Draco Malfoy looked around nervously at the wide trees pressing close around him, the mid afternoon sun shining brightly. Pansy had insisted that werewolves and giant spiders lived in the forest surrounding the old, dark castle, a fact not disputed by Daphne, whose grandmother owned the ancient Welsh estate, tucked away in a dense woodland. The blonde girl looked away from the rest of the children gathered around the small circular table, long enough to say: "If you see Tori while you're exploring, tell her that Mother wants to see her." Pansy's Parkinson's derisive giggle showed exactly what she thought of the younger sister, but even the prospect of death by Astoria Greengrass didn't frighten the seven-year-old Malfoy.
Now that he was well under the shade of the trees, and completely out of sight of the adults' paved balcony, the prospect of a sudden, painful death seemed very real. He'd been gone just five minutes, and had already fallen over three times, mistakes that had earned him a pair of grubby, scraped palms and had destroyed his trousers. Mother will be furious, he thought, glancing down at the offending garments. And Father will be to, when he comes home. The cuffs were in tatters, and the knees stained with both grass and dirt. Perhaps my death isn't going to be so bad. He pushed through a wiry looking bush and felt his foot catch on another root. He tumbled forward, out of the bush and landed with a thump on soft grass. Draco let out a curse he'd heard Lucius Malfoy use when reading letters from the Minister of Magic, and sat up. He'd tumbled into a circular clearing, the soft grass covered in small grey flowers where the sunlight filtered through the branches. One of his shoes had fallen of; most likely trapped in the infernal bush Draco was tempted to name his arch-nemesis, but the boy made no move to retrieve it as he scrambled to his feet, instead looking around at the sanctuary he'd found.
A slightly rickety stone cottage sat near the edge, and a stream flowed into a small pool at the other end. Draco frowned at the cottage, walking over to inspect it further. It looked like something Babbity Rabbity might have lived in, the small boy reasoned, walking around the edge. He turned, half expecting to come face to face with the old washerwoman, who'd turn him into a stump or worse, but instead meet a pair of angry green eyes.
"What are you doing?" Astoria Greengrass demanded, looking as angry and wild as ever. Draco let out a shout of surprise and stumbled back.
"What are you doing?" he returned, after regaining his balance. The girl made no move to answer, in fact the only sign she'd heard him was the slightly angrier glare on her face. "Were you spying on me?"
"I wasn't spying," Astoria spat out, her dark brown hair tanged about her face. "I was hiding." Draco nodded. He could understand that impulse. There was an awkward pause as he remembered the exact reason his mother had dragged him to Wales.
"I'm sorry about your father," he said, trying to look as formal as possible while missing a shoe. "He died recently didn't he?"
"Yes," Astoria agreed. She wasn't glaring at him any more: it was more like her face had shut off completely. Draco was definitely sure he hadn't been told how to act in this situation. He kicked at a flower averting his eyes. Was it his imagination, or did the girl in front of him have green tinged fingers? "Are you missing a shoe?" the girl in question asked.
"No," Draco said sarcastically. "This is the new fashion. Everyone doing it." A faint smile appeared on the girl's face.
"Okay then," she said, pulling her own shoe off. The embodied slipper smacked Draco in the chest and her smile widened.
"Hey!" He snatched it from the grass and lobbed it at her. She ducked, turning to look as it landed in the grass.
"Missed," Astoria laughed, turning back. Draco tackled her to the ground, pinning her beneath him.
"You have fallen into my trap," he declared.
"No fair," the younger Greengrass shouted, shoving him in the chest, but she was trapped fast. "Let me go."
"You have to surrender," Draco said, smirking. Astoria scowled at him and said nothing, before reaching up and grabbing his ears. "Let go!"
"You won't let go of me," Astoria retorted, giving a sharp tug.
"Fine. You let me go, and I'll let you go," Draco said after a moment. Astoria frowned.
"You won't let me go," she said with a strange finality in her voice, dropping her head back on the grass and turning it away.
"I said I would."
"People say a lot of things."
Draco gave an irritated huff. "You have to trust me."
Astoria let out a mirthless laugh.
"Why should I do that?"
