It begins with a death, or murder, if you will, as these things usually do.
The north wind is blowing hard, penetrating my clothes and tangling my hair, but the cold doesn't bother me as I look upon the coffin being laid into the ground. This funeral is the last place I want to be at right now, but family ties are hard to shake off and after the war, I can't bring myself to brush off my mother as I used to.
I turn my head and find myself looking at her, teary-eyed, with mascara running down her cheeks, blonde hair pulled in a tight bun, not a strand out of place, mourning a brother who didn't deserve to live. My uncle wore his Dark Mark with pride. Some would call his death a murder, I call it a public service. Too bad it was another Death Eater who killed him or I would've been the first to congratulate him.
My sister is stony faced, her husband so very obviously reluctant to be here. Daphne chose well and I wish we were free not to attend, but mother would never forgive us. Father sits beside her, holding her hand tightly. He catches my eye and I can see he's mentally counting off the minutes until we can go away, never to come back. Alexander Greengrass did not stay alive through two wars by doing something as absurd as choosing a side. The fact that I stayed behind and fought in the Battle of Hogwarts is still a sore point with him.
For me, there was never a question of whether I would stay and fight or run away like a coward. That choice had long disappeared, or maybe it never existed at all. The scars I bear may be skin deep, but the depths of my mind will never forget the year that Hogwarts turned from a home to a battlefield.
Snow starts to fall as mother stands up to give a speech no one cares to listen to. The frozen leaves crunch under her heels and, for a moment, it's the only sound I can hear. She's holding her hands together, clenched tight, but, for all the show of fragility, her voice is clear and doesn't break. Mother knows she has to keep up appearances, knows there are people in the meagre crowd that would love to see her, or any of us, for that matter, break under pressure. If they were hoping this would be our breaking point, they had no idea who they were dealing with.
I tune her out, much like everyone else, except maybe my grandmother, whose eyes are slits and who hasn't shed a single tear for her dead son. She stares straight ahead, bores into my mother and I feel like she sees something past her, past everyone and everything here, into something unknown. But I am wrong. It's only my grandmother, and however great a witch she may be, she's not yet displayed signs that she speaks with the dead.
While mother speaks, I look around and take in the people that showed up to see Marcus Rosier put in the ground. The Notts are here, as are the usual assortment of Selwyns, mother's cousins, their dark eyes surveying the scene before them, calculating how they could profit. It's a futile exercise since all of uncle's possessions were confiscated by the Ministry. I almost gasp in surprise when I see Lucius Malfoy arrive, more so when I notice the familiar glint of steely grey eyes brooding behind him. Draco looks like he's ready to bolt the second it's appropriate, but his mother keeps a tight hold on his arm, her mouth in a straight line, her cloak glinting with silver thread, and for all the world knows, looking like royalty as opposed to someone whose husband narrowly escaped Azkaban yet again.
"May you rest in peace, brother," mother finishes her speech and people start to leave but I stare ahead, unwilling to go back to my parents' house, to socialise with people I care nothing about, to listen to the drone of their voices, all the while wishing I could disappear.
I get lost in my head standing still in the frigid graveyard, the flashes that pass my mind troubling and frightening as I remember how close I was to death. Uncle's murder may please me but the sheer reminder of mortality is almost unbearable. If I were a coward, I would let someone Obliviate me and make me forget seeing classmates ravaged by werewolves or house elves being blown to bits with curses. But I am not a coward and the memories and the fear I feel make me stronger. Or so I tell myself.
"You looked better as a blonde," Draco says in a deep voice I haven't heard in three years. He stands close behind me and I'm convinced he wanted to see me jump in surprise or fear, but you develop a numbness to trivial things like people sneaking up on you so I stay still.
I turn around and glare at him, "I thought you looked better without a fucking skull on your forearm and yet…" I gesture towards his left arm and his face darkens. I know I hit a nerve. Former Death Eaters don't like to be reminded of their unsavoury past. He quickly rearranges his face into that of casual carelessness and runs his hand through his hair.
There is something positively alluring about the rugged look, so different from the way he used to look, back when life wasn't filled with death and suffering. It was an illusion, I know that now, but it was a good illusion, while it lasted.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, though I don't expect an honest answer so I'm surprised when he gives me one that could very well be true.
"I wanted to see the bastard who liked to practice his Cruciatus curse on me dead and buried."
