Astoria found a table in the small, crowded teashop. One near the corner, where she could sit and watch the door. She reached into her bag and pulled out the large book, magicked so no one could read the words. No one but her.
Thee Polyejuice Potionne and Other Fiendish Magicks
She smiled lightly at the first page and began. She could not bring herself to go home, not yet. When she did, it was too warm, too familiar. She couldn't bear to bring darkness there.
First, steep the knotgrass for two moons.
The familiar hunger began to stir in her belly. The potion was complicated, certainly. Astoria herself was not certain she could brew it. Hermione, for all her kindness, had offered to allow Astoria to watch the process, had warned her it would take a great deal of time. Even so, Astoria could almost feel the heat of her wand through her jacket, glowing with anticipation of a new challenge. She retrieved her notebook and wrote two words
figura oculus. She shook her head, crossing out the second word. She needed more. She scrawled in, in very fine letters mentibus.
The hair was the problem. The shape of the person, it would require mental clarity, an understanding of the muscles of the face, the bones themselves. Something else would have to happen to truly achieve the proper effect. She continued, reading the book, jotting down small notes, here and there, ignoring the smell of age and decay that seemed to emanate from the pages.
It was some hours before she became aware of a presence, watching her. She did not look up, rather she shifted herself, slightly in her seat so that her back was flat against the wall. She could feel the weight of eyes upon her, willing her to look up. She did not. She reached, slowly, not to grasp her wand, but to feel it. She did not want to give away it's location, not yet. She felt herself being drawn into the familiarity of the shape of her wand, the feel of the wood in her hand, though she wasn't touching it.
"Magicae revelare" she murmured.
The room seemed to darken around her, all save for the book in front of her and a small glimmer in the corner of her vision. She closed her eyes, willing a face to appear, before looking up and smiling, directly into the eyes that stared into her.
"Gregory."
Goyle stood gracelessly from his table near hers, walking swiftly to her side.
"You saw me." He said it plainly, unsurprised.
"Yes." She smiled slightly. Goyle craned his neck, looking at her book.
"The...uh...Moors of Scotland?" He sounded out slowly, then looked up at her, as though for confirmation. She laughed lightly.
"I have been thinking of taking a vacation." She said simply, pleased her spell on the book had held true. "With Draco."
"O-of course." He stood, his shoulders tensed. Astoria realized that she had never been alone with her brother in law. She gestured at the chair beside her. "Would you like to sit?" She quirked her brow as he did, relieved, and they sat a long moment in silence.
"Gregory, I did not take you as one to frequent muggle establishments." She chose her words cautiously. "Shouldn't you be at work?"
Goyle looked shamed for a moment. When he spoke his voice was husky, as though disuse had played on it.
"I need to talk to you."
Astoria looked up now, fully meeting his eyes. They were swollen, sad. Astoria thought she had seen similar eyes before, in the large, gentle beasts in Care of Magical Creatures at Beauxbatons. She waved to the waitress, who wandered over in her own time with a small cup for Goyle, which Astoria filled with the tea from her kettle. As soon as she had, she settled the small cup in front of him. The teashop was bustling with the gentle sounds of conversation. Astoria looked up at Goyle, whose brow was furrowed, readying himself to speak. He was still silent for some long moments.
"I love Daphne." He said hurriedly. Astoria almost laughed, she bit back well I certainly hope so when she saw Goyle's face was dark. She nodded slowly, and this seemed to power him to continue.
"She was there for me, you know? When everything was over, when I was alone." He looked pained. "But sometimes...sometimes you love someone very, very much. You don't say anything when you see them do something terrible." He lowered his eyes. "It has happened to me before." He said softly.
Astoria leaned forward, her voice soft. "What do you mean, Gregory?"
He looked up at her. His eyes were red now, but not glassy, not close to tears.
"Astoria..." He swallowed. "You are now...my sister. You're my family, and I want to help you. I don't want bad things to happen again. I don't want to stay quiet this time."
Astoria felt a strange stillness in the room, in spite of the crowd, and Goyle met her eyes deeply.
"Why does your sister hate you, Astoria?"
...
Hogwarts Express.
Gregory fiddled nervously at his robes as he boarded the Hogwarts Express. At eleven years old he felt too large for his body, too much like a giant among even the third and fourth years that passed him. He stood uncertainly waiting for the path to clear, to push through.
"Who are you, then?"
He turned. The thin, blonde boy had a sleek head, something like one of his nan's old dolls. The boy was staring right at Gregory, his eyes shining pinpricks.
"Me?" Goyle turned uncertainly, but the boy's voice immediately answered, sharp and sure.
"Yes, you. Are you somebody?" Goyle flushed, though he didn't know why.
"I'm Greg-uh-Gregory Goyle." The boy stared at him for a long moment before smiling slightly.
"Goyle, eh? Well that's good then. Come along, I've got a compartment near the rear." The boy strode past Goyle, into the crowded corridor. Without looking back he shouted. "Come on then!" Goyle gathered his things, following the blonde boy back until they reached a compartment door, which the boy swung open. Another boy, almost larger than Goyle, sat already, halfway through a pumpkin pasty.
"Goyle, this is Crabbe." Said the blonde boy, looking pleased with himself. When neither spoke he turned back to Gregory. "Oh, and I am Draco. Draco Malfoy."
Goyle almost gasped. He had heard of the Malfoys of course, who had not? His own father often sang their praises. Goyle looked at the blonde boy for a long moment.
"Sit." Draco said coolly, sliding into the seat closest to the window and lounging in it, almost regally. "Want a pasty? My mother gave me some before I boarded. Didn't want me bothering to wait for that damned cart." He spoke crisply, clipping each word. The other large boy threw a pasty to Goyle, which he opened, smiling.
"Don't talk much, do you?" Draco drawled. Goyle flushed, wishing he could think of something clever, but before he even started Draco gave a small laugh "That's alright. We'll get along fine."
...
The Great Hall. First Year.
Goyle was sweating as he made his way toward the old hat. Crabbe had already been sorted into Slytherin. He sad on the stool, willing his face into a hard stare. He didn't want to seem nervous. As the hat touched his crown he heard a deafening yell.
"SLYTHERIN!" The hat was yanked off of him, and to the dull sound of cheers he made his way over to Crabbe.
When Draco made his way to the hat he practically swaggered. The hat had hardly even touched his head, had not even mussed his hair when they heard the cry.
"SLYTHERIN!" Draco smirked, through the applause he swept to the table, sitting directly between Goyle and Crabbe.
"That's done then, isn't it?" He laughed. "Glad you both made it." He slapped Goyle's back heartily. Goyle smiled.
...
Syltherin Common Room. Sixth Year.
Goyle and Crabbe were muddling there way through a a dreadful game of Gobstones when Draco entered the Slytherin common room. His hair was mussed, and the circles under his eyes had become darker.
"Where you been?" Crabbe sighed. Draco started, seemingly surprised they were there.
"What are you doing awake?" He hissed.
"You were gone." Goyle said slowly. "We thought you might need-"
Draco paled. "I don't NEED anything. Not from either of you."
"Hey we were just trying to help. Thought you might need a look out or something." Crabbe grumbled.
Draco looked between the two of them, and suddenly he looked very, very tired.
"I'm sorry Crabbe, Goyle." He sighed, smoothing his hair. "I just have...a job I have to do. I didn't mean to..." He sighed again before straightening himself, his eyes harsh again as he looked at the two looming boys in front of him.
"Don't wait up for me anymore."