Disclaimer: Harry Potter, not mine.

A/N: Hi guys. This is my last story for HP Battleships. This one is...a bit personal. Thank you for reading.

The prompt and The List were not as prevalent in this one, but this story uses prompt #18: Established Relationship: Character A and Character B go furniture shopping, and items #66 (An Eventful Dinner Party for the record books) and #78 (Rainy nights, cold feet, roommates and blanket forts...) from The List.

Thank you to the amazing Animalium for betaing once again. And to MirwenAnareth, Farbautidottir, and Ellen as well.

Please note, this story deals with miscarriage, child loss, and infertility.

When it Rains

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Astoria hadn't ever considered that stepping into a furniture shop could hurt quite this much.

The pain was always there; an extra weight she carried everywhere. Every moment of every day. But usually, it was dull. Manageable, really. She was twenty-three; old enough to know that everyone carried something. Sure, sometimes it felt like she carried more than most, like she would collapse under the weight of it all, but she had lived through enough to learn to find solace in small comforts. To reach for the light.

And there was always a light. Even during the war that had all but torn apart her family, they had managed to survive. She had not lost her parents who, despite the pure-blood rhetoric they tried to instill in her and her sister, did not join the Dark Lord's ranks. They had walked away, a little broken and a little rougher around the edges, but still together. A family. Her parents had never quite put aside their ideals, and Daphne spent more time off the continent than on it, so the time Astoria spent with her family now was fairly limited. But it was a comfort knowing they were there. Alive and well, and just an owl or a Floo away if she needed them.

Sometimes she needed them. Sometimes, when it all got too hard and the blasted, bloody curse left her weak and trembling, and she was entirely wrecked with tears and thoughts of Why me?, she would stumble to the fireplace and call Mother, and Mother would come. Mother would mention nothing of her choices, or her 'unsatisfactory' lifestyle, or the job she had taken at the Department of Law Enforcement at the Ministry, where she worked alongside Hermione Granger to reform wizarding law because she wanted to make a difference. Mother would simply hold her until the tears stopped and Astoria felt strong enough to keep fighting for another day. Another week. Until the next time.

But she didn't call Mother often. Most often, she fought her battles on her own. Her tears were sparse, really, and most of them fell in silence — often as she stood by her bedroom window and stared out into a world she didn't quite feel part of. Time was out there, passing, speeding by. And she didn't have an endless supply of it. The time she did have was fleeting. Ephemeral. Oh, nothing was forever, she knew that. In the end, every life was simply a moment, a blink in the fabric of time, and everybody would eventually leave it behind. And there was no hard label on it; she didn't know how long her own moment would last. But no matter how much care she took to rest, or eat the right things, or drink the right potions, her time would be shorter than most.

But she had known that her entire life. The curse — the blood malediction — had been her constant companion, ever since her very first memory. It defined her, really. Without it, she wouldn't be who she was. She wouldn't be Astoria. And there was no use crying about who you were, so most times she didn't. Most times, she accepted her lot in life and walked with her head held high and talked to herself in metaphors and platitudes, because words had to mean something, when they were all you had. She worked, and went out afterward sometimes, and wrote poetry by candlelight, and cherished every, every moment. And she was always all right with that. Really.

And then she had run into Draco again. And everything changed. Everything.

The way she fell for him was full and wild and hard, and it scared her. She knew she shouldn't, and yet she couldn't seem to stop. Before she realized it, he became her most important cornerstone. And when she stumbled and let her mask slip after that, when she did fall apart, Draco was the one to catch her.

Slowly but surely, he became another light — the brightest of all. Like her, he had started to break through his own darkness after the war. He hadn't left it all behind, not yet, but he had left behind enough. Enough for her to grasp his hand and pull him out, just a little bit. And a little bit more every day since. And she loved him for it. For every concession he made, for every promise that left his lips and was mirrored in his eyes, which shone like molten silver. She had fallen for him long before she knew what falling was. With him, it was like remembering how to live. Truly and fully. How to laugh so much that the smile reached her eyes, and her face hurt, and she was breathless…and she loved every moment.

She was in love, pure and simple.

In love before she knew it. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone or anything. And she was allowed to, wasn't she? To be a little selfish. To carve out her own small piece of this huge and all-encompassing force that everyone sought.