I stay silent at that because I don't know what to say. Everyone suffered during the war and at least Draco is still alive. I can't pity him and I'm sure he would get angry if I tried. Without a word, I turn away from him and start the walk back to the Apparition point, clearing my head with every step, bracing myself for the inevitable awkwardness and discomfort that was sure to follow. At least there will be plenty of alcohol.
I'm at my fifth glass of Firewhisky and suffering through Cadmus Selwyn's tirade about goblins, or trolls, I can't be bothered to actually follow what he's saying, when grandmother swoops in and grabs my arm, dragging me away from him. For an old lady, she's surprisingly strong and springy. She stops in the hall and points to the stairs, "Sit down," she hisses through gritted teeth, looking around to check if anyone's watching but there is no one there to witness another in a long line of what she would call disgraceful antics and I would call getting drunk in order to not have to deal with much of anything.
I dutifully sit down on the white carpeted stairs, my head spinning slightly. I put my arms on my knees and look up at her in expectation. The portrait of my great-great-grandfather, which hangs above the stairs, scoffs at me and shakes his head in disappointment.
"Astoria, you are acting like a foolish child," grandmother says. I start laughing at her words which only serves to make her even angrier.
"I'm acting like a person who wants nothing to do with…with this circus. Who the fuck wants to celebrate the life of –"
She slaps me, hard, and I flinch away from her, putting my hand not to my reddening cheek but to the wand concealed under the black dress. I point it her and she looks as if lightning struck her, the disbelief that I would pull a wand on my own grandmother apparent on her wrinkled face.
I get up, wand now pointed at her throat, "Don't," I mutter as I see her reaching for her own wand. Her eyes look glassy now and I can't look at her anymore so I slowly walk away.
I grab another glass with the amber liquid and stand in the middle of the drawing room, feeling lost and alone. The room is stifling with its black décor and dark green walls. I have always hated it and today is no different. I down the glass and my eyes fall on the person leaning against a nearby wall, observing me. I have a feeling he's been watching me the whole time. The blonde hair is messier than before and he's holding onto an entire Serpentgin bottle. The look in his eyes is unreadable so I saunter over, slightly wobbly on my feet. I'm not exactly sure what I want from him, but I do know I don't want to stand around, waiting for another cousin to try and bore me to death.
"I thought you hated Death Eaters," Draco says as he takes a swig of Serpentgin. I notice that the bottle is already half empty. I grab it from his hands and drink, the acid taste burning my tongue.
"I do."
There's a smirk on his face now and it makes me remember the boy he used to be, but the man before me is merely a shadow of that boy. There is nothing in his eyes and I know how that feels.
He grabs the bottle from me, "And yet here you are, talking to me, willingly, if I might add."
I shrug my shoulders and turn my head to see Daphne and Finn leaving. I am left with almost no allies.
"I thought you were a former Death Eater?" I raise my eyebrows and laugh at my own quip even though it's not funny, "It says a lot about the other guests if you're the least horrible person in here. So you can consider yourself to be a last resort."
His grey eyes are boring into my own and I look away, unable to hold his gaze for long. Neither one of us wants to be here so sticking together might seem like the obvious option. But, we were never friends and I can't quite forget the Dark Mark that's permanently etched into his skin. I reach out for the bottle just to have something to do. My fingers accidentally graze his own and it feels like there's an electric current between us.
I know he felt it too because our eyes lock once again, though this time I don't look away. It's unnerving and I've had too much to drink, and by Merlin, I haven't touched another person in a non-confrontational way or shagged anyone in so long that even a remotely fit former Death Eater who once dated my sister seems like a good idea right now, if only to temporarily escape the madness that is this funeral.
I take the bottle and down the rest of the drink, all the while keeping my eyes locked on his. A strap from my dress slips from my shoulder as I put the empty bottle on the window sill. I don't bother fixing it. Instead, I grab Draco's hand and pull him with me, "Come on," I say and he follows without a word.
Grandmother looks at us with a frown as we pass her but doesn't say anything. At the foot of the stairs I kick off my shoes and rush up the stairs barefoot, Draco close behind me, still holding my hand.
My old room is at the end of the corridor, the blood red colour of the door in stark contrast with the rest of the house. I enter the room and feel a sudden rush of nostalgia as I'm standing there, looking at my old Gryffindor banners.
It's short lived because as soon as Draco closes the door I turn around and push him against it, again feeling shocked by the feel of his skin on mine. It's like all the thoughts leave my mind as I crash my chapped lips on his and there's buzzing in my ears, drowning out the noise from downstairs. I feel alive for the first time in months.
