(Part one of chapter sixth. Sorry for the delay, I have plans to become the master of irregular publications. The cursive parts are inspired by the book of Zofia Nałkowska called 'Women' that I highly recommend to all of you.)


If eye was the mirror of the soul, his was black like coal. She stared into his dilated pupils so intensively, she saw the reflection of her own in them. It was almost as if they were looking through the same eyes and everything was dark. The thin grey circles surrounding his pupils reminded of the lunar eclipse and she always had a weakness for anything celestial-related…

The room was plunged into darkness but she was seeing stardust everywhere. The walls were covered in stars, little spheres of plasma luminous in silver. The beauty created by her own mind bewitched her and she hoped he was seeing something just as wonderful — but secretly, doubted it was possible.

The silvery glow was encircling them and detaching from anything terrestrial. They were substantive, suspended somewhere between Earth and the sky and she felt an inexplicable gratitude towards him — friendship almost — for letting her into paradisus in her lifetime. How generous it was of him to share this experience with her, to make her an insider…

Her head was filled with emptiness, boundless brightness annihilating malum, tristitia and profestus. There was an immense delight afoot, superhuman delight, marvelous — primordial delight of nonexistence. Thoughts were drifting slowly through the orbits of their minds. Engrossed in the infinite silence, they were physically close but mentally, light-years apart.


August 1999

When Astoria opened her eyes, the brightness blinded her, although the sky was still grey. It was dawning.

She sat up with her eyes squinted and blinked few times to adjust. With a shadow of disappointment she discovered the bedroom was no longer covered by stars. It was an ordinary room, arranged with materials of the best quality. She sighed quietly, reminding herself that the most beautiful was what had never existed and moved her gaze onto the other side of the bed. With his face turned to her and left hand embracing the pillow above his head, Draco was still asleep and he looked so peacefully, Astoria felt envy.

She got up from the bed quietly, careful not to wake him and searched for her clothes in silence. Only when dressed up, she dared to leave the bedroom in order to see the rest of the apartment. Although it has been over a month since their first encounter, she had never been given a chance to view the rooms.

She entered the parlor and her attention was draught immediately by a piano, standing by the window. It was the real piano à queue made from the lacquered wood and it reminded Astoria of the one her grandfather used to keep. She sat down on the piano bench and looked at the claviers, barely resisting pressing them. They were ivory — long time illegal — so it was clear the piano was old, however perfectly preserved. Touching the smooth surface of the instrument, Astoria wondered if Draco played or was it only a part of apartment's decoration.

Not moving from the piano bench, she looked around the room but there was no sign Draco lived there permanently. The furnitures looked untouched, cabinets filled with never read books. The only personal stuff was Draco's coat, hanging from the back of the couch, where he has left it the night before. The room seemed to be a dummy, imitating the real home and Astoria thought that the other rooms probably looked the same.

Suddenly, she felt the overwhelming sadness for there was some dreadful parallel between the emptiness of this place and loneliness of its owner. It made her feel compassion and some inexplicable affection. She stood up from the piano bench and returned to the bedroom fast.

Barefoot, she came back to the bed and sat next to him. At dawn, she could study Draco's looks in peace, notice details she would not in the night. With every glance Astoria found him more interesting for he could not be considered classically handsome. His features were sharp, but it was only adding his face the expression and corresponded well with the straight nose and visible cheek bones. The silvery blond hair were surrounding his face, single strand falling onto his forehead. Astoria leaned over him and pulled the hair away. He didn't wake up.

She was falling asleep again, half-lying against the headrest when his breath became restless and Astoria opened her eyes, alarmed. It appeared he was having a nightmare, his lips twisted in grimace and eyelids tightly closed. Seeing the two small horizontal wrinkles disfiguring his forehead when he was frowning, a random thought crossed Astoria's head — they were definitely too deep as for a man in his early twenties. She observed him in silence but he was continuously fighting his demons. She moved closer to him and — resting against one elbow on the pillow — pulled out a hand in his direction.

"Hush, you are dreaming…" she whispered, stroking his hair slowly, trying to imitate what her mother would do when she herself was waking up from a nightmare.

This peculiar intimacy made her feel anxious but she didn't let go. She felt his smooth skin under her touch and, although she had touched him many times, it felt new and unexpectedly good. She observed him, amazed with how helpless he seemed to be up against the state of altered consciousness. He differed considerably from the person he was — or pretended to be — while awaken.

