Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Pairing: Astoria Greengrass + Draco Malfoy
For: Tat (Tat1312)
Prompt: Thief

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Like an Empty Sky

Astoria feels the circle of silver against the skin beneath the elastic of her knickers and the loose brush of her grey dress robes. She's swaying among classmates and former-classmates and parents as the Malfoy's hired string quartet plays Christmas song after Christmas song and people fall against each other in awkward movements meant to look sexy.

Narcissa wants this Christmas, a year and a half after all the War, to represent a return to normalcy. Astoria believes she's insane—there was never any normal to return to—but when Astoria told her father she'd rather stay home, or better yet, at Hogwarts, he'd gripped her arm tightly and said, "You must help us stay strong." Personally Astoria thought this was just another example of her father being a pompous arse, but she knew better than to say as much.

So here she is, on the terrace at the recently renovated Malfoy Manor, dancing with Blaise Zabini, who's staring over her shoulder at Daphne, who's dancing with Theo, who's as consumed in Daph as she is in him. Really Zabini must admit he's lost her, but Astoria is glad he's distracted at the moment. Otherwise he might push forward and feel the hand mirror slipped beneath Astoria's clothes.

Just ten minutes ago the mirror had been sitting on Mrs. Malfoy's bedside table. Then Astoria had taken the two flights up, the three corridors down, cracked a simple locking charm, and stuck the serpent-engraved mirror beneath her robes—one of the easiest ones.

Astoria had been feeling confined in the Malfoy's home, but the cool metal against her skin helps her breathe. She's not afraid of being caught. She's more scared of the burn on her fingertips, of being simple.

Blaise lets go of her as the song fades and glances over at Daphne; her grip on Theo hasn't loosened at all. "Give up," Astoria advises. "They're practically engaged."

He straightens his shoulders and fixes cold brown eyes on hers. "Stop making assumptions, Greengrass."

"I'm not, Zabini." She turns, hesitates, and adds, "Happy Christmas," over her shoulder. He doesn't respond.

"Pissing off Blaise, Greengrass?" Charlotte takes her arm when she reaches the edge of the terrace. Astoria can feel the cold December air fighting against the heating charms the Malfoy's have layered over the outdoor space.

"Only a little bit. He needs to get his head out of his arse."

"Agreed. Still, maybe you should have let him dream about Daph through Christmas and disillusioned him on New Year's?"

Astoria presses her hand against her hip, her index and middle fingers lying against the fabric over the silver disc. "He needs to find someone else to snog on New Year's. I just thought I'd give him plenty of time."

Charlie sighs. "If only he'd look at me. I'd put up with all that pining over Daph to snog him."

"You're not the only one." Blaise has just returned to the floor with his hands on Sylvia Bulstrode's waist. It's a generally accepted fact that Sylvia's father is not Millicent's father, as the two sisters look about as alike as a lion and a snake. Their personalities, however, are identical.

"Shit," Charlie mutters. She tugs a hand through her tangle of dark curls and turns to face Astoria. "So what are you doing, now that Blaise has abandoned you?"

"Thought I might go find Draco. You haven't seen him around anywhere, have you?"

Charlie turns cold. "I don't know why you still speak to him."

"I told you, he's better now."

"Is he?" Charlie props her hands on her hips. "So you don't think he'd testify again?"

Astoria bites her lip. She always forgets that Charlie's favourite cousin had ended up in Azkaban because of Draco's testimony, although Charlie's biggest problem seems to be that Harry Potter had helped Draco escape the threat of imprisonment, so Draco's confessions did not appear to be self-serving. Astoria is a little more lenient. After all, the general public accepted Draco more now. Most of their group, of course, did not.

"Right. Well, I'm going to find him."

"He's probably skulking in a corner somewhere. He must know his mum's the only one who wants him here," Charlie calls after her.

And Narcissa is the only reason he's here, Astoria's certain. Draco has his own friends, flat, and career in London. He has no need of this old society of hypocrites.

She finds him in the living room, standing beside the low-burning fire and involved in a quiet conversation with a tall, thin, and greying Lucius Malfoy. Astoria had heard that Lucius had returned from his shortened stay in Azkaban, but no one had mentioned that the prison had managed what years of being Voldemort's wingman had not. Lucius looks broken.

Draco glances toward Astoria as she hesitates on the doorjamb and holds out his hand. She approaches the two men, and Draco says, "Father, you remember Astoria."

