Here it is, at last! Thank you so much for being sooooo patient with me. I am very grateful for the little nudges to get this done that I've received through comments and messages. I also really love people who ask questions about the story - please ask more! It tells me what people are interested in, and whether my little clues sown in advance of the action are being noticed.

Special thanks for this Chapter goes to Damien Rice. I rely a lot on music to get me in the right place to write, and I recently discovered his "It Takes A Lot To Know A Man". Let's just say it was on repeat many a time since the last chapter.


Chapter 7

The noises of early morning London were muffled. Astoria frowned sleepily at the unfamiliar din then shot up straight when she remembered where she was.

An insistent glow came from the heavily draped window; it was well past dawn. Draco wasn't anywhere to be seen.

It felt like she'd slept for decades, but she wasn't groggy. In fact, she'd never felt more rested and energized. She pulled back the coverlet and found her discarded dress. After making herself presentable in the ensuite, she left the room in search of him. It wasn't until she reached the bottom floor that she heard activity coming from the kitchen.

Draco was stirring a potion over the hearth, the ends of his cornsilk hair curling with the heat. He didn't hear her enter, or if he did, he didn't look up.

"Working on breakfast? How thoughtful," she teased.

Still utterly focused on the cauldron, he didn't turn his head.

"Not exactly. Prevention potion, remember?"

"Oh." Hullo reality, she thought.

"But I did also nip out to The Arts Club to pick up some breakfast." The Arts Club. Of course you did. He looked up briefly, just enough to nod at a paper bag on the counter. She went to inspect it.

"Ohhh, pain du chocolat are my favourite." She pulled out a pastry out that looked like it had been flown in from Paris. Even if she hadn't been starving, it looked so buttery and delicious that she wanted to sink her teeth into it right then. But manners or death; she placed it back in the bag and instead searched the cupboards for plates.

It felt right, somehow, or perhaps just very easy, to be in the same space with him. He measured out the last dose into its own stoppered vial as she set the small table in the adjoining room. The room was obviously not one used for company; they were underground, and there were no windows shining daylight into it. But the chairs were comfortable, and Astoria found the painted-panel walls rather charming. I wonder if he misses the Slytherin Common Room, she mused.

She was fussing with the tray of pastries when Draco joined her. They both sat down at the table as if they did it every morning.

"You made coffee?" His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a small silver coffee set.

"Espresso, technically. Would you like some?" Astoria suspended the pot over one of the cups she'd found in the room's sideboard.

"Yes, actually." She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes as she poured; he looked amused again, and maybe even a little impressed.

"Do you spend much time in France?" he asked as she handed him a cup. As she poured one for herself, she shook her head.

"France? No, not at all." Where did that come from? "The only time I've been to France was before I got…" She froze midpour. Before I got sick was what she had almost been about to say. Watch yourself - you are getting too comfortable here!

"...into Hogwarts," she finished her sentence and the pouring. Draco was looking at her strangely. Her gut sank. Was she done for? "What?"

"You drink espresso, you have a favourite French pastry... you have a rather independent approach to sex. Particularly for an English society girl. You're sure you didn't secretly go to Beauxbatons?"

Astoria blushed in sheer relief. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you didn't know I existed - even after, what, five years of school together?"

"Oh, I knew you existed." He stretched out to select a pain du chocolat. "Pansy once threatened to humiliate you in revenge for something Daphne once did. I've never seen a witch cast a jinx faster. Everyone knew not to mess with you."

Daphne did what?! "I honestly don't understand how they call each other friends," she murmured and then took a bite of her pastry.

"They both get something out of it, I'm sure. That's ultimately what matters to both of them." He took a bite too.

"Hm," she gave as a response. As they ate, Astoria wondered if Daphne's friendships had all been the same - transactional, for mutual benefit only. Was that the same for Draco? What a lonely way to measure relationships, she thought.

"I started drinking coffee - cappuccinos specifically - during the Triwizard Tournament. Most of the Beauxbatons students chose to sit at the Ravenclaw table, and it became pretty popular that year. The pastries as well."