"Because we're friends." He'd decided it almost immediately before she'd thrown something at him, but Malfoys did not change their minds, or whatever Father liked to say.
Her head snapped back to him, her eyes narrowed like she was trying to figure out what was going on. Draco was uncomfortably aware of how anxious Astoria always seemed in company, her tendency to disappearing and how Pansy Parkinson had Tracy Davis and the girl whose name he couldn't remember laughing about Daphne's pet Squib sister.
Astoria's face shifted slightly, and his ears were suddenly free. True to his word, Draco let her go, dropping onto the ground next to her.
"So who are you hiding from?" he asked, as she sat up. Astoria shrugged, folding her legs underneath her.
"Pansy and the rest," she said grabbing a handful of grass and ripping it in her hands.
"She used to think you were a werewolf," Draco disclosed. Astoria snorted.
"I still know she's an idiot," she retorted. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"There was nothing to do on the terrace, unless you like playing teatime," he said scoffing. "Blasie didn't want to come, Theo couldn't make it and the girls are to afraid." Astoria raised a disdainful eyebrow.
"Pansy and the others were too scared," Draco amended, rubbing his ears. "What is this place anyway?"
"It's my grandmother's old potion's cottage," Astoria said glancing back at it. "It's locked though," she added as Draco turned to look, holding up her green tinged hands. "I tried to get in, but someone charmed the windows as well. Probably Mother."
"Your sister said that she wants to see you," Draco told her. Astoria shrugged, lying back down on the grass.
"I'll get into trouble if I interrupt her garden party with these," she said, half to herself, holding her hands up in front of her, frowning as if they were a particularly tricky riddle or arithmetic equation
"You could wash them in the stream," Draco said looking down at her.
"I could," she allowed. "But then we'd have to go back."
"Be told off in front of everyone," he added, flopping down so they were both lying on their backs.
"Set to our rooms," she said, the corners of her mouth twitching.
"Or not sent to our rooms," he suggested with mock-horror. Astoria grinned.
"Sitting with the others."
"Dying of boredom."
"And the giggling."
"Giggling?" Draco repeated, craning his neck to look at her.
"Pansy, Tracy and…. the other one giggling, constantly."
"The other one?" he repeated.
"She has glasses. Do you know her name?"
"No one knows her name. She's left I think."
"Was she giggling?"
"They all were." Draco wrinkled his nose. "Why do you do that?"
"What?" Astoria said flatly turning to look at him.
"Giggle, Why do you giggle?"
Astoria shifted so she was looking up at the sky.
"I don't giggle," she said tonelessly.
"Daphne does it," Draco pointed out. Astoria bunched her hands into fists at her sides, staining the skirt of her dress.
"I am not Daphne." Something in her voice made Draco shift the subject away from the girl next to him.
"How come Pansy and the rest do it then?" he asked looking up at the trees; the view of the sky was infinitely safer than watching Astoria.
"I haven't a clue," Astoria said, releasing the folds of her dress, her shoulders relaxing.
"Do you think they find everything funny?"
"Maybe. How could everything be funny though?" she wondered. "Maybe it's a code."
"Or a disease," Draco said. "They've already been infected."
"No one is safe," Astoria said a small smile on her face. "What's her name's spread it to the world. We'll have to build our own place here." She bit her lip. "Should we save Blasie? He doesn't giggle." Draco shook his head, frowning at the thought of having Blasie there, criticizing everything silently.
"It's to late for him," he said. "He's probably a carrier or something. We'll need other people though."
"It's too dangerous with just the two of us," Astoria agreed. "We need a third member."
"Theo hasn't been infected. We could save him," he suggested.
"We'd have to find a cure though," she said.
"Well since you're immune, we'd have to find a Potions Master or a Healer," Draco said, inventing wildly.
"We'd have to bring a specimen along," Astoria added. "Daphne, probably. Theo could be bait."
"Then we'd have to get to Hogwarts, or St. Mungo's," he said. "Without getting infected along the way."
A comfortable sort of silence fell between them as they imagined the great adventure.
"Think we could do it?" Astoria asked after a while.
"Course we could," Draco said confidently. "So what do you do for fun around here?"