She sighed quietly and sat up again. Regardless her actions, Draco was becoming more and more involved in his dream. Astoria noticed he has moved his left hand from above his head. It was clenched firmly enough the skin was so pale, it seemed to be turning blue. It made her upset and so she grabbed the material covering his naked forearm and tried to loosen it. The moment she wanted to remove the bandage, she felt Draco's hand clenching on her arm. She pulled off immediately, hissing from pain.

"What are you doing?" he asked with a threatening expression, sitting up on the bed. He was still semiconscious but his gaze was so hostile, Astoria moved away just in case.

"I asked you a question" he murmured and seemed very irritated. Without taking his eyes from her, he arranged the bandage as it was originally.

"It was too tight" explained Astoria in a weak voice, pointing at his forearm. "The blood wasn't…" she continued, overwhelmed by his nagging expression but before she could end, the room filled with the ironic laugh of his.

"Thanks for caring" he said sarcastically and stood up, putting his trousers back on. "After all, you deserve to be praised" he added after lighting up a cigarette. Astoria frowned at these words and was just about to tell him he could praise a dog and not her, when he spoke again. "You held back for over a month, that's a long time" he admitted. "Still, I thought you would simply ask and not… How to call it? Peeking at me? No, that one sounds insinuatingly, doesn't it?" he asked, looking at her with contempt.

"You don't understand" she murmured in her defense. She was still sitting on the bed, aware of how pathetic it must have looked like. However, she did not move, having concluded she would not feel any better as long as he was looking at her with all this mockery.

"No, I don't" he agreed, breathing out the smoke. "I don't understand why a woman, an exceptionally attractive woman" he corrected himself and, although his voice was harsh, Astoria blushed at this compliment "coming from a respectable family that managed to keep its social position with a loss of few bars of gold only" she was perplexed with his insolence to mention her family's material situation but let him finish "hooks up regularly with the number one public enemy instead of dedicating herself to charity or something equally pointless, what would convince people her origin doesn't determinate her."

He stopped his monologue to take another puff on his cigarette and Astoria observed him in silence, feeling growing resentment. She made up her mind to get up from the bed and approach him. The choking smell of tobacco annoyed her nostrils and it made her upset that without the high-heeled shoes she was too short to look him in the eyes without raising up her head.

"Listen" she hissed. "Whatever your surname is, you have no right to talk about myfamily in such manner" she warned him, her voice shivering from restlessness. Draco could see her eyes shining from anger and it reminded him of his mother, making him wonder whether it was a characteristic feature of every pureblood witch to protect her family's name at all costs. "You have no idea how the… events affected my family!"

He remained silent but his lips pursed in a smirk, showing his disregard. Astoria felt her cheeks burning for she was hopeless. There was nothing worse than being laughed off while defending something one believed in.

"You haven't answered my question" reminded her Draco, ignoring her visible restlessness.

"I don't know, anymore" she murmured with her gaze fixed on him. "I thought we had something in common, shared the same sadness" she added in a less sulky voice.

Draco smiled sadly and observed her in silence for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice lacked in tease but was filled with some made up pathos and it irritated her even more.

"I've been through more than you can imagine, Astoria" he said with his eyes fixed on the burning end of the cigarette. "I don't share the same sadness as you, the one who was escorted out of Hogwarts when it started and spent the whole time safe and sound at home on the countryside" he continued and once again it seemed he was mocking at her.

"The war started long before the final battle" she hissed through clenched teeth, being the first to say this word out loud. "But you wouldn't know. As far as I remember you've missed the glorious times of Snape being the headmaster of Hogwarts" she continued and her voice was so bitter, Draco could almost feel its taste on his tongue.

"I must tell you, you've missed a lot of fun" continued Astoria mockingly. "Defense Against Dark Magic lessons were my personal favorites. This punish-or-you-will-be-punished learning methods were surprisingly effective" she narrated, a bitter half-smile not leaving her face for a moment. "Have you ever tortured an eleven-year-old?" she asked rhetorically. "I did. And up to this day, I can't fall asleep without taking potions for each time I close my eyes, I see this child in front of me" she cried to her own surprise, unable to hold herself back.

Her words left Draco speechless and the unhealthy satisfaction she felt while looking at his perplexed self, made her continue the story.

"There were grades" she added, feeling the irresistible need to make him feel even more distressed. "Regardless the age, purebloods were expected to perform the curses without hesitation as they were thought to believe to be saving the wizard kind from slime…" she started quietly but he interrupted her.

"What grade have you received?" he asked, visibly intrigued by her unscrupulous tone.

Astoria bit her lip firmly and felt the metallic taste of blood on her tongue.

"Outstanding" she whispered, looking him straight into the eyes. "As befits a Ravenclaw" she added, her lips curled in a contemptuous smile.