"Hm," Draco echoed her earlier non-response. "I usually only drink coffee when we're at the villa in Nice."

"Of course you do." She said, and rolled her eyes before she could stop herself.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" Was he angry, surprised, or amused? Astoria couldn't tell, but she found that she didn't actually care. If she couldn't be herself around him, then she had best find out now.

"Did you just say 'when we're at the villa in Nice'?" she shot back. "Come on, you must realize how pompous that sounds."

"Pompous?" he finally said.

"Yes, pompous. Big-headed. Egotistic. Braggadocio." At the last one, his lips twitched but were wrenched back swiftly into a straight line.

"Did you just call me a braggadocio? Was there a thesaurus hidden in that pastry?"

His voice was light, but she was certain he was insulted. To be honest, she had been expecting a bigger outburst, like the ones he was known for in school. He must have learned to rein in his emotions since.

Yeah, you know, during the time he was living with the Dark Lord.

Right.

Uncomfortable with this revelation, she did the wise thing and changed the subject.

"I should take a potion." She pushed back her chair and rose.

"Fine," she heard him mutter as she left the room.

She found the vials in a tidy line like chess pieces on the marble counter. He'd made eight of them - eight! The very thought… lust punched through her gut like a sledgehammer. She popped one open and tossed it back in one swallow.

"You never told me how you became such a champion at downing liquids." Draco was watching her from the breakfast room's doorway.

"You're right, I didn't." The last thing she wanted to get into was that kettle of plimpies.

He opened his mouth but then shut it, as if rethinking his words. "I don't like being teased," he said finally.

"Well that's a shame, because I don't like being serious. Or confrontational. I'd rather laugh - even if it's at myself. Especially if there's a thesaurus involved."

It was so typical of her - trying to lighten the atmosphere with wit. If Draco Malfoy was not someone who could laugh at themselves, well, what was the point?

"Are you leaving soon?"

Damn him and his cryptic, hard-to-read stone face. Did he want her to leave? Was this him trying to show her the door?

"That depends," she pursed her lips, "on how much trouble I want to get into."

He harrumphed. "You also never told me what 'trouble' looks like for Astoria Greengrass."

It was a fair question, one she herself had been pondering for the past few months.

"Knowing my parents, they'd shackle me to my nightstand if they knew I was sneaking out. Take away my telescope and my books… you know, the worst possible fate." She winced just thinking about it.

He walked over and joined her at the counter, not touching but close enough for Astoria to notice that he'd had a shower that morning. She fought the impulse to just lean over and inhale him.

"You really are terrible at rebelling. If your parents are so overprotective, why don't you just stand up to them and move out?"

Sweet Circe, I can't even imagine. She wanted to. A place of her own… it sounded wonderful - in theory. But in reality, she'd never be able to manage entirely on her own. Nor would it be safe. What would happen if she passed out and didn't have anyone to revive her or take her to St. Mungo's?

So she dodged the question. Again. This was becoming a habit with him. How was it that she lost all ability to be a normal person around him? Or at least act normally? "Right, because that's working out so well for you." She glanced over at the sink, half full with pots that bore the mark of scorched food attempts.

He didn't follow her gaze, instead openly ogling her body from bare feet to tousled locks. "You'd get to call the shots. And there are definite benefits to having your own space... no one to interrupt private affairs, for one." His fingers stroked her forearm lightly like he had the night before, and she shuddered. Visibly. How was it that with a single touch he was able to set her on fire? And wasn't he annoyed with her?

"That's true," was all she could manage. Her eyelids fluttered, and her breathing became noisy.

"So you're staying," he breathed.

"I… can't." She exhaled hard. "I really can't. I'm a bad rebel, I know. I need to have another ten-point plan in place for… more of this." She stilled his hand by closing hers over it, but didn't let go.

"Eighteen points, at the very least."

