Disclaimer: All familiar characters, etc., belong to J. K. Rowling.


Day 10

After that last game of spells, Draco managed to avoid Astoria and her awful knack of asking questions for the rest of the day. In fact, they didn't speak until the lamp had flickered off and both of them were ready for sleep, Draco enjoying the soft feel of the bed while Astoria lay in a heap of blankets and pillows on the floor.

"Draco?" Astoria asked once the lights were shut off and the two of them lay staring up into the darkness.

"Hm."

"Just wanted to say—" she yawned— "Sorry if I was prying too much. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Don't worry about it."

"All right. So you'll stop avoiding me tomorrow?"

"Good night, Astoria."

He didn't sleep well. Instead of the dreamless sleep he was used to, he found himself standing in the drawing room, a familiar high-pitched voice screaming and yelling curses while his parents screamed in pain. He could feel the pain shooting through his whole body, too, so that he begged the Dark Lord to kill him. Eventually, the pain stopped and moved on to his Aunt Bella, and he heard her screaming, pleading.

Somehow scrambling to his feet, he ran from the drawing room to the front door, leaving his parents, his aunt, and the Dark Lord behind him. Stumbling in the yard and still sure he could hear his parents, he realized that he was not in the gardens that surrounded Malfoy Manor but was instead on the crumbling grounds of Hogwarts. Spells and curses were flying around him and over him, and he reached for his wand—his stomach dropped, and he could feel himself panicking.

He didn't have a wand. He was in the middle of a battle without a damn wand.

So he ran, dodging spells and looking desperately for a place to hide and hating the fear that rose up in him and the voice that told him he was a coward. Finding an open door, he flung himself into an empty room, closing the door and leaning against it with relief. But he could already feel the heat coming from behind him, and the panic started over again.

He tried the door, but it was locked—just as he knew it would be. The fire scorched the side of his neck, and he turned to see lions and chimeras of fire lunging in the air, enveloping stack after stack of dry and brittle hidden belongings. He could see Crabbe and Goyle running towards him, the fire at their heels. He knew Crabbe wouldn't make it. He'd seen it a hundred times.

And he knew what came next.

His parents were running towards him, the fire at their heels. He knew he needed to save them, and he knew he couldn't because his feet were stuck to the floor and the door was locked anyway.

Someone else was calling his name, too, and Draco saw to his dismay that it was Astoria. She had fallen, and she had reached out an arm towards him, asking him to help her. He tried moving, but he couldn't. He screamed at her to run, to get up, but she just kept crying as the fire rose up—

"Draco!"

He jolted awake, drenched in sweat and twisted up in the sheets. Opening his eyes, he couldn't see anything in the pitch black, but he was aware that someone was sitting on the bed next to him, and that they were rubbing his arm.

"What—What—?"

"You were, um, talking in your sleep," Astoria said, and he felt the nervous twitch of her fingers on his arm. "You sounded upset, and you wouldn't wake up for a minute there."

But Draco was only half listening. He had turned towards the nightstand, his hand scrambling for a lamp, knowing that there had to be a light, there had to be a light.

"Here," Astoria said, and she reached over to the stand, too, grabbed a match and lit it. Seeing her face, he saw that she didn't look upset or agitated, but rather that she looked calm, if only a tad concerned. She looked as if she did this every day.

Day 11

Looking at Draco over the lit match, Astoria could see the panic in his stressed face, and the way the light seemed to illuminate reality for him and put distance between him and the nightmare. His breathing was evening out, and she could see the muscles in his face relax as he sank back on the pillows.

She lit a candle and set it on the nightstand.

"I think I see why you like Occlumency so much," she said, putting a hand on his arm again.

He immediately tensed, so she withdrew it.

"Hey, it's okay," she said softly, and she began rubbing his arm again, deciding to ignore the way he bristled. "Everything's fine. Nothing is wrong here."

"We're locked in a prison with no idea why we're here and what they're going to do with us," he scoffed, but his voice sounded scratchy. "Yeah, everything's fine."

"Everything you were just worrying about is fine," she said. She noticed that he wasn't as tense now.

"How do you know?"

"Well," she resituated on the bed as she spoke, noticing that Draco had opened his eyes and was looking at her again. "Tom Riddle is dead—really dead—and so is your aunt, and there's no fire here. And your parents are alive and at home. They aren't in pain, they aren't suffering."

