A/N: This timestamp is from Astoria Greengrass' POV. RUAW warnings do apply for this timestamp. This one was difficult to write as it was an emotional journey! But, I knew I had to do it because it was one of the plot points I had thought of before I even began writing RUAW. I hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the reviews RUAW has received. It has been a most wonderful introduction to this fandom :)

Astoria Weasley née Greengrass

Astoria is sitting on the back patio of the Burrow, staying warm with the sweater Molly Weasley had made for her at Christmas. It's chilly, but she's always cold these days, and she hardly wants to spend her days cooped up inside a house that resents her every breath.

To be fair — and Astoria has learned what it means to be fair and unfair these past few months — the Weasley family has been as gracious as one could expect. At every turn, she has insulted, condescended, sneered, and bemoaned their every effort. Charlie had left for his latest stay in Romania without saying a single word to her, only a short letter attached to her door at the Burrow with a sticking charm as notice: In Romania - see you at the March.

While she has her reasons to be awful, it had still stung that he had disappeared without a word.

Though she intends to do the same, she supposes. All's fair in love and war and forced marriages, or something like that.

Her thoughts are interrupted when the door slams open and Molly Weasley steps out. She's breathing heavily, her cheeks nearly as flushed red as her hair, and the fury that Astoria has been baiting for weeks is finally present in her eyes.

"How dare you," Molly Weasley hisses.

Astoria forces herself not to flinch, and instead drags herself to her feet, ready to fight. She's already exhausted, and every muscle in her body is on fire, but she's had years of practice hiding her feelings.

"I beg your pardon?" She asks icily.

Molly pins her with a gimlet stare, her fists clenching at her side. Astoria is no fool, and it had become very apparent upon moving into the Burrow that Molly Weasley is a formidable witch — suddenly, for the first time since she entered the Weasley home, Astoria worries for her safety.

"I've just been to St Mungo's, and I saw Draco Malfoy," Molly says.

Astoria's heart skips a beat — she's been desperate to know how Draco is doing since the poisoning. "Is he alright?"

"Draco is fine, you foolish girl!" Molly shouts — and Astoria is almost ready to yell back when Molly Weasley breaks down into loud sobs. Her entire frame seems to collapse inwards, and her hands cover her face.

Astoria realizes at that moment she's never seen any other woman than Daphne cry. She's not sure if she should turn away to afford her privacy, or comfort her.

"I'm… I'm confused," Astoria admits suddenly, stepping forward. Her small movement is all the encouragement needed, because Molly suddenly reaches for her, dragging her into an awkward embrace. Astoria's hands hang uselessly at her sides.

"You ridiculous girl," Molly mutters. She releases her suddenly, holding her an arm's length away and examining every inch. "Draco Malfoy has just informed me you are extremely ill with a blood malediction and are certain you will be dead by March 1st."

Astoria flinches at her words. "That utter snake," she hisses. "He promised."

Molly throws her arms up in her in exasperation. "Astoria Weasley!" She snaps. "You have lived in my house for months! At what point did you decide we are the type of people that wouldn't care if one of our family members was ill?!"

"I'm not… I'm not your family, though." Astoria says weakly.

"Is your last name Weasley?" Molly huffs the question, hands on her hips.

Astoria's mother would rather die than huff, but Molly is a mother so unlike any Astoria has ever known, and she hardly understands how to play her game.

"Charlie doesn't want to be married to me," Astoria argues. "It's only because of the WPG that I'm a Weasley."

"And Daphne?" Molly asks.

At this, Astoria has no answer. Her beloved sister has been embraced into this family — Percy dotes on her, and Daphne loves him in a way Astoria's never really seen before. Her sister has never been so happy.

"That's different —"

"Forget Charlie," Molly interrupts. "Think about Daphne. You love your sister, that much is obvious. And we love her. Percy loves her, Astoria. That makes her family. And you're her family, are you not?"

Astoria swallows — she doesn't want to agree, but she can hardly argue. She nods slowly.

Molly claps her hands. "Well, that makes you family. Glad that's sorted then. Why don't you come inside and we'll have a cup of tea and discuss our next steps?"

"What… what next steps?" Astoria asks.

Molly reaches out, ushering her towards the door. Astoria allows herself to be herded, feeling more than a little baffled at the past few minutes of conversation.

"Well, you know, what have the healers said? How are you feeling? What do you need?" Molly says all this in a breathless rush, pulling out a chair for Astoria to sit in. She's off before Astoria can answer, snatching at teacups and preparing a plate of biscuits.

Astoria realizes that Molly Weasley is the first person in the entire world to ask her how she's feeling. Her parents know that a blood malediction runs in the family, yet despite having two daughters, they are unconcerned. As far as they are aware, it has skipped their generation. Astoria long ago decided there was no point in informing them she was ill since her mother would make it about herself and her father is barely capable of human emotion on a regular day. But Daphne —

"Mrs. Weasley, please don't tell Daphne," Astoria suddenly begs. She's never begged for anything in her life, but she's not too proud for this. She'll drop to her knees and say anything Molly wants to hear if she spares Daphne.

Molly is silent at her request; she brings two steaming teas to the table, settling into the chair beside Astoria's. She's close enough that Astoria can see her eyes are red from her earlier tears.

"I'm sorry, dearest," Molly murmurs, setting the tea in front of her. "Your sister deserves to know. She deserves to say goodbye. I won't tell her, Astoria, but you must."

Astoria shakes her head, denying the very idea of this. She'd rather die than hurt Daphne this way.

"I can't," Astoria admits. "I just can't bear it."

