Draco Malfoy stood alone in the darkness of his study, staring out the window into the cold, unfeeling night. The storm outside mirrored the storm raging in his mind, a constant, gnawing tension that he couldn't shake. It had been years since the war, years since he'd been free from the shadow of his father's expectations, yet he still felt the weight of everything he had been—everything he had done—pressing down on him.
Since he was 17, Draco had despised his body, not for its imperfections, but for the way it had failed him. It had betrayed him at every turn, a constant reminder of the boy he had been forced to become. The pale skin, the sharp features—everything about him felt foreign, as though he had never quite belonged in his own skin. Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw a reflection of someone he barely recognized. It was easier to hate it than to accept it.
He took a slow sip from his glass, the amber liquid burning its way down his throat, offering a temporary reprieve from the suffocating thoughts. His mind was a maze of contradictions. He had everything he was supposed to want: wealth, status, a name that commanded respect. But every time he reached for something real—something meaningful—his own demons clawed at him, pulling him back into the darkness.
He'd seen every therapist, every healer, every expert, but nothing ever seemed to help. He didn't like talking about his feelings; that was a weakness, wasn't it? A Malfoy didn't need to burden others with their emotions. So he kept everything locked away, like a well-hidden secret.
The door creaked open, and Draco turned to see her standing in the doorway. Astoria Greengrass, his wife, the one person who had been there for him through everything. The one person who, despite everything he thought he deserved, still loved him.
"Draco?" she asked softly, her voice filled with concern. "You've been in here all evening. Are you okay?"
He gave her a tight smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm fine," he muttered, though even he didn't believe it.
Astoria didn't buy it. She stepped closer, her soft eyes searching his face. "You don't have to carry everything on your own, you know."
"I'm not carrying anything," he lied, his voice brittle. He wasn't sure why he was so scared to open up to her. She had always been so patient with him, so understanding. And yet, every time she got too close to his heart, his defenses went up, like an invisible wall he couldn't tear down.
"I've been trying to make sense of everything," he confessed after a moment of silence. "Trying to fix myself, but it feels like I'm just... making it worse. I don't know what's wrong with me. Every time I try to heal, I just... stop myself."
Astoria's eyes softened, and she reached out to touch his arm gently. "You don't have to fix everything at once, Draco. Healing takes time. But you don't have to do it alone. I'm here. We're in this together."
But he couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't deserve her. That he wasn't worthy of the love she gave him, not when he was still so broken inside. He had been with her for years, trying to believe that it was real, that he could be happy. But it was so hard to trust it, to trust himself.
"I'm scared," he whispered, barely above a breath. "Scared that I'll ruin this. Scared that I'll never be the person you think I am."
"You don't have to be perfect, Draco," Astoria said, her voice gentle but firm. "You just have to be yourself. And I'll love you, all of you, even the parts you think are broken."
He shook his head, stepping back from her touch. "You don't get it," he muttered. "Every time I try to be better, I just... stop myself. Maybe I'm just scared to be happy."
Astoria's expression softened, and she took a step closer. "You don't have to be scared of being happy, Draco. You deserve it."
He looked at her, feeling a pang of something he didn't want to name. Hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, he could be more than the person he thought he was. But the fear still lingered, a shadow in the back of his mind, whispering that he wasn't worthy of this.
Maybe he would never be able to fully embrace happiness. Maybe he would always be haunted by the choices he had made, by the things he had done. But as he looked at Astoria, he felt something shift—a small flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Maybe he could try. Maybe he could let himself believe, even for a moment, that happiness was worth the risk. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to be this way forever.
"I'll try," Draco said quietly, the words feeling heavier than he expected. "For you. I'll try."
Astoria smiled softly, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. "That's all I ask."
And for the first time in a long while, Draco Malfoy felt like he might be on the edge of something better. Something worth fighting for.