Till now I always got by on my own
I never really cared until I met you
And now it chills me to the bone
How do I get you alone?
How do I get you alone?
-Alone, Celine Dion
She's looking out the window. It's raining nonstop. A bit crazy, actually, she thinks, that their family will be going out into that pouring rain, getting themselves soaked for absolutely no reason at all.
She can see herself, and it's a bit sad. She sees a young woman with cascading, black, waves down to her back, with large, solemn, brown eyes and green flecks, the sparkle gone from them, looking dully back at her. The raindrops are sliding down the windowpane, down the reflection of her cheeks, making it ironically seem as if she's crying.
What a suitable mood. Her mouth twists into a bitter smile.
She can see her sister come up behind her before she actually does, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Her sister is telling her to go put on her corset and get ready, because there is only ample time before they must leave.
Astoria turns around to face Daphne, and without a single protesting word, she walks past her, nightgown trailing behind her, then heads off to her room.
Her mother is a strict and stern woman, and she stares at Astoria with an expression that disapproves of her disability to stay on time. She walks forward towards her, telling her to take off her nightgown, and obediently, with no signs of life, Astoria lifts her hands, the nightgown falling in a puddled pile at her feet, as she gingerly steps out of it.
The corset is wrapped around her, the laces tightened, each pull causing a breath to escape from her closed, curvy, rose pink lips. It is like her freedom. Her mother is her corset, tightening her and shoving her into place, and with each pull of her mother's hand, her freedom, like her breath, escapes away until there is none left in the end.
The last knot is tied, and her mother opens her antique closet to bring out a teal colored dress.
Put it on, her mother says to her stiffly, and then, she walks out the door, closing it behind her.
The message is clear. Her mother wants her to get married. It is the only way the Greengrass fortune and name will be saved. The only way they will be able to live, to try and erase their father's doing of gambling.
But what if she doesn't want to get married? She asks her mother, and her mother slaps her face, while she sinks down to the ground, clutching the side of her cheek. The answer is clear. She doesn't have a choice. She has no other option.
Astoria strokes her hand over the material of the dress, looking at the metallic colour, its' brilliance, its' outer beauty hiding the deadly secret she must carry. It is the dress of a beau, of an engagement, and though she does not want to get married, what choice does she have?
Reluctantly, she slides the soft, slinky material over her creamy, white skin, tying up the bronze ribbon at the back. The teal folds fall down over her legs, and the dress is tight over her corseted waist, the top leaving her shoulders bare and exposed.
Her sister knocks on the door, coming in, telling her the dress looks wonderful, asking if she needs a hand with her hair. Nodding, Daphne strides across the room, tying Astoria's hair into an intricate crown of braids, wrapping them around her forehead, leaving a few wisps hanging stray. She tells Astoria to look into the mirror, and Astoria smiles slightly to show her sister satisfaction. But when her sister leaves, the smile disappears in an instant.
True, the girl in the full length mirror is undeniably beautiful, but the girl, the one with the long, model-perfect, cascading black waves, a teal party dress, with long, eyelashes, and creamy white skin lathered with makeup, is not her. The one in the measly nightgown, the one staring at her from the reflection, that is the true Astoria Greengrass. But she doesn't know when she'll ever see her again.
Obviously, it hadn't been a good idea to ride in a horse carriage, as the journey had been bumpy, jostling, and uncomfortable, no matter how upper-class it looked from the outside surroundings. The pure, black, soaked horses give an impatient whinny, telling her to hurry on, because the faster they leave, the faster they can get back to their stables.
So she sets one high heeled foot out onto the soaked cobblestones, then the other, her sparkly mask wrapped around her face, concealing her identity. Then she walks up the steps towards the Malfoy Manor, following her mother a few meters ahead, as she enters the double doors for the night to begin.
There's more people then she expected, really, all wearing fancy dresses that poof out with volume, or shiny slick suits. There's snow falling from the enchanted ceiling, and it's starting to get a bit chilly, but no one really cares. They're too busy conversing with each other, chattering and gossiping about light hearted topics, ignoring the light sound of the orchestra in the background.
Astoria travels around, feeling alone, as she sees her mother drift off towards the other parents, and her own sister running off to find her fiancée, Blaise Zabini. Though the place is swarmed with people, with families, with youths her age, she has never felt so friendless before. She feels like a silent statue among the buzzing bees.
Then Pansy Parkinson wanders up to her, wearing a cocktail pink dress. They exchange greetings, and they each say how nice each other look tonight, though she can see in Pansy Parkinson's eyes that really, Pansy is jealous of her dress. They both know Pansy is only talking to her because, quite easily put, there is no one else to talk to in this horribly boring, formal evening.
Apparently one of the hosts', the Malfoy's son, will not be making an appearance tonight. He had caught Dragon pox at the last minute. The disappointment in Pansy's face is evident, and she frowns deeply, her forehead creased, as Astoria nods her head absently in a mere attempt to show her attentiveness to Pansy's words.
By then, the dancing has started, and she is in a torrid ocean, where she feels isolated. Each male spinning a female, their dresses whirling around in a open circle, flashing blurry colours everywhere. Astoria feels out of place. Ignoring her mother's glares at her from the other side of the room, she decides to step outside in the Malfoy's enormous, swallowing backyard, where she spots a gazebo. The air is humid, and the dewy, wet grass brushes her feet as she drags her high heels across the lawn to reach it.
Only then does she realize that she isn't alone.