His hands grip me tightly around the waist and it hurts but I want more. I bite his lips and draw blood. It's enough to make him flip us and now I'm the one pressed against the door. We're so close together that I can feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest as he kisses me. My hands are fumbling with his shirt so I just rip it open. Draco hitches up my dress, his hand travelling up my thigh, passing over my battle scars, making my skin tingle, the other hand holding my own above my head. We can't seem to separate, and I don't want us to. He tastes like the sweetest drug, the darkest thought and I can't get enough of him. He is like the air I need and I have to close my eyes before I see the ugly black mark on his arm. I kiss him again with all the power I have when his arms suddenly lift me up and I wrap my legs around him. There's nothing between us except pure need. It's quick and it's rough and I leave red marks on his back. I bite down on his shoulder to keep myself from screaming and the indescribable tension that's been building up since he talked to me at the graveyard slowly disappears.
He holds me for a moment so I don't fall down but I quickly push him away and fix my clothes. Draco stares at me, half-naked in a Gryffindor bedroom and he looks dreadfully out of place. His shirt is ripped, the buttons strewn all over the red carpet. I look up and my eyes are drawn to the black skull. I don't say anything, instead, slowly, I turn around and exit the room, closing the door behind me.
My mind is fuzzy as I pass my father in the entrance hall, my hair is tangled and I smell of sex but, thankfully, he doesn't say a word. I pick up my discarded shoes and leave my childhood home, walking barefoot in the snow, letting the Scottish cold penetrate me. I stand before the frozen pond in our backyard for a while, observing the snowflakes falling all around me, slowly covering the pond. Once I'm numb from the cold I turn on the spot and Disapparate to London.
My flat is a study in chaos. Clothes are strewn across the sofa and the armchair is full of blankets I almost never use, pillows are all over the floor and the kitchen is the only place that looks remotely organised. The only reason behind that is the fact that I don't cook and it's only used to store alcohol. The place is full of red. It's my link to the thing separating me from the rest of my family and I don't want to let it go.
I grab a bottle of Firewhisky from the kitchen and sprawl over the velvet sofa, pushing the clothes out of the way, most of them slipping to the floor. I open it and throw the cork away, not intending to close it again. I sip the Firewhisky and I see flashes of Draco pass before my eyes. I close them and try to push him out of my mind. He was just a drunken mistake. As I drink, the fuzziness returns in full and soon the only thing I see is steel grey.
When I wake up the next morning, I feel sore all over and it takes me a while to remember why. I groan and throw the bottle that I'm still clutching at the wall. It's not hard enough to break it so it just falls to the floor and the little bit of Firewhisky trickles out of it.
I get up and take off the dress, throwing it over the coffee table. I walk to the bathroom and catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror. My body looks like a battlefield, the old scars mixed in with new blood, the bruises in the shape of Draco's hands already formed on my thighs, my waist, my arms. I raise my hand towards my lips and look at my face in the mirror. The red on my lips is not lipstick. It's blood.
In retrospect, getting drunk at my uncle's funeral with a former Death Eater and then fucking him was not my brightest moment.
It is New Year's Eve and I am at The Howler, sitting alone at the bar and nursing a glass of aged Dragonbreath.
That I am alone is an obvious lie. There are people all around me, dancing and snogging, having fun, but I'm not one of them. At first, I thought I wouldn't go out, just stay in bed and drink my last bottle of Firewhisky. I was actually a third of the way there when I spiralled into my own head with the memories of screaming and dying. And so I decided that having only my memories for company would mean an increasingly depressing evening. That's how I found myself here, in a club famous for making people feel good, which in turn makes it the most popular wizarding club in London.
The mood enhancing fog doesn't seem to be doing the trick, or maybe I haven't been here long enough. Other people mostly leave me alone, which makes me think I must be giving off a 'fuck off' aura, and the couple that do try to strike up a conversation go away after the first two sentences we exchange. One of the guys behind the bar looks as if he's tempted to say something and I actually want him to. I want to run away from myself, not to be left alone.
My drink is finished so I look up and am just about to order another when I hear a familiar voice.
"She'll have another. Make it two."
I roll my eyes and turn on the chair to look at bloody Draco Malfoy sitting down next to me. He's not smiling. In fact, his face looks like a mask without any emotion. The blonde hair is messy in a purposeful sort of way, styled to perfection but still, with his scruffy beard the rugged look is there and I can't help myself. His good looks are a fact that I can't deny. It's also hard to forget that he made me feel something in the midst of feeling next to nothing.