Draco didn't reply and smoked his cigarette in silence. Astoria thought she attained her end and so she turned to the door, bending down for her pumps when she heard his voice behind her back.

"I was ordered to do worse" he said. "And threatened to be killed off if not succeeding."

Astoria raised an eyebrow without turning to face him.

"Somehow you've managed to avoid both" she reminded him, leaning one hand against the wall to put on the shoes. "I had not."

"You have no idea what it was like" he insisted, shaking his head slowly. "Whatever you had been ordered to do, it doesn't come up to what I had to preform" he continued and seemed to be less and less conscious, looking back at the events of the years before. "Actually, it is ridiculous you compare our pasts" he grumbled, coming back to his old tone. "Or maybe I'm mistaken and you bear an invisible Dark Mark on your forearm?"

She sighed heavily, turning to him. Now, that she was wearing the high-heeled shoes, she was almost as tall as he and could look him in the eyes without raising her head, what gave her more self assurance.

"Give up sarcasm" she said and her voice sounded so harsh, it surprised herself. "Bearing this" she continued, pointing at his forearm "doesn't make you one of… them."

Draco laughed shortly to himself, throwing the cigarette butt through the opened window.

"Death Eaters" he said without resistance. "That is how they are called, darn" he added, his voice filled with mockery. "You shouldn't be afraid to call a spade a spade."

The wicked smile on his face was giving Astoria creeps.

"What I think is that you have a tendency to exaggerate" she said. "The war has been a traumatic experience for everyone but you refuse to accept it for it would decrease the weight of your suffering! But you are not the only one in pain!"

"In pain?" laughed Draco, looking at her with disbelief. "You have no idea what are you talking about! I lost my fucking life in there!" he cried; it was the first time she would see him so jittery. "I'm convicted to vegetation for the average life is no longer available for me!"

"The feeling is common within our environment" she replied instantly. "You make yourself look as the most harmed but in fact, bearing your surname isn't the obligatory condition to feel isolated. If you weren't so self-centered, maybe you would notice that people around you suffer as well. Especially the pureblood families, they…"

"I don't give a damn about other families, Astoria!" he cried and sounded hysteric. "I don't expect you to understand" he added in a calmer voice "but at least don't make it harder."

Astoria observed him from distance with a suspicious expression.

"The only person who makes it harder is you" she said. "You make a martyr of yourself but there are people who lost much more than you in this war! There are children who lost their parents, there are…"

"I wish I was one of them" he interrupted her in a serious voice and Astoria felt the blood draining from her face. "I wish he had died" continued Draco regardless the horror in her eyes. There was no need for him to say whom he had on mind, she knew and thought everyone else on her place would.

Draco moved his gaze to the window and observed the view, murmuring more to himself than to her:

"Unfortunately, he always finds a way to escape the consequences of his actions…"

"Don't talk like this" she asked in a choked voice. "You're upset and therefore you say things you don't mean."

"Stop!" he cried and she was surprised with this burst, her heartbeat fastened. "Stop psychoanalyzing me!" he continued, turning to her. "Who do you think you are?" he asked, twisting his face in repugnance. "You have no idea… how much I've been through because of him. No fucking idea!" he cried.

"Draco, I think…" she started slowly but was interrupted instantly.

"I don't give a fuck about what you think" he hissed. "Do me a favor and shut up already."

"Don't talk to me like this" she hissed back with a sudden inflow of resentment. It hit her he was offending her for the second time with no will to apologize, what hurt her ego more than her feelings.

"Don't discuss my family matters and I'll be nice to you" he replied seriously, although he sounded more like a peevish child than an adult man.

"I don't need you to be nice to me but to respect me" hissed Astoria angrily.

Draco looked at her with raised eyebrows and laughed shortly.

"This is exactly what I hate about women. They provoke conflicts and then make themselves look like a victim…" he said and his every word made her question everything she knew about him. "You know what was your biggest advantage? Apart from your looks, of course" this time, even the reference to her appearance had no power to calm her down. "You didn't ask too many questions" he explained.

Now, it was Astoria to laugh at him.

"I see" she murmured with a false smile. "All was fine as long as I was under you, in both senses" she hissed and saw the barely invisible blush on his face "but when it comes to discussing anything with me, you…"

"What made you think I would like to discuss anything with you?" he interrupted her angrily, the blush disappearing completely from his face. "Who do you think you are? To me?" he asked but gave her no time to response. "You are a girl for a night, not for a lifetime or whatever you might have been thinking. You mean absolutely nothing to me, do you understand?"