Her held breath dissolved into a laugh. "See? Teasing is fun." She emphasised her point by lifting his captured fingers and sucking lightly on one of them.

His eyes were sharp enough to cut diamonds. "Astoria," he warned, his voice low and velvety. Just the way he looked at her - like she was dinner and dessert in one - made the blood rush through her. Enough that the corners of her vision blurred dangerously.

Panicking, she spun around so her back was against him and braced herself in his arms. No, no, no, not now… breathe, she reminded herself.

Draco didn't let go; he instead took it as an invitation to continue his seduction. His lips pressed against the crook of her neck. So soft, she mused. Closing her eyes and concentrating on the featherlight touch and her breathing helped. When she reopened her eyes, she was steady.

"I like rules. I like how they make sense, how they give me a sense of safety." She turned back to him. Their eyes locked as she reached up to run her fingers along his jaw.

"But being with you breaks all the rules. This attraction makes no sense, and it feels far from safe."

"Because I'm dangerous." His voice was tight again.

Careful here. "Yes, but not in the way you're probably thinking I mean. I've never been so willing to abandon logic than when I'm around you.

He suddenly captured her hand and stilled it. "Because being with me is illogical."

He's so touchy. It's like feeding a chimaera - you have to do it carefully or it'll bite your arm off. She stepped back, but left her hand in his. She'd run out of witty comebacks.

"I'm just saying that it's out of character for me."

Her hand dropped out of his as he pulled it away to clench the counter edge. "Right."

She was getting frustrated. "Look, Draco, I hardly know you. And you don't know me. Not really. Both of us have baggage we're still dealing with." Now was the moment she needed to be honest. "This isn't just a mindless affair, is it?" You brought me bloody pastries. "Sure, we could keep doing this, sending owls in the middle of the night, parting ways in the morning. But…" she clenched her eyes shut.

"I think… and I'm usually rubbish at recognizing this, but I think I want more than that. I want to spend more time with you, get to know you better." She paused briefly, hoping he might interrupt. Nothing. Peeking at him through her lashes, she continued.

"But if you want to end it here, before things get out of control and someone gets hurt, then I understand. I've had enough hurt in my life - I'm not a masochist."

Draco was staring at the hearth, his eyes unfocused in thought. "That's good to know," he said in a voice without expression.

Is he trying to be funny? He still wasn't looking at her.

Babble on, Astoria. "If you don't want the same, that's fine. I'll understand. We call it quits now, no harm done."

He was still focused on the damn fire. For Salazar's sake, what are you thinking? She waited patiently for some sign, any sign, of what he was thinking. But he was a closed book.

"Dammit, Draco, I really do have to go soon. At least give me some kind of answer."

He tapped his finger on the counter distractedly. Finally, finally, he looked up at her.

"I'm interested."


"Astoria, are you with us?"

The conversation around the dinner table had halted; Astoria could only guess that it had ended with her not answering a question. Her mother and father looked disappointed; Daphne looked incredibly amused.

"I'm so sorry, my mind was elsewhere." She blushed. When had she checked out of the conversation? The last thing she remembered was her father talking about weather in Northern Ireland. Or had it been Cornwall? To be perfectly honest, the bloom and brightness she'd woken up with had completely worn off. She felt tired, distracted, and anxious as to whether it was just her lack of sleep or something more serious.

"My dear, you're very pale. Are you feeling all right?" Her mother's brows creased with the usual concern, but this time Astoria didn't resent it. She felt relieved that she could in fact use her illness to get out of the room.

"Actually, no. I'm not, really. May I go lie down?"

"Of course you may," her mother said without hesitation. "But perhaps we should put The Great Hunt back in your room."

This made Astoria wince. Years ago, when the Curse had first started to act impulsively, her mother had had the brilliant idea of hanging a magical painting of a foxhunt in her room. That way, if anything were to happen to her when she was alone, the hunters in the painting could visit other portraits in the house (of which there were a few) and sound the alarm with their horns. It was deemed a necessary evil at the time, but Astoria had bitterly resented the invasion of her privacy. In the dark days after Hogwarts, Astoria had fought with her parents (and won) to have the portrait moved elsewhere under the condition that she be honest about when it might be needed again.

