Astoria did quite like Hogwarts, actually – the castle, the atmosphere, even some of the memories. Walking through the old stone hallways with their ever-present undercurrent of children’s voices, of their presence, was so different from the stately yet half-empty manor in which she now made her home; it made for a pleasant change, at any rate. She could see why Draco found being here so appealing, even with all the ghosts the place had to hold for him – the metaphorical ghosts, that was; the actual castle ghosts (aside from Peeves the horrid poltergeist of course) were nothing at which to balk.
Thoughts of Lucius and Narcissa, on the other hand, were quite often worth balking over – but not these thoughts, and not today; instead Astoria giggled. “Oh please – he’s fourteen. If there’s ever a time for even the strictest of parents to be indulgent of their children’s fancies, it’s during their Hogwarts years.” She flashed Draco a sly grin as they mounted the stairs. “Merlin knows mine would have been elated to hear about a flirtation with any witches when I was young; at least they’d have known then that I was interested in something aside from books and plants!”
Astoria rather thought her husband was too hard on himself when it came to his proclivities; he had done his duty to the family line, and Scorpius was an absolutely wonderful heir. What more did he expect of himself, really? What more could he think his parents expected? Oh, they would have preferred a higher class of wife, to be sure – would have preferred one who held more traditional views, one who had come into their lives from a family of comparable wealth and standing (at least, comparable to their old standing). But minor quibbles with her “quality” aside, Draco had done everything a person could ask of a wizard. She only wished sometimes that he could see that, but for as much as his name had been (and still, on occasion, was) dragged through the muck, Astoria doubted there was anyone in the whole Wizen World who was harder on Draco Malfoy than Draco Malfoy.
She sighed softly, but shook the melancholy off; there was nothing to be done about it after all, and as unsatisfying as Draco’s romantic prospects might be, Scorpius’s latest foray into the awkward world of adolescent affections sounded anything but. “So,” she said, stepping aside to let Draco lead the way into his rooms, “he’s mesmerized but not hung-up. Does that mean he finds her physically attractive, but too crass and boisterous for it to be more than that? Or is it just the Quidditch that’s going to end up driving him off?” Astoria laughed but she couldn’t help feeling a little wistful; she would have loved to watch her son soar through the air on the finest racing brooms, living out the Quidditch dreams she’d never gotten to have vicariously through him – but what mattered most was that he was happy. Besides, she could hardly find fault with the boy for liking to read, could she?
“Oh Merlin, imagine if it didn’t – can you just picture that in-law gathering?” It was difficult to shudder with horror and cackle with laughter at the same time, but Astoria managed it. “Do you think your mother would hex them all before or after your father gets into another bout of fisticuffs with Arcturus Weasley? And that’s not even mentioning the one with the ear and the horrible joke shop and what he’d do…”
Yes, Astoria had learned to tolerate – and even, mostly, to like – the parents of Scorpius’s closest friends. But that didn’t mean she had to have any affection or tolerance for the rest of that far too large, far too pandemonic family.
“And that is why,” Draco remarked, following his wife up the stairs, “we are married. Books and plants are far better than witches and wizards.” If Astoria’s little gifts of plants were anything to go by, their love might well be represented entirely by a greenhouse.
Once they reached the top of the tower, Draco moved gently past Astoria to unlock his rooms. Though Draco loved many areas of the castle, his rooms were a safe haven, a hallowed place untouched and unseen by anyone other than himself, Astoria, Scorpius, and the few house-elves that tended to the space. It was a sweeping set of rooms, four in total, opening into a spacious sitting room that blended, by way of a tall archway, into an office ringed by windows, where Draco often sat and wrote home. His bedroom was accessed by a discreet door off the sitting room, and a private bathroom off that.
As Draco closed the door behind them, he swiftly retrieved his wand and cast a charm. The fire in the grate sprang merrily to life; a brass teapot leaped into the air as tea leaves burst from a neat silver canister; and when he waved his wand once more, water poured from the tip and sailed into the waiting pot. Once it was settled on the iron holder above the fire, Draco turned dramatically to his wife and held out his hands, as if awaiting applause.
“Tea for my wife,” Draco announced warmly, and because he was still thinking about it, he touched her gently on the arm and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Draco started taking off his cloak and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. In here, when it was just them, there was no need to stand on ceremony.
“It’s possible,” Draco belatedly replied, busying himself by moving stacks of books and clearing a place for Astoria on the leather sofa. “She’s got an awful lot of hair. Some of the boys are obsessed with it. They aim paper planes across the room. If a plane hits, they cheer.” Draco met Astoria’s gaze and rolled his eyes. “As you can see, my working life is riveting. And I can’t imagine mother standing to be in the same room as a Weasley. They’d crowd her out anyway, wouldn’t they? How many of them at last count: seventeen?” Smirking to himself, Draco shifted a final stack of books and went over to the teapot.
“I believe his name is Arthur,” Draco said absently, lifting the lid and checking the tea. The teapot said, Oi, not done!, and Draco replaced the lid and murmured an apology. “I only know because Ron Weasley used to boast about him all the time.” Lucius used to mention Weasley senior a lot too, but Draco delicately decided to omit that little feature. Straightening up, Draco turned to his wife and smiled. “Now, please tell me something interesting that’s happened to you today. No more Weasley talk, or I may go mad.”
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