Molly nods slowly, then changes tactics. "Have you been to St. Mungo's?"

Astoria nods, "I have. I've been told by more healers than I can count that there isn't a solution for this."

"Well, how about this," Molly offers. "Let's go, one more time, together. That way, I can ask the healer the best way to keep you comfortable. It's always hard to remember these things by oneself, you know?"

She does know, in fact. She knows it took three separate trips to the healer when she was first diagnosed with the blood malediction for the ringing in her ears to stop long enough for her to understand their words. She knows that she spent weeks fighting off her tears and fury long enough to replace it with the poise and grace that would be expected of her.

"Okay," Astoria whispers. She can't imagine facing another healer alone.

Molly smiles sadly at her and grasps her teacup to take a sip. They sit together for a long moment, silent and thoughtful.

"Please think about telling Daphne," Molly says quietly. "Even if it's not the entire truth. Let her say goodbye the way she would want to, Astoria."

Astoria doesn't respond, but Molly doesn't push. They finish their tea in silence, and Astoria stands and takes their mugs to the sink, setting a simple washing charm on them. She looks out the window at the grounds of the Burrow — the chaotic, loud, messy, crooked little house that she has unexpectedly come to love. Despite its flaws, it is filled with warmth and welcoming, something she has only ever felt before at Hogwarts.

"Mrs. Weasley," Astoria murmurs, gaze fixed on the setting sun. "Please don't tell anyone yet."

Molly doesn't answer, but Astoria knows she'll keep her secret for now. She turns to go towards the stairs, escaping to her room.

Molly's voice interrupts her. "Astoria. I know perhaps that we are not the family you might have chosen. But if you would permit it — well, I mean… there are a lot of people in this family that besides your sister that would want the chance to say goodbye as well. Properly."

Astoria swallows down words she doesn't know how to say. Molly deserves to know that while she would never have chosen the Weasley family, that is only because she didn't know this existed. Didn't know that love could be so big it could take up every square inch of a house. Had never experienced the explosive laughter and fury and affection that the Weasleys dole out as easily as breathing.

Now? Now — now Astoria would cut her own heart out if it meant she got to keep this.

She nods once, sharply, and then scrambles up the stairs without any of her usual grace.

Astoria finds her seat in front of the St Mungo's healer and sits down delicately. She feels better than she's felt in nearly a week, and the last thing she had wanted to do upon waking up was go to St Mungo's to hear about her impending death for what feels like the thousandth time.

Molly, however, had been adamant, and Astoria was hardly prepared to refuse her. The Weasley matriarch had been spending every spare minute making sure she was warm enough, fed enough, entertained enough — and while this is incredibly kind, it is Molly's company that is the real treasure. Astoria has spent nearly every waking minute since she entered the Weasley family ensuring that they wouldn't like her and wouldn't miss her when she inevitably dropped dead.

Now, though, there is no reason to keep Mrs. Weasley at arm's length. Instead, they talk. Sometimes about nothing — gardening, cooking, decorating, anything that draws their attention. Sometimes, though, they share secrets; Astoria has learned of Molly's long-deceased brothers, the anxiety born from fighting in more than one wizarding war, the terror that another family member will be taken from her, and the absolutely endless, all-encompassing love she has for her children.

In these moments, Astoria is so angry she can hardly breathe. All this love — all this acceptance and protection and family — and she could just reach out and grab it. Only… not now. Not with a clock that is counting down every second of her final days.

"Mrs. Weasley, Miss Greengrass," the Healer greets them as he slides the door closed firmly.

"It's also Mrs. Weasley, actually," Astoria says. "I'm married, now."

The healer raises an eyebrow. "The WPG, I presume."

Astoria desperately wishes she could say no; wishes she could tell him she married a dragon-tamer, and he loved her madly and nothing about their union was forced.

"Yes," she admits.

"I see." The healer frowns briefly, and Astoria wonders if he disagrees with the WPG the way they do, or if he's disapproving of a marriage that can only end with a widower.

"Healer Adams," Molly says, sitting forward in her chair. "I understand that you've seen Astoria before. I'm looking for more information about her condition, and what treatments we might consider."

Healer Adams sighs. "As I've told Astoria before, there are simply no treatments we can provide."

"There must be something!" Molly shouts. She is furious and righteous, and Astoria stares at her in shock.

"Mrs. Weasley," Healer Adams snaps. "There is nothing. Short of a miracle — which will not happen — this blood malediction will kill Astoria."

Astoria has heard this all before. She is used to nodding and agreeing as the healers detail her doom, but Mrs. Weasley has other ideas.

"You are a healer! Can't you do anything? Please, please, save her." Her shouts have turned into desperate tears, and Astoria watches as Molly Weasley begs and pleads (something that Astoria's own mother would sneer at) for this healer to save Astoria's life.

The Healer's annoyance fades, and this time his voice is soft and pitying. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I truly am. But there is nothing to do."

Molly sits back in her chair, swallowing heavily. Astoria gives the healer a half-smile. It's not his fault, after all. She is the one born into an unlucky family. She is the one who dabbled in dark magic to save her sister, and she is the one paying the price.

A price she will pay for Daphne.

"And for her pain?" Mrs. Weasley asks, her voice gone soft and sad.

"Are you in pain?" The Healer directs the question to her, and Astoria automatically shakes her head.

"Of course she's in pain," Molly argues again. "Healer Adams, in your professional opinion, what exactly are the effects of this blood malediction? How are the next few weeks looking for Astoria?"