But with that love came a darkness, too. Because he made her want things she had never allowed herself to imagine. More time. More ways to love. More...simply more. Simply the life everyone else had been given so freely, without bounds, and seemed to take so much for granted. She had spent her life cherishing every day because it wasn't always a given, had never allowed herself to want anything more. Had always been content to let it all end when it ended, to leave behind nothing but a memory; hopefully a meaningful one. Just so somebody would know that she had existed, really. But when she thought of leaving, of leaving Draco behind, it all hurt so much more, and in much more tangible terms. It was as if the glass mask she had spent her life hiding behind had shattered, and the shards were embedded in her now, impossible to ignore. Time was ticking away, counting down every precious moment. And from those moments remaining, she wanted to take all that she could, on her own terms. To live fully in ways she hadn't allowed herself to dare imagine. Her life was in her hands, after all, and she would live it how she chose.

And with that choice, came yet another darkness.

And that darkness wrapped around her now, as she stood in the tiny furniture shop and stared. And stared some more, because, really, she couldn't stop. It was like staring at a broom pile-up. Some horrible Quidditch accident. She just couldn't look away, no matter how much it made her chest clench and her eyes sting. This pain, it was almost cathartic. It was human. It was the strength that fueled her resolve.

The last time it had hurt this much was dinner with Draco's parents.

Family dinners with Narcissa and Lucius were never a particularly pleasant affair. Lucius and Narcissa did not approve — not of her family and how they had skirted the Dark Lord and escaped the stigma of his association after; or her "pedestrian" job at the Ministry, which she still refused to give up, and how Draco had started consulting there just because of her "influence" and how it was terribly improper; and especially not of Draco's marriage to her. She was weak and frail and often ill, and friendly with Muggleborns for all that — a disappointing choice for a daughter-in-law. She knew that. They had been hoping for someone better for their only son. And Draco had stood up to his parents, told them he was in love — that he meant to do better with his life from here on out. That he was marrying her, and that was that. And if they stopped speaking to him for it, so be it. She knew how strong their pull on him was…it was one of the most courageous things she had ever seen. She knew how hard being brave could be, how sometimes it could take everything you had, and that still wasn't enough.

So all things considering, Draco and Astoria didn't go to very many family dinners. But it was Lucius's birthday, and the trip to Malfoy Manor couldn't be avoided. So they had went.

Astoria was hard-pressed to call it a "family" dinner right from the off, because Pansy was there, with her husband Blaise, and Astoria couldn't quite sort out how either of them were "family." But of course she understood exactly why they were there, and seeing Pansy was even more painful than she suspected Narcissa had realized it would be. Or in retrospect, maybe it was exactly as painful as Narcissa had intended.

They had gotten through pre-dinner drinks without any casualties. Draco and Blaise had discussed current affairs in rather clipped tones, while Pansy demanded that the House Elf bring her tea that was warm, but not too hot, because she couldn't possibly partake in these cocktails, no matter how lovely they looked, and it absolutely could not have any caffeine, even though she was ever so tired. Narcissa doted on her endlessly, in a loud carrying voice, and Lucius was nowhere to be found. Astoria had stood in a corner in silence, sipping at her Gillywater and hoping to melt into the wall as she snuck glances at Pansy despite her best efforts not to.

Finally, the House Elf, Cipsey, announced that dinner was ready in tremulous tones, and they proceeded to the formal dining room. They had barely gotten through the first course, when Narcissa took a break from doting on Pansy at last and glanced pointedly at Astoria before asking the dreaded question — the one that made her heart stop for just a moment while that unpleasant cold shock cut through her entire soul.

"So, Draco, darling, when are you having children?"

And Astoria felt her entire face flush as her heart slipped down into her stomach. She did her best to steady her hand on her salad fork and kept her eyes from flashing to Pansy once again, who was, of course, six months along, though she looked nearly seven.

And her mind slipped away, into memories so painful she could barely put them into words. Of the last time it had all fallen apart, just three short weeks past. Of the blood that had seeped across the floor while she lay there, pale and shaking, her face white as death. And it wasn't the first time she had lost the baby she dearly wanted, the one that didn't seem meant to be hers...only the last. And this time she truly thought, for a moment, that it would be the end.

She remembered how her vision had dimmed around the edges, and how everything had taken on this dreamy quality, on the edge of consciousness. And she thought, just then, that if she simply closed her eyes, she truly might not open them again. There was just so much blood, really. A red stain upon the floor that made Draco let out a strangled moan. A "No…" that was barely discernible.