Astoria turned her head to look at him. "Well if you're not going anywhere," she began forcing her voice to sound casual, "I suppose I could show you around."
He smiled at her.
"What did you have in mind?"
Astoria showed him the maze first, going round through the fairy glade to keep them out of sight of the terrace. At Draco's insistence they went in, climbing over the rickety fence that blocked the entrance. After two hours, when they had been separated at lest twice, they stumbled onto the center on a stroke of luck, a pine tree entwine with a statue of a sleeping dragon with one emerald and onyx eye open.
"Why did it have an eye open?" Draco asked. Astoria shrugged in response, clambering onto the stone back with well-practiced ease.
"Nain probably knows," she said. "But she's doesn't like visitors."
"Is she really a vampire?" Draco asked after a pause. He'd heard the rumor somewhere and couldn't put it out of his mind. The manor was the very place for a vampire, with it's timeless look, the slightly rundown grounds and the surrounding forest.
"Yes," Astoria said flatly. "But she won't eat you. You're to skinny." There was a pause as the horrorstruck Draco stared at her and she laughed. He threw a pinecone at her in revenge, grinning as well.
They snuck into the kitchens and wheedled lunch out of an almost perfectly round house elf dressed in a clean, fluffy stola of towels that smiled at every opportunity, eating it in the shadow of a ruined tower, taking turns to tell stories, Astoria listening patiently while he raved about Quidditch, Draco doing the same once she got onto the subject of Potions. They hid in the library while Astoria's mother saw the Zabinis off, raced across the green lawn, and played hide and seek in the orchard, before heading back to the clearing as Draco maintaining that Astoria had cheated by lobbing apples at him while she laughed. It made her look very different from how she was when they'd first met, he thought, saying, "You did cheat. I'm older than you so I'm right."
"You're not that much older," Astoria retorted.
"Two years
"One and a half."
They argued back and forth companionably, flopping down on to the grass. The sun moved lower in the sky dipping behind the tops of the trees as they spoke, the light turning a dusky red around them. It was nice to have someone to talk to Draco thought. Theo was never happy and Blasie was too eager to criticize. He didn't have to watch what he said around Astoria. He didn't even mind the fact that it would soon be dark enough for werewolves.
The conversation turned, as it always did, to Hogwarts. "Where are you going to be?" Draco asked. Astoria shrugged.
"I don't know," she said, her lip curling, "Mother and Father went to Beauxbattons."
"You're not going are you?" Draco asked, suddenly worried about looing his friend to the French. Astoria shook her head vigorously.
"I'd like to be in Slytherin," she decided. "Nain was in Slytherin."
"My whole family's been in Slytherin," Draco said proudly, feeling it best not to mention the cousin who was in Gryffindor. "We can be together."
"We'll be in different years though. Different classes. You won't want to talk to me then."
"Yes I will." Draco was affronted
"Third year's take electives," Astoria reminded him, back to being dryly morose. "You'll have forgotten me then."
"I'll take the classes you're going to take," he said stubbornly. "You can do my Potion's homework. Mother says there are big tables that houses eat in together. I can write you letters before you come. And there are the holidays. Father's friend Professor Snape was five years lower than him at Hogwarts."
"Really?" Astoria asked, surprised. 'We can still be friends?"
"We're best friends," Draco declared, sticking his chin in the air like his father did. For a horrible moment he thought she wouldn't agree, but then he was tackled in a pine scented hug. He hugged her back as Astoria threated to dump honey over his head if he told. Draco grinned and threated her with his mother's perfume, knowing that they would always be best friends.
6 years later. Diagon Alley.
Astoria trailed behind her mother and sister, the two almost identical blonde heads looking from this shop to that, only understanding part of the conversation being spoken. Daphne had learnt French happily, Mother's language, while Astoria had insisted on Welsh. Nain had been happy to oblige. The books in her arms were thick and heavy, the air was chilly, the alley bustling and she was on her guard, even after Daphne had whispered that she'd made sure they wouldn't run into anyone they knew (read: avoiding) when Mother had been stopped by a business associate, who wanted desperately to thank her personally for her assistance and weren't the three Greengrass ladies looking very nice today and wasn't Daphne blooming up to be so pretty just like her mother, and this must be Astoria and wasn't the weather nice today, yes it had been very fine for August and other banal, insipid words.