"Are you stalking me now?" I ask while he pays for the drinks. I'm not in the habit of refusing a free drink, even if it comes from a former Death Eater.
He puts his arms on the bar and cocks his head, "I think I have better things to do than to stalk mental Gryffindors. Not everything is about you." Draco takes a sip of his drink and turns around, leaning against the bar, looking at the crowd around us.
"I'm waiting for someone," he adds, almost daring me to ask who. I stay silent instead. It's none of my business and I'm trying my best to keep a straight head and not succumb to my impulse yet again.
Draco, though, seems unable to stay silent, "What about you?"
I shrug my shoulders and play with my glass, stirring the red liquid, "I'm not waiting for anyone."
He seems genuinely surprised, "What about your friends?"
And with that one sentence, said in absolute surprise, I feel like a thousand blades cut me all at once.
"My friends are dead."
There is a look of horror on his face and I realise how little we know one another. We've been in each other's orbit for years and I have no fucking clue who Draco Malfoy actually is. He reaches out and I flinch away from him, spilling some of my drink.
"I'm sorry," Draco mutters in a low voice and he sounds sincere. Whether he truly is, I can't quite tell. I hope he is. We sit in silence after that, with Draco buying another round every time we finish our drinks. There is a kind of magnetism to him, to his silence. Anyone else probably would have wanted to talk, to ask me whether I'm okay, but Draco doesn't seem to mind just sitting with me and not saying anything. I might have wanted to lose myself in mindless talk with a random stranger before, but now, with him, I feel distracted enough when he accidentally brushes against me and makes my skin feel like it is on fire from the briefest touch. I think he does it on purpose, to tease me, to make me forget.
I have lost count on the number of drinks we've had when the crowd starts the countdown to midnight. It's lucky that they aren't that strong or I would've passed out already. I look up from the bar to see Draco staring at me. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes, one that I never noticed before. The corners of his mouth start to form a smile, the first real emotion I see him display and while everyone else enthusiastically yells 'Happy New Year!' he swiftly moves closer and yells in my ear, "Let's get out of here!"
"Didn't you say you were meeting someone?" I yell back.
He rolls his eyes because I'm obviously dragging this out even though we both know where we're heading. We both knew from the moment Draco bought me that first drink.
"I lied."
"What makes you think I want to fuck you?" I ask, a tinge of acid in my voice just because I'm starting to play this game again when I've already decided that he was only a drunken mistake. This was becoming a pattern. But, I never was very good at following rules, set by myself or anyone else.
Draco lowers his head and his smell, a mix of woodland and spice, intoxicates me, "Well, you seemed pretty into it a month ago." He smirks and, were it not for the almost total darkness of The Howler, he would see I'm actually smiling, something I rarely do these days.
I let him lead me out of the club and into the freezing night. Both Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley twinkle with the light of live fairies flying about, mixed in with the snowflakes that are slowly falling. There are tears in my eyes from the cold but Draco waves his wand and I'm suddenly warm all over.
I laugh at him and take his hand to lower his wand, "Don't do that!"
He looks at me like I'm mental and raises his eyebrows. As my smile grows wider, I stand up on tiptoe so we're eye-level, "I like the cold." He holds me around the waist and simply looks into my eyes. I can see the lights reflected in his grey ones. It's just the two of us, looking at each other, almost strangers who, with a weird twist of fate, ended up together tonight.
"I'm lonely," I mutter, not really knowing why I'm saying this to him, but feeling like I can say anything and it wouldn't matter. I don't want to pretend.
"I know."
He kisses me then and I feel a different sort of warmth spread through me, the one I don't mind. It's not rough and quick, it's slow and drawn out, teasingly so. And while the kiss started out slow, soon I'm pressed against the wall of the warehouse where The Howler is located, Draco's hands roaming all over me under my cloak, teasing me even more. I can't stand it anymore, so I pull away, breathing heavily and feeling light-headed.
"I live close by," he says and I nod my head. Draco wraps his arm around me and we walk in silence towards a building next to the Magical Menagerie.
When he closes the door of his flat, I don't notice my surroundings because he's kissing my neck, in the spot that makes me weak in the knees and soon we're on the floor and all I can think about is his next touch.
I wake up in Draco's bed the next morning and it feels strange, almost unreal. He's awake, lying next to me, unabashedly naked and staring at me. The sheets are dark grey, the rest of his bedroom is white and bright and absolutely not how I thought Draco Malfoy's bedroom might look like. I blink a few times before my eyes fully adjust to the light.