She saw the panic in his eyes and how he looked strangely vulnerable, terrified of what he had said in his sleep and how hearing that gave her power over him. She moved her hand to the side of his head, brushing back his hair and cupping the side of his face.

"It's all right, Draco. I promise you. Everything's all right. Please relax, love. You're starting to worry me."

Perhaps it was the way she refused to acknowledge that she had leverage over him now, but he closed his eyes.

She could see him struggling to let go of the last bit of panic.

"There, that's better," she said, rubbing her thumb along his cheek. "Everything's fine here." She tried to remember what words had helped her after nightmares in the year after the war, and then continued, "Your parents are better and healed, and so are you."

He breathed deeply, and Astoria thought with relief that he had finally calmed down.

"My parents aren't better," he said with a sigh. "My father's dying."

He opened his eyes, and Astoria was sure that he could see her concern in her frown and knit brow.

"He had some injuries—some curses that most people aren't familiar with—that weakened his heart. He has maybe a year."

He didn't look upset about it, but Astoria had gotten a taste of how much he cared for his family and what he didn't let himself think about. She could feel the dread that whispered to her that they may not get out of this prison in time. It brought a lump to her throat.

When she lifted her head to look at Draco through her few tears, she saw a spark of his old panic coming back.

"Scoot over," she said, and pushed him a little so that there was room for her between him and the edge of the bed. She curled up next to him, carefully resting her head on his chest.

"I'm sorry about your father," she said.

She wasn't sure how long they lay there, but she felt his breathing deepen as he fell asleep.


Draco woke the next morning to the sound of a ticking clock. For a moment he thought he was in his old flat, but then he opened his eyes and saw the cinderblock white walls of their room.

He had had the most unsettling dream, he thought. The Event, the fire—those were typical—but Astoria…

And then he noticed that the space of bed next to him was warm, as though someone had just been lying there. He shot up in bed, squinting in the unusually bright light.

"Sleep ok?" Astoria asked. She was sitting at the table with the biggest grin. "There's a real spread of food today. You'll never believe it. Cinnamon rolls! I could die happy." And she took a sip of tea.

"I wonder why….maybe because we slept in? Or maybe it's Saturday and they make better food on the weekend. It's weird not knowing the day of the week."

But Draco wasn't listening. He was trying to remember last night and what had happened. He thought he remembered telling Astoria about his father, but that couldn't be right. He'd never do that. And he thought he remembered her crying, and maybe her brushing his hair—he was delusional, he decided. He'd been in this room too long.

"Are you alright?" Astoria asked, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed, brows knitted in concern.

Draco was having the worst sense of déjà vu.

"Because it seemed like you slept ok after I woke you up. You hardly moved," she continued.

And Draco finally had to acknowledge that Astoria had indeed woken him up from a nightmare last night, and that he had told her more than he should have, and that she had been—comforting? Yes, he supposed that was the right word. This broke so many of the codes Draco followed to keep from bringing back unpleasant feelings and memories that he could feel the panic rising again, and he instinctively brought his face down to his hands in hopes of rubbing it away.

"Hey, hey. Calm down, love," said Astoria as she put a hand on his arm.

He shook her off irritably.

"Hey," she said again, and lifted his face so that he had to look at her. "What's wrong? Everything's fine, I promise."

He would have scoffed at her—yelled at her, probably—but her eyes said something more complex. They held a knowing that showed grief and sympathy. He was even tempted to believe that she understood how he felt.

In the moment when he was deciding if he believed her or not, Astoria placed a cup of tea in his hands, saying, "Drink this. It'll help wake you up. And really, you have to have some of this breakfast. It's amazing."

He drank a sip of tea, and then grimaced. It was Astoria's tea, so it was overly sweet and creamy.

"Sorry, I forgot you don't like cream and sugar. I'll get you your own cup." She was already at the table pouring him one when he stumbled out of bed.

"Why's it so bright?" he asked.

"We got a window. And a clock." She put what appeared to be a second cinnamon roll on her plate and served him one, too. "No idea why."

Breakfast was sweet and sticky, with a healthy side of eggs and sausage and a full pot of tea instead of the half they had been getting every morning. As he ate and as his eyes adjusted to the bright light, Draco noticed that they had indeed gotten a long and high window along the back wall. All he could see through it was sky, however. Along with that, a clock had appeared on the wall farthest from them, saying that it was 9:30 in the morning.