She still remembered how he'd placed his forehead to hers, how much his voice had shaken as he whispered the words that haunted her now. "Don't go. Don't leave me. You can't. Please…"

And she had strength enough left only to ask him to be strong. She had said it, between gasping breaths, "Stop it, Draco. You can't fall apart now. Floo St. Mungo's."

And he'd whispered, "All right," and just like that, his own mask was firmly in place and his fear locked away somewhere she couldn't see. He had always been good at compartmentalizing, at taking charge and letting action hold him together. It's what had always made him so apt at Occlumency.

And he was off, running to the Floo, placing a cool, wet cloth upon her brow which made her vision sharpen, but left her freezing. Or perhaps it was the blood, still spilling out endlessly. How much blood could her womb hold? Or was it more than one life flowing out of her now? She hadn't been sure. She had tried to hold it back, as if sheer force of will would be enough. And all she was left with was blood on her hands. White pajamas soaked in red. And wasn't it just what she deserved, for trying to take more out of life than it was willing to give?

She remembered the faces of the Mediwizards, the hot blaze of the Floo, the painful brightness of St. Mungo's. The way her body shook endlessly until they threw the blanket over her. And even then.

Later, as Draco sat beside her bed in the stark and impersonal room, he had been adamant.

"Astoria, please…we don't need to have children. I know we don't have forever, but I can't bear to lose you to this. I don't care if the Malfoy line ends with me. I don't care at all."

And she nodded, the tears slipping silently down her cheeks. But it was her traitorous heart that would not let up. Her traitorous heart that pounded out baby names in rhythm with her steps and her tears. Because one day she would be gone, she couldn't deny that. And in the short time she had, she wanted to know what it was like. Motherhood. And when her time did end, she didn't want Draco to be alone. More than anything, she didn't want that.

And Draco would do anything she asked. Anything she wanted. Even if it killed her.

So when she said, "I don't want to give up. Not yet. Please," he had nodded, his eyes hard, and grasped her hand, and promised they could try again. Once more. Even though she could see how it cut him to say the words, how it made his heart shatter a little bit.

And she wondered, right then, if Narcissa knew, even though they hadn't said a word. If, perhaps, someone in St. Mungo's had told her and Lucius after all, despite patient confidentiality, because they donated to everything, and they were ever so important, and to them rules did not apply the same way. Not at all.

But if she knew, would she really invite Pansy to parade before them, and ask a question that hurt so much even when it was asked in innocence? Astoria couldn't imagine that even Narcissa could be so cruel. But she also knew the world was often crueler than she could readily imagine.

So she sat frozen, in breathless silence. And Draco brushed his foot against hers beneath the table, so tenderly that she nearly burst into tears right there, and said, "When we're ready, Mother," with a small laugh that implied the topic was closed. Done. And the conversation carried on, and her smile was a mask, because it was a lie, all of it, and inside she was falling apart.

She barely remembered the rest, really. She had just wanted it to end, to be over, to be far, far away in the safety of their bedroom, where she could wait until Draco fell asleep before letting the tears leave the refuge of her eyes. There had been some eventful dinner parties with Draco's parents, and she didn't know if this was one for the record books in comparison, but for the books that were written only in her heart, this was certainly an entry. It turned out to be a heart she and Draco shared, though, because when the tears finally fell, she found his arm around her, pulling her tightly against his chest.

And even through the pain of it all, she thanked Merlin that in her short life she knew, at least, what it was like…to share a heart.

So they carried on. They didn't speak about the dinner, and when the scars that had been visible had healed, they tried again. And again. And again. And every month was the same…the optimistic waiting, then the act of making love, which had become so based on timing and science and wand readings that it nearly felt like a chore. Scheduled sex, Draco called it. She would say the magic words: "Draco, I'm ovulating tomorrow," and they would make love. And then they would make love again the next day. And before that, they had already made love every two days for a week, just in case. And then came more waiting, easy at first (it's only been three days, it's much too early) and then hopeful (nine days, it's been nine days…maybe…) and then anxious (it was just one drop of blood, really, and sure, her temperature had dropped…but it could be implantation…it could still happen this month…) and then it was only crushing defeat, painted in red. Another failure.

She wasn't sure what was harder…losing the babies she managed to hold on to, or not being able to hold on to them at all.

Every one of them hurt in its own way.

