Draco Malfoy stood at the window, his silhouette a dark contrast against the moonlight. His gaze was fixed on the velvet night, but his thoughts were tangled in memories of Astoria, whose absence felt like a gaping chasm in his heart. "Why did you leave me?" he whispered to the silence, the bitterness in his voice as sharp as broken glass.
Scorpius knelt beside his sister's bed, his young face alight with affection as he gazed at Desdemona, who was nestled in her blankets. "Don't worry, Des," he murmured, smoothing a curl from her forehead, "I'll always be here for you." His promise was firm, his love unwavering in the face of their father's cold indifference.
"Father, why do you hate her?" Scorpius asked, his voice trembling with the courage it took to confront the man he once idolized. Draco met his son's gaze, his eyes like ice. "She took your mother from us," he replied, the accusation hanging in the air like a storm cloud.
Draco sat in a leather armchair, a photo of Astoria in his hand. Her smile was a haunting reminder of happier times. "Astoria, what do I do?" he murmured, wishing for an answer that would never come. The realization of his own misery seeped into his consciousness, bringing with it a flicker of doubt about his feelings toward Desdemona.
Scorpius chased Desdemona across the lawn, her giggles a balm to the heaviness that lingered in the manor. Watching from a distance, Draco felt a strange warmth unfurl in his chest. "Perhaps there is hope," he thought, the possibility of redemption beginning to thaw the ice around his heart.
"You care for her deeply," Draco acknowledged, his voice softening as he spoke to his son. "She's my sister. She deserves love," Scorpius replied, a simple truth that resonated with Draco. In the glow of the fireflies, he felt the first stirrings of forgiveness, both for Desdemona and himself.