"As I've told Astoria, the blood malediction is incredibly strong. She can expect to face exhaustion, muscle aches, weight loss, and no appetite. As it advances, confusion will set in. Eventually, her internal organs will shut down, as the blood has essentially become toxic. Once it hits that state, it will only be a matter of time before her heart stops."

Astoria watches as Molly deflates. She goes pale, darting her blue eyes to Astoria as if taking in every feature she has. Astoria knows what she sees; she's been sleeping more, moving slowly, and barely eating, and Molly has taken note. Although always slender, Astoria has lost her softness. Her cheekbones arch away from her sunken cheeks, and her ribs stick out from her skin.

Molly's chin stiffens, and she faces the healer once again. "I believe it's safe to say that Astoria is in pain, or will be soon. And I suggest we are prepared for what you have called the inevitable, Healer Adams."

"We can wait until—"

"I will not wait until my daughter is crying in pain and starving before allowing her some comfort," Molly stands suddenly, interrupting the Healer. Her fury is palpable and genuine, filling the small room. "If you will not help me today, Healer Adams, you can be sure I will be going to your superior until I get the support I require."

Astoria stares at Molly — her daughter?

She has been taught her entire life that the Weasley family is a poor example of wizarding-kind; they are lacking galleons, lacking pride, lacking common-decency. They are blood traitors and muggle lovers and a scourge upon magical kind.

And Astoria wants so desperately to be part of their family that she can nearly taste it. She is suddenly so overcome with unbridled affection that she can feel her eyes stinging with tears.

The Healer moves suddenly, snatching up small pieces of paper with palpable annoyance. He scrawls over them with a quill and hands them to Molly with a sneer on his face.

"Take these to the main floor. Pain potions, sleeping potions, nausea potions, and appetite tablets. Eat it as though a small biscuit; it expands in the stomach and provides all the nutrients for the day. Eventually, it might be all Astoria can keep down."

Molly takes the parchment with a shaking hand, folding it delicately into her purse.

"Thank you," she says primly. She turns to Astoria with desperation shining out of her. "Come, dearest. Let's go home."

Astoria follows her without looking back, and she hardly blinks as Molly leads her through St Mungo's. She fills the prescriptions and buys her a tea and flutters around until she's got nearly two bags full of things, and when she apparates them home she does so in a way that Astoria's head barely spins.

"Let's sit on the back patio," Molly suggests, and Astoria heads there while Molly puts away everything she's purchased. When she joins her outside she's holding half a sandwich, and Astoria isn't hungry, but she takes it from her hand and eats the entire thing. Molly smiles at her fondly.

Charlie finds them there, nearly an hour later. He opens the door and steps out, a smile filling his face at the sight of his mother.

Molly leaps to her feet. "Charlie!" She sweeps her arms around him in an embrace that he returns, and he squeezes her so hard her toes leave the ground for a moment. When he lets her go, they have nearly identical smiles.

"Hi, mum!" Charlie greets. "How are you?"

Molly's expression doesn't even flicker, "Good, thanks, love. Just planning the March for tomorrow, but we're okay."

Astoria is silently impressed — she'd never pegged Molly for a good liar, but she hadn't even glanced her way when she said she was feeling good.

"Hello, Charlie," Astoria says softly.

Charlie glances over, surprise flickering across his face at finding his recalcitrant wife sitting with his mother. "Hello, Astoria."

"Oh, you must be starved!" Molly says suddenly. "Let me make you a sandwich."

Charlie nods eagerly, and Astoria suddenly feels out of place, as if the past few days of Molly's support are disappearing at the sight of her husband.

"I'm going to go for a nap if that's okay," Astoria says meekly, standing and heading for the door.

"Of course, dear!" Molly agrees, and Astoria sneaks by, leaving the sound of their chatter and ascending the stairs.

She curls up on the bed — their bed — since it's Charlie's childhood room and all, and wonders what she should do.

Molly is right, and Astoria knows it. She doesn't want to tell Charlie she's sick. Doesn't want anyone to find out, really, and she's still furious at Draco for sharing her secrets. However, she also can't deny that it's been nice, to have someone on her side. Having someone who brings her an extra blanket, and doesn't roll her eyes when Astoria accidentally falls asleep on a chair. Molly has been a comfort and a confidante, and with every hour that passes, Astoria is less sure whether she should keep hiding this secret.

The only thing that matters, though, is Daphne.

Astoria has always intended to make it look as though she just ran away or was killed in an accident. Tragic, definitely, and she knows it will devastate her sister.

But for every moment Daphne was busy keeping Voldemort away from their family and protecting her little sister from the war, Astoria was busy discovering and researching the blood malediction that was destined to kill them both by forty. The day the war was won, Astoria performed the darkest magic she had ever heard of and stolen her sister's illness unto herself.

Thus, Daphne was free.

So how could she tell the person she loved most in the entire world that she would be dead in only a few short weeks — and even more than that, she would be dead only because Daphne would live.

The door cracks open, and Astoria sees Charlie's head stick through the gap, turning to see if she's away.

"Hey," she whispers.

He steps into the room, closing the door gently behind him. He looks exhausted, and Astoria wonders just how much he's working to be able to come home so often.

"You coming to the March tomorrow?" Charlie asks.

Astoria knows he's waiting for her to say no. Knows he's waiting for her to turn over and not look at him. She wonders for the millionth time if it would be easier for him — if he hates her, he'll be relieved when she dies.

But he is her husband, and while she barely knows him, she knows this: Charlie Weasley, like any Weasley, does not choose the easy path. They choose the right path.

