#this was... painful

21st of December, 2005

Astoria leaned all of her weight against the table, pressing the rolling pin down onto the dough with as much strength as she could muster, which admittedly wasn’t much as of late. Surely the dough wasn’t supposed to be this hard? Was she doing something wrong? She couldn’t be. Granted, she wasn’t following a specific recipe, but she’d always watched Granddad Hyperion bake when she was little, and she remembered this step quite clearly.

“Come on,” she groaned, pressing down again. She could always charm the rolling pin to do the work for her, but if Muggles could do this on their own, she didn’t see why she couldn’t as well.

She heard a laugh behind her and smiled in spite of herself.

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” she said, still focused on the dough.

“What on earth are you doing, Astoria?”

“Baking.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Oh, shush. You can’t be snarky on my birthday.” She turned around, leaning back against the table with her arms folded. There was a sharp remark sitting on the tip of her tongue, but she suddenly found herself lost for words.

She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the sight of her husband and son. Sleep hadn’t let go of Draco just yet, so his demeanour wasn’t as stiff and proper as usual, though his grey eyes were as alert as ever. He’d tied his hair back in a loose ponytail, as if he’d simply wanted to get it out of the way, and his black dressing gown hung loose. He was holding little Scorpius to his chest, and their son was trying very hard to grab onto a lock of hair, looking very much awake. They were so sweet together that Astoria couldn’t help but melt.

“Did you hear that, Scorpius?” Draco said quietly. “Today’s a special day.” He brushed his lips against Scorpius’s forehead; their son responded by gurgling at him, waving his arms and accidentally hitting him in the chin. Astoria smiled fondly at them.

Today was special. Her twenty-fourth birthday. There wasn’t anything extraordinary about that particular age, besides the fact that it meant she was a year older. But Astoria had always liked to think of birthdays as victories. Her time would run out eventually, and sooner than it should, but for now… She’d look back on what she had. Twenty-four years of life. A loving husband. A son.

“Are you baking your own cake?” asked Draco, startling her out of her thoughts.

“I’m making a Lebkuchenhaus, actually.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Is that an insult?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a gingerbread house, Draco. I simply prefer to call it by its German name.”

“Your taste has always been rather peculiar.”

“Obviously. I married you, didn’t I?” she teased. “But back to the matter at hand: I’m starting a tradition.”

Draco’s eyes flickered to the dark, not-flat dough, then back to her. “A tradition,” he said flatly.

“We’re making a Lebkuchenhaus every year from now on. Scorpius needs to learn about his German roots.”

“We?”

“Of course. You’re helping, darling. You can flatten that dough while I play with Scorpius.”

Building the gingerbread house took most of the morning, and the result was a little less spectacular than she would have liked, but she was proud of it nonetheless. The house itself was a little crooked, but the icing was neat, and the powdered sugar looked as real as the snow outside. Best of all was the little Lebkuchenfamilie: a gingerbread Astoria, with her gingerbread husband and son.

21st of December, 2009

Astoria carefully held up the gingerbread man she’d just cut out. “Das ist ein…”

“Lebkuchenmann!” Scorpius chirped.

“Und er wohnt in seinem…”

“Lebkuchenhaus!”

“Mit seiner…”

“Lebkuchenfrau!”

Astoria booped him on the nose, and he giggled. “Du bist ja klug, Prinzchen,” she said proudly, and gently set the gingerbread man on a tray.

Scorpius was standing up on a chair, watching his mother start to cut out another shape —a gingerbread woman this time— in the dough with curious eyes. “Haben sie ‘nen Lebkuchensohn, Mama?” he asked, sounding slightly concerned.

“Natürlich.”

Scorpius beamed at her. They chatted to each other in German for a little while, Scorpius occasionally stumbling over his words. It had become a weekly routine for them. Astoria baked, Scorpius observed, and Draco read the newspaper, silent but present. He poked fun at her from time to time, especially when she decided to experiment and failed spectacularly, but he couldn’t tease her today. This was her fourth Lebkuchenhaus, and she was getting quite good at them, thank you very much.