Of course that was in the morning, when they had time to kill before Daphne's dress-robes were fitted and Astoria given leave to retreat to the dark apothecary away from socializing and the rest of wizard-kind. Now the light was turning buttery and, at last Astoria they stepped in the Olivander's. Daphne was practically bouncing with excitement, her pearly blue coloured robes picking up the light from the candle and making her glow. Mother, in a crisp, business like royal blue robes, was seated in the only chair; the bags of school paraphernalia and of course the receipt annual school gift gathered around her feet. Daphne was wearing all three of hers, the locket and bracelet finally having an appropriate matching dress. Astoria's own, a potion book several years above the beginner's text given to first years, was clutched in her hand. They heard Mr. Olivander before the saw him, the soft muttering on core and length echoing from behind the counter. Astoria, having secreted herself in the dusty corner least illuminated by light, was the only one not to start, however well hidden, when the old man appeared suddenly.
"Well well," he murmured, peering at Daphne, who'd been looking at the boxes sacked to the ceiling of the tiny shop, and Mrs. Greengrass, who'd been reading a business memo, before coming back to the eldest Greengrass sister. "Ah yes. Miss Daphne Greengrass, applewood and unicorn hair, twelve and three quarter inches, purchased three years ago to the day if I am not mistaken. Not broken I take it?" Daphne shook her head, glancing at Astoria out of the corner of her eye. The old man followed the glance, and his eyes, pale silver like a Draught of Peace, fixed on the small figure in the corner. "Miss Astoria Greengrass, as I believe you are, the youngest granddaughter of Lady Seren Greengrass?" Astoria nodded, murmuring a polite reply. "Come forward child." She did so, but slowly, only after an encouraging nod from both mother and sister. "You have her look," Mr. Olivander said softly, taking Astoria's left hand in both of his own and turning it over, the pale silver eyes taking in the small pale white scars on the back of the hand, and the single, spiral burn on the flesh of the palm. "The left is your wand hand, like her as well." Astoria nodded even though it was not a question, resisting the urge to pull away, in spite of the man's kind smile and frail figure, her green eyes shuttered. Daphne's own eyes, the same shade as her sisters and nearly every Greengrass by blood for years, caught the emotion stirring behind her sister's eyes and the hunched shoulders, and, perhaps the most telling, the hand creeping up to the back of her neck, hidden by the curtain of dark brown hair.
"Perhaps I could go for a walk Mother," she suggested. "I think Tracy and Teddy were going o be at Florian Fortescue's."
"You cannot go alone, not with Sirius Black on the loose," Cateline Greengrass said in slightly accented English, her tone allowing no argument.
"I could stay here alone," Astoria offered, shooting a grateful look at her sister, so quick it would have been missed by anyone but it's intended. "I don't mind, Mother. Truly." The matter was settled quickly, with Mr. Olivander assuring Cateline that he was make sure that her youngest would not leave the shop, even locking the door at her bequest. Astoria didn't move from her place inn the room
"And now we are alone, Miss Greengrass," the wandmaker said softly, holding up her left hand. "I recognize this mark. A fail jinx I believe." A ghost of a smile flittered across Astoria's face. "Now I don't suppose you will tell me whose wand you've been, ah, borrowing for the many spells that I assume you've been casting?"
"It hasn't just been spells," Astoria admitted after a moment.
"Ah yes, some potion work requires wand usage, does it not," Olivander agreed, glancing at the Potion book tucked under his young customer's right arm. "However, I do insist on knowing the core and wood, if you can tell me. For you see, the wand you have been using is so poorly matched that it explains the backlash you've no doubt been experiencing."
"I have it here with me," Astoria offered in a small voice. "I wasn't taking Daphne's or Mam's." She tugged her hand out of the old man's grip gently, and knelt down, pulling a relatively short wand out of her boot, holding it out, almost garishly decorate stone studded hilt first. Mr. Olivander's eyebrows went up.