And every one of them was her fault, despite what Draco said. Because she was broken. She was damaged goods. And why had she ever been foolish enough to think this could ever happen for her? She wasn't meant to be a mother. It just wasn't in the cards…not for her.

But she took the failures as well as she could. There was nothing else to be done, after all. She only really cried the first day. She only snapped a little bit. Cormac McLaggen had dropped by their office once, on a First Day, to contest some ticket he had gotten for speeding on his broom through a Muggle-inhabited area. He had carried on about not getting the minor charge dropped so pompously in their break room afterward, that she had snapped at him to "Give it a rest already, McLaggen! Maybe you should have thought of that before you did it."

"Calm down, Malfoy," he had told her cooly, smirking in her direction. "What, are you on your period?"

And she wanted to scream. She wanted to march up to him and say, "Yes, you perfect arsehole. I am on my period. I'm on my period, and it hurts so much, because all I want is a baby. Just one baby. And we've been trying for nearly two years. And all I have to show for it is a whole lot of pain, and tears, and nearly my life. Endless trips to the St. Mungo's Fertility Clinic and the ER…and galleons down the drain and nothing. In the end…nothing. So yes, I'm on my bloody period. And yes, I'm bloody angry. And despite all that, I'm only yelling because you're so, so bloody insufferable."

But she was Astoria Greengrass Malfoy. She didn't say these things. Not outside her broken, selfish heart.

And no matter how much the First Day hurt, the second day, she knew, would hurt a little less.

And then the cycle would begin again. And again.

And again.

And then it was June, and she and Draco went to the furniture shop because they needed a new sofa, because their crup had finally succeeded in destroying theirs entirely and was so awfully pleased with himself that they couldn't even get angry. And she walked in and saw the cribs. Just a sea of cribs, all artfully arranged just next to the sitting room sets, because who on earth wouldn't want a crib right in their sitting room?

She should have been expecting them — it was a furniture shop, after all — but she wasn't. She just stood there, staring. Squeezing Draco's hand so hard she thought she might break it.

And just when she thought she had pulled herself together, she turned and saw her — Ginny Potter. Ginny had spent many evenings with her and Hermione after work back when time was easier to come by, before she'd had James and Astoria had married Draco. She was standing there, holding a toddler's hand. Little James. It had been a little while since they'd last met, and Astoria could see it, the swell of her stomach. Ginny was pregnant again. And Astoria wasn't breathing at all now. She had forgotten how to do it, because she was ever so pleased for Ginny, because it was wonderful, but also her lungs were full of knives.

And they hurt.

"Morning," Ginny said brightly, smiling at them. Her eyes took in where they were standing and all but lit up. "Are you shopping for cribs?"

She said it as if she thought it would be the most exciting thing in the world…if Astoria were pregnant. If their children were the same age. Perhaps they would play together, go to Hogwarts together, become friends… Oh, Astoria thought it would have been the best thing in the world too. If only it were true.

"Weasley," Draco said, nodding at her. His hand squeezed Astoria's tighter. She held on to him like a lifeline, her smile so still it felt Petrified. It made her jaw hurt. "No, we're shopping for a sofa. This crib arrangement is entirely in the way. What a horrible layout." He sounded bored. How did he do it?

"It's Potter," Ginny said, scowling at Draco. "Well it's a bit of an odd placement, but rather convenient for me, I'm afraid." She smiled brightly at Astoria. "Merlin, it's been ages, hasn't it? I hope I'll see you at the shower? Nothing's planned yet, of course, it's a bit early. But Hermione's in charge, so I expect she'll be passing invitations along soon. You know Hermione — if it's not early it's late. But better her than Mum." She laughed.

"Er—" Astoria mumbled, willing her voice to sound normal. "Hermione hasn't said anything and—"

"A party full of Pots and Weasels," Draco said drily. "Sounds delightful. Let me clear my calendar."

Ginny scowled at him again. "Don't worry, Draco, girls only." She seemed simultaneously pleased and annoyed by the fact at once, as if the set precedent of baby shower decorum both offended and pleased her if she could use it to her advantage. "You can keep your calendar entirely full. Astoria, it'll be in Sept—"

"We're busy, Ginevra," Draco said, sighing.

"Ginny." Ginny glared at him, entirely distracted.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

At that moment little James, who had been staring between them with an intrigued expression, tugged on Ginny's leg. "Mummy!" he said, his voice stretching into a whine. It tore right through Astoria's heart, though her mask never slipped.

