Astoria Malfoy

[astoriamalfoy1]

perfect moodboard for my story „in the end, it doesn’t even matter” 🥹

by @crazydeana 💚 thank you so much !!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56884000/chapters/144638296#workskin

[astoriamalfoy1]

chapter 25: hope

Astoria leaned into him – not because he pulled her, but because she wanted to. Because she longed for this version of him, the one she had imagined on countless desperate nights: gentler, quieter and that he might, just once, want her without cruelty.

Lucius' breath ghosted her temple. His lips brushed her cheek – a fleeting, tender contact that made her knees weaken. He lowered her onto the sheets with a slowness that made her chest ache. Every movement felt deliberate, thoughtful, as if he were memorizing the shape of her beneath his hands.

Her mind blurred with emotions. Relief, gratitude and a fragile bloom of hope she couldn’t suppress. She believed, for the first time in months, that she had earned this tenderness. That her obedience, her effort, her careful composure at the gala had pleased him enough to soften him.

Tears stung her eyes, silent and overwhelming.

“Thank you…”, she whispered, barely audible. “My Lord… thank you.”

Lucius’ hand brushed the side of her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone in a gesture so tender it almost hurt. His expression was calm, composed and warm enough to be devastating.

“You deserve this”, he said.

Her heart opened like a fragile flower to sunlight. She let herself fall completely, trusting the gentleness she thought she had finally earned. Trusting him.

And Lucius let her.

He let her believe every soft touch meant forgiveness. He let her think she had pleased him. He let her melt into a closeness she had dreamed of, starved for. He let her hope.

Because hope – real, trembling, desperate hope – was the most exquisite thing to break.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[astoriamalfoy1]

Chapter 24: Demons

TW: toxic relationship, power imbalance, anxiety, mention of captivity

Lucius guided her through the crowd, his hand now at the small of her back – not tender, but proprietary, a reminder to anyone watching that she walked only because he allowed it.

Astoria tried to keep her focus on her posture, her breathing, the steps he expected of her, but the noise, the lights, the perfume and incense of too many people pressed in on all sides.

Days locked away. Weeks seeing no one. The sudden crush of bodies, eyes, voices — it was too much.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56884000/chapters/203814331

[astoriamalfoy1]

Chapter 23: crazy in love

TW: trauma bonding, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, anxiety, reference to non-con, obsessive behaviour, infidelity, toxic relationship

Narcissa stood near the base of the grand staircase, spine straight, hands folded lightly in front of her. She knew she looked perfect: flawless robes, immaculate hair, expression composed. It was the role she had perfected decades ago – the wife, the ornament, the silent force behind a powerful man.

Her eyes lifted when Astoria appeared.

The girl descended as if unsure whether the stairs would hold beneath her feet. She was breathtaking – not because of the gown (though it was exquisite, clearly chosen by Lucius’ eye), nor the jewellery. It was something else.

A beauty sharpened by fear. And a shine in her eyes – that unmistakable pull toward the man who had shaped her world entirely around himself.

Narcissa’s stomach tightened.

Astoria should have been radiant with youth. She looked instead like a candle burning too quickly.

Lucius stepped forward to inspect her, and Narcissa watched – silently, carefully – the way his gaze slid down Astoria’s form. Clinical, proprietary and satisfied. The way his hand brushed the small of the girl’s back in a gesture that was not affectionate but claiming.

He had never touched her like that. Not once in all the years of their marriage.

Whatever their arrangement had been – political, calculated, respectful in its coldness – it had never looked like this. Never devouring, never obsessive. Never… personal.

And for the first time in far too many years, Narcissa understood something she had refused to see: Lucius was not merely possessing Astoria. He was enthralled by her.

Astoria’s eyes darted briefly toward her – a flicker of hope, or fear, or longing for a mother figure she had never been given. Narcissa felt her throat tighten but kept her face serene. She inclined her chin by a fraction, the smallest acknowledgement she dared offer. The smallest mercy she could still give.

Draco, stiff and pale, looked anywhere but at his wife while Lucius looked only at Astoria.

A new ache settled under Narcissa’s ribs – not jealousy, not even resentment, but a cold, hollow understanding. Lucius had never wanted her like this. He had never ruined her like this.

Astoria reached the last step. Lucius’ fingers curled lightly around her wrist – possessive, directing her without force, but allowing no choice. Astoria lowered her head immediately, shoulders drawing inward, her obedience instinctive, ingrained, as if her very bones remembered the last time they displeased him.

Narcissa swallowed.