He looked at her hesitantly, waiting for some reaction. They stared at each other for a moment before Astoria grabbed her clutch from the commode and made off the apartment. She found it hard to breathe, unable to stop herself from shivering. The moment she found herself on the street, the hot tears ran down her cheeks.

Draco stood passive, a thought of following her down not even crossing his mind. When he heard the door shut down, he coursed loudly to release his anger and made his way to his study. He poured himself a glass of whisky and took a long sip. The alcohol was burning his throat but he kept on drinking.

Looking around the room, he noticed Daily Prophet from the day before lying on his desk, covered partly by the torn envelops. Draco breathed out heavily and took his wand from the desk. He moved away the envelops and looked at the newspaper's cover with disgust. He touched the corner of it with the end of his wand and suddenly, the Prophet started to burn, the flames avoiding any other object and the desk itself.

Draco observed the newspaper vanishing slowly but even when the headliner burnt completely, the feeling of relieve was not coming. He cursed again and threw everything off the desk, driven by anger. However, it did not make him feel any better.

Not so fallen from grace? As his trial finally ends, Lucius Malfoy becomes the only former Death Eater to avoid the imprisonment in Azkaban. It seems the one who said money can't buy everything was mistaken…


Four days later

"I spoke to your Healer. He said you haven't done the blood tests last month" said Isobel Greengrass in a preservative tone when the door behind the servant closed and she remained alone with her daughter.

"He told you the truth" replied Astoria indifferently. Lately, she has been afflicted by frequent migraines and lost her will to dispute with anybody.

"Is this all you have to say?" delved into her mother, sounding annoyed.

"I missed the date" said Astoria with a short sigh. Sitting in the dining room alone made her tired and she wished this conversation had come to an end and she could come back to her bed. But Isobel wasn't in an understanding mood, looking at her hesitantly. "I'm coming off the potions at the moment so any results would be inadequate" she added in order to convince her mother she was thinking straight.

"It had never happened before" reminded Isobel with a serious expression. "Why now?"

"T'en fais tout un fromage" murmured Astoria, standing up from her chair. "I forgot, it happens to everybody."

"Come back here, Astoria" said her mother in a grave tone. "You haven't drunk your tea" she added in a softer voice when Astoria sat down obediently. She breathed out heavily and dipped her regular three sugar cubs in the tea cup. With her gaze fixed on the drink, she observed how the sugar melted slowly in the hot liquor.

"You're fragile, Tori" continued Isobel, coming to her natural voice. "Your health is my priority but I won't be around all the time. You need to learn to be more responsible for yourself."

Astoria nodded and took a sip of her tea. She felt a pleasant warmth filling her body and it let her forget about the headache for a moment.

"I got you a visit on Friday, nine o'clock" said Isobel after a moment of silence and her voice sounded a bit resigned, knowing her actions negated her words. "It's important you have recent results when you go back to school" she added as if she wanted to justify herself.

Astoria froze when she heard the word school. This particular time in a year, when students were packing manuals into their trunks and putting on the robes with their house's emblem on it, was impending and normally, it wouldn't be anything extraordinary. But this year wasn't normal and the thought of coming back to Hogwarts alone was making Astoria anxious, scared even.

"Do you listen to the word I say?"

"Sorry, I pondered."

"Yes, you have your head in the clouds lately…" murmured Isobel more to herself than to her and took a sip of her coffee, black like coal. "I said" she started in a louder voice in order to catch her daughter's attention. "Horace Slughorn is coming back to Hogwarts as well and it's highly possible he will invite you to his club, for the sake of your late grandfather" she explained, with her eyes fixed on the coffee cup.

"I beg your pardon?"

Astoria seemed truly shocked. Her mother's words were echoing in her head and she felt the increasing pain in her skull. She clenched her lips and put a hand on her forehead. Isobel pouted but didn't comment on it; accustomed to these states of Astoria's.

"If you show your best, there's a chance… Being a member of Slug Club can be really helpful, don't underestimate the affiliation" she warned her daughter but Astoria looked furious.

"Stop!" she cried, moving her hand down. "Do you think anybody cares about this pitiful club of his? Nobody's in mood for discussing their influential relatives over a cup of ice-cream anymore! People are in mourning, mom!" she said, indignant by her mother's suggestion.

"Don't exaggerate" cut Isobel, finishing her coffee. "Painful memories are the easiest to fade" she added and it seemed she was referring to her personal experience. Astoria didn't continue the topic, feeling there was nothing more to say.

They sat in silence. Astoria, drinking her tea and Isobel, looking blindly at the wall behind her daughter's back. The family portrait was hanging upon the chimney and therefore, was entirely visible even if there were people sitting by the dining table.

