The "You Should Write..." Meme!
my thread hereTitle:
Internal AcheWord count:
Astoria being a bitch, angstDisclaimer:
The boys belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.Author’s Notes:
This was written for the current prompt at dracoharry100
(it’s been too long since I wrote those words), aching
It had been thirteen years since Draco had had sex.
This was not out of any sort of romantic attachment to the idea of honour; or, for that matter, out of any romantic attachment to his wife. It was purely because Astoria Greengrass, being of impeccable pureblood lineage but the younger daughter of a somewhat impoverished line, had been eager to marry Draco and have his pureblood babies. Lucius and Narcissa had leapt gratefully at the chance for their son to marry a beautiful, pureblooded, blonde
witch who wasn’t put off by that unsightly pink scar on his left arm. ~*~
In the rush to marry him off, nobody took the time to examine Astoria’s sweet, unassuming, unintelligent exterior. Not even Narcissa, which Draco thought was something of an oversight, since she herself had been a blonde, unassuming youngest daughter, and was made of chilled steel.
It turned out that Astoria was
canny enough to guess Draco’s orientation. She was also callous enough to take measures to prevent a lover from persuading Draco away from her. Astoria was a typical pureblood: willing to do anything for family. It was simply unfortunate that she still considered herself a Greengrass, not a Malfoy. ~*~
Astoria insisted Draco fulfil his marital duties. Scorpius was conceived, and they began living separate lives.
The first time Draco went out to find a man, he felt guilty; the absence of the heavy family wedding ring on his left hand nagged at him. He glanced constantly at the pale flesh there, the red line where the ring had been. He’d taken vows with Astoria.
But Draco hadn’t had enjoyable sex for three years: not since the engagement. He found someone – a handsome, freckled brunet – and went to a backroom.
Guilt, maybe. Or nervousness: it had been a long time. ~*~
The second time, Draco blamed his impotence on alcohol. The third time, he blamed it on his partner’s red hair. After that, he knew it was something else. Unwilling to admit this might be natural – what kind of twenty-five-old couldn’t get hard? – he went looking in his father’s Dark Arts library.
Chastity spells were traditionally used on women, but a medieval witch had got her own back. Using her wedding ring, she cursed her husband with impotence outside the marriage bed: a magical means of ensuring fidelity.
The sign? A red line around the victim’s finger, under their wedding ring.~*~
He tore up to Astoria’s chambers, black rage misting his sight. He shoved the door open. Astoria had been curled in an armchair doing embroidery; she exclaimed as the door reverberated off the wall, and stood up to face him. “Draco, what on earth – ?”
“You cursed me, you vicious bitch!” he bellowed.
She went pale and still, as if his shout had turned her into a marble statue. Then she blinked, drawing eyelids like shutters over her deep blue eyes, and shut the door with a wave of her wand. “Do try to remember you have a year-old son, Draco.”~*~
“I do remember,” he snarled, feeling his upper lip curl to reveal his teeth. “I’ve been staying at home or at the office, always taking care of him. If I wasn’t a good father, a good husband, I’d never have found out!”
She raised a cool eyebrow, and her voice barely shook as she spoke. Somewhere behind the towering rage, Draco was impressed by her composure in being caught. “Clearly you’re not a perfect husband, or you wouldn’t have discovered the curse. I’m impressed it took so long: you have more self-control than I thought, despite this little tantrum.”“Tantrum!”~*~
“Tantrum,” she repeated. “That is what we call it when children sqawl against things they cannot change. I performed that curse so that you would find no man who might tempt you to divorce me; if you did so, my family and I would be damaged financially and I might lose custody of Scorpius. You can go to the Aurors to have it removed, but then it will inevitably become public knowledge that you’re an impotent queer. You wouldn’t do that to yourself, let alone Scorpius. And you won’t explain to your parents that you tried to fuck Muggle men.”~*~
She was right; in all of it. There was no one Draco could tell – or rather, no one he would tell; and only Astoria could end the curse. So he stood there, fists clenched, and agreed through numb lips.
This woman he’d so underestimated smiled. “I’ll lift the curse when Scorpius goes to Hogwarts,” she said.
“Ten years...” Draco whispered.
“By then I’ll have built up the family’s investments enough that we’ll survive even if you divorce me.”
! I can’t wait to get shot of you, you mad harpy!”
Astoria’s smile was sweet. “The feeling is mutual, darling.”~*~
After that, Draco hid in his room, or posed haughtily downstairs, and was never alone with her. He couldn’t bear it, her eyes on him seeming to scrape at his skin. She knew that he couldn’t... couldn’t do what made him a man.
That wasn’t true, he knew that; but it was hard to believe it. He’d always worried that somehow being gay made him less of a man; wasn’t it ‘manly’ to pant after witches? And now he couldn’t even get hard. If people knew...
He wanted to curl around this constant, internal aching and not have to move.
TBC! I swear.