In third-year halls, their paths first crossed,
A Raven boy, a Blonde girl lost.
"Stay out of my way," she warned with a glare,
But something lingered in the frosty air.
Crimson with his scar and fame,
Emerald with her secrets untamed.
Two worlds ap...
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It was an unusually quiet afternoon at the Malfoy estate, the long hallways echoing with the occasional creak of ancient wood. The air was heavy with the scent of aging parchment, fresh flowers, and the faint trace of incense Astoria insisted on burning. The mansion, once a house of cold, dark ambition, now seemed to hum with a quiet warmth—thanks, in no small part, to the delicate presence of Astoria Greengrass.
Draco leaned against the doorframe of their sitting room, watching his wife, Astoria, sit by the large bay window. The light from the late afternoon sun spilled in, casting a soft golden glow over her, making her seem like some ethereal creature. Her platinum blonde hair was loosely tied back, with a few stray strands brushing the nape of her neck. Her expression was calm, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes—a faraway look he had come to recognize as nostalgia.
"You're looking pensive," Draco said softly, stepping inside.
Astoria smiled gently, not turning away from the window. "Just thinking, Draco. About the past. About how far we've come."
He crossed the room to her, taking a seat beside her on the cushioned window seat. He noticed the glint of tears that threatened to spill from her pale blue eyes, but she blinked them back quickly, her expression smoothing back into something carefully composed.
"Do you remember when we first met?" she asked quietly.
Draco hesitated for a moment, as memories of their early years together flooded back. He had been a different person then—cold, calculating, and lost in the expectations that weighed on him. But meeting Astoria had been the beginning of a change. She had been graceful, sweet, and unafraid to challenge his more stubborn views. Her calm, unaffected presence had intrigued him from the very first moment they'd spoken.
"I remember," he said slowly, the memory playing out in his mind. "It was at one of the Malfoy balls...After the war, mother wanted to gain our family pride back... I wasn't looking for anyone, but when you entered the room—"
She raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. "You didn't exactly make a good first impression, Draco."
He smirked, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I had a reputation to uphold, didn't I? Besides, I didn't expect someone as... delicate as you to approach me so freely."
Astoria chuckled softly. "Delicate? I think you were the one who seemed delicate at the time."
Draco tilted his head. "Me? I was the one who had everything figured out."
She smiled again, this time with a gentle affection that warmed his heart. "You were very good at pretending you did."
There was a pause, the kind where the weight of unspoken words seemed to linger in the air between them. Draco's thoughts drifted back to that first meeting—a grand evening filled with the murmurs of old bloodlines, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the cold weight of his father's expectations. It was in the midst of all that when he had found her—Astoria Greengrass, standing off to the side, watching the crowd with an amused, knowing look.
