Written for Triwizard Tournament Task 2

The night Draco first saw the Astoria Greengrass, he was in disguise.

A quick color changing spell on his hair, a tug on the hood of his robes over his face - it hadn't taken much effort to conceal himself in the crowded pub, and yet the woman saw him sitting in the corner, taking measured sips of his beer.

She was a petite thing with a vibrant smile that remained pleasant and true as she approached. He noted, with a hint of disgust, that there was a slight bounce in her step, as if she could not abide the dreariness of walking like a normal person.

"Hello!" she said in a chirpy voice. "Mind if I sit here?"

She sounded like the birds that sang outside his mother's window. (In other words, she sounded thoroughly unpleasant.) Draco frowned and scooted to the side.

She hopped up next to him, the fresh scent of her wavy brown hair tickling his nose. She opened her mouth to speak, and Draco hurriedly took a long sip of his drink, praying to Merlin that she would not be still interested in him by the time he finished.

He must've held the bottle up for at least two minutes, but when he lowered the drink to take a breath, the woman was still there, staring expectantly at him. She looked… almost angelic.

"What?" he snapped. He could smell the alcohol on his breath and wondered why she wasn't flinching.

"Nothing. You look familiar." She tilted her head at him, her grey eyes absorbing every detail of his face.

Draco squinted at her through eyelids that were heavy with fatigue rather than influence. Now that she brought it up, she did look a bit familiar. If he blurred out her long hair, he could almost see his former classmate, Daphne, in this woman's face -

Oh. This was not good.

Draco suddenly stood up, which made the blood rush to his head. He set down his drink and waved a barmaid over.

"Are you leaving?" inquired the woman as Draco slapped a few Knuts onto the counter. "Oh, I hope I'm not the reason-" She made to touch his shoulder. He flinched.

"Stay away," he said without looking at her. He pulled the hood even more firmly above his face and said stiffly, "Good night."

He did not wait for her reply, and Apparated back into his cold, desolate chamber back at home. Throwing his hood off, Draco drained the contents of the bottle and threw it onto the ground.

The bottle shattered against the stone, beautiful deep green shards spilling across the grey stone that almost looked silver with the reflection of the moon.

Draco almost snorted at the sight of it. That, right there, was the story of his life.

The second time he saw the woman was not the last, but it was the last that mattered.

It was very unfortunate, too, that she saw him standing disinterestedly in the corner of the Manor's ballroom, because Draco had been planning to discreetly leave the stupid dress-up party soon.

But, it would seem, Astoria Greengrass's presence was not going to help him escape the stuffiness of the annual Malfoy Christmas dinner.

"I knew you looked familiar," said she said triumphantly as she approached him. "Draco Malfoy."

Her voice no longer sounded like birds - had he imagined that while he'd been drunk? - and instead was inquisitive and cautious.

"Hello," he said monotonously, because he was expected to be polite at parties. "Are you enjoying the ball?"

He only had to deal with her for a minute or so. She would leave him alone soon, he knew. From the way she stood two feet away, as if the very sight of him was revolting, Draco knew she would make her escape soon enough.

No one stayed around him anymore. No one trusted him enough.

She clucked her tongue at him, sweeping her elegantly-pinned hair to the side. "Why, really! You didn't even let me introduce myself." She brought herself up to her full height and said, extending a hand, "I'm Astoria Greengrass."

Draco looked down at her hand. It expectantly bridged the gap between their bodies, and looked firm and warm and healthy and everything Draco was not. It was very tempting to reach out to see just how warm and smooth it was…

He turned his nose upward and ignored the pale, small hand, staring intently at his mother across the room. Narcissa was acquainting herself with the Zabini family, looking delighted that they'd decided to come. Other than the Parkinsons, none of their previous family friends could necessarily make the ball. They were either dead, in Azkaban, or in hiding.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Astoria's mouth drop open. Slowly, she pulled back her hand and let out a huff of indignation.

Now, Draco thought firmly. Now was when she was going to leave.

He steeled himself for the moment where he would knew he would watch her back as she swept away to speak with other people, with people who had reputable jobs at the Ministry, with people like Blaise Zabini, with people who hadn't been Death Eaters who'd ultimately caused Albus Dumbledore's death -

Right. He was the only Death Eater who'd done that.

Draco took a deep breath and focused on the door to his left. That was the door - that was the door he'd entered when he first got the Dark Mark; the door he'd entered when the Dark Lord called him in the summer before sixth-year; the door he'd entered to watch Professor Burbage die; the door he'd entered to be bad, dangerous, cruel -

Astoria interrupted his increasingly morbid thoughts by saying curiously, "Why are you doing that?"

He pursed his lips, unable to stop the flow of frenzied thoughts running through his mind. Death Eater, Death Eater, stay away - "Doing what?"

"Looking at that door like it's the devil himself." She followed his line of vision, her pure grey eyes settling on the ornate oak door that visited Draco every night in his restless sleep.