Now with a full stomach and a bit of caffeine, Draco's head was starting to clear, too, and his brain was in overdrive trying figure out what exactly had happened last night, and where exactly that put him with Astoria. He wished more than anything that he could leave—even if it meant going back to that small and dirty room where he had been alone.

Alone was good, he thought, even if it left you with some unpleasant options of things to think about. Occlumency was harder when there was absolutely nothing to distract you from the thoughts you were trying to shut out.

But that's not a problem now, he thought. I just have to empty my mind…think about nothing…think—

Astoria had reached across the table to touch his hand, breaking his concentration. He jerked his hand away, feeling unsettled and irritated.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't answer her and tried to concentrate, eyes staring blankly at the new clock.

"Hey, are you really trying Occlumency right now?" She sounded a little exasperated.

He grimaced. "And what's wrong with me doing that?"

"I don't know, because it's a lot nicer talking to a real person instead of someone determined not to think and feel anything."

"Yeah well, unless you feel like listening to nightmares—" he bit back the rest of his words, berating himself. The proper response would have been a simple "piss off."

That was what he should say now. But instead he rubbed the side of his face with his hand. "And what would you have me do, Astoria? Since you seem to know everything."

She went for his hand again, but he shot his away from her like he had burned himself.

"Don't you trust me?" she asked half joking.

"No." Looking at her, though, with her concerned face, and remembering how she had cried and how easily her emotions surfaced to be read on her face, he was starting to think he did.

And she seemed to know this, too, and that unsettled him even more. Maybe he was easier to read than he thought.

Astoria shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Well, I don't blame you. But," she went for his hand again, and this time he grimaced but let her hold it, "please please don't get all closed down again. I've talked myself out, and I could really use a friend here, too." She squeezed his hand.

Before he could decide if he was ok with any part of this conversation, Astoria stood up and stared resolutely at the window.

"Hey, do you think you could lift me up so that I could see outside?"

He was doubtful, but they walked over to the window to stare at it together as soon as their breakfast disappeared. It was about seven feet wide and only two feet tall, but the bottom ledge was well over their heads—maybe nine feet up. It wasn't centered on the back wall either but was pushed off to the side so that half of it was over the bed and the other half shone light on a previously-ignored corner of the room between the bed and wall. It wasn't a small area—perhaps five feet, but it had no furniture except for the nightstand by the bed.

"If you give me a lift up, I can lean against the wall and pull myself up to on the bottom ledge," Astoria said.

Draco said he thought it might still be too high, but Astoria insisted.

Kneeling near under the window, Draco laced his fingers together, and Astoria placed her foot in the hand hold. Draco carefully stood, bracing himself against the wall. He watched Astoria hoist herself up, using his shoulders for support and then stretching her hands up towards the window. Just when Astoria's fingers should have reached the window's ledge, however, Draco thought that the wall got higher, placing the window just out of reach. Astoria tottered as her fingers missed the ledge, and Draco had to lean hard against the wall to stay steady.

"What happened?" Draco asked, now straining a little to look up.

"I don't know, it just—got out of reach. Can you give me another inch?"

I don't think so, I'd have to stand on something," Draco said, precariously looking around the room and not finding anything easy to grab beside the chairs on the other side of the room. "Can you stand on my shoulders?"

"Not sure," she said, and he felt her scramble against the wall as she tried to step from his hands to his shoulder. A very bony foot pressed into a soft spot on his shoulder.

"Ow, watch it!"

"Sorry! It's just—without hand holds on the wall—"

He felt her start to lose her balance as her one foot stayed in its painful spot on his shoulder and her other foot swung wildly behind her.

"Get down! You're going to fall," he ordered, still wincing.

"No, I've almost got it, just got another inch—" but with a scream, she started to fall away from the wall. As her weight finally left his shoulder, he saw her falling as though in slow motion in front of him. He managed to turn and catch her, but not well enough to prevent them both falling and sprawling on the floor.

Sitting up and rubbing his shoulder, he said, "That was a terrible idea."

"It would have been fine if the window hadn't moved," said Astoria, sitting up, too, and rubbing her bum, which had gotten the brunt of the fall.

"The window moved?"

"Yeah, the whole wall got taller so that I couldn't reach the window. Both times."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I don't think I hurt anything. Probably going to have a fantastic bruise, though."