A boy, about her age, it seems, is perched on the edge of the gazebo. He is clothed in a black suit, only visible under the faint light the patio gives off. He turns his face, his eyes covered in a silvery black mask towards her, unrecognizable, without the slightest bit of expression.
"Can't you tell this spot is already taken?" he drawls, staring her head on, as if daring her to withdraw back into the ballroom and shy away from his intimidating posture. Astoria's mouth shuts with a disbelieving snap, and she shakes her head, the wisps of stray hair flying back into her face, as she swipes them aside in annoyance.
"There's more than room for one, isn't there?" she says, bravely, and with a mere inclination of his head, she steps up onto the gazebo, her high heels making the loudest noise in the outside silence of the night, holding up the hem of her dress.
"It's a shame that pretty dress will be wasted, won't it?" he sounds smug. But she isn't quite sure exactly, what in the world he means. She gets the feeling she won't like it, though, that it's a sort of innuendo, or that it has a double meaning.
"What do you mean?" she asks sharply.
"I'm not daft. I can tell you're looking for a suitor, aren't you? That's why your dress is so fancy. You must have splurged on it. Your mother put you up to this, of course?"
She hates it when people assume things about other people, namely her, and her posture stiffens instinctively, only confirming his hypotheses.
"You don't know anything about me."
"I never said I did," he comments, with a certain amusement, a certain humorous, dry air, to his voice, as if he is talking to a little child, trying to calm her down from a tantrum. And of course, his calamity just makes her even more frustrated, and she feels the need to slap him. Her hand twitches, her fingers wiggling, and his face darts down in that direction. His thin lips curve into a smile, as he can guess exactly what she's thinking.
"Got the urge to slap me, don't you?"
"Can you blame me?" her voice rings out, slipping out of her lips before she can take it back, but once it's out, she doesn't feel the least bit sorry. He laughs at her, but beneath that humor, she senses a more dark, tortured side radiating from his emotions. A dangerous side.
"Who are you?" she whispers cautiously, her former anger gone, only apprehension and caution left in its' place.
He smirks, the corner of his mouth curving up, curling into a sneaky smile.
"Nobody worth knowing."
She reaches out to take off his mask, but he steps back a moment soon so that her arm is extended, and her fingers are clutching at empty air, before it drops back half-heartedly to her side.
He turns to leave, but she cries out. It has been so long before she has had such company, so long before she had someone to relate to, that even though he is a stranger, a possible danger, she doesn't want him to leave so quickly.
He turns around, changing his mind, and before she can react, he puts his arm around her back and dips her forwards, where she is a mere minute away from dropping. She can't bear to breathe, scared that he will let her go and she will tumble into the grass. He leans closer and closer, until she can feel his breath tickle her upper lip, and she closes her eyes, waiting for the anticipated kiss. But nothing comes, and she feels the mask plucked from her face.
"Hey!" a meek sound of protest arises as he hauls her back to her feet and she struggles to cover her face with her hands, feeling foolish at trusting this stranger, because now, he knows her identity.
"Astoria Greengrass. I should have guessed." His voice is pompous, egoistical, and she really wants to punch him right now.
"What do you mean 'you should have guessed'?" she feels partially offended, because personally, when she is around other people, she acts like her mother wants her to: not speaking until spoken too, a weak, quiet, and obedient housewife. Her true personality is quite the opposite, a quick glimpse given to the stranger, so how can he mistake her for the same people?
Her face feels exposed and bare to the world, as if she has no more secrets to hide. He clutches her face in his fingers, she watching as he examines her face closely, each and every angle. She feels invaded of privacy, and swats him off.
"You're exactly how I thought you would be." he states, and then he turns around to leave, as if intending to let her wallow in her misery, to once again feel alone as she would be in the backyard of the Malfoy Mansion. But she has no intention to let him, nor does she intend to keep the impression of herself in his eyes the same.
"Wait. You haven't told me who you are, yet." she protests.
He just shrugs. Then, he continues on his way.
"That isn't fair!"
He shrugs again.
"We never play fair."
Then, as he disappears into the darkness, she is once again solitary lounging on the gazebo.
He sees Astoria Greengrass. The beautiful girl with long, cascading black tresses, creamy porcelain skin, and sparkling brown eyes. The little bird longing to break free of her bonds, wanting to fly away from her little cage she is forever trapped in. He sees her for who she is, out in the open.
But she sees a mystery boy. The fair haired suitor. One who understands her for who she is, one who may be her escape to freedom. A boy who stirs something down deep inside, makes her heart beat quicker, thrumming with a racing pace, unlike many of the other suitors her mother has tried to force her to court. One that makes her furious with his witty sarcasm and dark, tortured, side, but makes her want to kiss him all the same.
She sees a boy who made all the wrong decisions, but only because he had none to choose from in the first place. A boy put in a similar situation like hers.
The realization hits her like a sudden streak of lightning.
She sees Draco Malfoy.
A/N: Another total spur of the moment things, it makes me so excited that I just have to publish it after I'm done. And in this story, I tried to focus it on Astoria, you know, to change it up a little. People are always going around writing about how Draco ends up with Astoria because she doesn't judge him for being bad (which I tried to incorporate) but I wanted to make Astoria the one in a desperate position, here. I know, I know, it's quite eighteenth/nineteenth century-esque, but I do like it that way, and I always picture the pure-blood families as having that air. You know, first-class? Filthy rich? Sorry for the long author's note, and I hoped you enjoyed it. I know I did. :P