Aroura

Draco

Draco Malfoy had never truly understood how he ended up with Astoria Greengrass. The events that led to their marriage seemed like a blur, a series of decisions made in the midst of grief and confusion. He had thought he knew what he wanted back then, and yet, now, standing on the edge of a life he never imagined for himself, he wasn't so sure.

The marriage had been a spectacle. On the outside, it had looked like a perfect pairing—two pure-blood families with long histories, a union that made sense for the wizarding world. But behind the polished exterior, things were different. Astoria had always known how to manipulate situations, how to use her quiet charm and calculated demeanor to bend Draco's emotions to her will.

After the war, Draco was vulnerable. He had lost his way, torn between the darkness of his family's past and the uncertainty of his future. The pressure of his father's expectations, the lingering legacy of the Malfoy name, and his own guilt over what he had done during the war had left him adrift. He had tried to bury all of it—his mistakes, his regrets, his feelings for 

Hermione Granger—and move on.

Astoria, with her soft, ethereal beauty and gentle touch, had been there, offering him solace. She wasn't the passionate, fiery Hermione. She didn't challenge him in the ways Hermione had. Instead, she soothed him, promising stability, security, and a future that seemed so much simpler than the storm of emotions Hermione had stirred in him.

At first, Draco had been hesitant. He still carried the ghosts of his past—the lingering feelings for Hermione, the unspoken words he never had the chance to say. But Astoria had known exactly how to play her part. She told him how much she understood his family's burdens, how she longed to make him happy. And perhaps, he thought, it would be easier to move on with her than to keep looking back at what could never be.

She had known just when to push him. Her quiet insistence, her subtle hints, and her unrelenting patience wore him down. And eventually, Draco had allowed himself to fall into her arms, to believe that perhaps this was the life he was meant to have. So, they married. The wedding was grand, the ceremony beautiful, and the papers had all been signed. The world saw the perfect couple, and for a while, Draco convinced himself it was exactly what he wanted.

But as the years passed, the cracks in their marriage began to show. Astoria, despite her composure, had a way of holding onto Draco with an iron grip. It wasn't love that held them together—it was something colder, more calculated. She never let him forget that he had chosen her, that he had promised her a future. She had subtly isolated him from his past, from his old friends, from the people who might have reminded him of what he had left behind.

It was only when Draco began to feel a sense of distance from Astoria that he realized the truth: he had been manipulated. He had built a life with her based on guilt, fear, and obligation, not love. Astoria's calm demeanor was a mask for something much more dangerous. She wanted control, not just over Draco, but over everything. She had never let him fully grieve his past or explore what might have been. And he, in his weakness, had let her take the reins.

The day they divorced had been the culmination of years of unhappiness. Astoria had made it clear she was no longer interested in the marriage—she had made her peace with the decision long before Draco had. But what shocked him more than the divorce itself was the fact that he had never truly known her. He had married her thinking she was the answer to his problems, but in truth, she had been the problem all along.

And now, here he was—divorced, alone, and wondering what might have been. But as he stepped into the boutique that day, he hadn't expected to be confronted with the last person he thought he'd see Hermione Granger.

The shock of seeing her had knocked the wind out of him. It was as though no time had passed at all, as though the years since the Battle of Hogwarts had never happened. She still looked the same—strong, confident, and beautiful—but there was a weariness about her now, a quiet resilience that hadn't been there before. She was different, but then again, so was he.

He hadn't been prepared for it. He had spent so long buried in his own regrets and disappointments that the sight of Hermione, so unexpectedly close, had stirred something deep inside him. And then, when his eyes fell on the little girl standing at the back of the shop, the world had come to a grinding halt.

She had been staring at him. Her wide brown eyes, full of curiosity, locked with his, and for a moment, he couldn't move. The resemblance was uncanny. The dark hair, the soft features—she looked like Hermione. But it was more than that. There was something about the way she looked at him, something familiar, like a piece of his own past was standing in front of him, but he couldn't place it.

Draco had wanted to step toward her, to ask her who she was, but before he could, Hermione had stepped in, blocking his view. She had taken the girl's hand and led her away without another word.

He was left standing there, his heart pounding in his chest, confused and unsure of what had just happened. The child—Lyra, Hermione had called her—was unmistakably hers, and yet there was something about the way she had looked at him that sent a chill down his spine. Had she known him? Did she recognize him?

Draco could barely remember the last time he had thought about the possibility of fatherhood. After everything that had happened, he had convinced himself that life had passed him by. But now, as he thought back to his fleeting glance at the child, something nagged at him.

Could it be?

Could Lyra be his daughter?

The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, and for the first time in years, Draco found himself questioning everything. He had always assumed that Hermione had moved on, that she had never thought of him after he chose Astoria. But now, as the possibility that Lyra could be his child hung in the air, Draco felt a rush of emotions he couldn't fully process.

He tried to steady himself, but the uncertainty was unbearable. What did this mean for him? For her? For Hermione? And why had she never told him about Lyra? He had to find out. He needed to know the truth. But more than that, he needed to understand why Hermione had kept this from him. Had she known all along, or had she been hiding it for some reason? Had she been protecting Lyra from him, or had she simply believed that Draco had no place in their lives?

Draco's mind raced as he walked out of the boutique, still reeling from the shock of the encounter. The weight of the past, the decisions he had made, and the consequences of those choices—all of it seemed to be crashing down on him in that moment. But more than anything, he knew he had to find Hermione, and he had to find out if Lyra was truly his daughter.

It was time for answers.