"Like I said, it was a terrible idea."

"Then why'd you help?" she asked crossly.

She leaned her back against the wall with the clock, and Draco could see her disappointment. "I really wanted to see outside," she added, more to herself.

Draco leaned against the wall, too. "Maybe they'll let us after we've been here for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they've been slowly giving us more privileges, see? So maybe that will be the next one."

She stared across the room, thinking about this. "I hadn't thought of that."

This was obvious. You could read her face like a book.

"Do you think there are others here? More than just me and you?"

"I don't know, "he said. "I wouldn't be surprised, I guess. We passed a lot of doors coming from my old room to here."

"Yeah, I did, too."

They sat thinking for a minute.

"Do you think they'll kill us?" she asked.

"No. Remember what Gerard said? We're guests or something. And this room was clearly created to be lived in."

"So how long do you think they plan on keeping us?"

"No idea. Probably a long time. Seems like they are enjoying eking out gifts and stuff, doesn't it?"

Astoria nodded. "I hate it. Makes me feel manipulated."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Hey, um," Astoria looked nervously at him.

Draco braced himself for something feeling-y.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for waking you up last night, and I'm sorry for kind of pushing you over breakfast. I'll leave you alone if you want me to."

She looked so embarrassed and so nervous and so obviously afraid that he was going to tell her to leave him alone. He sighed.

"Just don't make a habit of it, Greengrass," he said, being careful to look bored as he examined the patterned carpeting. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her beaming, and he felt more irritated than anything else.


Day 12

"Wish there was something to read," Astoria said. They were laying on the floor at the foot of the bed again, and Astoria had just lost the most recent game of spells. They were so bored they had resorted to swapping cleaning spells.

It had been a short game.

"You know there are actually books over there."

"Yeah, and have you read them?"

"Some. Pretty boring," Draco said.

"Yes, and heretical. It's all talk about how much better a pureblood is and how muggle-borns steal magic and how animalistic muggles are and how they are a completely different species."

"Typical."

"And ridiculous. They've found the DNA that carries magical ability. So it's not a different species, it's more like a genetic mutation."

"Yeah it's what muggles called junk DNA, right?"

Astoria sat up and looked at him. "Yeah, but how did you know that?"

He shrugged. "I had to take a course on muggles and muggle-borns as a part of my sentence agreement." He felt his heart constrict on saying this, as if his body felt the need to remind him that personal information was not something he shared.

He ignored it and waited tensely for Astoria's response.

"I thought you weren't sentenced to anything."

He relaxed. The part of him that wanted to be honest crowed with victory at how painless sharing this information had been. "The Daily Prophet made it sound like that, but I did get convicted of criminal mischief."

"Yeah, I guess it wouldn't do to let you entirely off the hook," she joked.

He looked at her like he wasn't sure if he should be wary or not.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Hey, I know what we can do."

She jumped up and grabbed a book off the shelf. "Let's read through and provide opposing evidence for everything they say."

She opened the book to the first chapter. "Oh, this is too easy. It says, 'muggle-borns who have demonstrated magic ability, however gathered, find themselves at a disadvantage in both education and the workplace. Weaker magical ability, a dimmer mind, and a lack of control all contribute to their mediocre results and efforts….' And so on. So, how many smart muggleborns can you think of? I'll go first. Penelope Clearwater."

"Hermione Granger."

"Really? I wasn't sure you could admit it. I remember how much you hated her."

"She still got perfect OWLS and NEWTS."

"Right. Um, Kendra Dumbledore." Astoria turned the page. "That was pretty easy. Now what about the idea that muggles are animalistic? It's just mentioned in this chapter."

Draco shrugged. "I've never actually been around many muggles. Just on the street."

"Well, Eric was muggleborn, and I got to know his parents and sister really well. They were completely normal. They just listened to different music and had a different way of going about chores. They're quite ingenious, really. Do you know how a dishwasher works?"

Draco shook his head. Astoria obliged, then, with in explanation of a box that shoots water over dishes and how they use little packets of a cleaning agent that dissolves in the water and makes them clean. She went on to describe how gas stoves ignite, and how air-conditioning works.

Towards the end of a story about how she first learned about air-conditioning, something seemed to quiet her down.

"Do you think he'll wait for me?" she asked, fiddling with her ring.

