both liked him well-enough but she knew they'd be more critical when they found out about her relationship with Scorpius.

Slamming the book shut, Rose gave it up as a bad job.

December 27th

Her fine features contorted in concentration, Gabrielle gave a soft grunt followed by a low groan.

Several of the wizards at the table shifted in their seats and Draco noticed a few that looked as if they were about to run out of the room with their books and scrolls clutched suspiciously in front of them.

The head Goblin, Gurgnak, made a hacking noise in response that Draco knew meant "thank you." Gabrielle hacked right back at him and the pair stood and shook hands, lightbulbs flashing around them as the reporters took their pictures.

Nearly a month later, and the great Banking Crisis of Wizarding Europe had been solved. Draco shook hands with everyone he had to, ignored those he didn't, and sat back down in his seat. He had a few messages he wanted to check before he joined the others at the brunch.

Opening his netbook, he saw that Goyle had sent him two more pictures of Kneazles with captions written in pidgin English underneath. For the life of him, he couldn't understand the fascination. As expected, Astoria has not responded to his letter. He had been so careful this time too. Rather than giving into his desperation, he hadn't even mentioned seeing her or asking her how she was. Instead, he had given her a friendly notice about the mood their son was in, hoped their outing went well, and mentioned that he would be very busy for the next two days should anything happen. He hadn't even said what he would be doing, letting her fill in the blanks however she chose. Evidently, she hadn't cared to fill them in all. She hadn't even wished him a Happy Holidays.

Spotting a letter from Scorpius, he tapped on the message and watched the words appear on the page.

Hullo Dad,

Wood was a no-show yesterday. Sounds like Mum might have finally ditched him. Thought you'd like to know.

– Scorpius.

His momentary elation was strangled by the words "might have." Had he asked her and she told him they weren't together? Or had Scorpius jumped to conclusions after not seeing Wood at the hunt? Or perhaps she truly had ditched Wood but now there was someone else taking his place. Draco couldn't imagine Astoria going through beaus that quickly but he also hadn't expected to come home one day to find her sitting on the bed, her bags packed and ready to go.

He scowled at the page, tempted to go straight to her even though it would be more prudent to get more information from Scorpius first.

"You should be 'appy," a voice chimed. He looked up to see Gabrielle, clutching a mimosa in one hand and holding out a glass for him in the other. "It was a great success."

"I'm perfectly happy," he said, frowning at her. She sat down on the table beside him, not seeming to care how close she was or how high her skirt was.

"I am not," she said, taking a sip of her glass. "Your England is a very unwelcoming place. The landscape is so cold and dreary and the people are no different. It is no wonder my sister is so miserable. It is very lonely 'ere."

The mention of unhappy Weasleys piqued his interest but he brushed it aside. Looking up, he found her watching him intently, as if she were practicing Legilimency.

"This is strange. I normally don't 'ave to try this 'ard for a man's attention," she admitted.

He gave a sharp laugh. "No, I imagine not."

"And once, I did not even 'ave to try at all for your attention." Her blue eyes still fixed on him, she crossed her legs, pushing her skirt up further. He thought of the old office he'd had down the hall and the nights he'd spent there with her on the desk, her blouse open and skirt around her waist as they fucked.

"That was a long time ago."

"If you say so." She looked out the window behind him, charmed to show a snowy scene of the Muggle London streets above. "And 'ow is your wife?"

He glared at her, not answering. Gabrielle continued on, unaffected by this. "I saw 'er there, dancing with another man. 'e is a very famous Quidditch player, I 'ear."

"Was," Draco corrected. "He doesn't play any longer. Too old."

"She left with 'im. She left you for 'im."

He looked down at the letter his son had sent him.

"It is very unusual," she mused. "I 'ave seen many marriages where the 'usband 'as 'is fun and the wife does not, I 'ave even seen marriages where they both have romances on the side but I 'ave never seen one where it is the wife who 'as the fling and the 'usband 'o waits."

"I doubt an arrangement like that could last long with you around."

"No, it could not," Gabrielle laughed throatily, her lips curved into a secret smile. She turned to him, frowning with pity. "You must love 'er very much."

Draco opened his mouth but he couldn't say anything, denying it would be a bald-faced lie and it was too personal a thing to admit out loud. He looked away.

"Then you must fight for 'er!" she said, pushing off the table. He barely caught his mimosa glass in time. "You should challenge Oliver to a duel!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"For 'er 'and! It is very romantic. Trust me, many wizards 'ave fought for me. It will win 'er back for certain!"

The idea of cursing Wood into oblivion did have its appeal. "I don't think it would work."

"Suit yourself." Gabrielle brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand. "I still have several more days before my Portkey leaves. I could 'elp you forget about 'er for a while."

"I know you could." And his loneliness and spite were enough to tempt him to surrender. He had toyed with idea ever since she had arrived. "But I don't want to."

Gabrielle gave a small shrug and leaned over to kiss his cheek, whispering, "'ave a 'appy New Year, Draco."