"Well this certainly isn't one of my wands," he asserted, looking at it with a vague air of displeasure. "Brittle, made of chestnut, disguised as silver lime of all things and I believe containing a," he peered closely, "manticore quill. My dear, this wand is a very blunt instrument. Made by Arturo Cephalopos. You," he took her hand again, playing with one finger then another, "are much more suited to something subtle. Yes." He turned away suddenly, pulling along thin box from one of the shelves deftly. "Rowan and unicorn hair, 10 and a quarter inches," he said, holding out a long warm brown wand, polished to a high sheen and the end set with a single moonstone. Astoria took it, uncertainly and was almost instantly holding empty air. A cedar and phoenix tail, 14 inches, was next. Astoria gave it a flick.
"Aquamenti." Nothing happened for a moment, and then a torrent of water burst from the end, knocking the rickety chair over. Olivander returned to room to normal with a wave of his wand and Astoria hastily dropped the cedar wand back into the box on the desk. Soon it had been joined by one of maple and two of ebony, all of which had sent something (the chair, a stack of wands, Astoria herself) flying across the room, a wand of sycamore teamed with unicorn hair that made something down one of the thin corridors explode and a yew wand did nothing whatsoever. Something sparked in Olivander's eyes as Astoria rubbed the back of her neck and eyed the shadowy corner with a carefully controlled expression hiding the desire to flee back to the shadows, and he disappeared down the left hand corridor for several minutes before emerging with a long black box.
"Try this," he said, his eyes alive as he presented the open box to the small wiry figure in front of him. Astoria took it carefully, holding the wand loosely between her fingers. It was simply made of plain dark brown wood, the grip engraved with what looked like dragon scales, designed to prevent the wand from slipping. A Celtic dragon was carved around the hilt, eyes open and wings raised as if in flight.
"What is it made of?" Astoria asked softly.
"Pine, exactly thirteen inches," Olivander said with a faint touch of pride. "Do you like the carving?"
"It's exceptional," Astoria murmured tracing the design with her finger.
"My daughter's design. She adored woodwork." Something in his tone made her look up. The old wand maker caught the look and gave a morose smile. "She died, many years ago now." He gave himself a little shake. "Well, give it a wave." Astoria glanced around the shop and her eyes alighted on a small stone carving of a dragon. She flicked the wand towards it and said the spell.
"Draconifirs." The stone dragon gave itself a little shake and took wing, circling the room, its skin glittering faintly as it passed through the sunlight, before settling down onto it's previous perch. Olivander applauded.
"Well done Miss Greengrass, well done." Astoria was smiling as she watched the small dragon curl its way around a bottle of ink and fall asleep her eyes alight with delight.
"I never done that before," she said, looking down at the wand in her hand. "I just burn myself."
"No doubt with a wand such as this." Olivander eyed the chestnut wand, lying unwanted on the seat, as he held out his hand for the pine.
"That shall be seven galleons, Miss Greengrass," he said, slipping the wand back into its box.
"You're letting me have it?" The surprise, sincere and confused, burst from Astoria's mouth before she could stop it.
"But of course, it has chosen you." Olivander said, frowning slightly. The little girl shuffled, folding her arms across her chest, wishing for the quiet solitude of Greenstone more than ever, or even the open airy house in West Anglia.
"Daughter...keep...can't," she muttered, glaring at a mouse investigating what all the noise must have been.
"It is a wand and needs to be used," the old wandmaker said after a while. Astoria met his eyes, and was apprehensive to find that they were shining with a downhearted contentment. "She was going to take after the business after I died, it was her life's ambition. It would have made her very happy if one of our wands could be sold someone like you." He held out the box and Astoria took it, nodding her agreement to the silent promise.
"What was her name?" she asked softly, her accent turning faintly Welsh.
"Ariadne," Olivander said softly as Daphne, armed with two ice creams appeared smiling in the shop window.
"My thanks to both of you," Astoria muttered awkwardly, turning away to the door quickly, slipping the chestnut wand into her pocket quickly as Cateline unlocked to door.
"Has it been found?" she asked sounding slightly disappointed.
"Indeed," Olivander said switching his attention to the beautiful french woman. Astoria ducked out of the shop, the back of her neck prickling.