Yes. Lucius had done things to Astoria he would never even have conceived of for his wife. And what unsettled Narcissa most was this: Astoria didn’t recoil. She leaned, ever so subtly, into the touch. Narcissa’s heart dropped into her stomach.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[astoriamalfoy1]

Entitled (new story)

- Dark AU: Voldemort won -

Astoria has just turned 17 and attends her first pureblood event: the annual winter gala at Malfoy Manor. Through a lapse in decorum, she falls under Lucius Malfoy's notice, who happens to be the most powerful Death Eater and architect of the dark regime.

She does not yet know how dangerous it is to become the object of his attention.

written for the Winter in Wiltshire fest

https://archiveofourown.org/works/76274541/chapters/199621391

[astoriamalfoy1]

chapter 21: set fire to the rain

TW: rape/non-con, pregnancy, abuse, domestic violence, toxic relationship, power imbalance, anxiety, infidelity

Dinner had ended. Lucius excused himself early with a clipped remark about business in the study. Draco lingered only long enough to comment on Ministry assignments before disappearing into the Floo, leaving Narcissa and a visibly fatigued Astoria to rise from the table alone.

Astoria was six months along then, the careful swell of her belly just beginning to soften her figure, her steps noticeably slower. Narcissa had expected some signs of discomfort - all pregnant women carried their burdens differently.

But something in Astoria’s posture that evening made Narcissa pause in the doorway. Not the fatigue or stiffness, not even the way she cradled her stomach absent-mindedly.

It was the flinch.

Barely a twitch - a subtle tightening in her shoulders when the sound of Lucius’ cane echoed faintly from down the corridor. A sound he made unconsciously, rhythmically, as he walked. Astoria froze for a split second, caught herself, smoothed her expression and continued forward as if nothing had happened.

But Narcissa had seen it. Narcissa never overlooked a flinch.

She waited until the girl reached the foot of the grand staircase, trailing a hand along the banister as though steadying herself. Even from behind, the discomfort was clear - her steps a fraction too careful, her breath a touch too shallow. She looked… sore. Or frightened. Probably both.

“Are you well, Astoria?” Narcissa asked, her tone neutral, polite.

Astoria startled - truly startled - as if she hadn’t realized Narcissa was still there. She offered a smile that trembled at the edges.

“Yes” she whispered quickly. Too quickly. “Thank you. I’m just tired.”

She pressed a hand low against her abdomen - protective, tender, instinctive. The gesture should have comforted Narcissa.

It didn’t.

Because Astoria’s other hand, the one gripping the banister, was trembling.

Narcissa’s gaze lowered, taking in the slight stiffness in the girl’s movements, the way she favoured one hip, as if something deep beneath her skin still ached. Bruises? No, she wouldn’t assume that. Not yet.

But she knew the signs of a woman being handled too roughly, too often, by a man who did not understand gentleness. Narcissa had seen it before. But Astoria was not a mistress or a whore. She was Draco’s wife. And she was pregnant. 

Narcissa’s stomach tightened.

Lucius had been… indulgent since the announcement. She noticed how he watched Astoria with a proprietary stillness that made Narcissa’s skin crawl. But she had convinced herself it was pride, archaic pureblood possessiveness. That was all.

But this was something different entirely. Astoria shifted her weight again and winced before she could catch herself. Narcissa’s breath stilled.

“Does Draco know you are uncomfortable?” she asked, the question carefully framed, her tone light.

Astoria froze for the barest heartbeat. “He’s… very busy” she whispered.

The hesitation, the lie, was unmistakable. Narcissa’s pulse went cold. Lucius had ensured Draco was absent, she realized that now. But until this moment, she had not considered why.

Astoria straightened a little, offering another fragile smile. “I’ll be alright. The baby is fine.”

Narcissa nodded but said nothing as the girl ascended the stairs with slow, measured steps, like someone afraid of being heard. Or someone trying not to let anything slip. When Astoria disappeared into the upper hall, Narcissa remained still at the foot of the staircase, staring after her.

She knew Lucius’ appetites. She knew his cravings ran dark, far darker than he had ever allowed to touch her. But Astoria was pregnant. Carrying the future of their family.

And Narcissa felt a cold, unsettling truth begin to take shape: He was not restraining himself. He was indulging himself. And whatever he was doing to Astoria… it was far worse than anything he had ever done to her.

She pressed her lips together, spine straightening instinctively. This was no longer an affair. This was escalation.