Charlie is brave and strong; he has been endlessly patient with her. He might not like her, but he's never once been a prat about it. No matter how bitchy she is, he will still be upset when she dies.

She's so tired of being a villain. She drags herself up so she can lean against the headboard. They are at odds; on opposite sides of the room, ready to escape.

"Charlie… if I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?"

He doesn't move, but his eyes are suddenly as discerning as his mother's. Astoria wonders if he can read her secrets and fears from there.

"I would," Charlie agrees quietly. "As long as it didn't affect my family."

Astoria swallows — it's probably the best she can ask for. She pats the bed beside her, and confusion flashes over Charlie's face. Still, he's a Gryffindor and a dragon-tamer, and there is nothing that frightens him. He steps forwards and settles on the edge of the bed, facing her. The distance between them feels immeasurable.

"I'm sick, Charlie," Astoria finally murmurs. "Really, really sick."

Charlie scowls. "What are you talking about?"

She sighs. "I have a blood malediction curse upon my family. I've known since before we were matched by the WPG that I had less than a year to live."

For the first time since she has known Charlie Weasley, all the colour leeches from his tanned face. He wipes his palms on the thighs of his pants nervously, and Astoria nearly marvels at the effect she has had. For the first time, she has flustered him, something her nagging and cruelty had failed to do.

"Astoria, what exactly are you saying?" Charlie asks hoarsely.

She wishes desperately that she could reach out, take his hand or maybe sit closer to him; it would be unwelcome. She is unwelcome.

"I'm saying that I'm going to die in the next month," Astoria explains softly. "Your mother just found out accidentally. I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want to tell anyone. I wanted to just… disappear."

She doesn't mention it was convenient, in many ways. All the misery of her childhood, the trauma of the war; the burden of being the lesser loved daughter and a constant disappointment. It's not the first time she'd imagined what it would be like to disappear, but it was the first time she could imagine it without feeling guilty.

"That's utter shite," Charlie snaps. "Your sister is going to be furious."

"You can't tell her!" Astoria retorts, panicked. "Please. Please."

Charlie narrows his eyes at her. "Tell me why," he demands.

Astoria sucks in air on a gasp; she has never wanted to say the reasons out loud. It had been one of the driving forces behind her writing letters. The next time she sees Draco Malfoy she's going to slap him.

Charlie is still patiently waiting for an explanation.

"The blood malediction is genetic," Astoria says evenly. "Daphne was affected by the same illness."

If possible, Charlie pales further. "Percy," he breathes.

Astoria nods furiously. "You see my dilemma? I performed exceedingly dark blood magic the day the war ended. I took her illness for myself. Daphne is fine, but I… well, I won't even see 20."

"You saved her," Charlie murmurs, surprise flickering in his eyes.

For the first time, Astoria is offended. "Of course I did," she snaps. "She's my sister."

Charlie puts his hands up as if to ward off her words. "I'm sorry."

She sighs. "It's fine. I realize I've been… harsh… to you these past months. I'm sorry. It was only because I didn't see the point in growing fond or close with anyone when I would be gone soon. It felt — I didn't want... I thought it was wrong to trick your family into caring. So instead I…"

"Made us hate you," Charlie finishes. She flinches at his words.

"I'm sorry," she says again. This time her voice comes out shaky, the closest to whining she's ever come. She hates it. Weakness of any kind is unacceptable for a Greengrass.

Charlie, however, is not a Greengrass. He is born of blood and love and comfort, and in the moments between her shakiness, he has crossed the endless distance between them and gathered her into a hug. It's foreign and awkward, and she sinks into the comfort he offers with gratitude.

He smells of forest and sweat, and she wraps her shaking arms around his middle. He doesn't rush her, and she presses her face into the coarse material of his shirt and lets it absorb the tears she swears aren't falling.

"We'll fix this, Astoria," Charlie says, and she lets herself pretend for just a moment that he's right. That there's a way to fix this; that he even cares enough to try.

She pulls away and meets his eyes. "Charlie, there is no way to fix this. I appreciate it, I really do. But you can talk to Molly. She spoke with a healer today. There's no cure."

He drags a callused hand down his face. "There must be something we can do."

"There is one thing," Astoria says gently. "If you'd be willing… I'd like it if we could be friends. It would be nice, I think, to have at least one friend to remember me when I'm gone."

He drags her back into the hug, but this time she fits a little better inside his arms. She presses her nose into the edge of his shirt and squeezes him back.

"I can do that." Charlie murmurs, voice low and gentle in her ears. "It would be my honour."

Astoria perches at the top of the stairs. It's a spot that allows her to peek through the bottom slat and see the edge of the dining table, where Draco, Hermione, and Ron Weasley are sitting. Draco has a hand on Hermione's thigh, unseen by the rest of the table. Everyone's been staying close to home since the March, and all the damage it had caused.

Charlie had left for Romania the morning after, this time with an actual goodbye. He'd promised to return soon, and even hugged her before taking his portkey. She'd cried for hours after he'd disappeared.

Now, though, she is sitting curled against the railings, listening to a conversation happening downstairs. She would be welcome, she knows, if she would only take the steps down.

It doesn't feel right, though. Not after she had been forced by Molly to stay home during the March. Not when so many were hurt and killed, while she lay on her bed, safe and yet still dying.

"What about Charlie?" Ginny's voice asks.

Astoria stares down at the back of Draco's head. The silence is foreboding. She knows they're discussing the ability to get divorced — the idea that Charlie could finally, finally be free of her.

What they don't know is that he will be free of her. He doesn't need the divorce.