"Who?"

"Eric, of course."

"Oh." He hadn't expected this turn in conversation.

He looked at her with her brown hair that was always just a touch out of place, her brown eyes with more than a touch of green in them. He remembered the goofy, mischievous look that had been on her face just moments before, as if debunking lies on blood purity was the most rebellious thing they could do, and he remembered the way concern and grief played so freely over her features by the light of a match just a night before. And he thought that if Eric could trust her the way he was sure he already did after hardly a two weeks, he would be a fool not to wait.

"Of course," he said, and was immediately rewarded by how her eyes lit up. "I mean, we haven't even been gone a month. Don't be ridiculous."

"I wasn't talking about just now," she said, dropping her eyes to the book on her lap. "I mean, what if we don't get out of here? We've already been here a month without hardly seeing anyone. They could keep us here for years, or just kill us the next time they walk in. We can't do anything."

"But they know you're missing, which is probably farther than they've gotten with me. And I bet he's already arranged some sort of gala in your honor to help find you or something equally…enthusiastic."

She laughed. "Yeah, that does sound like him."

But she was already thinking about how swiftly Jasper had arrived and taken her from the alley just outside her door. He would have left no sign of his presence. His French organization wasn't even that well known, she thought, and she had no connection with them.

She looked at Draco and thought that he knew, too, that the chances of them being discovered were slim. She could feel the tears starting to rise up, so she shook them back determinedly.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, aware that her voice sounded thick. "It's a good distraction." She looked up at him to see him staring at her with an expression she didn't understand. There was sympathy—a new emotion for him, she guessed—but there was also something—something that made her feel embarrassed. He looked like he was about to say something, and then changed his mind.

She looked away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—." She shook her head to clear out whatever thought she'd left half-formed. "Let's see what rubbish they've put in Chapter Two. Looks like it's about the phenomenon of Squibs."


Day 13

"Hey look, they took away our On Magical Blood and Muggles book," Astoria said, pulling another book off the shelf.

They had just sat in front of the bookshelf to start again debunking lies on blood purity when they realized that the shelves were completely rearranged. Not only were some books missing, but others had appeared in their place.

"Apparently we can't be trusted with books on pureblood philosophy," Draco said, his eyes looking greedily at the back cover of a new book on quidditch. "You'd think we'd be the perfect pupils."

"Do you think they are trying to condition us like that?" Astoria asked, looking up from a game which seemed to involve memory.

"Well, if so they've just figured out it won't work."

"It makes sense for me—I was the rebel child placed in the wrong house. But you—you were the golden boy of the pureblood community. Do you think they're hoping you'll influence me?" she joked.

"I think—" Draco began, and it might have been the way this small room made him feel like his thoughts were known and spoken anyway, or perhaps it was the way Astoria managed to be pleasant and genuine and always painfully truthful— he continued, "I think I'm tired of trying to influence anybody."

He expected the constricting feeling of saying too much. He wasn't expecting Astoria's swift kiss on his cheek.

When he looked at her, a blush had come up over her cheeks.

"Sorry," she said, nervously waving her left hand. "Not appropriate." She looked around wildly. "What does your book say about the Wasps?"

He shook his head and read the opening paragraph to her.


Day 15

They began their second week together reading and re-reading the books from the shelf. Astoria poured over some muggle book that Draco was pretty sure was put there to demonstrate how uncivilized muggles were while Draco read through Quidditch Through the Ages, although he'd already read it when he was at Hogwarts. A notebook had also appeared on the shelf, and Astoria was taking furious notes now, too. She'd hardly stopped for meals and was apparently re-reading sections as avidly as a seventh-year studying for their NEWTS.

"What the hell are you reading?" Draco asked, annoyed by the constant scratching of her quill.

"It's a book on medicine." She didn't look up as she said it.

"On what?"

"It's like potions for muggles. This whole book is—give me a sec," she said, apparently finding something too interesting to stop reading.

Draco tapped his fingers loudly on the edge of the table, glaring across it to Astoria.

"There. Sorry," she put the book down. "It's a book on first aid, which is a muggle term for, you know, healing injuries outside of a hospital. So it's got all this information on how to clean a wound, how to dress it, medicine you can take—which I didn't understand very well—and even how to handle broken bones, knocked out teeth and deep cuts and things. It's absolutely fascinating."

