/Figment, the Boy/
The only conversation she remembered ever having with Draco Malfoy in Hogwarts was when she caught him at the staircase in her Fourth Year. It was purely by chance. She had just managed to hastily rush out of the Defense classroom and was shocked into stillness at seeing him there, standing at the stair railing and simply…staring. Outward, downward, she couldn't tell.
All she knew was that Malfoy had become something of a ghost in Slytherin; he was never there. Daphne often complained about receiving daily earfuls from Pansy about how he avoided her, how he rarely spoke to her anymore, how horribly pale he looked lately, on and on and on…
Privately, Astoria didn't think his complexion was any pastier than it normally was.
(But then again, what did she ever know about Malfoy?)
Eventually, he began to turn around and Astoria blurted out the first thing that came to mind, panicked to be caught staring at him:
"You don't like heights?"
She winced, but he didn't see.
"No," he said dispassionately after a moment. "It only means having farther to fall."
And then he left, stalking down the corridor without once looking back. A very small piece of Astoria wanted to call him back and demand him what he meant because he was being absurd, but she didn't. She supposed that she didn't really care and wasn't nosy or gossipy enough to ask. She was, after all, a Ravenclaw.
(Unlike those twittery excuses Edgecombe and Chang.)
She had, however, noticed the bruises under his eyes before he turned away.
Whenever she caught sight of him for the rest of the year, she kept her unease to herself and pretended that he didn't exist. The name 'Draco Malfoy' might as well have become a figment of her imagination.
Oh, what a shame to realize that it wasn't.
A/N: So, lately (read: for the past three months) I've been obsessing over Draco and Astoria- but, really, mostly Astoria. And then, like some sort of maniac, I rush over to my copy of HBP, read over that little part in the train where Harry eavesdrops on the Slytherins and wonder: "Why didn't that smirking, ferrety idiot marry Pansy Parkinson?" I mean, come on. This is the stuff that late-night kitchen raids beg for. Especially when there's a laptop at hand :D The only bad thing is that I start losing steam and fall asleep with 300 rather haphazardly written words under my belt. Sigh.
If you read, please review! I'm feeling talkative and and Summer's FINALLY here! WOOT!