"I need a blood replenishing potion. Now!" The cry rang through the somber hallways and there was a sudden flurry of activity in the West Wing's largest bedroom. Amidst pale silk sheets, Astoria sweated and moaned, her dark hair plastered to her forehead as a contraction gripped her once more. At her side, his face a frozen mask of agony, Draco knotted his hands together so tightly the tendons stood up in hard ridges. His eyes were fixed on Astoria's contorted face, spots of pink appearing high on her cheekbones as she pushed. The rest of her skin was deathly pale, almost indistinguishable from the sheets around her.
It was over quickly. The child slipped from her in a gush of dark blood, too small but perfectly formed; he did not breathe. They never breathed. The last had been bigger, a girl with fingernails like tiny pink pearls and dark eyelashes that fanned her cheeks. The one before her had been blonde; a boy with a face just like his. He had found that the most upsetting.
"Excuse me, Mr Malfoy," a green-robed Mediwitch said gently, leaning past him to hold a potion to Astoria's pale lips. She drank, eyelids fluttering, and her tight grip on the sheets relaxed as the Dreamless Sleep began to take hold. At the foot of the bed, more green-robed witches and wizards were removing the stained sheets, and one cradled a tiny wrapped bundle.
"I want to see him." Astoria rasped, her voice hoarse and her speech slurred by the sleeping draught. They brought him to her, his tiny, perfect face visible amongst the swathes of fabric and she stroked a finger down his cheek, her flesh pale while his was tauntingly pink. Draco could stand no more; his breath shuddered out of him in a strangled gasp and he was moving, feet pounding out of the door and down the silent hallways until he reached the gardens. Leaning over, he retched into the rose bushes, startling a white peacock who had been basking in the sun on the gravel path. Tears fell thick and fast now, for his wife, for the baby, for all of the babies. He sat down heavily and dropped his head into his hands. She did not deserve this.
"Seamus, mate, it's your round!" Dean called across the busy bar of The White Wyvern. At his side, Romilda nuzzled her nose into his neck and Lavender, seated across from them and feeling decidedly like a third wheel, downed the rest of her drink.
"I'll give him a hand with the glasses." She said, standing up quickly as Romilda started whispering in Dean's ear. Glancing back at them as she crossed the packed space, she could see they had wasted no time in engaging in a vigorous round of tonsil tennis. She rolled her eyes and looked for Seamus. He was, predictably, chatting to a girl at the bar; this one had long red hair, emphasised by her pale blue robes and as Lavender drew closer, she thought her voice sounded familiar.
"Lav! Look who I bumped into. Harry'll be here in a bit, I'm trying to convince them to stay for a drink, like old times." Seamus was beaming, stood next to none other than Ginny Weasley. Ginny Potter, Lavender corrected herself silently. She'd attended the wedding as Oliver's plus one, right before the break-up. Had that really been four years ago?
"Good to see you. How are things?" Ginny asked and, to her credit, she did an excellent job of not staring, but Lavender was acutely conscious of her ruined face. Despite several rounds of treatment from St Mungos, the scar left by Greyback remained raised and angry, a scarlet ridge that ran through her hair and down the left side of her face. It had caused a shiny pink line where no hair grew, pulled the corner of one eye down and interrupted the line of what had once been full, pink lips. She'd always been pleased with their shape; now she bit them nervously as Ginny looked at her.
"Not bad," Lavender lied, "How about you? Will you be rejoining the Harpies this season?" Ginny shook her head and grinned. She lifted her hands and smoothed them down the front of her robes, revealing the small, rounded shape of her stomach to them. Seamus roared with delight, banging his hand on the bar and shouting for more drinks.
"Another Potter! Blimey, you don't hang around, it can't be five minutes since James' christening. Five Firewhiskeys and… what do pregnant witches drink?"
"This one is due in April, James will be two by then. Gillywater for me, please." Ginny said. As Seamus counted out coins for the barman, the noise level inside the pub dropped suddenly. Turning, Lavender could see a bashful-looking Harry Potter ducking through the crowd, staunchly ignoring the stares of the other patrons. It had been eight years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the downfall of You-Know-Who, and he could still silence a room just by entering. Reaching them, Harry slipped an arm around Ginny and kissed her cheek.
"Sorry I'm late, Kingsley wanted a debrief before we left for the evening and Ron couldn't stay, not with Hermione being…" He tailed off and noticed them both. Lavender thought he looked tired, but good-tired. Nothing like the weight-of-the-wizarding-world-on-his-shoulders kind of tired he had been for so many years when they were younger.
"Good to see you, mate and congratulations!" Seamus pressed a Firewhiskey into his hand and steered them back towards the table. Lavender gathered up the remaining glasses and trailed after them, watching as Harry and Ginny were embraced warmly by the others (Romilda's hands lingering slightly too long on Harry's shoulders, to nobody's surprise). They sat in the remaining empty seats, and Lavender realised she had lost her chair. Lifting her glass to her lips, she swallowed the Firewhiskey in one gulp and felt the fiery glow of it spread through her body to her fingertips.