As soon as the tray went in the oven and Astoria grabbed some mugs to make hot chocolate, Scorpius hopped off his chair and wandered over to the other side of the table, where his father was. He tugged at his dressing gown.

“Willst du helfen, Dada?” Scorpius’s wide grey eyes peered up at him. With his chubby cheeks and hair as soft as dandelion fluff, he looked so utterly adorable that even Draco couldn’t hold back a smile. Even though he probably only had a faint idea of what his son had just said to him.

“Dada doesn’t understand German, darling,” Astoria reminded him gently.

Scorpius’s brow furrowed. He could jump from one language to another without any trouble and he had a hard time understanding that most people couldn’t. He’d also started mixing up words and expressions in a way that made perfect sense to him, but that his parents could barely keep up with, since Astoria’s French was average and Draco’s German was virtually nonexistent.

“Do you want to help, Dada?” Scorpius enunciated clearly.

“Help with what?”

“Mama’s Lebkuchenhaus.” Scorpius pointed at the parts they’d baked first: the walls, the roof, and the chimney. They’d cooled down enough for them to start putting them together.

“Yes, of course, Scorpius.” Draco folded the Prophet, quickly finished his tea and reached down so he could ruffle his son’s hair. Scorpius was positively glowing.

It never ceased to amaze her, how so much joy could fit into someone so small.

Draco seemed bewildered by it, too. He’d confided in her that he still couldn’t quite comprehend why Scorpius sought him out so often. Surely Astoria was enough to entertain him, with her songs and games and funny stories? But no, Scorpius always insisted that Dada come along. It seemed to make him happy, following Draco around the house. He was always so fascinated by whatever his father did, and wanted nothing more than to be just like him. It wasn’t something Draco expected, but it was something he needed, and watching them both never failed to fill Astoria with warmth.

Scorpius had wrapped himself around Draco’s leg in some kind of makeshift hug, since it was the only part of him that he could reach.

“I can’t walk if you’re clinging to my leg, Scorpius,” Draco informed him. “And if I can’t walk, I can’t help.”

Scorpius dimpled at him. “Up?”

He beamed when his father picked him up; few things seemed to delight him as much as being in his arms and looking down at the world. He pressed a sloppy kiss to Draco’s cheek, then flung his arms around his neck.

“Thank you, Dada,” he said sweetly.

Draco’s cheeks went pink, and his lips twitched. He kissed Scorpius’s forehead. “Come on, let’s see what Mama’s up to.”

Scorpius looked thrilled when he realised he was taller than Astoria now. As soon as he was within arm’s reach of her, he gently patted the top of her head. “Mama’s small,” he giggled.

Astoria tickled his feet, and he shrieked with laughter, and she felt as light as air.

21st of December, 2012

‘Fifty years, if you’re lucky,’ was what the Healers had told her when she was little.

Fifty years had seemed like an awfully long time back then. They’d seemed enough.

And now she’d passed the halfway point and she knew just how wrong she’d been. Firstly, for thinking that fifty years of life would satisfy her; secondly, for thinking she would have fifty years.

She’d turned thirty-one that day, and it had been so perfect. Waking up in her husband’s arms, barely making it to the kitchen before Scorpius pounced on her, excited and lovely and sweet, so he could give her a kiss on the cheek and wish her a happy birthday… And, of course, the baking. It had been a morning just like any other, perfect in its ordinariness. By noon, they were already constructing the little Lebkuchenhaus, carefully decorating it with neat patterns of icing and little rows of sweets on the roof. Then came the gingerbread family: first the Lebkuchensohn, who was considerably taller compared to the previous year, then the Lebkuchenmann, and then–

And then it all went wrong.

When her curse struck, making her double over, her first thought was ‘oh, this is new’. Then she registered the pain, and she realised that this hurt. It hurt a lot, in a way that was so cold it burned, as if the blood in her veins were now freezing water.

She inhaled sharply. Her hand spasmed, making her fingers clench. The Lebkuchenfrau snapped cleanly in two.

Draco was at her side in an instant. “What’s wrong, Astoria? What hurts?” he said urgently.