"Charlie is… not in a rush, for now," Molly says. "And neither is Astoria. I'm sure that they will… separate soon."

Astoria lets her face rest in her palms, swallowing the screams she wishes would burst forth. It's her fault that they're lying to their family — but Daphne is down there. Daphne, wondering why Astoria stays in this house she's pretended to hate. Daphne, who doesn't know her only sister is dying.

"My sister would rather stay with me for now, I'm sure," Daphne announces. "My father and Astoria don't always see eye to eye."

Astoria nearly laughs into her hands at the statement. If her father dropped dead tomorrow, Astoria would only mourn the fact that she didn't put him in the ground herself. It had taken hours of threatening and begging and pure blackmail to get Lord Greengrass to accept Daphne and Percy's marriage. Luckily, Astoria is a Slytherin. She'd been collecting dirt on her parents since she was old enough to understand what adultery and fraud were.

Molly's voice, comforting and warm, echoes up the stairs. "… Arthur and I have been blessed with a large family that we love — and I include everyone in this house in that sentiment, red hair or not."

Enough. Astoria thinks. Enough.

She stands quickly, nearly stumbling under the weight of herself and her foreign bravery, and when she turns the corner, every face at the table is turned towards her.

"'Stori!" Daphne greets, "Come join us. Molly made a feast."

Astoria glances at Molly, who is already waving her wand and summoning a new plate from the cupboards. It floats down to rest on the empty spot beside George. An empty spot that only a few days ago contained Parvati.

"Oh, it's fine, I can just go—" Astoria murmurs.

"Nonsense," Molly interrupts. "Come eat. We'd love to have you."

Astoria takes her place by George, Daphne on her other side. She grabs a bun and forces herself to shred it into pieces, eating them all one by one under Mrs. Weasley's watchful eye. She can feel Hermione Granger watching her, and she refuses to turn to meet her eyes. Draco hasn't told her — it's obvious. Hermione wouldn't allow a secret like that to go unsaid.

"Granger, eat your food," Draco says quietly. Astoria smiles into her plate and decides that maybe she's glad he broke his promise and told Molly. She takes another bun, and Daphne wraps an arm around her shoulders.

She meets Molly's eyes and shoots her a smile.

It's not so bad, dying among the people you love.

Astoria returns to her room after Cho's funeral. It had been beautiful, and she had spent her morning wiping away tears for a girl she barely knew. Charlie had been beside her, his warmth comforting in the morning's chill.

It's Charlie that appears again, closing their door quietly behind himself. He looks exhausted and miserable, and Astoria hates that she is the one who has done this to him.

"How are you?" He asks quietly.

She thinks about it — thinks about the fact that he's only been gone a week and yet she has spent most mornings vomiting up whatever food she's managed to keep down. She's taking two of the pain potions daily — the ones she had sworn she would never need.

Her magic only works half of the time these days.

"I'm good," she says.

Charlie frowns and sits on the edge of the bed, facing her. "You're lying."

She hums non-committally and glances at the window. "Do you think they would bury me at the Burrow?"

"Astoria," he breathes, and he shoves his boots off his feet to curl up on their bed, facing her. They're not touching, but she can see his endless blue eyes and freckles from too many days in the sun. He's got fine lines spreading like spiderwebs around his eyes, and she likes that they fold together when he smiles.

"I'm sorry," Astoria murmurs. "I'm sorry that you're tired and travelling back from Romania all the time for me."

He watches her, and she lets her eyes close in the wake of their silence. It's warm and comfortable, and every day she is less sure she will make it to March 1st.

Fingers trail across her hair, tucking it behind her ear. She blinks open to find Charlie propped up on an elbow, callused fingers making tracks on her jawbone.

"I was so scared," Charlie whispers. "So fucking scared that you would be afraid of me when we got matched. But I don't think you're afraid of anything. Not even dying."

She smiles. "That's silly. Of course I'm afraid of things."

"Tell me," Charlie breathes. "Tell me what frightens you."

Astoria closes her eyes again at his request. She's not used to sharing her fears or hopes or emotions. It's easier to give him what he wants when she doesn't have to look at him. At his beauty and raw intensity. At all the what-ifs and could've-beens she sees when he's in front of her.

"I'm afraid for Daphne," she admits because it's the easiest.

"And?"

"I'm afraid of dying alone."

At this, warm arms pull her closer to his gravity — she slides against him easily, letting the thunder of his heart chase away her fears.

"You're not dying alone, dragă." He promises gently, breath puffing over her cheek. "We're all right here beside you. Even when you're gone, we're right here."

His words chase her into light dreams; she's surrounded by dragons and laughter and she lives in a small hut with a tiny bed, but it's okay, it's all okay, because Charlie and Molly and Daphne and Arthur are all there, and they're all happy, and she is safe.

She wakes to Molly's tears and wand in her face. Charlie is on his knees beside their bed, hands clasped as though he is praying. The door is locked, but shouting can be heard outside.

"What's wrong?" Astoria chokes out. Charlie's head snaps up at the sound of her voice. He clambers up onto the bed, nearly shouldering his mother out of the way. He gathers her close and tucks her into his chest, the way he has become comfortable doing.

Molly still has her wand out, and Astoria realizes there's a shining diagnostic in the air above her.

"What happened?" She asks again, dread coating her voice.

"You fainted, dear," Molly says gently, prying Charlie far enough from her to extend a familiar pain potion. "We've been trying to wake you for nearly an hour."

Astoria squeezes her eyes tightly, swallowing back the pain potion without looking. Molly's hand is warm on her shoulder, and Charlie still has one arm looped around her waist.