"I'm going to head home," She said to Dean, placing the glasses down on the table, "Get an early night before my interview tomorrow." He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. Without fanfare, she grabbed her bag from the floor and slunk out, the cold and dark of Knockturn Alley making her shiver, despite the warmth of the Firewhiskey in her belly.
"Nothing more can be done. We have explored every avenue; another pregnancy could kill you, Mrs Malfoy." The tone of the mediwitch behind the desk was kindly but firm. Next to him, Astoria's knuckles were white where they gripped the handle of her handbag - pebbled Italian leather, oxblood red, platinum hardware. It had been one of his wedding presents to her all those years ago.
"Are you sure?" Her tone was flat, her voice quiet. The mediwitch nodded. His stomach felt heavy, like he had swallowed a brick.
It was true, they were out of options. There had been potion after potion, blood transfusions, trips to warmer climates, trips to cooler climates, tinctures, charmed balms, smoking herbs, Felix Felicis… the blood curse that plagued the Greengrass family resisted them all. No child would grow to full term and be born living, no matter what they tried.
He glanced again at his wife. She had grown visibly frailer in the last year; the most recent pregnancy and the violent hope that came as she progressed into the third trimester had sapped the last ounces of vitality from her. He would not put her through this again.
"I would like an appointment for a vasectomy." He said into the silence and it was as if he had physically jolted her. Her head jerked towards him, then she rose unsteadily from the chair and stalked to the door, eyes glassy. The mediwitch met his gaze for a long moment, then nodded.
"Someone will be in touch with you shortly." She said and he rose to follow Astoria out of the door.
"I'm sorry, Miss Brown, but you are out of options." The administrator's tone was bored and she didn't glance up from her parchment as she spoke.
"There must be something," Lavender said desperately, trying not to think of the stack of final notices piled up on her battered coffee table. "What about Potion Control? Or animal care?"
"As I've told you before, without NEWTs your options are extremely limited, and as you refuse to accept any job where you would have to work face-to-face with other witches and wizards…" The witch trailed off, glancing up at Lavender's scarred face. She resisted the impulse to pull her collar up higher.
"I'm afraid there is nothing else I can do for you today, Miss Brown. If you change your mind about Customer Service roles, do let me know - an Assistant Teller position has just opened up at Gringotts and I think…" She glanced at Lavender's stony face and stopped.
"I can't pay my rent," Lavender said quietly, her cheeks burning a furious pink. "My landlord is going to kick me out if I can't pay him something soon. I need to work, there has to be something where I don't have to be… seen." The witch in front of her made a sympathetic hum in the back of her throat, then cleared it awkwardly.
"Well. I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Brown. Perhaps a friend or family member…?" Lavender stood up. The very last thing she wanted to do was reveal to her friends and family just how badly she had failed.
"Thank you for your time." She said, and left. Outside, the last of the September sunshine warmed her face where it touched her. The scar, an ever-tight presence on her skin, felt itchy today and she resisted the urge to touch her face, determined not to draw unnecessary attention to it. Pulling her cloak collar up further, she made her way back towards the main drag of Diagon Alley, winding through the side streets. It was quiet; the Hogwarts year had started and taken the magical youth with it, leaving their parents to return to work after busy summers. She'd seen them everywhere, the happy wizarding families determined to enjoy the warm weather and each other's company; the recent peaceful years had been fruitful and it seemed almost everyone she knew was pregnant or chasing toddlers around these days.
"What am I supposed to do, for fuck's sake?" She turned a corner and drew back suddenly, almost walking into two men who were having an intense conversation in the alley next to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. With horror, she recognised the figures as Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini, Slytherins who had been in her year at Hogwarts. They would surely recognise her too, would remember her face from before. Would they say something? She'd never spoken to either of them when they had been at school, just eyed the beautiful Blaise from afar, as many of the girls had done.
She pressed back into the wall around the corner, committing to standing stock still until they moved on.
"She'll see sense when she's calmed down. What does your mother think about all this? Your father would be rolling in his grave to see the end of the Malfoy line." Blaise's drawl was clear and unhurried; they seemed not to have noticed her.
"Mother would rather see us happy than keep going through this. She hasn't cared about upholding the Malfoy name since the War." Lavender thought Draco sounded tired.
"Things have changed, your mother sees that. I wish mine did, do you know she's marrying again this summer? Some billionaire from Dubai, owns a bunch of goblin mines in the desert…" Their voices were growing fainter and she realised they were moving away, out into the street. With a sigh of relief, she followed slowly and stepped back out into sunny Diagon Alley.