And Narcissa was suddenly, quietly afraid - not for herself, but for the girl who had married into their family without ever understanding the monster lurking beneath its gilded skin.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[astoriamalfoy1]

Since I got confused by my own story’s timeline due to flashbacks, I thought I’d share this 🖤

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[upon-poppyhills]

Last Sentence Tag Game

Thank you for tagging me @chiquita-3! I'm all 👀 at yours. This was also a great reminder I need to add more after this sentence 😅

“Have you truly forgotten how the last one ended?”

Tagging @fluffyunderneath @rainjulyx @astralrainn @panthemanda @lexi-leckstar @jungeatheart @megreads99 @unsightlypearl @angeldog5 and anyone who would like to post theirs, please do! I would love to see. ❤️

[panthemanda]

Last Sentence Tag Game

Silence. Viscous, heavy, and syrupy. Like that place between sleep and awake, but with perfect lucidity.

I added a little before the last sentence for a tiny bit of context. @virtuallola @itsphantasmagoria @pureichor @upon-poppyhills @lexi-leckstar @jungeatheart @megreads99

[virtuallola]

Last Sentence Tag Game

Thank you @panthemanda for tagging me! 💚

I also added a little bit of context because otherwise, what an underwhelming last sentence!

He needed them to live—to live on in the way Harry couldn’t—the way he didn’t want to anymore. Harry would find out.

@fantalfart @devious--muffin @plumforests @cluelessascanbe

[devious--muffin]

Last Sentence Tag Game

Thanks @virtuallola for the tag, you know I love playing along! My last sentence isn't very exciting, because it's the middle of a chapter, but here it is!

Kreacher dipped his head then popped out of the storeroom, landing in the Black family library.

@aliceemersonwrites2 @yellowfork @amandarin-orange721 @maesterchill @totallyashipper @tackytigerfic @its-the-allure @yearoftheleapling @danquill @jumanjiapple @bewarethesmirk @fluffyunderneath @lizzimoons @smugrobotics @fluxweeed @chiquita-3

Let's see what ya got!

[aliceemersonwrites2]

Thank you for the tag @devious--muffin

I did the last two because my last sentence I wrote was….underwhelming.

And for some reason, Abraxas seemed to doubt Tom's sincerity.

Tom knew he couldn't blame him.

@motheroflilith13 @astoriamalfoy1 @beckysbooktok @no-arc @prillandquill @valheda @yearoftheleapling

Let’s go!

[astoriamalfoy1]

Thank you for tagging me @aliceemersonwrites2 🥰

I also did the last two for context.

A deep and dangerous satisfaction rushed through Lucius’ veins at her trembling apology. “No. It will not”, he said, outwardly perfectly calm and composed.

@crazydeana @suniwrites

[astoriamalfoy1]

chapter 20: control

TW: emotional manipulation & dependency, gaslighting, anxiety, toxic relationship, power imbalance, mention of illness

The next morning, Astoria stood by the window as she heard the door before she saw him – that soft, decisive click that always made her spine straighten, even now when everything inside her felt bruised.

She’d spent the evening and the night trying to gather herself. The fever had broken, the pain had eased, and her body finally felt like it belonged to her again, even if only a little. For the first time in days, she could sit without wincing and breathe without that sharp burn low in her belly.

But the moment Lucius stepped across the threshold, the fragile sense of recovery dissolved – her pulse jumped, her hands went cold, and her thoughts scattered.

He had been calm the day before – too calm. The kind of controlled, thoughtful coldness that was always a warning. He had healed her – summoned the healer, forced her to drink the potions, stood over her bed with those icy, assessing eyes – but beneath that concern lay something harder: a calculation, a promise.

She felt the weight of his disappointment settle onto the room like a shadow. He had said she should’ve told him sooner. Her stomach tightened painfully – not from illness this time, but from anticipation and dread. From the terrible, clinging need that lived inside her: the need not to fail him again, to show him she could still be what he wanted.

Her body reacted before her mind finished catching up: she lowered her gaze, folded her hands, tried to appear composed despite the trembling. She wanted to seem recovered, ready and grateful, but she also feared what came next. What he would decide was owed, what he would take from her to restore the balance in his mind.

And yet, another feeling tugged at her: relief that he had come for her, that he hadn’t stayed away.

Lucius didn’t speak at first. He removed his gloves with slow precision, his expression unreadable, and only then said, almost idly:

“Two days, Astoria.” The way he said it made the number itself sound like an accusation. “Two days you thought to manage it yourself.”