"I could be your friend," Draco says, looking unsure and running a hand through his hair.
I'm shocked that he remembered what I said yesterday, and more so at his suggestion. A friend. I close my eyes and yawn, stretching out in the bed, revealing my body to him.
When I open my eyes, I see his gaze is fixed upon my curse-scars, courtesy of his aunt. I am not ashamed of them but they are ugly and red like blood, branching like roots.
I don't want my mind to fall into bad thoughts on an actually good morning so I try and tease him. "Do you fuck all your friends?" I ask, a smirk forming on my lips as his gaze travels the length of my body.
He grins, and it's unusual to witness Draco Malfoy grinning, but it is genuine and I am surprisingly happy it is because of me. It has been so long since anyone smiled because of something I did or said.
"Naah, just the pretty Gryffindor ones."
"I'll think about it," I say as I start to get dressed. Draco doesn't move or even say anything to try and make me stay. It seems he knows it's better to let me do things my own way, which is a nice change as opposed to most everyone else in my life.
I don't think about it because the next three weeks I spend most of my time with father, working. Which essentially means accompanying him to various meetings across Europe with characters of questionable morals. It is a lot of work, being a crime lord. But, I am nothing if not loyal, so I make these trips with him and play my part.
So when the door opens and Draco walks into my Knockturn Alley shop while I am reading about the newest scandal Rita Skeeter seemingly uncovered, I am thoroughly surprised. I didn't think he'd want anything to do with me after I casually fucked him, twice, and left without a word both times.
He walks around the dimly candle-lit shop, looking at the artefacts I have on display, picking up some and staying well clear of others. He's humming a tune I faintly recognise as The Runaway Elves' new song. His robes are black with silver lining and the messy hair I've seen him wear is, for now, tamed. Slowly, he approaches my desk and nonchalantly sits on top of it.
"What do you even do here?" he asks, gesturing at our surroundings.
I look up behind the paper I'm reading and cock an eyebrow at him.
"I thought it would be obvious but I'm an independent business owner."
Draco snorts at that, leaning his head to the side, "You mean you're a front for your father's dirty money?"
I disappear behind the Daily Prophet, put my legs up on the desk and mutter, "I sell magical artefacts and potions supplies, nothing else." He does not get to judge me for what I do. "The Aurors wouldn't have me so here I am," I continue as I turn the page while pretending to actually read the article.
"You wanted to join the Aurors?" he asks.
I look up at him and shrug, "Well, yeah. The fact that I fought in the Battle of Hogwarts helped but it seems I'm too impulsive."
"I wonder where did they get that idea?" he smirks and I know he's now thinking about the last two times we met and my reckless behaviour. I roll my eyes and ignore his comment, turning another page for which I am rewarded with a full-page ad for the owl post dating service, Wings of Love.
Draco glances at the ad I have open, "Are you planning on trying that?"
"Maybe," I say, even though I have no intention of ever trying to find love through a dating service but I want to get a reaction out of him, therefore I lie.
"And what do you do? Besides being a Death Eater, sorry, former Death Eater? Fun job, was it?" I ask, again displaying my dreadful sense of what is appropriate and what is most definitely not. Draco visibly stiffens and his right hand unconsciously strokes his left forearm. He quickly rearranges his face into an impassive facade.
"I'm...I'm sorry," I say, as I put down the paper and awkwardly pat him on the back.
He sighs and pinches his nose. "They made me a war hero today. I think you missed that in the paper."
So that would explain why he is dressed up. "What the fuck?"
Draco stares at me but eventually gives up and looks away, "I helped them catch the ones that escaped." It is his turn to roll his eyes, "A fucking war hero. It's just for show or… I don't even know why. It's not like I deserve it."
At least that's the one thing we can easily agree on. "You don't."
He doesn't say anything for a while, merely sits there, humming his tune again and annoying me more and more the longer he's there, acting as if nothing ever happened between us. Though, I admit, I am no better.
Finally, he speaks up, "So, have you thought about it?"
"About what?"
"About the possibly stupid thing I said the last time I saw you."
Of course I know what he's talking about but I am trying to buy myself some time. I'm not sure how to answer him because I have no idea whether or not I even want a friend, let alone Draco to be one. Still, what I said to him is true. I am lonely. My eyes drift off to the side, where I keep a copy of the same photograph that I keep in my flat. Colin took it during our fifth year. It's not a particularly good photograph but it reminds me how happy I once was, surrounded by friends, laughing with Jack at a dirty joke Rhona just told. And it's the only one I have left. The rest were destroyed along with pretty much my entire dorm during the battle. I found it in the rubble. Every time I look at it, I feel a sharp pain in my chest and I wish that I could go back to that time, to that picture. I wish I could walk into it.
