#GRCCNGRASS. an indie, very low activity & mutuals only portrayal of astoria greengrass of the wizarding world by kalila (she/her, 30, gmt). sideblog following from mugglebrn. anti jkr.

SHE'S THIRTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN SHE DECIDES SHE'S IN LOVE WITH THEODORE NOTT. And not some silly little crush like other girls in her year have on boys. Real, heart-racing love. The sort that has her writing his name in the inside of her notebooks. Doodling hearts around every perfect letter, sometimes adding her own name nearby, sometimes replacing her surname with his own. It has her making wishes on eyelashes and daydreaming in class and wearing strawberry scented lipgloss because she read in her mum's Witch Weekly that it was the key to pout that would prove irresistable to any wizard. It's the kind of love she's absolutely certain (at thirteen years of age) that she will never recover from, or experience again.

The only problem? He's fifteen. And she's thirteen. And at that age two years might as well be a hundred. Because while she's never even kissed a boy, there's rumours that he was heavy petting with some pretty Ravenclaw with glossy black hair. And while she's in love with him, she's pretty sure he just sees her as Daphne's kid sister. Sweet and innocent, still the girl with too-big brown eyes and limbs that seemed to grow before the rest of her did. All awkward and gangly where Daphne is graceful and perfectly proportionate, walking about the school with a sort of perfect confidence that Astoria could only ever dream of.

And Theo's never far behind. The two of them often locked in conversation, always laughing, two people with a retinue of private jokes that she's not a part of. It'd make her terribly jealous if she didn't love them both so much. It also helps that, when he catches her eye, Theo smiles at her in that sort of way that feels like they share a secret too.

It makes her feel so giddy she writes poetry to get it out. Crafting sonnets about his crooked grin and playful eyes. About the way he dyes his hair because Daphne does and how it made her want to dye her hair too, but when she thinks about it she shies away because it doesn't feel like her at all (and also she thinks Daphne might've hexed her if she even knew she'd thought about it). Astoria waxes poetics about how he wears his robes in a devil-may-care way and reads books she's never heard of but thinks they might be muggle. She writes in all different coloured inks, spilling every enamoured thought onto the page in rhyming couplets, staring at the red rose he'd given her last year (the one she'd taught herself a stasis charm to keep intact all these months later) while she thinks of how to perfectly word her every feeling.

The poetry is honestly kind of terrible. Not completely devoid of talent, but clumsy and saccharine sweet with the unexperienced optimism of a child and the melodrama of teenage hormones (she'll find it when she's older and read it with a beet-red face; equal parts mortified and amused, then she'll wonder if she should burn it to save anybody ever stumbling across it).

HER FIRST THOUGHT WHEN SHE WAKES IS THAT, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN POSSIBLY HER ENTIRE LIFE, SHE'S NOT COLD. Curled into his chest, she covets the warmth she finds there, soaking up the heat of his skin. Borrowing it as her own. It's the most deliciously cosy feeling that it has her toes curling in delight, and she almost wishes she'd pretended to still be sleeping.

Her fingers skim his side as he talks and she leaves the land of dreams to join the waking one. Last night she had touched every inch of him she could, and he'd done the same in turn, and if she closes her eyes again she can picture the heavy-lidded look of devotion he'd given her as he kissed his way down her belly.

God, she's positively giddy with it.

Lips press against the russet skin of his chest and she hums a little noise of discontentment at the thought of him leaving, leaning back her head so that she can look up at him. He looks as tousled and sleepy as she feels and all she wants to do is stay forever in this bed with him.

HER SMILE TURNS OUTRIGHT CHEEKY, HER EYES LIGHTING UP WITH THE CHALLENGE. Oh, she loves it when he underestimates her, because it means she gets to take him by surprise. Her favourite thing to do. Second only to cracking his self-control. Which surprises her. Astoria thought for sure that would get him to break.