Ginny bent down and picked him up, smiling. "I know, Jamie, we're going soon. I promise." She turned back to Astoria. "We really must run, but I'll make sure Hermione passes along the details. Good luck with your sofa!"

And she was gone, her bright red ponytail bouncing behind her as she carried James off into the sea of cribs. Astoria watched her for a bit, biting her lip, and then Draco wordlessly squeezed her hand and pulled her out of the shop.

That night, she sat on the ruined sofa that Draco had Transfigure-fixed to the best of his abilities, hugged their crup, Custard, and smiled softly as his tongue slobbered over the entire canvas of her cheek. She could cry, or she could give up, or she could smile and keep going. And she would choose the latter. She was still here, after all, still alive, and still far from giving up. And so what, if they hadn't ever gotten a new sofa, and the one they had was broken and scarred?

After all, so was she.

June melted into July, and July into August, and their days remained trapped in a never-ending cycle of hope and grief and hope and grief again. Hermione handed her an invitation to Ginny's shower at the end of July, along with a smile that was just a little too understanding and made Astoria wonder whether Hermione picked up on quite a bit more than she let on, though she said nothing.

September 10th. That was the date. A Saturday. She brought the invitation home and dropped it on the white quartz island countertop, right next to the vase of lavender.

Next day, Draco handed her an itinerary for a five-week trip, all meticulously planned out for the month of September. It started in Europe and then spanned out across the globe, bouncing across parts of Asia and the Americas, and even Australia. The sight of it warmed her heart. She took a sabbatical from the DMLE, brought Custard to her parents', and sent her regards to Ginny — she would not be able to attend. On September 10th, she and Draco would be on the southern tip of Japan, living life to the fullest and exploring the small island of Yakushima. She sent along a plush bird stuffy that cooed softly and felt like velvet when you held it against your cheek, and a gift card for 100 galleons to Hello Wizard along with her note. And then she and Draco were off.

For five long weeks, she forgot how much everything hurt. For those five weeks, it almost didn't matter, any of it. She stepped away from the temperature tracking, the wand scans, the schedules, the vitamins — all of it. They explored world wonders and lived in the moment and made love because they wanted to. And it was amazing. She thought she could live that way forever, and forget everything else.

And then it ended. Much too soon. Before they knew it, it was October, and Ginny had had the baby (little Albus), and they stepped out of the International Portkey Office and back onto British soil. It was raining.

She fell back into the routine of her life — days at the office, long walks with Custard, evenings with Draco. She turned back to her vitamins and her potions, even though by now she had taken them for twice longer than a pregnancy would last. She didn't have the energy, though, to pick up her wand and start charting her temps again; to start analyzing elasticity between her fingertips; to schedule out the perfect day to conceive their miracle. She didn't want to give up…and yet she was so tired of trying. It was all so much easier, if she wasn't. Even if it was nothing but avoidance. A short reprieve.

It wasn't that she forgot her dream, or that it changed, really, but her will was faltering. And some days, she dreamed only of empty beaches and mystic forests, and escaping with Draco to a world that was just theirs alone. And some days she let herself believe that it would be all right. That it would be enough.

Maybe it could be enough…

But then she walked into the office at the end of October, and Hermione pulled her aside and — over a lunch of salads on the glass-enclosed rooftop garden of the Ministry — told her the news with a small smile.

"Astoria, I'm pregnant."

And she felt her new mask shatter, right then. She hadn't even realized she was wearing one aymore, but somehow the broken pieces of her armour had fused back into place without her knowing. And now they were gone, again, and she wondered if this pain would ever, ever stop feeling so raw.

"That's wonderful!" she said. She hoped her voice didn't sound strangled. It was wonderful. She was smiling for Hermione, genuinely…truly. No, her voice sounded all right. She was sure of it. She was happy. She was. But her heart was breaking for herself as her own faults taunted her. Why couldn't it happen for her, too? Why couldn't she be like everyone else? And how could she feel this way, in the face of Hermione's joy? She was so selfish. So selfish…

The rain drummed softly on the glass roof of the garden. It seemed to echo through her, to send a chill across her body as forcefully as if the cold autumn rain were drenching her right through the enchanted glass.

"Thank you," Hermione said, smiling. "I haven't told Mary yet. I'm a bit nervous about it, to be honest. I imagine she'll send out a department-wide announcement. But I wanted to tell you first."