"Astoria? Are you all right?" Draco kneels before me, gazing at me with his steel grey eyes in concern and I realise my cheeks are wet. I wipe at them with the sleeve of my robe and pretend that there is nothing out of the ordinary happening. Draco doesn't comment and I'm grateful for that.
"I think… I think I could try being your friend. I think I need a friend. But I don't want, uh, a friends with benefits thing," I say to him, looking over his shoulder, my eyes fixed on Colin's photograph. I blink a few times, not wanting to allow myself more crying. There is nothing left to cry over. In any case, Colin and Rhona and Jack are still dead.
Draco nods and there is a purposeful look to him, "I guess that means we can't touch."
"Uh, what?" Now I have absolutely no idea what he's talking about.
"Well, if you look at it historically, we haven't been able to touch each other without ending up in bed, or at least, pinned against a wall or, uh, a door," he says with a smirk and I start to laugh.
That laugh would be my downfall.
And so Draco starts sending me letters, mostly silly one-liners, like what is my favourite hex, or if I were a ghost, who would I haunt, though sometimes the letters are much longer and more personal. After two weeks of sending letters, he's once again walking into my shop, just before closing time, sauntering over with the biggest smile I have ever seen him wear.
Draco leans against a shelf and crosses his arms, "Come have dinner with me. There's a new place in Diagon Alley, The Flying Horseman."
"You're in a good mood," I say as I flick my wand and the candles go out, leaving us in semi-darkness.
He looks uncomfortable for a moment, but he recovers quickly, "I was visiting my aunt Andromeda today. She and Mother have gotten close after...Well, after the war. And Teddy is a kid who can make anyone laugh. You should see this thing he does whenever I visit, makes his hair the same…"
Draco goes on about Teddy Lupin and I just sit, perched on my desk, and listen and smile because I suddenly realise something about Draco Malfoy. Family is everything to him. And what he did, he did because he feared for his family. I can't fault him for that. Maybe I am selfish for wanting to believe he is a better person than what the world thinks him to be, but I am allowing myself this selfishness in the name of friendship.
"Okay," I say, interrupting him and he frowns, seemingly unsure of what I'm saying, "I'll go to dinner with you."
Soon, it's not a question of whether or not I'll go to dinner or lunch or just drinks with him, it's only a question of where and when. Draco has become a constant and more often than not I'll find myself thinking over the things we talk about, imagining what I could've said better, but funnily enough, I never think about what I shouldn't have said. I'm so used to him and his presence that I find myself finding out something or doing something, and the first thing that comes to mind is how I have to tell Draco about it.
I'm at my sister's house, sitting in her professionally decorated living room in teal and white, drinking a glass of Serpentgin and listening to her talk about the idea she had for a clothes line and while it is a great idea and her designs are things I would wear, I'm not listening closely. Instead, I'm thinking about the other day when Draco finally talked about his family. It made me realise how alike we were and so very broken by the war that tore us apart. I would have liked to be better at comforting him, instead of being a broken down mess, but I wasn't and I'm not and for Draco, it just means that we're trying not to be broken, together. For me, it means my mind is still a battlefield that I have to win. Draco does help, though.
There's a knocking sound and I look up to see a familiar Eagle owl in front of the window. Daphne is surprised but she opens the window and the owl lands on the coffee table in front of me, dropping a letter and patiently waiting for a response, as always.
"Who's it from?" Daphne asks, frowning at the owl, most likely trying to remember why it looked familiar. She did see it often enough while at Hogwarts.
I pick up the letter and open it.
Would you rather own a dragon or a sphinx?
A strand of hair is falling into my eyes so I put it behind my ear as I laugh at Draco's letter. I look up from the letter at Daphne who is watching me expectantly.
"Well?" she asks, fiddling with her glass of Elf-made wine and taking a sip.
I summon a quill and an ink bottle before answering her. "It's from Draco Malfoy," I say as I dip the quill into ink and write my response.
That's an easy question - a sphinx. I think sphinxes are much better at intellectual conversation as opposed to dragons. What's your Patronus?
I fold the letter and tie it to the owl's leg. She takes off through the open window and I turn towards Daphne, who looks like I just told her I'm planning on starting my own death cult. She puts down her glass and stares at me.
"Astoria… What the fuck are you doing?"
