A/N: So here we are again. Hello.

This is the drastoria one-shot/ficlet thing that nobody asked for (hehe). It somehow got epically long.

Anyway: there are references to war, alcohol, alcoholism, etc.

(I seem to have lost my ability to just write stuff - this might be a load of crap. Just warning you now.)

Flames

"Go on, get out of here! Fucking Death Eater scum!"

He stumbled out of the Inn, swaying slightly and more than a little bruised and swollen. He didn't care though – he felt fantastic. The street was spinning a little and he had a vague feeling that his forehead was bleeding, the warm liquid trickling down his cheek and into his mouth. The metallic taste brought him back, briefly. To blood, screaming and war.

His foot missed the curb.

"Sir? Are you okay?"

He became aware of another voice, of another person. Female, if he had to guess.

"Fantastic," he managed to get out, rocking as he attempted to reclaim his balance. "Fucking fantastic."

He lurched forward and felt a firm grip on his upper arm, steadying him. He looked at her, taking in blonde hair and dark, dark eyes that stared back, unblinking into his, creased with worry.

It had been a long time since someone had worried for him.

He swallowed, determined not to think about it.

"Let's get you home," she said, leading him down the street – it was painted in dull, warm browns and oranges, the leaves scattering the pavement and falling, falling, falling from above.

One red leaf got stuck in her hair and he watched it as it trembled in the breeze before finally untangling itself and whisking away.

"Where're we go'ng?" he slurred, his legs wobbling beneath him against his will.

She frowned at him.

"We're going to my place – it's too dangerous for you to Apparate and besides, I doubt you're in any state to look after yourself."

He tried to protest, but only succeeded in nearly bringing them both crashing to the ground.

"Is there anyone I can owl? A friend -?"

He shook his head, the motion making him dizzy, very dizzy –

He stopped and doubled over, trying to push her away but it was too late. The putrid smell of vomit hit him and he coughed, miserably.

What a fucking night.

oOo

She sighed, looking down at her now ruined coat. It was a shame, she thought. She'd liked that coat.

She cast a quick levitating spell on him and took him down the remaining few streets as he started to fall asleep.

She took down the wards to her flat, and thanked Morgana again that she didn't have a roommate. It would be rather hard to explain, she mused, why she had a near stranger in her company.

He wasn't exactly a stranger, not really. She'd seen him many times before, walking in the streets or in some pub or other. He was quiet, reserved but he was famous – infamous, even, for what he'd done all those years ago. For being the world's youngest Death Eater.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't recognise him. Everyone did – his face had been in the papers for years, his trial on display for all to see. She knew who he was. So why help a Death Eater? Even one found innocent of his crimes? Maybe she saw in him a loneliness that she knew all too well. He was always on his own whenever she saw him, but she knew he had friends.

He didn't live locally; she knew that much. Her sister had said something - years ago- about him moving out of the Manor. Pansy remained on good terms with him but from what Astoria could understand, Draco Malfoy was a deeply troubled and unhappy person.

The matter was probably best left alone – as was the Greengrass way but seeing him staggering around on a cold, October night had sparked something in her. If she didn't help him, then who would? He needed help, that was for definite, and much more help than she could offer – but she could help him tonight and maybe that would be enough.

She nudged him onto her sofa, re-warding the flat and stripping off her coat. The potions she kept in case of emergency were on the shelf, ready and waiting as they always were and as she rubbed salves into his skin and uttered healing charms, she wondered what on Earth he'd gotten into.

Every mark on his skin showed signs of a fight, almost certainly alcohol-induced. Her fingers brushed against his Mark – which had been exposed as she cleaned the blood from the cut on his arm. He stirred briefly, eyes alert and alarmed.

She did her best to smile softly as she eased him back down again, under the blankets she'd summoned.

That was how she left him when she finally claimed sleep for herself, with the fire crackling and the candle light low.

oOo

He woke uneasily, feeling the fuzziness in his head before the dull aches in his bones. He swung his legs off the bed – and then realised he wasn't at home at all and felt a wave of panic.

"Morning."

He snapped his attention to a girl – woman, really – standing in the doorway with a mug of something warm in her hands. She was classically pretty in an effortless kind of way. She was the kind of woman he'd probably date – that is, if any woman like that would deign to give him the time of day, which was unlikely in the Wizarding world and any girl not from the Wizarding world was just out of the question.