She couldn’t talk for a few moments, afraid she’d scream if she opened her mouth. “Potion,” she managed to say through gritted teeth. Her fingers were gripping the wooden table so hard it had to hurt, but she felt nothing besides that merciless, stabbing cold. It was too much, too soon. She was supposed to have more time–

A vial was pressed to her lips and she took it herself with shaking hands, downing it in one go. Her eyes and throat burned, and not just because of the taste.

Slowly, too slowly, the pain receded, but not completely. Even Painkilling Potions weren’t working as well as they should now. And the curse had merely retreated for a little while; it would prowl, waiting for the right moment, and attack again soon enough. Astoria had been expecting this, because she was more than familiar with the effects that the Greengrass curse had had on her ancestors, but not yet. Not for a long time; a decade, at least.

“I’m fine,” she gasped, still shaking. When had she sat down? She didn’t remember. “I’m fine. I just…”

Draco was kneeling at her side, resting a hand on her shoulder. “We should go to St Mungo’s.”

“I’m not going to bloody St Mungo’s on my birthday.” Her tone came out sharper than she’d intended. She was sick of that place, and going there for the hundredth time wouldn’t change things, anyway. “And with the potion–”

“The potion isn’t working properly, Astoria,” Draco said quietly. “I know you. You’re still in pain.”

His grey eyes bore into her hazel ones. He was right, of course. Though he’d found her puzzling when they’d first started talking after the war, over the years he’d learned how to read her like a book. She couldn’t hide this from him, and she really shouldn’t, but she still wanted to.

“I can handle it,” she said stubbornly.

Draco’s expression was unreadable, his eyes clouded over, but she understood him as well as he understood her. “Let me fetch a Healer, at least. Please.”

For his sake, if not for hers. She swallowed. “Fine.” She couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Take care of your mother, Scorpius. If anything happens, you floo to St Mungo’s immediately, all right?”

“Yes, Dad.” The shakiness in their son’s voice was enough to break her heart.

Draco kissed her forehead and murmured ‘I love you’ before stalking over to the fireplace and vanishing in a swirl of green flames and dark robes.

For the first time in years, she wanted to cry. Not in the sad, delicate way, with only a couple of tears leaking out her eyes; no, she wanted to sob, to scream, to break something. She wanted to let all of this ugly frustration out, as if that would make her feel less helpless. But she couldn’t, of course, because she wasn’t alone.

Scorpius was looking at her with wide, frightened eyes, and that fear her hurt more than any stupid curse. She’d had her off days when he was younger, but she’d always been able to pretend they were fleeting, inconsequential. She couldn’t bear the thought of him worrying, of anything tainting her son’s happiness. But that was exactly what would happen now.

“I’m sorry.” There weren’t enough words in any language to convey just how desperately sorry she was. He deserved better. They all did.

“Are you very ill, Mum?” he whispered, tentatively reaching out a hand. She laced their fingers together, not bothering to conceal her trembling.

“Yes, Prinzchen.” And then, because she couldn’t lie to him, and he’d have to know soon enough, she added, “For a long, long time now. And I don’t think I’m going to get better.”

His brow furrowed. “But magic can fix everything, can’t it?” he asked uncertainly.

Her gaze landed on the snapped pieces of the Lebkuchenfrau. She smiled sadly. “Not everything.”

And she thought, heartbroken and bitter, that it just wasn’t fair.

21st of December, 2017

“Tell me again.”

“Again?”

“Mmhm. You didn’t seriously think I’d be satisfied with a letter, did you?” Astoria wrapped her blanket tighter around herself and smiled at her son. “I want to hear the whole story straight from you.”

Scorpius’s cheeks went pink. While he gathered his thoughts and carefully glued to gingerbread walls together with icing, Astoria watched him, torn between contentment and sadness. Scorpius had changed a lot in his first few months at Hogwarts, in many ways. He was a tad taller, his hair desperately needed trimming, and there was a sense of self-awareness about him that hadn’t been there before. This wasn’t the happy, carefree Scorpius who’d waved goodbye to her on the first of September. He still smiled, he still got excited over every little thing, but he’d matured. He measured his words more carefully now, and he loved his parents more than ever because he’d finally seen that nobody else did. The world felt only contempt for the Malfoys, and that included Scorpius too. Astoria had already seen how his fellow students looked at him.