"What does Daphne know?" Astoria whispers.

"Nothing," Charlie answers, but his voice is grave. "But I believe it's about time to give her some answers."

Astoria nods slowly because they are right, and she is ready. She wants a proper goodbye with her sister, anyway. "Okay. Let me speak to her. But please, please — we will say this is the blood malediction, and that there is no cure. I will tell her it's genetic, but that it has skipped her. She should know, anyway, about what any future children may face. But we must not tell her, ever, that I took her illness. As far as anyone outside of this room knows, I am the only sick one."

They agree — and she knew they would, because they are Weasleys. They love their family, and Daphne is included in their family now. There is nothing Molly or Charlie would ever do to hurt her, and telling Daphne the truth about Astoria's illness would destroy her.

The shouting from outside the door ceases the minute Molly exits the room. Daphne bursts through and throws herself onto the bed, nearly bouncing into Astoria as she gathers her into an embrace. Charlie shuts the door gently, but he doesn't leave the room. Astoria's grateful for his steady presence.

"Stori, you scared the hell out of me!" Daphne admonishes.

Astoria laughs — and between one breath and the next her laughter has turned into sobs. Daphne hugs her tighter, shushing her and running gentle fingers down her hair. It's familiar; Daphne had punctuated her entire childhood with love by doing this exact thing when Astoria was upset.

"Daph," Astoria chokes. "Daph, I've gotta tell you something."

"Sh," Daphne murmurs, "whatever it is, Stori, I'll fix it, it's okay."

Astoria stiffens her spine, dragging a breath into her lungs. The words she needs to say are going to change everything; she would give anything, everything, to not say them but —

"I'm sick, Daphne," Astoria whispers. "I've been to the healers. I've inherited our family's blood malediction. There's nothing that can be done."

Daphne goes pale, swaying slightly, and for a moment Astoria wonders if her sister will faint.

"You're lying."

"I'm not, Daph, I'm not," Astoria's never heard her voice wobble like this before. "I wish I was."

Daphne shakes her head, denial on her lips. Astoria feels like she's soaked in acid.

"I don't have very long," Astoria admits. She watches Daphne swallow three times.

"How long?"

Astoria blinks away tears. "Less than a month?"

Daphne's throat catches on a sob, and suddenly they're holding each other. Astoria buries her head in her sister's throat and Daphne clutches her so tightly it nearly hurts; as if her grip alone is all that is anchoring her to this world, and maybe it is.

"No," Daphne breathes, over and over, as if the single word alone will sway death. Her sister's cries are tearing at her heart, but Astoria holds her ever tighter. Her entire world — the only thing she's ever loved.

"Daphne," Astoria whispers. "I'm so sorry."

Daphne pulls away and shakes her head. "What about me?"

"It's skipped you," Astoria says. "The blood malediction—"

"Fuck the malediction!" Daphne nearly shouts. Astoria blinks. She's never heard her sister curse. "What about me, 'Stori? How do I… what do I… I can't—"

Astoria realizes what she's trying to say only because it's the exact thing she had thought when she'd discovered their illness.

How do I do this without you?

"You just do, Daph," Astoria whispers. "You and Percy and the Weasleys. You get to grow up, and be a family, and be happy."

"I don't want to do those things without you," Daphne admits.

Astoria nods — she knows. She doesn't want to live in a world that Daphne's not in.

But Charlie already gave her the answer to this question.

"Just because I'm gone doesn't mean I'm not with you, Daphne. I'll always be with you." Astoria tells her gently. "There's nothing — nothing — I want more than for you to be happy. Nothing."

Daphne doesn't reply, and Astoria wraps herself around her sister. She pictures a world where they grow old together, and raise their babies together. Pictures a world where she wasn't paying for the sins of her ancestors in blood and death. The price for her sister's life is so very steep, and yet Astoria will pay it.

She'd pay it a thousand times over.

"I love you, Daph," Astoria murmurs. "I love you more than anything."

Charlie doesn't return to Romania.

Instead, he sleeps next to her each night. They trade stories and secrets and talk for hours at a time. When she grows too weak to leave the bed, he carries her to the back patio and they watch the sun rise over the Burrow.

She picks a quiet place under a large willow tree on the east side of the property to be laid to rest. It takes nearly an entire day to convince Charlie that there's nowhere else she would rather be, but eventually, he agrees and vows to bury her there when the time comes.

Despite her continued refusal to tell anyone outside of the family of her condition, Draco and Theo appear in the doorway of her bedroom one afternoon. She's propped on pillows and eyes them from above her book.

She knows she looks terrible; Draco hardly blinks at her appearance, but Theo visibly flinches. He'd always been easy to read, even in Slytherin.

"Astoria," Draco greets, coming to sit at the chair that has permanently been placed at her side.

"Boys," Astoria greets. She knows Draco is expecting her to berate him for spilling her secrets, but she's hardly got the energy for that, and besides, she's not all that upset any longer.

Theo sits on the bed beside her and takes her hand. His are warm, and he wraps her fingers in his grip, and she smiles at him.

"How is Luna?" Astoria asks.

Theo grins — and Astoria has never particularly understood what the Lovegood girl could possibly offer her friend, but she's concluded that she doesn't really need to know. Theo is happy; in fact, she's not sure she's ever seen him so happy. Lovegood could be a hippogriff for all she cares.

"Luna is great," Theo answers. "She's constantly sending me to retrieve the most bizarre things. Pregnancy cravings, apparently."

Draco rolls his eyes. "Theo, mate, you told me you had to find a mushroom growing on the side of a mountain stream and bring it home. That's not pregnancy cravings, that's insanity."

