Disclaimer: I can't lay claim to Draco or Astoria.

i tell my love to wreck it all

cut out all the ropes and let me fall

Sometimes Daphne tells her she got more than she bargained for with Draco Malfoy. Daphne says that her sister deserves someone better than a spineless killer, than a young man – little more than a boy – who wakes her up in the middle of the night with his tears. Daphne says if he's going to be one of those, he should give up the other.

Daphne forgets she's the reason they met in the first place; at the party their parents held for Daphne and Blaise Zabini's engagement. Draco was quiet, wearing one of a countless number of tailored black suits. He sat with his parents for a while, and then moved to Marcus Flint's corner of the room, exchanging polite conversation and giving away the occasional smile that looked more like a grimace to Astoria. She wondered how many times he'd had to force a smile in the face of Tom Riddle.

"I think the ornaments are a bit tacky, myself."

She sidled up to him with that exact line, hands wrapped around a champagne glass, eyes fixed upon the lavishly decorated hall, and then on Draco. He remained silent.

"Daphne doesn't even know half of the people she invited today. Surely if you were going to go to all this trouble, you'd do it for the people you love."

She was about to speak a third time, to account for his silence, but as soon as she opened her mouth, he spoke.

"Why are you talking to me?"

"Because, out of everyone here tonight, Malfoy, you seem the most genuine."

Astoria doubts Daphne remembers the party beyond the fight that she had with their mother afterwards. Daphne certainly doesn't remember speaking to Draco Malfoy that night, but that's because she didn't. Of the family hosting the party, only Astoria bothered to try and make the obligatorily invited guests feel welcome.

Daphne likes to think she understands the beauty of broken things, but Astoria knows she's wrong. Daphne is about saying the right thing at the right time and making sure that everyone hears her say it. Daphne would never tell anyone that she was in a relationship with a man who can't stomach a trip back to his ancestral home, whose sobs echo through the townhouse like the sound of the ocean and the flow of blood when you press a shell to your ear. Astoria is about hearing the crash of the waves and loving him anyway.

"I don't need to sit here and take this," she says suddenly, one Tuesday afternoon, cutting across her sister and rising from the table with the loud cacophony of chair legs against wooden floor.

Daphne looks up at her, concerned. "Take what?"

Astoria sighs. "All of these things you're saying about Draco. I'm moving in with him, Daphne – I'm in love with him, Daphne – whether you like it or not." She looks her sister square in the eye. "You're welcome to judge me for my choices, but don't you dare condemn him for the ones that weren't his."

Daphne stands, much more quietly. "Astoria, please, you don't – "

"I don't what? Understand?"

"No, it's just… his family – his father – "

Astoria actually laughs, bitter and mirthlessly. "You're… wow, Daphne… that is rich. You've got a daughter – what would you do if someone started threatening her? Would you do what they wanted, if you knew that 'how's your baby doing' could easily end with 'because that can change very quickly'?"

Daphne's eyes dart down to her feet.

"I'm not defending Lucius Malfoy. He's a scumbag. Just don't blame the sixteen-year-old for a crime of middle-aged men. Especially not when you've seen what it did to him."

"Astoria, it's not right…"

"Daphne." Astoria sets her jaw. "I'm sorry but I don't give a damn what's right. I care about the man I love, and making sure that he's a good man. Frankly, I don't need your sermons. You'll have stolen half of them from Pansy bloody Parkinson anyway."

She Disapparates, and for a moment the air is suffocating her but then it's filled with specks of dust floating through her own living room, illuminated by the sunlight streaming in from the windows. There's a sweet smell coming from the kitchen, which intrigues her, because she didn't leave anything cooking before heading for Daphne's.

"I didn't know you could cook."

Draco is hunched over the kitchen bench, his wand tracking cake mold upon cake mold of freshly baked muffins onto a gold-rimmed platter. The entire room smells like cinnamon, and Astoria should be filled to the brim with some passionate feeling, but instead she's a scramble of many.

She knows he didn't want a house elf but that he's been struggling to adjust to a lifestyle in which he doesn't have one, and she knows that he's constantly endeavoring to do things simply because he thinks a good boyfriend or husband would, and she knows that he's afraid she'll stop loving him if they get enough downtime together or if he leaves her alone with her thoughts, and all of this worries her because if there's anything that won't make her fall out of love with Draco, it's the fact that he's already convinced himself that she will.

"I can't," he says, pocketing his wand. "Magic certainly has its benefits, though."

Astoria laughs, and at this, Draco smiles. He's getting better at genuine smiles. Perhaps there's more reason for them these days. She steps slowly across the kitchen, winding her arms around his waist when she gets there. For a moment, they lock eyes.

"I think I might be a bit in love with you," she murmurs.

Draco's smile falters, his eyes shifting away from her face. "I – Astoria – you don't have t – "

She hushes him by pressing her lips to his. "I know I don't. But I do. I love you, Draco Malfoy, and – I know it might take a while – but you're just going to have to learn that I'm too stubborn to stop."

They kiss once more and he's just about deathly silent when he turns back to the platter of muffins and says, "I love you, too."