And so I tell her everything. It shows her strength of character that she doesn't interrupt me even when it's obvious she's dying to ask questions. She twirls a strand of her dark hair, inherited from our mother's side of the family, and her blue eyes are clouded over. When I'm finally finished she puts her hand to her face in frustration.
"Draco can be charming when he wants to be," she says, "but you know what he is. Or what he was. What he's done. And you still… I can't quite believe you. My sister, the one who stayed behind at Hogwarts and fought against Death Eaters is… Well, to be honest, I have no fucking idea what you're doing but whatever it is, it's a bad idea. He's a bad idea. And I think you're definitely giving him the wrong idea. I know you and you're not the kind of person who shags random people. He's going to hurt you and you're falling in love with him. You're deluded if you think otherwise."
I roll my eyes at her and down my drink before I get up from the sofa, "You're mental. We're just friends. I shagged him twice and both times it was a drunken mistake. But he makes me laugh and honestly, I need that. I don't have anyone else." Daphne is still staring at me in concern and I can't talk to her when she's like this so I walk out of her house before she can start on another monologue and I Disapparate to London.
Draco's owl is already waiting in front of my window so I carefully step around the books on the floor to let her in. The gust of cold air that accompanies her is welcome after the stifling warmth of Daphne's house. Giving her a couple of owl treats, I open Draco's letter.
Despite my great magical abilities, I've never learned to cast a Patronus. What's yours?
I can almost feel him rolling his eyes at having to admit he doesn't know something. Instead of writing back, I think about him, how he makes me feel alive again and summon my Patronus. The vixen disappears and in a few short moments I know it will appear next to Draco.
I'll teach you.
It is the night of my twentieth birthday. I have just finished dealing with one of the Balkan lords, which involved some skilful duelling on my part before he accepted the deal my father wanted to make and I am high on adrenaline.
Without even thinking about it, I am soon standing in front of Draco's flat and knocking on his door. He opens almost immediately, only wearing a towel loosely wrapped around his hips, his hair wet and messy and his own battle scars visible against the pale skin.
"Do you always open the door naked?" I ask, trying my best to ignore the part of my brain that's intent on reliving the way Draco's hands felt on my body. The way he looks at me tells me he is doing this on purpose, but, unsurprisingly, I do not care.
Draco smirks and motions for me to enter his flat, "Not always, no. Besides, I'm not naked, towels can be considered clothing. Well, loose clothing anyway."
I sit on the emerald armchair, the only reminder of his House, and wave with the bottle of Firewhisky I brought with me, "Got any glasses? Or should we drink from the bottle?"
He runs his fingers through his hair and walks up to the kitchen. As he opens a cupboard, he turns his head towards me, "What's the occasion?"
"I almost killed some gang lord from the Balkans. It was positively thrilling," I grin at him and uncork the bottle as he puts the glasses on the wooden coffee table. "It's also my birthday."
Draco looks at me in surprise and there is a frown forming on his face, "You could've told me earlier. I would've bought you a gift."
"I'm telling you now. And I don't need gifts, I just want to celebrate with you," I pour him the Firewhisky and hand him the glass, "Here, drink this and stop being mad at me."
He smiles and salutes me with the drink, "To you," he says as he downs the Firewhisky and I do the same. I fill our glasses again while he goes to the bedroom to get dressed.
I am always surprised by how spotless his place is and I remember the state of my flat with a shudder. The chaos is ever-present in my life, even when I try to keep it somewhat organised. Daphne and mother hate that part of my personality, but my father has learned to appreciate it. Being slightly erratic and unpredictable is valuable in a business such as ours.
Draco comes back fully clothed and I hate to admit that I am envious of the me that shagged him without a thought.
"Did you want to go out?" he asks. I shake my head and take another sip of Firewhisky. For a person who loves the cold, I thoroughly appreciate the warmth the Firewhisky spreads through me. My fingers tingle and I close my eyes as I lean back on the armchair, enjoying the feeling of lightness that comes over me.
A bottle and a half of Firewhisky later, we're lying on Draco's fluffy grey carpet, heads next to each other, and laughing at a stupid joke Draco just read out loud from his Witch Weekly interview.
"How did they even get you to do the interview?" I ask between fits of giggles.
"I drew up a contract in which it said that all the profit they made from that issue would go to charity. They signed it," he says and takes a large swig from the bottle, "You could say I did the interview for the greater good."