"Of course. Miss Greengrass." He extends his hand, and Astoria takes it. Even his handshake feels week.

"Mr. Malfoy, it's good to see you again."

He nods. "You as well. Well, Draco, I should join the party. Think on what I said."

Draco stays silent. As his father exits the room, he crosses to lean against the arm of the couch, stretching his long legs in front of him.

"What does he want you to think about?" Astoria asks after he's stared at her in silence for a few seconds.

Draco jerks his head toward the terrace. They can hear the noise of the party through the open door, and he speaks softly, "Making amends."

Astoria says, "Oh," not like she's judging, but Draco interprets it that way.

"He doesn't seem to understand that I don't want to. If it weren't for Mother I wouldn't have even come tonight." He's got a petulant tone to his voice, and for a moment Astoria sees the boy she knew at school, and then he adds, "And you, of course," and he's this new man, this stupid one.

"Yeah, whatever." She can feel her pale cheeks turning scarlet. "You're being absurd again."

"Am I?" He steps away from the couch and is standing over her, his long fingers brushing cool against her red cheeks, his index finger stopping just at the corner of her mouth. "I don't think so."

She wants to say something, but if she opens her mouth there's a chance he'll run his finger along her lip and then she'll be gripping his wrist and Apparating him back to his flat but it's Christmas, and she can't just go there the way she has before. So she stands still and manages to keep her eyes on his and waits.

"You are far too pretty for the Manor, you know." He drops his finger from her lips to her neck, circling around her pulse point before dropping it to land on the dip in collarbone. "I hate having you here."

"Nice," she manages. She can't breathe. Merlin, his hands.

"I mean, you're better than this place." He looks like he could spit, aggressive and upset. "You make wherever you are happier, but it doesn't work as well here."

"Draco," Astoria sighs, "stop. We're not..."

"Not what?" He crowds closer, and she can feel the metal of his mother's mirror burning against her side. He understands brokenness, but he doesn't understand the way she's broken. He might not even think she is, but mirrors fall and bring bad luck and Astoria has a feeling that stealing from his mother might not be okay.

She's stolen from him, too, but button-down shirts and boxer shorts don't matter as much. "Not," she hesitates and takes a step away from him. His finger catches on the top of her dress robes, hooks around so his nail is against her skin. "I don't know. I really don't, Draco." She glances toward the open door. "Can we...just...can we do this later?"

He drops his hand, finally, and her heart rate stutters back to somewhere near normal. "What is it that we were doing, exactly?" His voice is level but his eyes are shards of glass.

"Talking about something other than how utterly ridiculous this party is." She tries to keep her tone light, accompanies it with a smile, but he's still looking at her like she's betrayed him.

"Speaking of, I should go make my mother happy." He starts toward the doorway, his long strides carrying him away from her too quickly, and then he turns at the doorway, "Coming?"

She shakes her head. "I'll be out in a moment."

Astoria spreads her hands over the fire, even though it's burnt so low she can barely feel the warmth. Draco makes her want to be crazy.

If she were, she would have kissed him there, when he told her she was better than here. She would have pressed him back onto his parents' couch and snogged him until someone interrupted them. She would have been braver. But if she had been crazy, she would never have come to Draco in the first place. After the trials he had seemed so solid, so weirdly balanced, despite his troubles with Voldemort and his father's imprisonment, and she had felt like a kite in a windstorm. Draco seemed good for her, so she met him for lunch and dinner; once they drank far too much wine and she met him in bed, and after that—well, sneaking out of Hogwarts was far easier than she'd always expected.

But she'd never thought it meant a thing to him. She was a little blonde diversion, a slip of memory from his old world, someone temporary. And then tonight, here he was, making her sound important and permanent. Or at least semi-permanent and Astoria stares at the low-burning fire and wonders whether she wants to be something steady in Draco's well-organized life.

She presses her hand against his mother's mirror. Astoria decides she's done her time. She squeezes her eyes shut and Disapparates.

She lands in her bedroom and slips her robes from her shoulders, slides the mirror from the elastic waistband and unlocks her trunk. She reaches beneath her school robes and ratty jumpers and places it at the bottom, alongside a cashmere scarf of her aunt's, a gold Gryffindor lion paperweight from McGonagall's desk, a pair of sunglasses from Theo's room, a watch from a Muggle shop, and several other things that found their way home secreted under layers and against her skin. She rummages through the rest of her trunk until she finds one of Draco's old shirts, which she tugs on before pulling her hair up into a ponytail and crossing to the window.