He massaged his face with his fingers, trying to recall last night's events. He remembered fists, pain, blood and red leaves.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee's fine," he murmured. Then, "Do I know you?"

She chuckled, setting her mug down as she padded across the kitchen in ridiculously fluffy socks.

"Yes," she said, looking at him.

He cocked his head to the side – blonde hair and dark, dark eyes…

"Astoria Greengrass," she said finally, handing him his coffee. "You know my sister, Daphne."

"Right, right, of course."

So, that's why she'd seemed so familiar. He must have spent hours with her family at social events, and to think he couldn't even recall her name… Getting sloppy, Malfoy.

"Wait," he paused, unsure how to phrase it delicately. "We didn't uh, you know, sleep together last night, did we?"

She laughed again. "No, we did not."

He breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis avoided. Oh, to think what Daphne might have done to him.

Then he harked back to another memory of the night before, one even less pleasant.

"Oh God," he said, suddenly feeling slightly sick. "I threw up all over you last night. I am so sorry –"

"Don't worry about it," she waved her hand dismissively.

"No, that was truly revolting. I do beg your pardon. Is there any way I can make it up to you? I am at your ladyship's service," he gave her his most charismatic smirk.

Her face caught a thoughtful expression.

"Perhaps there is one thing…"

"Anything."

"The annual Autumn thé dansant is tomorrow – I assume you will be attending?"

"Indeed I will be."

"Then, may I have the first dance with you?"

"I'd be delighted," he said, surprised.

"Perfect."

oOo

"Astoria Greengrass?" Theo repeated, disbelieving.

"Yes," he caught Theo's eyes in the mirror as he finished styling his hair.

"And you have a date?"

"It's not really a date," Draco conceded; "But we are dancing the first dance together."

"That sounds like a date."

"To you – and to me but maybe not to her."

"Wait, wait, so how did this happen? You never meet anyone –"

"Technically we'd already met –"

"Where the hell were you last night anyway?"

"With Miss Greengrass."

"Oh," the colour drained from Theo's face. "No, Draco, no. Please tell me you didn't –"

"I didn't sleep with her, you can relax. Merlin, you're such an old-fashioned troglodyte," he rolled his eyes, though he spoke with affection.

"I just don't want you to break her heart – she's not like Pansy, you know."

"Yes, I know."

"And try to behave tonight," Theo stalled at the door, as though struggling with some unseen force before he sighed and gave a slight smile and left.

oOo

"Waiting for someone?"

Astoria turned around to face her sister – who was dressed up in greens and diamonds. Daphne had the elegance and grace one would usually associate with a much older woman than she. She was sophisticated in a way Astoria only hoped to emulate.

"Maybe."

"A certain Mr Malfoy by any chance?"

"Why would you assume him of all people?" Astoria took a flute of champagne from a nearby wine waiter – the afternoon tea had long since been discarded in favour of liquor and dancing.

"I have my sources," Daphne replied evasively, staring at Astoria's glass with disapproval.

"What?" Astoria asked, noticing and irritated.

"Don't drink too much, will you? And be sure to keep an eye on this partner of yours, I hear he has some trouble with… moderation."

Astoria could barely keep the scowl off her face – Daphne had a habit of this; sticking her nose into other people's business. She meant well, of course she did, it was just extremely aggravating to be the subject of all this interfering concern.

"My lady Greengrass?"

And then Draco Malfoy was there, slightly bowed as he kissed her gloved hand and wearing a smile that would charm even her mother.

"I believe I was promised this dance," he said, leading her to the centre of the room where the hosts – some distant relations or other – were already dancing.

He had one hand on her waist, the other lightly gripped her own. He was an impeccable dancer – she couldn't fault him. He led her around the floor with ease and she thought: this should be perfect.

It was perfect – he was handsome and gracious and this was undeniably romantic, or it would be, but Astoria just didn't feel it.

There was something about dancing with this kind-of stranger that unsettled her. Maybe it was because she didn't know very much about him, or maybe –

"You are a wonderful dancer, Miss Greengrass."

"You're not so bad yourself," she said, and she felt his smile.

"I'd hope not," he spun her outwards and pulled her in; "I've had far too many lessons to be anything less."

"Is that so?" she said distractedly, catching sight of a familiar man.