"When did you find Healing so interesting, anyway? I thought you went to America to study potions."

"I did, but before I went, I had spent some time beginning training as a healer." She picked up the book again.

Draco tapped his fingers loudly again, but she didn't seem to notice. He sighed. "Well," he said, making sure he sounded irritated, "Why did you quit?"

"Being a healer? I'm not very good in high-stress situations. And—I don't know. I just wasn't very happy there. I didn't find it satisfying."

"You. You didn't find helping people and healing them satisfying."

"Well," and now she blushed. "It—it was a pretty low-level position that I went for, and I thought maybe it would be better for someone with my skillset to travel a little more. You know, take on something more ambitious."

"Your skillset, huh? Yeah, that sounds like something you'd say," Draco drawled, carefully examining his nails.

Astoria had started squirming in her seat. Draco smirked.

"Well, fine. If you must know, Eric suggested that I go abroad. He believed a lot in my abilities as a potioneer."

Draco thought she looked a little guilty about this even through her matter-of-fact explanation.

"And? Was life as a potioneer as satisfying as 'Eric' said it would be?"

She pretended not to notice his sarcasm and devoted herself to the overly-honest and thorough responses Draco had learned to expect from her. "It was interesting, definitely. Hard work, but I got to see a lot more, visit a lot more places. I think…" she stared across the room obviously weighing two options. "Yeah, I think I definitely liked Louisiana the best. It's got this really slow pace, even in the cities, that was definitely different than the life in the north." She was still looking away from him, avoiding eye contact. "You ever been to America?"

"Usually just to Boston. Or maybe for some trades in New York. I never really liked it."

"Well, you'll have to go to Louisiana for a little. It's god-awful hot, but I just loved Baton Rouge. There was so much Spanish moss. Do you know what it looks like?"

Draco shook his head.

"Here, I'll show you." She pulled out the sketchbook she had put next to her notes—Draco hadn't realized it had been on the shelf, too. "So you've got these huge, beautiful old trees." She drew a rather wobbly looking tree, as though her fingers weren't sure how to remember drawing. "And then, of course you've got all their leaves—" a few flicks of the quill put leaves where she wanted them. "And then the Spanish moss is this beautiful, almost shawl-like gray stuff that's all curly and knit together, and it's just draped over all the branches, hanging down —" she paused as she dedicated her efforts to the curly swirls of Spanish moss in the branches.

"There. That looks—well, not right. It's a lot prettier than that, and something about it reminded me of home. But that's the general idea, anyway."

Draco had first looked over at the page skeptically, but now he unconsciously closed his book as he leaned across the table to look at her sketch. The drawing wasn't world-quality, but her lines were sure and sharp—once she had remembered how to hold the quill—and Draco got the distinct impression that this was a more practical depiction of Spanish moss than most would have created.

'And it's all over the place you said?"

"Yeah, you'll be walking along the sidewalk and then look up and see it hanging everywhere above you. I wish I could do a better job, but—" She grimaced to herself, fiddling with her ring. "I know I'm not very good…more of a practical sketcher, anyway, but—"

"It's good," he said, and picked it up to look at it better.

Over the top of the paper, he saw her eyes glow in appreciation.

"Hey, I've got an idea," she took the sketchpad back and opened it to a new page. "Where is a place you love to go?"

"What?"

"I mean what place do you want me to draw?"

Draco stared at the blank page for a while, hearing only the clock tick across the room. "Well," he said, looking a little uncomfortable, "There's this castle in Wales. Cardiff. Have you been there?"

"Um, it's right on the coast, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Ok, I remember. It's up on a little hill, right?" She drew out a little hill on the blank page. "And it's kind of asymmetrical, with a main tower right at the front." She sketched out, and both of them were quiet as she filled out the page with her careful quill strokes.

"What do you think?" she held it up to him.

He smiled. "It's good." She'd captured the gothic look of the battlements, and the stone walkway that led away from it. "Now you pick another one."

At the end of an hour, they had the silhouette of Hogwarts, the lobby in the Ministry of Magic, the dignified façade of the Greengrass home and stables, and the equally festive-looking Hogwarts Great Hall.

They decided to put them up on the walls, but realized they couldn't without tape or tacks. They settled with simply leaving the book open on the table.


Day 16

They were eating dinner quietly the next day, looking in turns at the sketches when Astoria asked, "So what did you like about Cardiff?"