It's a new moon tonight and the world looks colder in all this darkness. Her conversation with Draco has left her feeling as if her skin doesn't fit quite right, and the sight of the silver hand-mirror at the bottom of her trunk has frightened her. For once, stealing feels wrong.

She hears voices downstairs—Daphne and Theo, back and looking for her or perhaps just to get some time alone—and she grabs her wand from the floor and shuts her eyes. She arrives at Draco's flat and the darkness is so complete that for a moment she feels as if she's been caught in a limbo. She casts a lumos charm quickly, and then flicks on the lamp over the sofa in the corner of Draco's library. She reaches for a copy of the Muggle book Grimm's Fairytales that she left on his coffee table the last time she visited and curls up to wait for him.

He enters through his front door about an hour later, and she hears him mutter, "Shit," when he notices the light. And then he sees her and adds, "Astoria? I wondered where you got to. Is that my shirt?"

She glances down, shrugs, and nods. "I didn't want to be there anymore."

"Granted." He drops his coat on the chair and goes into the kitchen. He comes back with two bottles of Butterbeer, tossing one to her while he goes to lean against the wall by the window. He stares out at the night sky while she charms her bottle open, and then he asks, "But why'd you come here?"

"I went home first." But there was nothing there. "And then Daph and Theo came back."

"Ah," he says. He drinks from his Butterbeer as she swirls the foam in hers. "There's no moon tonight."

She nods. She stares at her bare feet and says, "I'm a thief."

He turns to look at her. "Did you steal the moon?"

"A mirror from your mum's room. And some other stuff, but not from you."

"A mirror?" he asks. "How'd you manage that?"

"I hid it under my robes." She can feel her cheeks burn again. Damn him.

"Well," he draws the word out like it's a joke, and then he starts laughing. "Merlin, if I'd known that I'd have stayed over tonight. I'd love to see the look on Mother's face." He bites back his laughter when he sees the expression on hers. "What's the matter?"

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Well, clearly it's wrong, but my mother could do with a bit of punishing." He glances back out the window, and then walks across the room again, sitting beside her on the couch and reaching to tug at her ponytail. "But did you do it to punish her?"

"Not really. I just like...stealing."

"Huh." He's tangled his fingers in her hair, and she thinks she'd like him to kiss her now. "Why?"

"I don't know. It feels dangerous, I guess."

"You know," he says, as his lips near hers and her skin boils from his breath, "there are other ways to tempt fate." And then he's finally kissing her and she doesn't really mind about the stealing anymore because this feels like she's standing on the edge of a cliff with her arms out like wings.

But then he pulls away from her and she feels safe again. "Can you keep touching me?" she asks.

He laughs, sending strands of her hair up into the air. "For how long?"

"You know," she stretches her legs out, swings to her feet, and grabs onto his hand, "I would really love if you never let me alone again."

"You sound crazy," he says, following her into his bedroom. "Never again—you'll be tired of me."

"Draco," she falls back against the pillows, "I don't dislike you."

"No?"

"In fact, I might actually like you." He's shrugging out of his shirt, but she just wants him there, nearer her.

"Might?"

"Will, if you'd just get here."

He laughs. "Merlin, here you're insatiable. Anywhere else—"

"That's not fair," she cuts in, pulling herself up so she's sitting against his headboard. She glares at him, standing shirtless at the foot of his bed, waiting for her to prove him wrong. "We've been out before. I just can't...in your house..."

"Around our families, you mean. Around all our classmates. You're ashamed—"

"Stop," she says. She slides from his bed and stands on tiptoe in front of him, pressing her hands against his face and forcing him to look at her eyes. "I am not ashamed of you. Of how they'll react, yes. But not of you. If you want to walk into next year's Christmas party holding hands, I'll do that. Let's hit them all in the face with this. Let's not sneak around." She wants to burrow inside those eyes, between those lips. "Can we just jump?"

His hands are hot on her hips and his lips, when they finally fall on hers, feel like a fever. She decides, as they tangle themselves backwards onto his bed, that they've already left the cliff. They're about to hit bottom, but she thinks the landing might be a bit like flying.

A/N: I hope this was all right! I appreciate reviews.