Perses Greengrass was standing in the center with his wife on his right side and daughters on the left. Isobel remembered how she forced herself to smile without success, the left corner of her mouth shivering slightly, making her look as if she was pouting. But it wasn't Isobel's expression that caught attention — it were her eyes, completely mismatched. Both Daphne and Astoria have taken after their father and not mothers when it came to the eye color and looking at the portrait, Isobel regretted her daughter's eyes were not blue, like her own.

"Your sister owled" she said out loud, moving her eyes to the image of Daphne. Standing behind her sister — as the older sibling, she was higher than Astoria — she was a picture perfect of her father but again, it were her eyes that bothered her step-mother.

"She invites us for Christmas" she continued when Astoria remained silent. "The three of us" she added, thinking it might have not been a certainty for her daughter.

"Why so late?" asked Astoria with a slight frown, taking a pot with tea and pouring herself another cup. "We could go as soon as dad comes back" she added and if not her clenched lips, Isobel would think there was no hostility between her and Daphne.

"Dad won't be back until the mid September" she replied, not looking in her daughter's eyes.

The single wrinkle on Astoria's forehead deepened as she looked at her mother suspiciously.

"I thought he comes back on Monday."

"Something came up and he must stay in Brighton" explained Isobel.

"Wasn't he staying in London?" asked Astoria angrily, massaging her forehead again. The pain was increasing regardless the amount of tea she was drinking and she was slowly losing her thoughts.

"He was" nodded Isobel. "But now he's in Brighton, he owled a note."

The talk about her husband was making Isobel visibly uncomfortable and Astoria decided to stop asking questions. It suited her even as the migraine was getting more and more intense.

It was no secret her parents were having marital problems again, however Astoria doubted if out of the same reason as in the past. Perses Greengrass had problems with fidelity and Isobel — once a thorn in Amara Greengrass'* eye — was aware of this from the early days when their only daughter was born.

A marriage born from infidelity and based on desire had faint chances to last but still, finding out about it was painful. Sometimes Isobel wondered would her marriage had been equally unaffectionate if she had had a son but as the thought alone was making her feel guilty towards her daughter, she avoided it like the plague.

But no matter how many plasters she had sold on it, the wound in her heart was still bleeding, regardless past time. It seemed it was just yesterday when Perses Greengrass would follow her to the gardens and kiss in the darkness, regardless his heavily pregnant wife receiving visitors in the parlor. If only she had stopped him then…

There were times when Isobel thought it wasn't a coincidence it was her daughter to inherit the blood disease her father's ancestors were bearing. She was close to believe it was God's revenge on her and when the nights were getting dark and lonely enough, she was cursing the day her and Perses Greengrass' paths had crossed.

"You're having a hemorrhage again" she noticed, looking at her daughter with concern. Indeed, the drops of blood very running down Astoria's nose, staining her white satin blouse. "Put your head down, I will bring some yarrow infusion" she said, getting up from her seat.

Astoria withdrew her chair and leaned down, resting her elbows on her thighs. The red drops were striking against the wooden floor, forming a small puddle and Astoria felt blood draining from her head. When Isobel returned to the dining room with a servant, carrying a porcelain pot in one hand and towels in another, Astoria was barely conscious, half-lying on the chair. Her face was deadly pale but the blood was still running down her nose. The deep red stains on her clothes made her look as the victim of a cutler.

"It's more serious than I thought…" murmured Isobel, her own voice sounding semi-conscious. "Owl the Healer, rapidement!" she ordered and the servant left obediently, leaving the pot and towels on the chimney.

Isobel leaned over her daughter and tried to raise her from the chair.

"Come on, darling" she whispered and holding her in the waist, Isobel helped her to reach the chaise longue, standing near.

Once she lied down, Astoria lost her conscious almost immediately and any cold compress or smelling salts wouldn't make her rally. Isobel was kneeling down next to her daughter, salty tears streaming down her face.

Perses Greengrass was looking at them from the family portrait, his expression peaceful and impassive as always. These were the moments Isobel hated her husband the most. When his child was suffering and he wasn't there, using business as an excuse when even the household knew that wherever he was, Perses Greengrass was not working but losing the last remains of the family's savings.


The darkness was encircling her and detaching from anything terrestrial. She were substantive, suspended somewhere between Earth and the underground and she felt an inexplicable fear. How terrifying it was to experience infernum in one's lifetime, how vicious…


*Amara Greengrass (1952—1980) Perses Greengrass' first wife and Daphne's mother.