Toils and Troubles
DISCLAIMER: HP belongs to J.K., bless her.
REASON: Because I get bored in high more weeks. Thank the Lord.
PAIRING: Draco/Astoria
Follows mostly Draco from childhood through the war, then after the war. I tried for a very British tone here, I swear I did.
For my lovely ., ever patience. This is for you. Longer, less bittersweet.
When they were children he would either tease her mercilessly, horridly, or pay her little mind. Whichever it was really depended on his mood, or how compliant Daphne was to his schemes. If she was in a pout, he would enlist the younger (and non-too reluctant) Greengrass to layer the servant's stairs with mud, hide frogs on their mothers' afternoon tea tray, or turn Cousin Pansy's hair violet (though, when Astoria helped, it usually ended up puce, as Astoria though purple too pretty and she did not like Pansy, which made Draco realize his partner in crime was secretly quite devious indeed, as cunning as she was bookish).
They were, doubtlessly, punished heartily for all incidents of which they were caught, especially those involving frogs or other amphibias life. That left them with putting caterpillars on the silverware and in the sugar bowl. Astoria might later suggest to use of slugs for pranks of that nature, but Draco fear Narcissa's wrath far too much after the flaying he'd received for the salamanders in the punch bowl last Yuel.
Once Astoria's ideas began to truly worry the young Malfoy, he decided it was high time to move on to other activities. He sought something exhilarating. This was when he was ten, and his small, lace-loving counterpart was eight. Their new sport came in the form of flying-which he enjoyed, as Astoria was far more cautious in the air than she was on the ground. She created a scary sort of focus on a broomstick as a result, and scarcely saw anyone else in the air. He dearly wanted to shake that fear out of her. Of course, little did he realize he was creating Slytherin House's greatest rival in quidditch following Potter, an opponent he himself would face several times before graduation.
He still ignored her from time to time, in favour of Crabbe, Goyle, Zabbini, and sometimes even "Putrid Pansy." Then, Astoria would demand his full attention in the air, brutally swerving and twisting through a game of tag he hadn't even know he was a part of. By the time he was twelve and she was ten, he could already tell she had the natural want of motion of a chaser. She wasn't one to hover, waiting for a snitch.
Eventually, later when they were in school, she would take up Cho Chang's spot as seeker on the Ravenclaw team-all chaser positions having been taken up. Cho had quit midway through the September, citing emotional difficulties. Ashe, Astoria, dutifully sought a chaser position on Draco urging, but readily accepted her seeker gear and attended practices, winning three games over course of the year.
In their first match, Draco won. Naturally. But Astoria certainly was close, almost catching the snitch if not for the wind resistance against her robes and hair. Malfoy was torn between pride in himself (and, though he would never admit it, her) and annoyance (he would openly admit that, always). Later in the next week he cornered her before dinner.
"I want a one-on-one," he declared. She blinked, once, twice, brow furrowing. With a brisk sigh, he went on. "You held back. You can do better."
"Is you ego suffering?" she pondered aloud, tilting her head. "Surely you don't need to beat me again for a rush. Run off to Pansy if you need a boost, Malfoy, I'll be no help to you," she told him, not entirely unkindly.
With that being said, she turned on her heel and left him alone in the corridor. Later, from across the Great Hall, he continually tried to catch her eye, but she was chatting with friends and paid him no mind. A month later, in Madam Puddifoot's with a sulky Pansy ( the poor creature had been unable to find the proper colour of quill in Scrivenshaft's, and they were out of silver ink, putting her in quite a mood so that when Draco's poor attempt to sooth her arrived, she was full of steam) when he found a small slug in the sugar bowl. And then a toad (possibly Longbottom's, Greengrass was friendly with the cowardly bloke) inside his over-turned teachup. He knew, quite promptly, that he had been forgiven.
He spotted her in front of the window, seated casually sipping a coffee while browsing The Prophet. Her eyes were openly filled with mirth. He mean to speak to her. However, Pansy was dominating his attentions. Later, he said to himself. It would be some trouble-almost two years below him, in different houses, he'd have to go out of his way to find her. Later.
And then everything changed. Dumbledor died. Then war came. And he didn't see Astoria , or Pansy, for a long, long time.
When the trials were over, Pansy broke thing off, officially, saying she wasn't read y to associate with a traitor. Thing in the pureblood circles had altered greatly. The waters were icy. Suddenly, the Malfoys were the odd ones out-not the reigning body. They had found themselves descended to the bottom of the pyramid.
After a month or so of mourning the loss, Draco thought perhaps he didn't mind, terribly. There were certainly fewer expectations, being at the bottom.