Theo doesn't seem bothered by Draco's words, he just careens into his next sentence. "Oh, and 'Stori — she can feel the twins now! They are moving! I can't feel it yet, but she told me I'll be able to soon."

Astoria smiles. "Theo. I'm really happy for you. Really."

His grin softens into something sad, and he squeezes her hand tightly. "I wish you could meet them, Astoria. Luna and I have little in the way of family, but you would be a wonderful aunt."

"I would," Astoria agrees, and Draco chuckles at her answer. "Make sure you tell them about me. Tell them I loved them, okay?"

Theo swallows hard but nods, and Astoria turns her gaze to Draco. He looks relaxed in a way she doesn't think she's ever seen before.

"I'm not angry with you," Astoria says.

Draco nods. "I am sorry, for what it's worth."

She's never heard Draco apologize before. "Thank you. I'm glad you told Molly, though. It turns out it's much nicer dying with friends."

"With family, Astoria." Draco corrects gently. "These bloody Gryffindors — once you get past their bleeding hearts and hero-complexes, they're actually alright."

Astoria smirks. "Does that mean you're getting along with your wife?"

"Very much in love with her, actually." Draco corrects easily, and Astoria feels her jaw drop at his easy admittance. "She says hello. Has been nagging me nonstop to come to see you, in fact."

"Does she know?" Astoria asks.

Draco shakes his head. "No. She knows I'm lying about something, though."

He says nothing else, but Astoria studies him. She's known Draco Malfoy for a long time, but he's still difficult to read. This, though — she understands this. There have been so many secrets in his life. Hers is just one more for him to carry, and one he is now keeping from a wife he loves.

"You can tell her I've got a blood malediction if you like," Astoria says. "But leave Daphne out of it."

The relief that seeps out of Draco is nearly palpable. "Are you sure, 'Stori?"

"Yes," Astoria says. "But only if you both agree to come to visit again. I'm a bit tired, now, though."

They stand at once and promise to return soon. She knows they're telling the truth; yet, she somehow thinks she might never see them again.

"Draco, Theo," she says when they reach the door. "I… well. I'm really glad to have known you. I mean that."

Theo grins at her. "Likewise, Greengrass. It's been a real treat. I'll see you soon!"

Draco watches her steadily, and she has a feeling he sees more than she wishes he would.

"Goodbye, Astoria." He says softly. "Thank you."

"For what?" She asks breathlessly.

He swallows. "For being a good friend."

They leave quietly, and for the first time in a while, Astoria doesn't feel like crying.

She's lived a good life. A short one, to be sure; but despite the war and grief it had been riddled with, she is leaving behind friends and family who love her. They will remember her as a good friend, a good sister, a good aunt. A legacy no Greengrass before her has ever managed to create.

Daphne opens the door slowly, and Astoria smiles at her.

"Hi," Daphne says. Astoria pats the bed beside her, and her sister clambers onto the blankets. Their shoulders touch and Daphne laces her fingers between Astoria's.

"Theo and Draco seem happy," Astoria murmurs.

Daphne nods. "I think they are."

Astoria squeezes her sister's hand. "I'm glad."

"I'm happy, too," Daphne says suddenly, rushed and breathless.

Astoria turns to her, bemused. "I know, Daph."

"I just —" Daphne blinks back tears and clears her throat. "I just wanted you to know. That I'm okay, you know? I'm okay."

Astoria can't quite force words over the lump in her throat. It's the only thing that has been tearing her apart; she can't stomach the idea that Daphne won't recover after her death. Can't handle leaving her sister alone to fall apart.

"Good," Astoria finally says. "Then I'm okay, too."

Astoria wakes before sunrise on the morning of February 26th. Charlie is sleeping at her side, on top of most of the blankets. He's beautiful, in the pre-dawn light. She reaches out and drags a gentle finger down the side of his face. Her skin is nearly translucent next to his tan.

She knows she's not beautiful right now — it's something she had once prided herself on, for most of her life. She was a pretty girl. They had trained her to coax prettiness into power, to turn her looks into a weapon that would secure her a husband and money. With only a look or a strategic outfit choice, she could convince anyone to do anything for her.

Now, she is skin and bones and eyes too large for her emaciated face. She is tired, constantly sad and exhausted, but she knows something her parents and pureblood society never taught her now.

It is not looks that control others. It is love.

She had never been pretty enough for her parents to care; and yet now, at her worst, Molly Weasley would take the killing curse for her. Charlie would give her anything. Daphne would sell her soul. What power there is in knowing this — in holding the very heart of others and protecting it.

She would do the same, of course. She is doing the same.

"What's wrong, dragă?" Charlie's voice asks, sleepy. She realizes she's resting her fingers on his jaw, waking him.

"Nothing," she murmurs. "Sorry."

He rolls towards her, dragging her gently into his arms. "No need to be sorry."

His breathing is deep and even, but she knows he's not asleep anymore. One large palm is steady and warm, rubbing circles on her spine. She stares up at the underside of his jaw, and, not for the first time, wishes that their marriage was something true.

"Charlie," she whispers. "Will you do something for me?"

He looks down at her, nestled against his chest and covered in more blankets than any human should ever require.

"Of course," he answers simply. With Charlie, there are no secrets, no hidden ploys. He is what he is, no more and no less, and he is perfect.

She swallows. "Will you miss me?"

He blinks at her question, and she resists the urge to take back her words. So vulnerable.

He leans towards her, infinitely slowly and carefully, until he is nearly nose to nose with her. She can hardly breathe.

