Chapter One

2006

"Stolen kisses, pretty lies

You're the King, baby, I'm your Queen

Find out what you want

Be that girl for a month

Wait, the worst is yet to come, oh, no."

– Taylor Swift "Blank Space"

Draco Malfoy worked quietly in the Ministry Archives as he did every day. It had been eight years since the war and he had been sentenced to work in the archives for five; however when his term ended, he simply continued showing up to work and the witch in charge was content to let him continue. He never complained; he was quiet and he knew where things were when people from other departments came down to ask.

The secret that Draco was hiding by being down in the Archives was that his magic just wasn't as strong as it had been before the war. He was barely able to do simple spells anymore. It was frustrating, but also so embarrassing. So embarrassing that he didn't want to go to St. Mungo's and see a healer. After all the terrible things that he had done during the war, he was lucky not to be in Azkaban and if his penance was that his magic didn't work as well as it had before, well then, he reasoned, it was no less than he deserved.

His wife, Astoria - Stori -, had no problems belittling how weak his magic had gotten. She didn't really need that issue to needle him on though; there were so many other horrible things he had done during the war and his family was despicable. She was right to be embarrassed of him, of being his wife. His surname alone was anathema to decent witches and wizards. He knew that.

Draco didn't love her, but his parents hadn't loved each other at first. They grew devoted over time.

Draco did not think that devotion would grow in his marriage. Neither of them had had a choice in their marriage. Draco knew Astoria would never have chosen him. She made sure he knew it with derision dripping from every word.

So Draco hid in the Archives during the day and went home and dressed nicely for dinner with his wife who would spend the whole meal telling him what a worthless excuse for a wizard he was. Draco would agree with her wholeheartedly. He knew everything she said was true.

He even wore a high neckcloth now or sometimes a cravat at all times, because the sight of his Azkaban prison identification neck tattoo disgusted his wife. The memento of the two months that he had spent in that hellish place after the war made him feel ill when he looked at it. Astoria was even more disgusted. Her displeasure when she had to look at it because his neckcloth slipped was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. She had no qualms with letting him know how repulsive she found the tattoo, although even without it he knew that she found nothing about him attractive. His hair was too colourless as were his eyes. His cheekbones and jaw were too sharp. The muscles he'd created from having to do everything the Muggle way were ungentle. The sectumsempra scars on his cheek were difficult to hide with glamours, the dark magic oozed through them. He knew the facial scars were abhorrent to her.

"Harry Potter should have killed you that day," Astoria had said once, running her finger over his cheek, "then I wouldn't be saddled with you now."

No matter how awful it was when she was home, it was worse on the nights when he ate alone in the dining room, because Astoria just hadn't bothered to come home. It was so hard to be alone in the Manor. He hated the place so much, but Astoria wouldn't let them move elsewhere. It was his heritage, she would remind him, and was less than she deserved considering she had to be married to him, and there was nowhere else she wanted to live. That is what Stori said anyway and his father had always said your wife is always right. It was one of the pieces of advice that he took most seriously. So Draco faded to a shadow of himself, forced to live in the house that was the scene of nearly every horrible day in his life.

So Draco would sit alone in the dining room at the same table where he had once watched Nagini eat a Hogwarts professor. He ate his soup silently and, if it tasted salty, he pretended he didn't notice. If he didn't acknowledge his tears, he reasoned, then they couldn't possibly exist.

If Draco Malfoy's life was an empty void of pain and loneliness, it was no more than he deserved.