"Oh," Astoria said, "right. Well I'm so happy for you, Hermione! That's really great." She willed her voice not to shake. "When are you…" Merlin, were her eyes stinging? Why. Why? She forced them open, glancing briefly up at the rain-soaked glass ceiling, and forced ahead. "When are you due?"

"Early March," Hermione said softly. "Astoria?"

"Er—" she muttered, looking anywhere but at Hermione. The rough wooden surface of the table. Her hands, clasped beside her half-empty plate. The ceiling again…anywhere would do. "Yes? Sorry, I…"

She felt Hermione grasp her cold hand in her own, rather warmer one, and she couldn't stop them then, the tears. It was like Hermione's touch had given her permission to cast aside the rest of her shields, and they spilled down her cheeks in bitter silence while she bit at her bottom lip, hoping the small pain would distract her enough to regain control. She glanced down at the table again, watching her tears stain the wood in between the shadows of raindrops hitting the glass ceiling. As above, so below.

"It's all right," Hermione said softly, squeezing her hand. "I'm so sorry. I know."

"It isn't," Astoria whispered. "Oh, Hermione, it isn't at all. It's all messed up everywhere. I'm all messed up everywhere. I'm so sorry, I'm so happy for you. I swear, I promise. But it's…"

"But it's hard," Hermione said gently. "I know."

Astoria glanced up, her watery eyes locking on Hermione's, which also seemed suspiciously bright.

"I thought maybe…" Hermione began, her voice a little tentative, as if unsure how to broach the topic. "That maybe you've been having a hard time, too… You have, haven't you?"

"Too?" Astoria asked quietly, wiping at the edges of her eyes with her napkin.

"I know we don't talk about it…this," Hermione said, her voice gentle. "It isn't done, is it? And it's not even because it's taboo, it simply…hurts too much. But maybe we should. Because I've thought maybe you…maybe you've felt this a little as well. Am I…wrong?"

"I…" Astoria mumbled. "You mean, you…"

Hermione smiled, a little bitterly. "I've had three miscarriages, Astoria. This is the first one that's made it past four months. I haven't said anything as long as I could, but I'll have to inform Mary soon, and then all I can do is hope for the best, I suppose."

"Oh, Hermione," Astoria said. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know." She found her own grip on Hermione's hand and squeezed it back. "And you aren't wrong. Not at all."

"It's all right," Hermione said, her eyes still shining a little too brightly. "It's hard to talk about. But I'm here if you need to. You're not alone, Astoria. I know it can feel that way. But I just…wanted you to know you aren't."

Astoria nodded, and then words were spilling out of her, laying her heart bare across the tabletop as she told Hermione everything. The curse, and the losses. The endless months of trying. The tears that fell deep enough to fill an ocean. All the things she and Draco had sealed away, because if they were let free, spoken, how could they ever be shoved back into their boxes in the dark? But once they were out, she didn't want to take them back at all, because they were like poison — these secrets she kept locked away in her heart. How had she never realized how heavy they had grown? And once they were spoken, the burden upon her shoulders felt lighter. Not so much to carry now, if they weren't carrying it alone. Even if Hermione was holding but a small corner. She was still cursed, still picking her way up an endless mountain, but at least the darkness had cleared enough that she could see other footprints upon the path. She wasn't alone. And that meant everything.

"I know it feels impossible right now," Hermione said gently, when Astoria had talked herself into silence. "And I know words can't really make this better. Everything you've been through is more painful than I can even imagine… But you can't give up, Astoria. If what you want more than anything is to be a mum, then you'll find a way to make it happen. You will."

"Do you really think so?" Astoria said softly. The tears felt raw across her cheeks, but it seemed so pointless to wipe them away when more kept falling. "Maybe I'm just not meant to be a mum. I'm broken, Hermione. Cursed and broken. What child would even want me?"

"That's not true," Hermione whispered, her hands grasping Astoria's across the table. "It isn't your fault… You deserve happiness, Astoria. You deserve a family, if that's what you want. And no one can fault you for trying. You would be an amazing mum… They would be lucky…to have you."

Astoria looked down, staring at the sad remains of her salad through blurry eyes, and Hermione squeezed her hands tightly and added in a soft whisper, "Sometimes bad things happen for no reason. To wonderful people who don't deserve them at all. And it's not fair. It's horrible. But all we can do is keep going, one step at a time, right? Hope for the rain to clear…and do everything we can to help it along. And if there's nothing we can do, then we just hope. And keep going anyway… And in the meantime, I'm here. Anytime you need."

