"Tea, Greengrass?"
The woman jumped; she'd been so preoccupied staring at the St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries reception floor that she hadn't noticed the shiny black shoes that were now occupying part of it. Cautiously looking up (she knew that voice from somewhere, she just couldn't place it…), her eyes immediately narrowed when she saw the tall figure of Draco Malfoy looming over her. His angular face looked almost handsome in the sterile light of the waiting room, but of course she wasn't going to tell him that.
He blinked at her, and she figured she'd been looking at him for a little too long. Shaking her head as a response (her throat felt too constricted to talk), she tried to focus on anything or anyone else.
Instead of leaving, as any reasonable person would've done, the man set one paper cup of tea down on the end table besides Astoria's couch and sat down. "Never thought I'd see you here," he said conversationally.
She shrugged, watching out of the corner of her eye as he surveyed the waiting room, his face a mix between interest and disdain. "Most of these people are just fools, don't you agree? Who doesn't know how to mend a bloody nose?"
Astoria didn't know how to mend a bloody nose, but what she did know was that the Malfoys - especially Draco - were known for their judgmental ways, and that it was best not to reveal any weakness while in close proximity to them. She stayed silent. His gaze shifted to her, no doubt looking for any signs of illness or injury. She knew he would find none. Only her close friends had noticed how her shoulders sagged a little more, or how her voice (when she could use it at all) was quieter and more raspy.
"You were much more vocal at Hogwarts, you know."
She snorted. He seemed pleased to get a reaction out of her. Leaning back (his shoulder was close enough to hers that she could feel it), he took a sip of tea.
"You sure you don't want some?"
Astoria nodded and pushed some jet-black hair out of her eyes. Her mother claimed she was going grey at the ripe old age of twenty-two. "I'd always known my little Asty was wise beyond her years," Melodia Greengrass would say, tapping her daughter on the shoulder affectionately. She was still ignorant - in denial that the blood curse still existed. Ignorant of the fact that her "little Asty" showed all of its symptoms.
God, how Astoria hated that nickname.
Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at the large card with the words I'm rooting for you! emblazoned on the front. "Who's the card for?"
There was no nonverbal way to answer this, but Astoria, feeling her throat contract painfully, knew that she was in no position to speak. In an effort to buy herself time, she picked up the tea and sipped some of it. It was scalding hot, as she had anticipated, but it did unblock her throat a little. Coughing a few times (and feeling like a complete fool), Astoria cleared her throat. "My mother."
She was not ready.
"Your mother? What happened to her?"
Astoria glared at Malfoy. It was bad enough that she had to sit through this alone, but with someone else there - especially if that someone else was no other than Draco Malfoy - she'd never make it to the test results center.
"Sorry, I'm just trying to be polite," the man said.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Malfoys? Polite? Never.
He must've seen the disbelief etched into her face, for he leaned forward, mirroring Astoria's position when he'd first walked in. "We are polite sometimes, you know," he muttered, staring at the floor. When she made no response, he switched his focus back to her. "What, have you gone mute or something?" he demanded.
"No," she croaked, wincing at the pain that that small little word caused.
He stared at her for a few more seconds. "It's usually polite to reply when people talk to you."
"Ms. Greengrass?"
A new voice cut over the din of the waiting room, and Astoria stood up quickly. Her head felt light and unattached to the rest of her body (something which she was sure was not a good thing) as she walked over to the nurse that was waiting for her by the hallway that led to the examination rooms. She scrutinized the young woman's face - were there any hints regarding the outcome of the test in her expression?
"Let's go," the nurse said, her smile bright. Was it a pity smile, or a genuine one? What did it mean?
Astoria knew she'd soon find out.
The examination room they put her in was bare. St. Mungo's, Astoria knew, didn't have much expense to spend on such frivolities such as the decor in such rooms, but the woman couldn't help but wonder if a brighter coat of paint would decrease waiting-room anxiety. She was familiar with this kind of anxiety because she'd experienced it every time she'd gone to the Wizarding hospital - that period of time when she had nothing to do but pace within the confines of the ten by five space and wait for a piece of life-changing information.
It was harder to pace, now, but she still managed. Her feet echoed across the linoleum floor until a knock sounded on the door.
She froze, then cleared her throat. "Come in."
What had her mother said? "Hold your head up high, dear, and shoulders back. Don't soil the Greengrass name by being improper." Astoria had laughed when Melodia had first suggested this ("I'm sure what's left of the Greengrass name is already damaged beyond repair, Mother"), but now, of course, she straightened her back and lifted her chin up. Over the course of her life, she'd come to realize that pretend ambivalence made her feel more in control.
A heavyset woman with her mouth set in a grim line entered the room, barely taking in Astoria before sitting down on the stool across from the examination table and drawing in a deep breath.
"No easy way to put it," she murmured. "I'm sorry, kid. You've got the curse."
And just like that, Astoria's life imploded.
The woman didn't mess around. After giving the life-changing diagnosis, she made herself busy by mixing Astoria's hair into an almost-finished Symptom Smashing potion, which the young Slytherin would take every night before dinner, no exceptions. Feeling like a ghost, the patient left the room after a hurried goodbye. She dodged nurses and other patients in the hallway, a question bouncing through her mind. Who do I tell?
Her mother, surely. But perhaps Daphne first - after all, Melodia Greengrass could be very stubborn when she wanted to and it would take a lot to convince her that her daughter really had the curse.
Her friends, probably. She had few - she had always been a quiet girl with a sardonic exterior beneath the surface that not many people got to see.
Not Draco Malfoy, who was standing in the reception area, waiting for her. No, she should definitely not tell Draco Malfoy, should definitely not walk over to him, should definitely not wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him.
She shouldn't do those things, shouldn't have done those things, because that's exactly what she did - walked over to him and kissed him.
He shouldn't have reciprocated, shouldn't have put his arms around her waist.
Shouldn't, couldn't.
Did.
And when they finally broke apart, and something like a smile passed through Draco's face, and Astoria realized that she'd just made out with the Slytherin prince in the middle of the reception room at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, it was too late.
Something had passed between them, and even as she removed her arms from his neck and he disentangled his from her waist, they still stood close.
"I have a blood curse," she whispered into his ear. It sounded like a joke, why did it sound like a joke? It shouldn't - it was her life, her future, her hopes and dreams all extinguished quickly. But on her tongue and in her (somewhat tired) head, it sounded like the funniest thing ever. A blood curse.
This was not part of the plan. Her mother would freak out. A sickly daughter had no prospects, no potential suitors (not like she'd had many before). And speaking of suitors, she realized she'd just kissed the most wanted bachelor in the Pureblood community. It was a mistake.
To put it more bluntly - she was hopeless. A disappointment. Her mother would love her in her own twisted way, but her father? Forget it.
They'd take her inheritance away, of course. She wouldn't survive to see her parents die. No prospects, no money - it was hilarious. A wrench in the machine which was set on rebuilding the Greengrass name.
Draco's gray eyes flicked around the waiting room before landing on her again. "We should go," he muttered. "Coffee?"
She smiled. "What about tea?"
After all, she had nothing to lose. Her life was already being thrown away.
And besides, that kiss hadn't been that bad.
Tell me if you guys want another part!