"And I bequeath to you, cinnamon and chocolate," Daphne said with a wide smile. Astoria accepted, answering with one of her own smiles, more subdued, but full of something new that made her sister take a pause from her own rose and honeysuckle. "Are you alright Tori?" Her sister glanced up from her new wand and nodded taking a defiant lick of her ice cream. "Well I have news that you're going to love more."
"Are we going back now?" Astoria asked instantly, glaring at an overly loud woman leading a girl Astoria's age with dark hair and a prominent chin whose house elf was tottering around with his arms full of clothing boxes.
"Yes and no," Daphne said with a mischievous grin. Astoria's head snapped towards her sister.
"Please tell me you not making this up," she said. Daphne's shook her head, slinging an arm over her sister's shoulder and giving her a squeeze.
"We're going to Grandma's house," she said with delight. Astoria grinned suddenly, looking eleven instead of seventy-five and Daphne felt a slight stab of guilt. There have been more smiles though. She might be mending.
"Daph, I don't think you can call Greenstone a house," she said wryly. Daphne shrugged, her blonde hair shining.
"I still think you should get something more than a potion book," she said. Astoria waved the ice cream threateningly at her.
"Potions-," Astoria began.
"-Is Merlin, chocolate and a good pair of shoes in one, I know," Daphne finished with a teasing smile as her baby sister scowled at her. "I think you might become Professor Snape's favourite student with that attitude." Astoria gave a dry snort, rubbing the back of her neck, in doubt that she could be anyone's favourite. "If I'm right, you have to let me do your hair, until I finish my NEWTs."
"And when you're wrong you have to drop the subject for good," Astoria retorted, smirking at her assumed victory. "And I will be free to live my life with out fear of hair products." Daphne smiled and responded by detailing her little sister's soon to be new hairstyles loudly.
"That's enough girls," Cateline said, smiling down at her two daughters, the bags of school books and robes and other items floating behind her as a house elf in a an official looking uniform that on close examination, was an artfully arranged quilt, cut to size appeared with a pop.
"Helô, Matu," Astoria greeted, slipping into Welsh, the corners of her mouth turning up. The house elf bowed, his wrinkled face creasing into a smile. Daphne beamed as the house elf turned to her and bowed.
"Hello Maty."
"Miss Daphne, Miss Astoria. If you would please join hands," he said in formal clipped English. Daphne linked her arm through Astoria's then her mother's, while Astoria held out her hand to the house elf.
"Nid yw teitlau gwelwch yn dda, Matu," she murmured softly. "Ddim yn byw yn chi."
"Fel y dywedwch, feinir," Matu agreed taking Astoria's hand, his skin worn and soft like old leather. Astoria shook her head, knowing he was lying has he had been for eleven years, and they Disaperated.
The smell was the first thing that was different, the scent of damp wood and growing green things tickling her nose. She opened her eyes.
Greenstone Castle was not naturally beautiful, like Daphne said Hogwarts was like, but Astoria loved it more than any other building, except for the little cottage among the trees. Originally a Welsh fortification, the English acting Welsh nobility had added to the old structure repeatedly over the years, until the only thing similar about one yard of the outside walls was the stone; pale green and mined from the quarry that was now part of the dragon sanctuary.
Daphne was already racing up the stairs of green marble, calling greetings to the pair of house elves amid the flowerbeds. Cateline followed slowly, falling into discussion with the housekeeper, Rhiannon, Matu's wife.
"Astoria, " she called from the oaken side door. "Come along." Astoria, her elbows leaning against the stone banister, was looking out across the thick forest and further to the mountains beyond, her new wand emitting slivers of emerald light seemingly at will.
"I'll be in in a minute," she said with out looking back. Cateline consider her youngest daughter and nodded.
"See that you do," she said, accidently slipping into the tone she used with her secretary. Her tongue curled as her daughter, quiet and distant even now, gave to inclination of hearing, Cateline sighed and stepped into Greenstones.
"All the items, from both East Anglia and Diagon Alley have been taken to their necessary rooms, Ma'am," Rhiannon said, her wide amber eyes bright in her small face.