But it wasn’t all bad, she reminded herself. Scorpius wasn’t alone.

“Go on, then,” she said, nudging her son playfully. Rolling up her sleeves, she grabbed the Lebkuchenfrau and began to decorate her. Chocolate for her hair, icing for her features and robes. “Albus Potter. How did that happen?”

Scorpius nudged her back, grinning. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He just… came into my compartment. And he didn’t leave, not even when he realised that I’m… well, you know.” The son of his father’s old enemy. A Malfoy. The rumoured child of Voldemort. Mother and son thought the exact same thing, but didn’t bring it up. Scorpius went on cheerfully, “And I shared my sweets, just like you told me to. And after that… well, we just stuck together.”

“He sounds nice.”

“He is nice,” Scorpius said firmly. “He’s my best friend, and I’m his.” He hesitated, frowning slightly at the roof of the gingerbread house. “Well, it’s not like we’re at the top of each other’s friend hierarchy, since we don’t exactly have any other friends to compare with, but even if we did, he’d still be my best friend. He’s brilliant. He thinks my puns are silly, but he laughs every time, and he can be really funny even when he isn’t trying to be.”

Scorpius rambled on about Albus Potter for a little while, and Astoria was more than happy to simply sit and listen, methodically decorating their little Lebkuchenfamilie. Draco had business at the Ministry, so it was just them that morning, and it gave Astoria the chance to talk to her son freely. He always hesitated to bring up Albus when his father was around, as if he thought he’d disapprove. Granted, Draco had rolled his eyes and muttered ‘of course’ as soon as they’d received Scorpius’s first letter, but he was happy for his son, even if he was rubbish at expressing it.

Their son had a friend. Someone who liked him, who understood just how special he was, who sent him a letter almost every day and made Scorpius smile without fail.

“I’m glad you’ve found each other,” Astoria whispered when Scorpius’s voice finally died down. He hummed in agreement.

Merlin, she loved him so much. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them back. She couldn’t cry now, not while Scorpius was home. She couldn’t worry him. She would smile and laugh and be so grateful for this boy, this Albus Potter. It meant so much to her, that Scorpius had found such a dear friend. She’d been so afraid he wouldn’t, so afraid he and Draco would be all alone after she… No, she wouldn’t think about that. Her pain was a near-constant thing now, and it was getting worse, and she knew exactly what that meant, but it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to get him anything for Christmas?“ she asked, carefully dusting powdered sugar over the gingerbread roof.

To her surprise, Scorpius’s expression fell. He pressed his lips together. “I want to,“ he said uncertainly. “But I don’t know what to get him. Well, I think I do, but I’m not sure. Shouldn’t I already know, if I’m his friend? What if I get it wrong? What if I buy him something and he hates it?”

“Who says you have to buy him something?”

Scorpius’s brow furrowed. “But what else…?” He tilted his head to one side. “You’ve got an idea, don’t you?”

She smiled. “Well, I’ve recently taken up knitting…”

As they finished building the little Lebkuchenhaus, she wondered if it was time to add someone new. A gingerbread friend for her gingerbread son. In the end, she decided against it. She wouldn’t do it yet, not until she met Albus Potter in person.

21st of December, 2018

If her life was an hourglass, then her time wasn’t falling like individual grains of sand, like it would for most people; it was pouring down like a waterfall.

“Are you sure you’re–”

“I’m fine, Scorpius. Just a bit tired.” She was tired all the time now. Dragging herself down to the kitchen that morning had taken an amount of energy that she simply didn’t have anymore, and she’d just put the first tray in the oven when she’d realised that she simply couldn’t do this.

It was late evening now. All three Malfoys had spent most of the day in the master bedroom, eating the remains of the unfinished gingerbread house. Astoria was leaning against Draco on the bed, while Scorpius sat cross-legged in front of them. The sheets were littered with crumbs and the aftermath of a chess match between father and son.

“We’re going to be ambitious next year,” she announced.

Scorpius smiled weakly. “Are we going to try to make another gingerbread Hogwarts?”

“We’re making a gingerbread Manor.”