Her throat tightened.  “My Lord, I—”

“You what?” His voice wasn’t raised, but it cut like glass. “You waited until you could barely stand. Until the elf came running to me.” He stepped closer, the faintest trace of disgust, or perhaps disappointment, in his tone. “If you had told me the moment you were unwell, it would not have come to this. But you thought to hide it. From me.”

“I didn’t want to trouble you, my Lord” she whispered, her voice already shaking.

“It is not your place to decide what troubles me.” He said it softly, almost conversationally, and that calm frightened her more than anger would have.

For a moment, his hand lifted, almost as if to touch her cheek — but he only brushed his thumb against her chin, tilting her face up to his. His voice lowered.

“I have been patient,” he said. “Now come with me.”

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[bis-art]

Lucius Malfoy 🐍

[astoriamalfoy1]

🖤🔥

[astoriamalfoy1]

chapter 19: wicked games

TW: dom/sub, toxic relationship, power imbalance, anxiety, physical violence

When Astoria reached him, she paused, waiting for a gesture, a word, anything. Her eyes flickered to his hands resting on the armrests, pale and still. The candlelight gleamed on the rings on his finger, the same ones that had traced punishment and reward across her skin alike. He tilted his head slightly, as though considering her, and that subtle motion alone made her throat tighten.

Lucius’ composure broke its still surface for the briefest instant. His hand shot out, closing firmly around her wrist – not cruelly, but with enough force to stop every breath she tried to draw. The contact, the restraint, the awareness of his presence — it was enough to draw her into that familiar confusion of fear and longing.

Her pulse fluttered against his thumb, quick and frightened, and he felt the thrill of it travel straight through him. The power in such a small gesture was intoxicating – the reminder that she could no longer imagine a world in which he did not decide everything.

Control, even after a full day of wielding it elsewhere, was an appetite that didn’t fade.

“Come here”, he said.

The words were low, quiet, but they left no space for hesitation. His grip was not just a command; it was a reminder. Watching her hesitate – only for a heartbeat, then obey – stirred a dark satisfaction in him. There was fear in her, yes, but also the devotion he had carefully cultivated. It gleamed in her eyes like something fragile, and he fed on it.

The breath caught in her throat. The command had been too calm, the silence after it too heavy. As she stepped closer, looking at his imposing figure, he let his grip fall away. The look in his eyes was the same calm command as always, but beneath it she sensed the faint pulse of something hungrier, colder.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[astoriamalfoy1]

Lucius had long since stopped asking himself why this particular woman still held his mind. She had been a means once: an alliance, a way to ensure the Malfoy line endured. But now… now she was a necessity. The only thing that kept the world ordered. The thought both unsettled and thrilled him. He told himself that this was balance – that every man required a counterweight. Astoria happened to be his. The world would fall apart if he allowed indulgence to become sentiment. He would not. He was not built for affection.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[astoriamalfoy1]

chapter 18: love the way you lie

TW: toxic masculinity, dark au, power imbalance, toxic relationship, possessiveness, dom/sub

The morning had already burned into afternoon by the time Lucius left the Ministry’s central wing.

The corridors were silent in that particular way they always were when he passed through them – conversations broken off mid-sentence, footsteps stilled, eyes lowered. Even now, so many years into victory, fear remained the purest form of respect.

He liked the sound of his own pace echoing off the marble, the clean rhythm of authority.

Every detail of this world bore his mark – the way petitions reached the Dark Lord’s table, the way dissent vanished before it had the chance to take root. It was not glamour that held this regime together; it was precision, hierarchy, obedience.

And Lucius had become its architect.

When he entered the council chamber, the others were already waiting: Yaxley at his left, ever eager to flatter; Selwyn across the table, drumming his fingers; two younger officials who barely dared to look up. The air smelled faintly of parchment and ink, and of fear - always fear.

He did not sit immediately. Instead, he paused behind his chair, resting a hand on its carved back.

“There will be no leniency for those who shelter Mudblood remnants,” he said. His voice was quiet, the kind that made silence sharpen around it. “Confiscate their estates. Reassign the properties. Families with proven loyalty will be compensated accordingly.”

The others murmured assent, a flurry of quills scratching down notes that would reshape the fates of dozens before sunset. Lucius watched them without expression. He felt nothing - not triumph, not satisfaction. Only the steady pulse of control.

But as the meeting continued, his thoughts drifted, unbidden. Astoria.

He could still see the image of her from that morning: kneeling at his command, her brown hair falling forward, the soft sound of her breath as she waited for his word.

Even here, surrounded by power, the memory cut through the monotony like a pulse beneath his skin.

He wondered briefly whether she had eaten, whether she sat in her chambers now as instructed, waiting for the sound of his footsteps.

