27 November 1997

"For Merlin's sake, Pansy, leave me alone!"

Draco could hardly contain his frustration as he swept down the corridor towards the library, Pansy Parkinson still hot on his trail. He was finding it increasingly impossible to rid himself of her unpleasant presence this year. No matter how many excuses he made, the pug-faced girl always managed to track him down, one way or another, and this evening was no exception. He'd mumbled a hasty goodbye to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he'd seen her enter the Great Hall, but her hawk-like gaze had followed him all the way to third floor.

"Draco, please," Pansy whined, catching his wrist. "You're being so ridiculous this year—"

"I'm being ridiculous?" Draco demanded, yanking his wrist out of her tight grasp. He snorted, eyes narrowing. "Says the girl who's been trailing behind me like a lost crup for three months. Honestly, Pansy, I'm starting to think you'd follow me into the shower, if you could."

A glimmer of desire lit up Pansy's squat face, and Draco turned away, disgusted.

"No, Draco—wait," Pansy whimpered, flinging her arms around him and letting out a huge, fake sob. "I swear, I didn't mean to be a bother. It's just—you've barely spoken a word to me since the start of term—"

"Well, then, maybe you should take a hint," Draco snapped, and Pansy released him, looking hurt.

They had reached the library steps. Without a backward glance, Draco stalked up to the large wooden doors, clenching the the brass doorknob so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Then, he flung the door open and stalked inside, barely flinching as the door slammed shut behind him with a resounding BANG.

Ignoring Madam Pince's low growl of fury, and the dirty looks he was receiving from studying students, Draco quickly sidled past rows and rows of bookshelves, not halting until he reached the very back of the room. Then, with a half-exasperated, half-exhausted sigh, he leaned back against the library's cool wall, closing his eyes.

"You were quite rude to her, you know."

Draco jumped violently, whirling around in alarm. A mass of thick, shining brown hair; long eyelashes; dark, glittering eyes. The girl, perhaps a year or two his junior, was eyeing him shrewdly, her lips curved into a slight frown. Draco thought she looked vaguely familiar.

"What are you talking about?" he asked her, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"You were rude," the girl told him again, "To Parkinson. I could hear you two arguing from back here."

Immediately, Draco felt a flicker of annoyance. "You don't know the half of it," he said shortly, glaring at her.

The girl's eyebrows arched. "Oh? Believe me, I do."

"No, you—"

"Please, Draco," the girl rolled her eyes. "Do you honestly think nobody else notices the way the cow practically worships the ground you walk on? But you aren't allowed to reap the benefits of her stupid devotion, if you aren't willing to pay the price—that's not fair."

Draco's mouth fell open slightly, and he blinked in disbelief, feeling oddly like a little child who had just been told off for poor manners. He couldn't remember having ever been spoken to this way before in his life; his own parents had never been so sharp. It was quite a shock to Draco, indeed, that this girl—a complete stranger—had absolutely no hesitations about telling him exactly what she thought.

He shook his head slowly. "Who are you?" he wanted to know.

"I'm Astoria."

A glimmer of recognition prickled his memory. "You're Daphne Greengrass's little sister, aren't you?"

He'd heard many a tale of Daphne Greengrass's younger sister, and all of them had portrayed the girl in a very poor light. Then again, all of the stories had been told to him by Pansy Parkinson, and accordingly, he'd opted to think nothing of them.

But now, as Draco gazed, still feeling somewhat affronted, at the brown-haired girl in front of him, he was beginning to wonder whether Pansy's accusations had had more than an inch of truth in them, after all.

"Yes," Astoria said stiffly. Then, she flashed him a wicked smile. "Why? What does our charming Miss Parkinson have to say about me?"

Draco's mouth grew dry. "She—nothing," he said quickly, eyes widening slightly.

"There's no need to hide anything," Astoria's eyes twinkled. "I know she hates me."

Draco was speechless. Although he found it hard to believe, he was now beginning to like this witty, vivacious Greengrass girl.

"She might hate you," Draco said finally, slipping into the seat opposite hers, "But I don't."

Astoria raised her eyebrows, the faintest of amused smiles tugging at her full, coral lips. "Well…thank you." She paused, and her dark eyes flicked down to rest on his left forearm; Draco instinctively tugged the sleeve of his cloak down further. "And you're not as insufferable I thought you were, either, I suppose."

In spite of himself, Draco laughed. "How flattering."

Astoria half-smiled.

Spirits lifting slightly, Draco looked down at the sheaf of parchment Astoria had arranged neatly in front of her on the library table. "What are you working on?"

Astoria sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Potions theory," she said in a dull voice. "Slughorn's given me loads of remedial work. I'm barely passing."

"Need any help?" Draco asked immediately. "Potions is my best—"

"I—no, thank you," Astoria interrupted at once, an odd expression crossing her face. "I can manage."

Draco stiffened. Then, slowly, he sat back in his seat, rather disappointed.

A long, uncomfortable silence was beginning to unfold over the library table. When he could stand it no longer, Draco cleared his throat pointedly, rising to his feet.

But then— "Actually, I…could use some feedback on this essay," a soft voice informed him from across the table.

Draco froze, diverted. Astoria was holding a piece of parchment out towards him, smiling rather tentatively. And he didn't know whether he was imagining it, but he thought that her cheeks looked a little pink. Draco sat back down, feeling an unexpected jolt of happiness.

He reached for the essay. But in his enthusiasm, Draco leaned forward a little too quickly—and his chair tipped.

The effect was instantaneous.

Draco lurched, clawing at air for a second, before managing to plant his hands on the table—precisely on top of Astoria's.

They were so close. They were so close that Draco could count every eyelash, every freckle.

Her lips, full and pink, loomed tantalizingly before him. He could have kissed her.

Inexplicably, he was struck by how badly he wanted to.

With a loud gasp, Astoria jerked backwards abruptly, eyes wide. She gaped at him, plainly lost for words, and Draco couldn't help but wonder whether his desire to kiss her had been as transparent as it had felt.

But he didn't have a chance to ask her, for the very next instant, she had jumped to her feet, collected her possessions, and fled from the table.

And Draco was left alone, staring at the stretch of blank wall in front of him.

Author's Note:

Good Lord, I've missed you all SO MUCH! So sorry for the lack of activity on FF. I've been really busy this summer, and I've had to shelve a lot of things I love, FanFiction included.

Anyway, I hope this little one-shot made up for it! This was written for HedwigBlack's "Almost Kiss" Competition, and it occurred during the beginning of the 1997-1998 school year, when Harry and the gang were off hunting for Horcruxes. This would have been Draco and Astoria's first real encounter, around a year before they became a couple (which, in my headcanon, happened after the war).

Ari