Astoria nodded, wiping at her eye with the edge of her hand. "You planned Ginny's shower," she murmured. "She told me about it before you…would you still have done it, if you weren't pregnant?"

"Yes, I suppose," Hermione said, smiling a little sadly. "But it would have been a whole lot harder. It was, at first. I don't blame you for running away."

"I did run away, I suppose," Astoria whispered. "Draco is such an enabler." She smiled wistfully.

"And that makes you lucky," Hermione said gently. "You have Draco. And he's there. He was never my favorite person"— she let out an amused breath —"but it's clear he loves you more than anything. And that's something. Something amazing."

And Astoria smiled, because it was quite true. And it wasn't that Draco wasn't enough, it was simply that their love was so large it ought to be shared. And Hermione was right, of course. She wouldn't give up — she couldn't. If the path she was on wasn't working, perhaps she would try another. That was all. She was still here, solidly alive…and so nothing was impossible.

It was still raining when she stepped into the small house she shared with Draco. It was Friday, and there had been a terribly long queue for the Floo. She had hovered on its periphery for a brief moment before hurrying away. All those people jostling for an empty grate — she couldn't bear it. Not while grains of salt still coated her cheeks. She had walked in the direction of the outbound Apparation point, but changed her mind somewhere along the way, and before she realized it, she found herself outside, in the damp streets of Muggle London. She turned her face to the sky, letting the cool water wash away the last traces of her tears. She hoped it would wash away everything — every hurt and every doubt…because she was tired of crying.

She was soaked through to the skin by the time she stepped into the house, smiling at the warm light that spilled across the lawn from its windows. Home. Draco hurried to meet her in the parlour, his features set in a frown.

"Where have you been?" he said, pulling her inside as Custard jumped up to lick at her skirt. "Merlin, Astoria, you're soaked. Did you walk home?"

"No," she said, petting Custard with one hand as she dropped her soaking bag onto the console table and reached inside it in search of her wand. "Of course not, it's miles away. I walked for a bit, and then I Apparated."

"Why?" Draco asked, still frowning as he aimed his own wand at her, wordlessly drying her clothes and hair with a breath of warm wind. "From where? It's pouring outside."

She smiled, abandoning her search and turning to him as she pushed her newly-dry hair out of her face. "I know. I just wanted to walk in the rain for a bit. It was…I needed it. It got cold though, so I Apparated from an alleyway a little ways from the Ministry."

"Really?" Draco said lightly, his light grey eyes looking intently into hers. "Astoria Malfoy, Apparating from an unauthorized location? I'll have to inform the Prophet immediately."

She laughed at that. "I hope the DMLE doesn't fine me. That would be terribly embarrassing."

"I reckon you could write yourself a pardon," Draco said, smirking. "Or perhaps Granger can do it. You must be freezing."

"Just a bit," she admitted, hugging her arms across her chest as she said the words.

Draco smiled. "Come on, then." And he grasped her hand and pulled her into the sitting room, where a fire was dancing in the grate, casting light and warmth throughout the room. Her mouth dropped open as she stood on the threshold, staring.

Somehow, in the space of a day, Draco had transformed their sitting room into something quite wonderful. It was dark, illuminated only by the golden glow of the flames and the lights of a thousand stars that had been magicked across the ceiling, which resembled the sky. For a moment, she almost wondered if she was back in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. But while she could hear the steady drumming of rain outside, the ceiling-sky was clear. The sofa and armchairs were pushed back, out of the way, and a small tent of hanging blankets stood in the center of the room, its flaps invitingly open. She could see the inside: a bed of blankets and cushions drawing her in.

"Draco," she breathed, turning to look at him.

"Granger sent me an owl," he murmured. "Said you'd had a hard day."

"It was a bit hard," she admitted. "But it turned out all right, in the end."

"Does the improvement have anything to do with, if I may, a rather impressive blanket fort?"

"It may." She smiled. "Oh, Draco, Daphne and I used to do this when we were little! Though it wasn't quite this brilliant."

"I know," he said, smiling. He took a step toward the tent and held out his hand, and she easily slipped her palm into his own and followed him inside. The far end of the tent was also uncovered, allowing the light and warmth of the fire to seep pleasantly inside it. The blanket that made up the floor was soft as a cloud, and cushions were scattered about it. The way the dancing fire reflected across the fabrics made her positive they were silk. If Draco was going to build a pillow fort, of course it would be the most posh fort in existence. The thought made her giggle slightly as she sank onto a cushion and glanced at him again.