“That could go horribly wrong.”

“We can practice during the summer.”

“Really?” Scorpius said tentatively.

She grinned. “Really. And maybe you could invite Albus over so he can help.” She’d seen him at King’s Cross a few times now, and he seemed sweet, but approaching him in public would do more harm than good. She still wanted to meet him, though.

“I… I think he’d like that.”

“So would I. Now, off you go. It’s late.”

“Gute Nacht, Mum.” Scorpius hugged her gently, as if afraid he’d hurt her.

She kissed his cheek before they separated. “Gute Nacht, Scorpius. Träum was Schönes.”

And then it was just her and Draco.

“Astoria,” he began quietly. “I know you don’t want to hurt him, but–”

“I can’t send him off to school knowing… knowing that.”

“Isn’t it cruel to let him hope?”

Of course it was. But what could she do? What kind of mother wouldn’t want her son to remain happy and innocent as long as was possible? “He’ll find out eventually, Draco. If I can buy him a few more months of peace before he does, then I will.”

He was silent for a whole minute. “You might not have a few months.”

“The Healers said a year.”

“At most. They…” His voice had gone slightly hoarse. “They expect less.”

“And when have I ever done what people expect me to do? Maybe I’ll prove them wrong and stay alive out of sheer stubbornness.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “If anyone can do that, it’s you.”

She let herself enjoy this. The feel of his silky hair between her fingers, the warmth of his body against hers, his unwavering loyalty. She’d seen and supported him at his worst, and there he was now, doing the same thing for her, even though he knew their time was almost up.

“Be selfish, Draco,” she murmured, echoing the words she’d spoken to him years and years ago. Because he’d been a selfish little boy who’d grown into a man who’d thought he deserved nothing, least of all the love of one Astoria Greengrass. And she hadn’t agreed. “Ask me.”

“Astoria…”

“Ask me.”

She couldn’t see him, but she could sense his inner conflict. Because he wanted to ask, to beg, but he’d vowed to never ask her for anything she could not give, and this was something they both knew wasn’t in her power.

“Stay,” he whispered, in a voice that was broken and desperate and so, so sad. “Stay with me, Astoria. With us. Please.”

She would. She would.

But there were forces stronger than her hunger for life, than the love she felt for her husband and son, than the unshakeable knowledge that she deserved better than this.

21st of December, 2019

There was no gingerbread house that year. No house, no family… There was absolutely nothing.

A small, childish part of him had dared dream that everything would go back to normal that day; just for that one day. He’d wake up, hear the sounds of his mother tinkering in the kitchen as he went downstairs, find her spattered with batter, absentmindedly rubbing a flour-covered hand against her cheek and leaving a powdery trail. She would smile at him, call him ‘Prinzchen’ and tell him to help her mix the ingredients. She’d mischievously toss some flour at Draco as soon as he walked into the room. Everything would be bright and joyful and right, just for one day, because the twenty-first of December was special, as if it had magic of its own.

But the Manor was silent, just as it had been the day before, and the day before that, and every single day since the summer.

Scorpius couldn’t even go downstairs. He couldn’t face an empty kitchen. He simply stayed in his room, looking out the window, watching the snow fall as the hours dragged by and feeling completely hollow. Every now and then, he’d be overcome by an awful, choking wave of grief, and he wouldn’t be able to let it out. And then he’d shudder, breathing in with a startled gasp, and sobs would wrack his body as he curled up on his bed, as if being smaller would somehow make the pain smaller, too.

Astoria was dead. Forever. He would never see her again, never hear her songs and jokes, never make another gingerbread house with her… And he thought he’d accepted this when he’d seen her grave, but he was barely fourteen, and he was lonely, and he wanted his mother, and that was the one thing he could never, ever have.

He didn’t know that Draco hesitated by his door that night.

He didn’t know how desperately Draco wanted to protect him from that pain and how much he hated himself for not knowing how.

If they had talked, if they’d had time to grieve together after Astoria’s light had been snuffed out, then perhaps things would have been different. But Scorpius had gone to Hogwarts and learned to hide his pain from everyone but himself, and Draco had grown too used to a solitude that reminded him of the months after the war, when he’d learned to shut all of the darkness away lest he succumb to it. They’d both changed too suddenly, in ways they didn’t understand. They loved each other deeply, but they were like two puzzle pieces that didn’t fit together anymore.