She would be thinking of him. Of that, he was certain.

He turned his attention back to Yaxley, who was rambling about quotas in the northern provinces.

“Handle it,” Lucius said curtly.

When the meeting dissolved, Lucius did not linger. He left Yaxley and the others to their muttering and stepped out into the marble corridor, the echo of his footsteps following him toward the Atrium. The day outside was grey, thin winter light filtering through the glass ceiling. He fastened his gloves slowly, his mind already elsewhere.

There was satisfaction in his public victories, but none of it matched the certainty that waited for him at home. The manor was quieter now, the household subdued by his will. Astoria would be there, as he’d ordered: waiting, untouched by the rest of the world. Entirelyhis.

No one questioned what happened within his walls; no one would dare. His service to the Dark Lord granted him that freedom, that immunity.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[astoriamalfoy1]

Lucius sipped his drink, his face a mask of serene composure. Astoria was his, and he would use her as he pleased – often, relentlessly, until the very act of belonging to him became the only identity she knew.

This wasn’t love. Not even desire, though there was satisfaction in her trembling surrender. No, it was possession. And possession, Lucius knew, was the purest form of power.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[astoriamalfoy1]

chapter 17: in my veins

TW: arranged marriage

Astoria's thoughts blurred and scattered, slipping backward through time, to white silk and candlelight, to the day her life had been bound to the Malfoy name.

She had been seventeen. Barely a month out of Hogwarts when the engagement was announced. She had not been asked - her father had decided. For him, she was no more than a piece to move across the chessboard of politics, a daughter to barter for influence.

Her beauty and youth had secured the match, nothing more.

Her mother had not protested. She had helped pin the veil, smooth the gown, make sure every detail was immaculate. But her hands had been brisk, her eyes detached. Astoria had known, as she had always known, that her mother’s love belonged solely to her older sister, the golden child. She had been molded, silenced, prepared — but never cherished.

So when she was told she would marry Draco Malfoy, she had bowed her head. There had been no other choice.

The new chapter contains a flashback to the wedding of Draco/Astoria and more flashbacks, showing how her presence at the Manor affected Lucius during the time after her wedding

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[astoriamalfoy1]

chapter 16: heavy in your arms

TW: non-con, infidelity, crying, trauma bonding, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, toxic relationship, pseudo incest, abuse

Astoria‘s body ached. She should have felt broken beyond repair – and she did. But beneath it, coiled tightly like a secret she dared not name, was something darker still: the twisted relief that he had not abandoned her. That even in her pain, he had chosen to take her.

Draco will not touch you. His words echoed, cold and merciless. I do.

It was a curse and a salvation both. She had lost the last chance of her husband’s touch, but what had she truly lost? Draco had never cared. He had never looked at her the way Lucius did — like she mattered, like she was worth the effort to break.

Lucius’ gaze lingered on her one last time before turning away. He poured himself a drink with unhurried elegance, as though she were nothing more than part of the room’s furnishings.

He allowed himself the faintest smile. Draco had been a fool. Too careless, too blind to see what had been offered to him. Astoria had been wasted as a bride. But as his possession, she was exquisite.

He liked that she wept when he took her. He liked that she whispered thanks through her tears, as though her pain were a privilege. That was what pleased him most — not just the act itself, though her body was still as tight, as exquisite, as he had imagined for years. No, it was the breaking. The reshaping. The proof that she belonged to him so completely she could not distinguish cruelty from care.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[astoriamalfoy1]

Summary of “in the end, it doesn’t even matter” (my WIP)

The war ended in darkness. The Dark Lord’s victory reshaped the wizarding world into a landscape of dread, and at its center rose Lucius Malfoy. No longer merely a politician cloaked in aristocratic charm, he emerged as the leading Death Eater - his influence second only to the master he serves.

Among his most guarded possessions is Astoria, who stood at Draco Malfoy’s side in an arranged marriage once - but her fate twisted swiftly and cruelly. Lucius had taken her as his own, stripped her of choice, and shaped her into something fragile, fractured and obedient. She lives by his word alone, surviving on the edges of fear and the aching illusion that his cold regard is love.

Their arrangement stands since approximately one year. Scorpius, the child the world believes is Draco’s, is in truth Lucius’ son. But Astoria no longer dreams of escape, she dreams only of pleasing Lucius. Fear has given way to devotion, devotion to love - a love twisted by power, reinforced by cruelty, and bound in silence. Lucius knows, and he cultivates it, tightening his hold until she cannot imagine a life beyond his shadow.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works