"Nothing," he said harshly, tearing his eyes away from the door. Dangerous, cruel, murderer.

She frowned at him. "You're white all over." She suddenly pressed a hand to his face. "And you're very cold, too."

For a moment, Draco faltered. She was as warm as she looked, and it seemed to take no effort at all to lean into her palm, versus the necessary struggle of keeping his calm in public.

"Unnaturally cold," Astoria was saying.

Was that concern Draco heard in her voice? Something warm tickled his stomach, and he decided he liked it too much for comfort. He quickly pulled himself away from her hand, resisting the urge to grab her hand and let her warmth flow into his cold cheeks.

"Do you normally touch perfect strangers' faces?" he demanded, but the force in his voice weakened with every word, with every second he became more aware of just how cold he was without her hand.

"No, I - erm -" She blushed. "It was out of line. I'm sorry."

"Yes, you should be sorry," said Draco callously. He was being particularly rude, even to his standards. He scowled at this piece of information and grew even moodier. "Haven't you been here long enough? Just let me be. Go talk to" - he thrust his hand towards the other side of the room - "Blaise Zabini, or something."

Astoria's eyes widened at his dismissal, but she made no move to leave. It dawned on Draco that it had been over ten minutes since she'd approached him, and she was still standing in front of him despite the fact that he'd just demanded she leave.

And she still had that look in her eye, that innocent look that always disappeared in people once they found out that he was Draco Malfoy, he was the murderer, he was the only Death Eater who could not seem to forget the past, he was the outsider on the borders of society -

The memories crept up on him before he knew it.

Flashes of green and red hit Draco with a mental force strong enough to make him stumble backwards. No, he thought with panic, but it was too little and too late.

Black. The Dark Lord at the head of the table. Potter's limp body. Screaming Muggles. The Vanishing Cabinet. The Astronomy Tower. His wand. Dumbledore's face-

Draco shook his head violently, clutching at the folds of his now-crinkled robes as images that he could not and would not forget imposed their menacing cackles upon his weak mind and damaged soul. He forgot about Astoria, forgot about the party, forgot about keeping his posture - the only thing that remained prominent was the memories he feared.

He heard a soft voice that sounded like birds say urgently, "Draco? Draco, what's happening?"

Was she still here? Didn't she know what this was, what this meant? Didn't she see how broken he was?

"Go away," he said, gritting his teeth. The words came out as no more than a hiss of breath.

"Draco?" Warm hands touched his shoulders. He tried to jerk away, but he wasn't strong enough, and there was this glorious, fresh scent in the air (where was it coming from?) that was like a drug, only better and more enhancing. It made him feel woozy and clear at the same time. Draco focused on that scent until Dumbledore turned into a blur of green, green turned into black, and black turned into white.

The instant the memories returned to the recesses of his brain, Draco straightened himself and stared straight ahead, ignoring Astoria's persistent questions. He realized now that she was the one who smelled like spring and everything good, and he was as unnerved at her presence as he was comforted by it.

But this could not go on. He would not let it go on.

"You saw nothing," he said shakily, but still he would not look into her grey eyes because he knew for certain what he'd see in them - disgust, caution, and, the worst, pity. Merlin knew he'd seen enough of that from previous experiences.

"Draco-"

"You saw nothing," he repeated, this time resolutely. He cleared his throat and regained his balance, straightening himself.

"I want to help-"

And perhaps if Draco had faltered, allowed her to speak, listened to her, looked into her eyes, he would have known that she wasn't like the others who had turned away when they had discovered Draco's inability to accept the past and move on; when they had discovered Draco's cowardice and selfishness. Perhaps then, his life would have turned out differently.

But as it was, Draco Malfoy did not play with chance and fate. Not anymore, at least.

"I hope you enjoy the party," he said without much sincerity at all, and swept away, making his escape out the door.

"Wait!" she called after him (the first ever to call for him), but Draco didn't turn. Could she not see how broken he was? What ulterior motive did she have, to call for him? Did she want to humiliate him? To flaunt her freedom from the snares of the Wizarding War five years ago? To tell him that he was abnormal for remembering and feeling guilt and remorse for everything he'd done?

Even worse would be if she understood. If she was calling after him to say she would be a "friend", that she wanted to help him heal and help him forget.

He wouldn't allow that. He wouldn't allow her to save him, not with his pride on the line and the fallibility of people's emotions.

Draco didn't turn, even as she called his name out again.

That was the second time he saw Astoria Greengrass. It was the last time that mattered, because the next time he saw her, she was on the arm of Theo Nott, looking perfectly content. Theo looked content too, and if his sparkling eyes indicated anything, the cause of his happiness was the woman with the fresh scent and chirpy voice and bouncy walk.

Draco watched the couple saunter through Diagon Alley. He watched Nott smile more brightly than he had ever before, and that was because of Astoria. That was the difference, he realized, between he and Theo. Theo'd accepted Astoria's radiance.

And Draco hadn't.