"Astoria Weasley," he breathes. "I am going to miss you until the day I die."

He kisses her, then — so gently is it as though he is ghosting his lips against hers. She twines her arms around his neck. She wants him — wants him for now and for maybe ever, but she knows it's not to be.

He pulls away, only enough that their noses bump again. Sunlight has spilled into their curtains, and she memorizes every last detail of his face and his body against hers.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

The last perfect day.

Astoria Weasley is buried under the large willow tree she had chosen, visible from the kitchen window, on the last day of February. Daphne spends hours sitting against the trunk of the tree, brushing gentle fingers over the plaque Charlie had installed at its base. Molly watches her from inside and considers exactly what type of gift their family had been given, even for so short a time.

Draco Malfoy arrives on March 1st, two letters in hand, delivered as promised.

Molly opens her letter in her bedroom when Arthur is already gone to the Ministry. She reads the delicate cursive of her daughter-in-law and wonders when she will stop losing people.

Charlie Weasley takes his letter and goes to her tree. He sits at the base as Daphne often does and summons up the courage to open the envelope.

Astoria's writing is delicate and flowing and more beautiful than anything he's ever seen — which is no surprise to him. The letter is old; written before they had traded secrets and stories and a kiss that he will spend the rest of his life remembering.

'Perhaps in another life, we would not have met so battle-worn. In another world, it might have been nice. You would have learned to love me, perhaps. I know I would have learned to love you.'

He reads her words three times before he folds the letter back into the envelope and slips it into his pocket.

"I didn't have to learn to love you, Astoria," he says into the stillness of the afternoon. "That part was easy. It's losing you that I can't seem to handle."

He drops his head back against the bark of the tree and stares through its branches at the sky. It's not even started to bloom yet, but soon spring will be here, and Astoria's chosen grave will be covered in flowers and leaves. He'll be in Romania with his dragons by then, but he's glad to know the things she loved in life will surround her here.

He's suddenly grateful to Draco Malfoy. If he hadn't told Molly of Astoria's illness in St. Mungo's, he would have received this letter without knowing Astoria. Would have never understood what he had lost when Astoria died. The letter, so apologetic for Astoria's cold attitude toward him, would have been the only indication that Astoria held a kind heart.

The only indication that he had missed something.

Now, he knows. He knows he misses talking to her — the way her nose had crinkled when she laughed. Her secrets and fears and hopes whispered beneath blankets. Her unrelenting love for her sister, and her courage in the face of her fate. Her eyes —

No. No.

He has been through everything. He has spent countless hours wracking his brain for any solution. There had been nothing, aside from a miracle, in any of the tomes and grimoires he had read. Nothing that could save her.

Soft footsteps startle him, and he snaps his eyes open to find Daphne emerging from the back door. She crosses the grass quietly and comes to stand before him.

"May I sit?" she asks quietly. Charlie nods.

She folds gracefully until she is sitting next to him, leaning against the tree. She resembles Astoria so strongly that it's almost painful to look at her, but she is quiet and warm against his shoulder, and they are both grieving the same person.

"She loved you," Charlie says quietly. "More than anything."

Daphne nods easily. "I know."

The silence is amicable, and Charlie casts a warming charm on them. Daphne drags her wand out and conjures a small bouquet of blue asters and chrysanthemums, settling them down on the plaque between them.

"Pretty."

Daphne grins. "Yes. They are. Did you know flowers have meanings?"

Charlie rolls his eyes. "Are purebloods really still teaching that shite?"

Daphne laughs; Charlie nearly wonders how she manages it before realizing that nothing would make Astoria happier than her sister's laughter.

"They are, indeed." Daphne confirms, a smile still planted on her face. "Blue aster means sisterhood."

"And chrysanthemums?"

Her smile fades into something soft and secretive. She reaches a finger out and strokes the light pink petals of the flower.

"Astoria told me before she passed that she'd always be with me," Daphne admits quietly. "I see her all the time, all around me. I see her in my reflection, and sunrises, and even sometimes in you, Charlie."

He almost laughs — because there is nothing of Astoria in him. He is hard lines and rough edges and she was everything soft.

"What are you seeing, Daphne?" Charlie asks. "Regret? Time wasted?"

"I'm seeing love," Daphne snaps, her voice harsh for the first time. "I'm seeing someone who is going to remember my sister for who she was. I see someone who misses her the way I do."

Charlie swallows.

"You don't have to rush," Daphne says, voice gone soft again. "But Astoria would want you to be happy, Charlie. That's all she ever wanted, was for us to be happy."

Daphne stands up gracefully and heads back towards the house, leaving Charlie staring at a bouquet of aster and chrysanthemums, and he realizes suddenly that he never got his answer.

"Daphne," he calls, and she freezes. "What do chrysanthemums mean?"

Daphne turns back, blue eyes crinkled in a smile. Her hand rests gently on the curve of her stomach.

"New life, Charlie." Daphne answers. "It means new beginnings."

Charlie smiles, and he can almost feel Astoria's joy in the wind on his face.

Where Hope Comes From

Nikita Gill

It comes from heartache.

And it grows like the lone sapling

from the ashes of loss.

And it carves its way out

of the heart of tragedy and its heavy cost.

And it rises like a soldier through lost

returning home to his mother.

And it smiles like the calm, clear sky

following weeks of one storm after another.

And maybe this is why when Pandora

opened the box that carried such calamities

which inflicted all of mankind,

gentle hope emerged from it too.

What else helps us

overcome suffering

if not by giving hope

a chance to bloom.