21st of December, 2020

Had Astoria still been alive, she would have hexed him. She would have hexed a lot of people that year, including Potter and the Delphini girl, but Draco would have deserved it the most.

He’d almost lost Scorpius. He’d come so, so close, and he’d been such a fool for so long.

The full extent of it hadn’t hit him until they’d arrived in Godric’s Hollow. Father and son had found each other immediately, had stared in shock and wonder for what had felt like a small eternity, and then… and then Scorpius had hesitated before hugging him, uncertain and slightly fearful, as if he’d thought Draco wouldn’t want him to.

Never, not in his whole life, had he loathed himself as much as he had in that moment. He’d done the one thing Astoria wouldn’t have wanted him to do. He’d left Scorpius alone, let him feel like a burden, and it had taken him too long to see it. He could only hope it wasn’t too late to fix it.

There was no gingerbread house that year either; true to her word, Minerva McGonagall had cancelled Christmas for Albus and Scorpius. All they had was ink and parchment and a very disgruntled family owl, but father and son wrote to each other almost every day. Draco tried to convey his love in every word, and slowly, letter by letter, their relationship began to mend.

21st of December, 2021

Scorpius had always been a very quiet little boy.

Yes, he was filled with a boundless energy that was impossible to keep up with, but that only manifested when he was surrounded by others. When alone, he kept to himself, and you could almost forget he was in the Manor.

Almost.

Draco heard the soft thud of sock-clad feet hitting the marble floor. To the library, then back, then to the library again. He looked up from the alchemical text he was translating every time the footsteps neared the office door, wondering what on earth his son could be up to.

When he heard Scorpius go down to the kitchen, he knew it was time to follow.

He found him in exactly the same position he’d always found her: perched on a stool and frowning at the various ingredients he’d scattered on the table. He was almost eye-to-eye with Draco now; he’d grown so much, and not just physically. He was starting to find his place in the world, discovering and experiencing and slowly learning new things about himself. He was still remarkably wise for a boy his age, but he remained woefully and endearingly ignorant of certain matters.

Astoria would have been so proud. And she would have been thrilled to see that her son was in love, even though Scorpius himself didn’t know it yet.

Draco knocked softly on the open door.

Scorpius jumped and looked up, startled. “Oh.” He stared at Draco for a long moment. “Um. Hi, Dad.”

Draco took that as an invitation to come in. “Good morning, Scorpius. What are you doing?” He didn’t really need to ask, of course.

“I… I’m trying to make a Lebkuchenhaus. A gingerbread house. Like Mum’s,” said Scorpius, speaking a little too fast and fidgeting with his hands. “I think… She’d want us to make one, wouldn’t she? It’s tradition. And she’d be very cross with us for neglecting it for two years.”

Draco’s lips twitched. “Yes, she would be. Do you need help?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes. If you want to help, that is.” Scorpius gave him a quick, nervous smile, shifting his stool to make room. “Do you… Do you remember how she made it?”

Draco’s brow furrowed. He’d seen her bake countless times, but he was fairly certain she’d never followed specific instructions in her life. “She didn’t use any recipes, she just…”

“… followed her instincts, yes,” Scorpius finished for him.

They smiled at each other.

“I remember a few things…”

“So do I. Maybe… maybe we can make sense of them together.”

“Together.”

The result wasn’t perfect, but they were proud of it down to the last crumb. They gazed at the little gingerbread house and the three figures that stood in front of it: the gingerbread father, the gingerbread son and, between them, a gingerbread Astoria with chocolate hair and bright blue robes and a sweet smile.

And for the first time in years, Scorpius hugged him without hesitation. Draco held him, ruffled his hair and smiled.

Astoria was no longer with them, but that didn’t mean she had disappeared completely. They still had their memories of her, and the love they felt for her, and this little gingerbread house and family that had started out as a silly, fun tradition that would linger on, even if Astoria had not, because it was what she would have wanted.