"Hmm?"

"Cardiff. You had me draw the castle."

"Oh. I'm not sure."

He would have left it at that, but Astoria stubbornly waited for him to elaborate.

He fought back a grimace and continued, "I went there when I was young with my parents." It was still a little difficult to knowingly reveal personal information, but he found he was adjusting to it.

"What did you do there?"

He shrugged. "We looked at the castle, met a few of the ghosts there." He put his fork down and leaned back. "When we were by the shops, Dad got me a new broom. A nice one."

"Hm. So is that the first place you'd go when you get out of here?"

"Probably not. I haven't been there in years. When were you there?"

"My mum had a cousin who lived near Bristol. Her kids and I would take a boat to Cardiff and wander by the castle and pretend it was the middle ages. It was loads of fun until Daphne caught us. And you didn't answer my question. Where is the first place you'll go when we leave?"

"I don't know. I hadn't thought of it."

"Well, what did you think of all that time you were by yourself, then?"

"I didn't really think of anything."

"Hm." She had stopped eating, as if trying to interpret Draco's bland answers was more entertaining than the pasta on her plate. "I don't believe you. There was to be some place that you'd like to see."

He sighed. "Fine. I'd probably first want to go to Malfoy Manor. Make sure my parents are all right."

The awkwardness forming in the air was almost tangible at the mention of his parents and the unspoken worry over his father. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, then continued, "And I've always liked the grounds at the manor."

Astoria, however, didn't look the least fazed. Instead, Draco noticed rather resignedly that Astoria's eyes were shining like she was going to cry. Thankfully, she didn't say anything horribly comforting, and instead asked, "What do you like about the grounds?"

"We've got a lot of land with a lot of trees—like little forests around all the pasture—and there's this pond a little way's off that's got a stone bridge. I'd jump off into the water, or, you know, use it as a launching place for flying."

"It sounds lovely. I'll have to draw it next." She started flipping through the book of sketches again. "Can you draw?"

"No, I never really wanted to."

"You never wanted to or your father thought it was impractical?."

He grimaced. But the honest answer? "Both, I'd say."

He was relieved when she didn't feel the need to ask another question. "So, where would you go first?"

She looked up from the book. "After seeing Eric? Oh, probably muggle London. It's beautiful, and if you're careful, you can fly up to the roof of a building and watch the whole town come alive once the sun sets. It's lovely."

"Is that where Eric would take you?" he asked, taking care to say Eric's name with dislike.

"No, I would just go on my own."

Draco took a bite of his food, strangely cheered by the revelation.

"What do you hate him so much anyway?"

"Who?"

"Eric. You said you've never met him. Have you?"

He shrugged. "I doubt I'd remember if I had. But I don't think so."

"So why do you dislike him so much?"

Something in him constricted as a warning, telling him that this wasn't a safe question. He shrugged it off and told the truth. "I don't know. He just seems…a little full of himself."

Astoria laughed.

He glared at her. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that, well, coming from you…"

He gritted his teeth. "Well? Is he?"

"Yes he is, if you must know. I'm not ashamed to admit it. But we've all got flaws, and that's just one of his." She was still smiling, and Draco wondered for a moment why he bothered talking to her at all.

He made a point of ignoring her the rest of the night, spending time instead reading over the Hogwarts book. She appeared perfectly fine with this and went back to scribbling furious notes on muggle potions at the table.

When the lights flickered, Astoria was still feverishly writing. Draco, meanwhile was laying on the bed—it was his night to sleep on the bed again—thinking about quidditch and how much he itched for a night of flying. It was great for clearing the head.

Why did he hate Eric Heartwood so much, anyway? Probably because he was a Hufflepuff. He usually hated Hufflepuffs. Except Astoria, because apparently she was a damn exception to everything.

The lamp went out, and Draco heard Astoria come over and settle down in the mess of pillows and blankets they had designated for whoever got the floor. He fell asleep still feeling rankled and counting all the ways Astoria had managed to make herself an exception, from being so freely emotional and making him talk, to drawing and—it was too frustrating to think about.

When he finally fell asleep, Astoria appeared in his dreams, too, but it wasn't about how she talked or how he liked her drawings. Instead he dreamed more about how soft her skin felt and how curved her figure was and how full her lips looked…and he woke up finally knowing exactly why he hated Eric Heartwood.