"Mercí, Rhiannon. Where might I find Seren?" The girls' grandmother, Lady Seren Greengrass of the Welsh branch, in spite of nearing her eightieth year was still formidable, and apt to take carriage rides through her forests.
"She's in her room, Ma'am. The latest illness hit her poorly." Rhiannon pursed her lips. "If Ma'am could convince her Ladyship not to ride out in the rain, we would all be much obliged." Cateline, doubting that anyone could stop the old woman except herself, nodded and began to long trek up to Seren's rooms at the top of the North Tower.
Astoria took the black stairs slowly, casting the simplest, most colourful spells she knew. The pine wand felt more like an extension of her arm than a magic stick. She past a bust of a sharp face man, dusty from lack of care and stopped, smiled at it, a bitter ragged smile, but still slightly hopeful. "Hwyl fawr Tad," she said, forcing her feet to keep moving at a walk.
She got a quarter of the way before she started running, but it only took her another quarter to stop and by the time she'd reached the iron studded door of stained oak, she didn't feel the need to look over her shoulder like a fugitive. Astoria raised a hand to knock before faltering as someone that sounded like her mother said sharply, "You think I don't know that?"
Astoria bit her lip before running a little way down the back stairs again, opening the secret ladder passage behind her great-great something or others portrait and stepped in side, the painting swinging closed behind her as she started to climb.
Two meters later, Astoria swung herself up onto the stone landing, hidden by the back of a green and gold tapestry. Inside the tower room, Cateline had her head in her hands.
"I don't know what to do," she said, looking up at her mother-in-law. Lady Seren harrumphed.
"You've said those words to me before," she reminded her, holding out a dish of sugarcoated biscuits in an almost indifferent fashion.
"That was different," Cateline protested, drawing back. "You know it was different." Behind the tapestry Astoria's neck prickled uncomfortably, and she wrapped her arms around her chest or some small amount of warmth. Mother only ever used that tone when talking about when Father had been alive. No one wanted to talk about the late Reynaud Greengrass.
"Enlighten me on how this is different," Lady Seren said sharply. Cateline glared at her, her blue eyes flashing and the old woman sighed, like the rustle of aged parchment. "Time is the greatest healer."
"Just because a wound heals over doesn't mean its not infected," Cateline said softly. "The things he did, the ones she suffered through." Astoria felt something thud in the area of her stomach. I don't want to hear anymore, a small part of her said, but her body was rooted to the spot against the wave of memories buffeting her mind.
The flash of the knife, the pain as it cut her skin, the words spoken again and again, the night on the roof, fingers bleeding, the London house, the laughter, the smile,, the smell of blood and whisky. The eyes. The eyes were the worst part.
A short, sharp pain jolt of pain shocked Astoria out of the haze of memories long enough to hear her mother say, "after what happened with the Malfoy boy, and all those years with Reynaud. Sometimes I still see her, as she was there, all that blood." Cateline broke off, burying her face in her hands again. Astoria, white faced and shaking, heard her grandmother whispering comforts in Welsh. I will not stay, she told herself numbly. I will go. Now. She looked at the ladder and almost couldn't bear it. I can bear it more that staying, she thought, tightening her grip on the pine wand. Judging by the red welt on her right hand, it hand been the wand that had administrated the jolt that made her resurface. It was that she focused on as she went down the ladder, slowly as if she'd aged seventy-four years in the little stone hideaway.
As if in a dream she let her feet carry her down that stairs until she stood in front of the bust of the man she had not seen the six years, and had hated for all of her life. Reynaud was in stone as he was in life: thin faced, relatively handsome. He had not inherited the Greengrass eyes, something that his youngest daughter had held on to during those years. Sometimes she wondered why. Most times she pretended not to care. Standing on the grey circle staircase, alone and unaided against the monster apart from the tiny stick of wood in her hand, the walls pressing in as if they were trying to suffocate her, now was not one of those times.
Squaring her shoulders Astoria raised her wand, Wingardium Leviosa on her lips, an idea half formed to drop him from the roof and see how well he damn well liked it. She looked up at the bust and knew almost instantly that it was the wrong thing to do. He father's face loomed above her and Astoria did the only thing she could do.
9
She fled.9