Malediction: the love and life of Astoria Malfoy

Chapter Fourteen

"You told him you loved him after only two months?" Holly was aghast.

"Was it too soon?"

"Well did he say it back?"

I smiled to myself. "Yeah, he did."

She put her hands to her mouth, drumming her feet on the floor excitedly and squealed.

"Ladies! Less squealing and more wand waving!" Professor Flitwick chastised.

"Sorry Professor," we both said.

She waved her wand lazily until he'd turned away, then turned to face me again, eyes wide and bright.

"I can't believe it! 'Love' is a strong word, a big deal word," she said in an excited whisper.

"You're sure I didn't say it too soon?" I asked.

"Oh no, you totally did. . . but so did he." She raised her eyebrow and nodded, nudging me.

After class ended, we walked out, still talking about my love life (which, frankly, was making me very uncomfortable) until I was saved by a little boy with the same wide eyes and blond hair as Holly; her brother Caleb. He was waddling his way over, smiling merrily at the sight of his sister. She had an apologetic scrunch to her nose, half embarrassed for herself, and half for him.

Then, in a swift jerk, he was face down on the ground, the enormous stack of books that was precariously toppled in his hands now in a burst of pages on the floor.

"Oh bloody Hell," she murmured as we rushed over to him. We helped him stack the books back in a pile, Holly taking a few to carry herself.

The shrill snickering of Pansy Parkinson sounded from behind us.

"Come on, Caleb," Holly said, grabbing her brother by the shoulder, steering him away from Pansy while staring her down.

If Pansy loathed me before, it was absolutely nothing, practically an acquaintanceship to what she felt now. She wasted so much energy glaring at me, she was surely developing premature wrinkles. I tried not to pay much mind to her in general.

That night, Pansy strut into the common room, taking the seat on the opposite side of Draco. I ignored her, glaring quickly up, then settling back on my potions homework.

She bit her lower lip, then made a soft clicking noise with her tongue. Ew. Sighing, she nestled into the couch, making herself comfortable.

"You know Astoria, I find it so" -- she looked up, as if savoring her search for the right word -- "admirable of you to, even in your condition, rush over to help people, like that little Mud-Blood boy today." She placed her hand over her heart, narrowing her eyes. "So sweet."

I balled up my fists. Of course she still used that term, like a war wasn't just waged on Blood-Purist animals.

"Pansy, what the hell are you even talking about? What condition?" Draco said, probably expecting her to say I was mentally deranged or something and defending me -- but Pansy and I stopped dead and stared at each other.

Crap.

Crap, crap, crap.

I screwed up.

I really screwed up.

She let out a single snicker of disbelief, wide eyes still on mine, her expression pleasantly surprised. "You seriously don't know?" It was a legitimate question.

Draco rolled his eyes and looked at me, assuming this was regular Pansy-antics, shaking his head at her, but stopped and jerked his head back when he caught my expression. My eyes were wide, lips pursed tight, slightly shaking my head at Pansy.

I hadn't told him.

What was wrong with me?

Honestly, how stupid!

Perhaps I was subconsciously blocking the thought of it, protecting myself from the inevitability of this ending -- for it would end, and I hadn't even thought of it till this second.

I was dying, more and more every day. I hadn't told him that yet, but I told him I loved him? How utterly selfish. How demented. How --

"Um. . . well this is awkward," Pansy said, a happiness in her eyes, sucking in a breath through her teeth.

I clamped my eyes shut tightly.

"You really haven't told him?" she asked, the same giddy amusement in her tone.

"What's she talking about?" Draco said, jabbing a thumb in her direction, still guessing this was part of her regular shenanigans.

My eyes were apologetic, my mouth moved but no sound came out. His expression hardened with concern and confusion.

"Well," Pansy said, standing up and brushing herself off, her blunt hair bobbing. "I'll leave you to it." She was ecstatic, trying to conceal it slightly, only slightly, but still failing.

His eyes were locked on mine, searching.

"Uh --" I shifted uncomfortably; how did I find the correct words? Were there any? I took in a deep breath. I could feel my heart floundering and dropping in my rib cage.

"Draco, I -- there's something I--" I bit my lower lip, shifting my gaze to the ground. ". . . I don't know why I didn't tell you this" -- I was drumming my finger nervously on my thigh, -- "um, I have a. . . I was um"-- deep breath -- "I'm sick," I said finally, looking into his eyes now, straightening my posture, nodding my head.

He studied me. "What do you mean. . . ."

I was still biting my lip, staring into his inquiring eyes. Just say it.

I rubbed my hands on my thighs, shaking my head, breaking the eye contact again. I said it slowly, choppy, like my voice was different recordings poorly cut together. "I have a. . . blood. . . malediction." I cringed at the words, sounding so matter of fact, so stupid.

He was silent, lips parted. My own mouth moved, but again, no sound came out. I took another deep breath. The words were an onslaught of apologetic slurring. "I don't know why I didn't tell you, it wasn't like I was trying to keep it from you, you know? Not like that I just" -- I clapped my hand to my thigh, shaking my head, -- "I don't know -- I'm sorr--"

"Is there a cure?" He asked, eyes wide, leaning on the edge of the couch.

My mouth was open but I'd stopped talking, eyes still wide. "What?"

"Is there a cure -- something we can do?" He sounded panicked.

My face softened, and I was quiet for a moment, closing my open mouth. After a moment, I said in a quiet, meek voice, "No."

I'd sort of just expected him to be mad at my not telling him. I suppose the whole blood malediction part in general was a bit more pressing.

He sunk back into the couch, biting his lower lip, looking off in thought, scratching his temple. "How'd it happen?"

I relaxed, realizing how tense my shoulders and back were, and sunk into the couch a bit too. I shrugged. "One of my ancestors was cursed and. . . well, it just resurfaced. . . in me."

His eyes were wide, a hurt in them. "Well what does it" -- he shrugged, lifting his hands slightly, shaking his head -- "mean?"

My shoulders sloped downward, my head to the side, my eyes looking up at him and my lips in a straight-lined smile. You know what it means.

"Oh," he said, eyes down, sinking even farther into the couch.

I stared absently at the unattractive carpet.

A moment of quiet.

He sat up, pulling me into an embrace, tucking his face in my hair.

"Yeah," I whispered, the immensity of it all hitting me again.