It's not that she doesn't find her schoolwork interesting. She'd taken the course because she loves literature and learning all the mechanisms and tools others used to make it great. But, for the first time in years, she really feels like she's living. That feeling is so addictive that it causes everything else to fade away. Why should she waste all this time on a degree she has no future to use it?

Astoria would much rather live in the present with him.

i swear i thought i dreamed her she never asked me once about the wrong i did

we're so green so green

THE SUNLIGHT HAS LONG SINCE DISAPPEARED BEYOND THE HORIZON, CANDLELIGHT REPLACING THE WARM AFTERNOON RAYS. Peter Rabbit lays on the side table, open to the page she'd been reading when she'd noticed his slow and even breath. It'd been on the fourth read through that he'd fallen asleep, though she'd noticed sometime towards the end of the third that he'd been fighting it. His eyelids would droop and close for a second longer than a blink, only for them to be forced back open, looking up at her as if afraid she'd disappear if he allowed them to close for too long. It'd only made her hold him tighter. What little strength she has going to snugly tucking him against her breast. To making him feel safe and secure.

Sleep won out in the end and he dozes soundly, his angelic cherub face peaceful with dreams of cheeky little rabbits and vegetable gardens.

Astoria raises her hand, her touch featherlight as she traces invisible lines between the little freckles that dot his nose and cheeks. Like his father, they were more pronounced after some time spent in the sun and the faintness of them now speaks to how much time he's been spending inside with her.

They used to be outside at every available opportunity. Astoria would pack a basket with pastries she'd cooked in the morning and sandwiches Mippy had prepared. She'd place a cooling charm over some juices and fill the rest of the space with whatever fruit she could find. And then she'd get Scorpius. When he was small she'd tuck him into the swaddle wrapped around her chest. As he got older she'd put him on her hip, or walk patiently alongside him as he waddled down the steps and across the grounds; his face pinched in determination and the picnic basket floating alongside them to leave her hands free should he fall. On the days Draco joined them (more often than not), he'd be the one to carry him, allowing Astoria a little rest.

They'd go wherever the fancy took them that day. Sometimes to the rose garden, sometimes to the middle of the hedge maze. One time they wandered out so far they found themselves in a bluebell field she'd never known was there and Scorpius had spent an hour picking her a bouquet of the fragrant flowers. He took his first steps on the grass by the greenhouse, said mama for the first time as she lay with him on her belly beneath the willow by the pond. He'd eaten his first strawberry on a Sunday morning as they watched Draco zip around the grounds on his broom, dribbling it right back out to Astoria's shock (until she tasted one herself to find they weren't quite in season yet and were rather sour, a month later when he let her feed him one again he'd eaten so many his bib had been stained pink). He'd grazed his knees on the pebbles by the pack verandah and had been carried back to the house in Draco's arms, fast asleep from a day of running around more times than she could count.

They didn't go outside anymore. She was too tired to make it past the doorway and if a cold breeze caught her the wrong way she felt it so deep in her bones she thought she'd never be warm again. And when she encouraged Scorpius to go outside, to sit by the peacocks or to go on the broom with his dad, he'd always refuse. Not without you, mummy, he'd say. And she'd have to hide the way her heart would break with the knowledge she'd likely never see another sunny afternoon on the picnic blanket with her boys again.

Her thumb brushes over the curve of his cheek, no longer as chubby as they had been even a year ago but still round and soft, like silk beneath the pads of her fingers. She traces the bow of his lips, the distinct curve of his top one so utterly Draco that it makes her smile, right before it brings tears to her eyes.

Her boy. Her baby. The very greatest joy she's brought into this world. The thing she is most proud of.

Astoria lets out a shuddering breath and curves him into her, wrapping herself around him, burying her face in his soft, blonde hair and inhaling deeply. He smells of apples and crayons, of blueberry children's shampoo and her perfume which has rubbed off onto him.