"Draco, this is amazing…"

"Look up," he said softly, and she did, and she could see the stars there too, splashed across the blanketed sky.

She stared, her face splitting into a smile. They had left the sitting room far behind, in another dimension somewhere where people had houses and families, and everything fit into a box. It was all gone. They were two lone humans in an uncharted world, with nothing but a sea of stars around them. If she stared up long enough, the drumming of the rain seemed to fade. Instead, she was certain she could make out the soft lapping of water against a distant shore, the voices of a hundred cicadas, the soft song of the wind…all wrapped up in the crackling of the flames. She could smell the musky scent of burning wood. Of pine needles. It was like they were in the States again, camping by the small lake in Vermont that lay still as a mirror and reflected the sky. Three blissful days out of many — had it only been three weeks ago?

She turned, sensing him beside her, and found his face inches from her own. His silver eyes were black as coal, the stars reflected across their shimmering surface. She could hear his soft breath, audible for only a moment before the crackling of the fire consumed it. This man, who understood her down to her naked soul. Who walked with her down this treacherous road, into the cliffs and shadows, into the densest forest. Even when the trees were at their thickest, it only took one glance up to see the sky.

She leaned forward and touched her lips to his.

His embrace was gentler than the softest wind, and yet firmer than the strongest ballast. He was her strength, holding her up when she fell down, or falling with her when he couldn't. She reached out, finding his fingers with her own as she let him hold her, love her, beneath the endless sky. Without thoughts or reservations. In his arms, she felt entirely, unbrokenly, whole.

When they broke apart at last, they lay upon their bed of clouds, their fingers entwined. Her long, dark hair spilled across his skin as they stared up at the sky. Their love, which stretched so solidly between them, always felt more present in moments like this. In moments when their skin touched, and their bodies danced in rhythm, and their hearts melted into one. But she knew it followed them always. It was an unstoppable force with many edges. It was peace, and acceptance, and strength even when it was also tears, and pain, and darkness. And maybe life without love was easier, somehow…simpler. Less painful.

But a wise man had once told her to be brave when choosing between what was easy…and what was right. And for every bit of pain and darkness that love carved into her heart, it gave her more than enough light to fill the cracks — to find the people it had chosen for her. The people who pulled her through the darkness, even when it was hard, and gave her the strength to keep going. Love…it made life worth living. And worth fighting for.

And there were a million thoughts swirling in her head. Thoughts of schedules she hadn't kept track of, and dark thoughts of doubt (that it didn't matter anyway if it was the right time, because it was never going to happen for her). And then thoughts of talking to Draco about…about other options. About other ways to be a mum. Other ways which, she knew, would also be hard and long and painful, but were entirely worth pursuing. But tonight, she pushed them all aside. Locked them away in her own box. Instead, she kept her eyes on the glowing sky.

"What star is that?" she said softly. "That red one." It was shining so gloriously, it seemed to blaze across the sky.

"Alpha Scorpii," Draco said, his fingers brushing against her hand. "Also known as Antares. It's the 16th brightest star."

"It's beautiful," she said.

"It is," he whispered, and his voice seemed to crack slightly. "It's the most beautiful star in the sky."

She turned, shifting her face away from the red glow of Antares, and looked at Draco, waiting.

He smiled, a little sadly. "Antares is colossal. It burns 10,000 times brighter than our sun. It burns too bright, really, all at once." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was so soft she could barely make it out. "It's too brilliant. But if it wasn't, it wouldn't be Antares. It's the heart of Scorpius. Can you see it?"

"Yeah," she whispered, his words weighing heavily on her heart. She squeezed his hand. She didn't know nearly as much about stars as Draco, who had learned about them endlessly from Narcissa, but she thought she understood the words he left unspoken. Antares's light would not burn forever, much like her own.

But Scorpius, which glowed brightly above them, would still be just as brilliant. Even without its heart.

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A/N: Thanks so much for reading.

Astoria's story...is a part of my story. Just a small part, really, of a much larger story aching to be told. And I've been writing it. It's been a long time coming. But in the meantime, I've borrowed Astoria for just a small part of it, because for her it feels true.

Oh, Astoria... you will have 13 years, with your rainbow. They are too short. They are not fair. But use them well.

Rina