I grab my wand and wave it in the general direction of Draco's wireless. I'm not too drunk so the thing actually turns on and changes to the station with the latest hits. As I get up, I sway a little, but I'm soon steady on my feet and I start dancing to the Wicked Wands' new hit, a song with just the right amount of suggestive lyrics to make even Draco blush as he stares at me from the floor.
I lean over him and reach out, "Dance with me," I say with a smile and Draco smirks in response but doesn't get up.
"I can't," he says and closes his eyes for a moment.
I pout at him, "Why not?"
He finally takes a hold of my hand and grips it tightly, "Because then I'd have to demonstrate a level of self-control that I don't possess," he pulls me and I fall on top of him, he holds me there and I can't look away from him. The music has died down and there is only us. We are close, our whole bodies are touching but it is like we are frozen in time. Draco's gaze drifts to my lips, to my heaving chest and back to my eyes. I can't read his expression, he is too good at hiding his emotions.
"What is this?" I whisper, touching his cheekbones with one hand, the one he isn't holding close to his chest, "Where are we going with this, Draco?"
Instead of answering me, he grabs my head and kisses me, tantalisingly slow, as if he is kissing me for the last time and he wants to map every part of me. It's different to any of his previous, or anyone's for that matter, kisses and I kiss him back, just as slowly, deeply, feeling him underneath me and completely ignoring the part of me that thought of something as stupid as being friends with him. Draco doesn't bring out the best in me, he's addictive, absolutely intoxicating, he brings out everything in me, the good and the bad, the chaos, and he takes me in fully, without reservation, and I can't help myself but to let him accept me as I am. I fiddle with his buckle and think to myself that he might as well have stayed in the towel. Draco removes my shirt and unbuckles my bra with practised ease, fingers trailing down my ribcage and moving lower. He makes me feel more alive than I've ever felt, every slow touch on my naked body feels like fire and explosion, making me moan with pleasure and in turn he keeps teasing me, touching everywhere with a smirk on his face.
"If you keep teasing me... I'll… I'll fucking kill you," I say and it serves its purpose because Draco turns us over so I'm pinned underneath him. He holds my hands above my head, kissing me and moving lower and lower until he stops and finally looks up at me with a devilish grin, his eyes glinting, bold and mischievous.
"I thought you just wanted to fuck me."
He senses my impatience so he doesn't wait anymore, doesn't tease, he moves back up and I'm lost in his kiss, his touch, my back arching under him. I want him like I've never wanted anyone. I open my eyes for a moment and his eyes are fixed on mine like there was nothing else he'd want to look at in the world. I snake my arms around his neck, bend into him and he pushes his hips against me, making my blood boil and my mind go blank.
"I think I'm falling in love with you," he whispers in my hair before I fall asleep, tangled with him, not knowing where I end and he begins.
I wake up before him, and remembering the words he said last night, I try to get up and get dressed and leave before he's awake.
"You're running away again," he says, startling me as I'm pulling my shirt over my head.
"I'm not running away."
He rolls his eyes and sits up, "Yeah you are. Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be brave? What the fuck are you so afraid of?"
I shake my head and close my eyes. It's hard doing this while looking at him, with my heart raging inside of me at what I'm trying to do.
"I'm not afraid of anything," I say with some difficulty, my throat feeling like there's a rock stuck in there, my eyes burning.
He tries to hold my hand but I move away from him, "Then what? What about us?"
I stand up and turn away from him, there are tears in my eyes as I say the next words that come out of my mouth. "There is no us." I start to walk away and I'm already at the door but Draco is there and he catches me, not letting go, he forces me to turn around and look at him.
"Fuck this. What, do you think I'm just going to fuck up your nicely ordered little life? Is that it? Or is it my reputation? Can't have Alexander Greengrass' daughter dating someone like me? What the fuck is it?" he yells in frustration and I can't bear it anymore.
"I don't… I don't have a nicely ordered life, Draco! I'm a fuck up, I'm a mess, my head is in chaos, fuck! The most good I've felt lately is fucking duelling a crime lord because I could just let out all the rage and sadness I carry around! My friends are fucking dead because of me, because I persuaded them to stay and fight! They were afraid and now they're dead and I'm alive and it should've been the other way around. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing and it's better to leave before you're just another in a long line of my fuckups."
I'm crying and I'm breathing hard and at some point I've started hitting Draco and he let me but now he's holding my hands and just looking at me. There is no judgement in his eyes. He pulls me closer and hugs me, enveloping me in his warmth, his woodland smell, and he holds me for a long time.
"I'm not letting you go. We're going to be chaotic and messy and broken together."