"Are you alright, Miss Greengrass?"

She snapped her attention back to him and nodded, stiffly. "Yes. Yes, I… I thought I saw someone I knew."

"I wanted to thank you – for your assistance last night. I am – I'm very grateful."

"It's fine."

"No, really, it was very… kind of you," he said earnestly. "And I wanted to ask for your discretion on the matter."

"Discretion?"

"I'd rather no one knew about last night, I'm sure you understand."

"Of course. I haven't told anyone. Though, tell me, Mr Malfoy, is that a usual occurrence?"

Draco's smile faltered for a moment and they stopped dancing, drawing away to the corner of the room so that they might have some privacy. He cast a silencing charm.

"It's nothing for you to worry about, Miss Greengrass."

Astoria bristled. "I'll be the judge of that – you should know that I'm a Healer, if you have any concerns regarding your health –"

"I'll thank you to stay out of this," Draco's smile had slid straight off his face, replaced by gritted teeth. "I don't want them to know I was out drinking. They think it's a problem but it's not. I'm handling it."

"Handling it how? You clearly need help –"

"Careful, Greengrass, you overstep –"

"If you're staggering around in a drunken stupor at night –"

"It's none of your business!" he exploded, going red in the face.

"Fine then," she straightened up, a cold expression wiping away any kindness that had been there. "It was a pleasure dancing with you."

She walked away, her tight mask in place as she greeted aristocrats and shook hands. Not once did she look back at the pale gentleman with whom she had danced, but she felt his eyes trained on her back the whole evening.

oOo

He left the party early – it was only 11 o'clock when he walked out of the building and under the stars.

They were beautiful, in their untouchable, indifferent manner. Stars didn't care if you lived or died – they just twinkled from up high, winking stolidly at those below. Burning brightly, fading gently, pinpricks of light in a sea of black – like flickering lighthouses on the shore.

He'd left the party alone. There had been an attractive serving girl but it hadn't gone anywhere. It never did.

That was when he saw her.

She was hurrying after a man in black robes, who had his collar turned up against the cold and was studiously ignoring her as she waved pamphlets in his face, she was shouting too, yelling about policy and what kind of advocate for justice did he think he was?

"Can't you see that this is wrong? If you'll just listen to –"

"Darling, stop."

Her head whipped around and she gave up chasing the man in favour of glowering at him. "What did you just say to me?"

"I said, 'darling, stop'. They don't care, you're wasting your time."

"I'm trying to help –"

"And they don't care about the likes of me. If you're waiting for the rights of Death Eater scum, I wouldn't hold your breath."

"I have to try."

"No, you don't. Go home."

"No. My sister and every other Slytherin I know is facing trial –"

"And there's nothing you or I can do about it."

"Not with that attitude, no."

"Oh what do I care?" he threw his hands up in exasperation. "Do what you want, but you are wasting your time."

She made a disgruntled noise and sped up to catch up with him.

"Quite the activist, aren't you?" he sneered. "Rescuing drunks, campaigning for justice – what a saviour you are, how –"

"Just shut up, will you? Why are you so horrible? You're grumpy and you're irritable all the time! You just bring everybody down."

"I do apologise for being such a frightful inconvenience to you –"

"You need to get it together, Malfoy," she said, shaking her head.

"I know," he said quietly, barely audible. The change in tone – so sudden – made her sigh.

"You can start by laying off this," she removed the bottle of Firewhisky from his grasp and made it vanish with a flick of her wand.

"It's not as easy as just saying no –"

"In this case, it really is. I think you have the capability and the will to do anything you want –"

"I couldn't kill old Dumbledore though, could I?"

And there it was again, the raspy croakiness of his voice that hung on every word when he talked of those years – about blood, screaming and war. He knew he was mildly intoxicated, just enough to push him towards honesty. He knew he probably shouldn't talk about it – that's what he'd always been told: be quiet, don't mention it, don't think about it, but he hadn't talked about it in so long, or indeed ever.

And then it all just came out – about blood, screaming and war. Because he wasn't strong enough – he wasn't he wasn't he wasn't.

And somehow she just wrapped her arms around him, wordlessly, giving the comfort only human warmth can.

She said she knew about blood, screaming and war.

And from that moment he saw the stars in her eyes.

They were falling, falling, falling.

And so, in time, would he.