Malediction: the love and life of Astoria Malfoy

Chapter Thirty One

Draco had received word that his father had not been doing well. It all seemed odd to me -- Lucius had been experiencing a depletion of his health since Scorpius was an infant, worsening with each day. I found it bizarre; after all, a wizard's average lifespan could vary around one hundred to one hundred and fifty years; Lucius was only fifty eight.

I had my own ideas on it, however. The simplest answer I could manufacture was that after years of alcoholism and being a servant to the Dark Lord, one's health must be in a rather precarious state. Not to mention the toll dark magic takes on one's soul. However, this was only my thought process behind it, and no matter my opinions on the subject, he was fading fast.

We were going over there today, not sure if Scorpius or Draco would have another chance to see him until, well, until it happened. Afterall, Scorpius's visits were few and far between when it came to his grandparents.

It was abundantly clear that Lucius and Narcissa didn't approve of me as their son's wife (too muggle loving, a blood traitor, yada yada), but one would think after nearly a decade of our marriage and the birth of our son they would've come to terms with the fact that I was here to stay, and they would at least welcome Scorpius as their grandson, right?

Well, partially right. When it came to Narcissa, while she was still perhaps not the biggest fan of me, she did have a very soft spot for Scorpius. After all, he was her only grandchild, and whatever issues she had with me never quite translated to him in her mind. The same could not be said for her husband.

It made me hate, yes, hate, him all the more. He blamed Scorpius for the fact that I was raising him under the belief that muggles were indeed, not scum. I could go on for hours as to how this wasn't fair, that his disdain for a child of six years was utterly ludicrous, that he was a bitter, evil, mean old man -- but, today I had to try and conceal all that. For, I wasn't going for him, I was going for Draco.

Not that Draco was overly fond of his father, either (I mean, I sure wouldn't be if that was my father). Nonetheless, we arrived at Malfoy Manor at half past six, the familiar greeting made by Naricissa; Oh, lovely to see you, and, Oh! Scorpius, you just keep growing so fast! Here, come in, come in.

The night consisted mainly of Narcissa talking to Scorpius, which I was thankful for; not having to keep up the conversations the entire night, because Lord knows Draco and Lucius never spoke more than two sentences while in the same room.

All seemed to be going fine until Scorpius, after being asked what he'd been up to lately, said he got to try out a broom for the first time. He explained how it wasn't a real broom, but a toy broom, that Liam had brought over when they visited.

"Oh, is Liam one of your friends?" Narcissa asked sweetly. I recoiled, waiting for his response to this.

"Well, no, not, not really, that was the first time I'd met him. . . ." Thank God Scorpius was so smart, and didn't tread on the whole Voldemort aspect of things. Getting into that topic with Lucius and Narcissa was not what I considered an ideal situation.

"Liam what?" Lucius said, not looking up from his cup of brandy. I was surprised to hear him speak, that cruel twisted drawl he always had. Then the actual meaning of the words was processed in my mind, and I tensed, realizing what he was getting at. What kind of people have you been associating with? Or, really, They'd better have been Pure-Bloods.

I felt around the words, and got the idea it was a trap.

Before I could answer, Draco had said, "Wilson." He said it with a stern calmness. My shoulders still hadn't relaxed, and I was unknowingly clenching my teeth.

Lucius' eyes narrowed into his glass, as he said, somewhere between thoughtful and malicious, "I don't think I know that name. . . ."

In a matter-of-fact tone, Draco said, quite simply, "You wouldn't. Both the parents are Muggle-Born." My jaw fell open a centimeter, my eyes were circles, before I quickly snapped my mouth shut. Then, I had to hold in the laugh that was threatening me, and hoped my lips weren't smirking nearly as much as I felt they were. A sense of great pride filled me up at his blatant defiance. Draco had the shadow of a smug smirk on, and Naricssa tensed, looking away from her husband, down at the floor.

Lucius was now looking directly at me. "Well, that doesn't surprise me in the slightest," he hissed. I realized I was looking away, scared and timid. No. No. Mustering up all the courage I could manage, I made direct eye contact with him, the smallest, yet most prideful smile on my lips. His cruel eyes narrowed.

"Well, I think it's time for you to leave. After all, I am tired," he said, his eyes sharply turning to Draco, completely overlooking Scorpius, who sat in between us.

"Lucius," Narcissa chastised, her voice stern but soft, still putting up pretenses for her 'guests'. 

Standing shakily, using his wand-cane for support, he turned his back to us and glared at her, saying, "You must be tired as well, it is late." Without saying another word, not even a goodbye to Draco, he left the room.

Narcissa drew herself up in a firm breath, her lips pursed tightly. "I'm sorry," she said in a half whisper. Her eyes landed on me when she said it, and I couldn't help but feel a small bit of relief. Perhaps she wasn't as unreasonable as her husband and she seemed to be. Perhaps she was above that.

I smiled sympathetically at her, and Draco said, standing, "Well, we should probably still be going then."

I couldn't help feel a tug of anger, perhaps remorse, when a week later Narcissa sent word that Lucius had died. The last thing he'd said to his son had been in the midst of a stifled argument. That was the finale to their (horrible) relationship.

I felt worse at Draco's reaction, however. No tears, no trace of sadness in his voice when he told me. Just frankness, bluntness. It was horrible that it'd come to that.

If he did feel any emotion; sadness, frustration, even daresay, relief, he did a good job at not showing it. Just a cool detachment.

That night, when I'd poked my head in Scorpius's room to say goodnight, he had a quizzical, puzzled look on his face.

"Mum?"

"Hm?" I said, still standing in the doorway.

"Why was grandfather so angry that day? When dad said Holly's last name?"

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, closing the door quietly behind me. I sat down on his bed beside him, and began, "Well, you see, there are some people, some Pure-Bloods, who think that just because someone else maybe isn't Pure-Blood, well, that they're 'less than'."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and nodded.

"But, they're wrong," I said. I reached over into the desk beside the bed, and rummaged through the drawer. I fished around until I found two quills, both the same color green.

"It's like saying this one" -- I waved around the quill in my left hand -- "is better than this one, just because, because this one came from some fancy store, and the other didn't. But, they still do the same thing, both write just as good as the other, because it doesn't matter--"

"Yeah, they're both still good quills," he added thoughtfully.

"Exactly," I said, setting them back down on the desk. "So, don't worry too much about him being mad, because there wasn't actually anything wrong. He just thought there was." Because he's an evil lunatic.

Scorpius nodded, and settled back into the covers. When I left his room, pride washed over me. Here he was, a Pure-Blood child, and yet he wasn't growing up the way Draco and I did. He wasn't growing up with hate or arrogance. And if Lucius couldn't see how that was a good thing, then he was truly blind to what mattered most in life. I couldn't help but pity the late man.