For a long time his company was reduced to house elves and immediate family. Even in public, dining out, he was along, and worked to go unnoticed. The boy who once revealed in being the center of a crowd, a ringleader, found himself tense when surround by any number of souls. He preferred the quite of his altered life. But there was strain on his parents-Narcissa grew heavy bags beneath her eyes, and her thickly-veined hands shook nowadays, making a once quiet teatime a small symphony of rattling china. Lucius suffered a small stroke only a few weeks after the trials. He was confined to his bed for several days, then actually found a use for his wand-cane hybrid.
Several long months of silence passed, and Draco moved from the Manor to an equally hushed flat overlooking the Thames, in London. But taxis and buses and muggled bustled about on the streets and sideways below. There was noise. Life. He found he didn't mind.
Though prejudices still remained Draco was growing rather tolerant of mugglekind as a whole. They were sort of silly, true, but relatively harmless in the business of his day-to-day life, which, up until he'd moved out consisted primarily of sleeping, reading, and tracking the family accounts.
It was not long after moving that he saw her again, in muggle London, no less, for the first time in…had it been years? He had been out on a stroll, and happened by her standing on the steps of an ancient, crumbling museum sort of place, staring out over the city. He did not approach; merely watched her before resuming his walk.
A day or two later, he ran across her enjoying a mint-and-cherry ice cream outside of Florean Fortescue's. It was very curious indeed, that he should see her twice in one week in such a large city. Their population might be restricted, but he'd seen her in muggle London once, where their kind rarely ventured. Curious, in his mind. Once more, he observed quietly before moving on, unsure of what he might even begin with.
Of course, he began to see her far more often, glances in the pub, crouched to search a lower shelf at Florish and Blott's, exiting the animal emporium clutching a bag of owl treats. He sometimes saw her with friends, once or twice with a purse-mouth Daphne, but more often than not on her own. He was almost certain she lived in town, if not in one of the Alley's flats; she was the far too often to not live close. The encounters were always frequent snippets of her running errands. Draco consider speaking to her every time, but that thought was thrown out rather quickly. She was an old family friend, yes, but he didn't owe her anything. Besides, to see her face…he wasn't sure if he would be receiving pity or disgust in this case. Either way, he knew he didn't want to find out.
The next time, it was on the street. Diagon Alley in straight daylight. She was browsing a small selection of crystals, turning a piece of rose quartz in her hands and ignored the chatty vendor. She wore an odd cloak-some fawn-coloured hybrid of the classic wizarding style and a modern muggle "hoodie." Her cropped hair was pulled back by the breeze, appearing liquid in motion. Even on an overcast day, the strands shone.
He advanced with only a slight hesitance, looming closer than he'd been in years, waiting. When she didn't notice him right away, Draco reached around for a smoky piece of grey quartz, mimicking her motions. As his hand drew back it brushed her sleeve. Astoria instantly stiffened with the contact. Finally, finally, she turned 'round to see him. Her expression altered from annoyance to one of mild surprise. He gazed back, wary for her reaction. From what he had heard of the Greengrasses they'd altogether left the Dark supporter's community. He would be a traitor to her. Theoretically.
"I was wondering when you would come to see me," she smiled, though it was not particularly wide.
This caught him off guard. "What do you mean?"
Her eyes dropped to the rose quartz. "You've been sulking around Diagon Alley for weeks. I know you've seen me at least twice," And here he could tell she was being kind, not asking him what kind of a freak he was to avoid-and-simultaneously-follow her in such a manner. Why have you not said hello to me, Draco?"
Malfoy strongly considered lying. "Not sure what to say," he said honestly. "Or if you would even consent to speak to me. The family name has not been too welcome in most social circles."
She was amused. "Not in any group I'm in. I'm not much of a circle person myself."
"No," he agreed. "I should think not. Are you buying that quartz?"
She was buying the quartz, (as well as a bottle of nettle juice, a small tin of broom polish, some sage sprouts, and a book on hand house magics for Daphne's engagement party) so he waited, then at her invitation accompanied her throughout the Alley until lunch time, when he escorted her to a small-ish café in muggle London. They might've talked right through dinner if she had not need to get the sprouts home (fascinating, that she's constructed a small greenhouse in one of her closets—"Prefer wardrobes," she'd said when he asked). Before leaving, he mentioned in passing his lover of sage-rubbed lemon-pepper chicken. A funny look passed over her features then. Three days later, an owl was tapping at his bedroom window, bearing an invitation for dinner that evening. Needless to say, he accepted.
-XXX-
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