Draco will be here soon. He gives them the afternoon but then he will do as he always does and comes to the sunroom to check on them. Sometimes he'll find them awake, sometimes one or both asleep, the plush armchair as comfortable as any mattress. He'll take Scorpius from her arms, hushing the sleeping boy as he adjusts him in his arms to carry him to bed. And then he'll come back for her and do the same, and she'll ask him how his afternoon was, and he'll kiss her as if she isn't dying. In just the same way he had years ago, when she was strong enough to dance and run and carry her son out to the bluebell field.

send  “OBSERVE” for a mini-drabble of how MY MUSE sees and/or thinks about YOUR MUSE while they do something completely ordinary. This can be them reading, cooking, sleeping, just ordinary moments the often get glossed over in threads and roleplays. Feel free to specify what your muse is doing if you want to!

A PLUMP, ROSY CHEEK HIS PRESSED AGAINST HIS BARE CHEST, AND ASTORIA KNOWS JUST BY LOOKING THAT IT'S BLISTERINGLY WARM. His little ears are red from him grabbing at them repeatedly and there's a puddle of dribble on his father's skin. It's been pure chaos. Between his teething and her flare up of symptoms, Draco has been putting in the work. Rocking the baby to sleep as he cries and cries, forcing her back to bed every time she tries to pull herself up long enough to help. He's been run off his feet and Scorpius has been inconsolable. But not right now.

Right now, both her boys are sleeping peacefully, and her heart twists painfully within her chest as she watches them.

Astoria tries not to think about it. On most days she can push the thought of death away. Can ignore the future in which she will leave them behind and they will go on without her. On some days it's all she can think about. The healer's had warned her that having a baby could be a strain on her body it wouldn't be able to handle, but she had been stubborn, and she had been resolute. This curse had taken so much from her already, it would not take this choice. And she would never regret the one she made. Even as her health waned in the weeks before and after he was born. Not even as, on her worst days, she struggles to walk herself out onto the open-air gallery to enjoy the afternoon sun.

How could she regret a second of it when their son had brought them so much joy?

Scorpius squirms a little, whimpering through whatever dream haunts him and even asleep, Draco's hold on his son tightens, the security of it soothing the infant back into a deep sleep, his pouty little lips going slack again. Astoria knows that they will be okay without her. That Scorpius will grow and learn. Going from baby to toddler to child to adult, and that Draco will be there to teach him all the lessons she won't be there for.

He'll talk him through his first crush. He'll listen to him explain with innocent awe the many wonders of Hogwarts. He'll be there to watch him graduate. To watch him marry and have children of his own and maybe even tell them about the mother who'd loved him so much he feels it even decades later. Teaching him right from wrong along the way. Doing far better than their parents ever did.

He'd read to him and soothe him when he has nightmares and kiss his grazed knees better. Filling up the empty space she'll leave behind when she goes. Doing it all on his own. And maybe that's a part of him taking the lead on this teething. As much as it had been to allow her rest. Maybe he was trying to prove to himself that he could do the hard things on his own. That he would be okay without her there to share in these challenges. Astoria wouldn't fault him that.

He'd been her partner in it all, promising to stay by her side until the very end. Vowing to give her everything she had ever wanted. Making what time she has left the very best it could be. In a better world, one that was fair, she would have been able to promise him the same.

Instead she's been able to give him Scorpius. To make sure he'll never be alone, even when she goes.

Astoria wipes at her cheeks and pushes off the doorway. The weight of her crawling onto the bed is enough to stir him and he half wakes with bleary eyes, an incoherent mumbled question on his lips that she shushes gently. "It's okay. Go back to sleep, my love."

Soothed, his eyes flutter closed once more, but his arm splays out so that she can tuck herself into his side. Her head rests on the edge of his chest, feeling the soft puffs of air from their son's breathing, delicately running her fingertip along the back of his dimpled knuckles. His tiny hand flexes, seeking out the touch, wrapping around the entirety of her finger before it stills.