"Please, Mother, it's just a headache. Those beagles barking will do more harm than good. I promised I would tell you if I needed it again, and I'm sure I don't."

But lying down in her bedroom, breathing slowly through the loud pounding of her pulse, she wasn't entirely sure. Since Lyra changed her potion regime, she hadn't had a spell between seasons. Not wanting to entertain the idea of another serious shift in the curse's behaviour, she distracted herself with something - anything - other than how she felt.

First, she tried music. She had an old phonograph that she used to play classical music sometimes, but after a couple of concerto movements she had to admit it wasn't working.

Next, she picked a random book off of her shelves. But the strain on her eyes was more distracting than the first installment of Fifi LaFolle's Enchanting Encounters, and she found herself reading a paragraph three times without taking a single word of it in.

She set the book down and toyed with her telescope, stroked her Egyptian silk scarf a couple times, then lay down on her bed again with her eyes closed. Without visual or audial distraction, Astoria's mind began to focus on the tactile.

The blood at her temples pounded. Her body felt heavy, or perhaps she was just weaker in resisting its pull into the mattress. She ran her hand over the coverlet's slugged silk. For some reason, it reminded her of goose pimples. She was sure she'd had them last night, when Draco began to undress her on his bed. He had slipped his hand down the front of her dress… and as she remembered, she felt her own hand echo his movements. She took her breast into her hand and clenched it, forcefully, just like he had. Faint ripples of pleasure coursed through her. She melted into them, freeing her mind of anything but her own touch and potent memories.

She drew her free hand up her skirt towards her centre in search of more mind-sizzling sensation. With the first stroke, she evoked the memory of Draco's eyes as he had fingered her that first night together. A whimper escaped her.

She bit her lip; unlike that night, her room was not spelled to be quiet. What happens if someone walks in? It was the same question she'd asked when she and Draco had… distracted themselves in the library. She had ground against him, uncaring of the risk, surrendering to the moment. Her fingers slowed down, and she hovered near the edge. Touching herself always worked - it made her forget the betrayals of her body, the incessant voice in her head. But instead of fantasy, the realities of her own experience were painted behind her eyes - in full, beautiful colours. Draco's contours, the strong lines of his nose and jaw, the intensity of his gaze, they watched her and commanded her to finish what she had started.

Up she rose and down she fell, riding closer to the edge with each thought and memory. Him in this bed, him pushing her against the townhouse front door, his hand reaching up her dress, his cock running over her lips.

The button under her hovering finger pulsed hungrily, demanding more. With a final stroke, her whole body tensed and convulsed in waves and waves of a forceful, rushing climax. A moan escaped through tight lips.

In the clarity of release, unbidden, a thought stabbed through the haze. All you do is take.

It had happened before - sometimes random, seemingly unrelated thoughts, would emerge as her mind was blasted clear. This one made her uncomfortable, because it felt deeply true. She pushed it out of her mind and concentrated on riding the aftershocks of a truly great orgasm. After the final shudder, she pulled her hands from under her clothes and lay still.

Fine, all I do is take. All he does is take. Why is that so wrong? We're both getting what we want. That was how Draco did relationships, wasn't it? Transactional. Finite. What more could she even give right now? We're both too broken for more than that right now, she convinced herself. The starry ceiling above her twinkled, somehow judging her. She got up suddenly, frustrated with herself. Too suddenly, it seemed, as once again the room grew dark around her and she leaned hard on the bed. Slowly, perhaps more slowly than normal, her vision returned and she was able to focus again. Once she had regained her balance, she walked over to her desk.

Her favourite grey quill was sticking out of her bronze inkwell, just as she had left it last night. Last night, she realized with a laugh. It feels like ages ago.

From out of her top drawer she drew a blank piece of parchment. As she straightened it out in front of her, her mind kick back into high gear.

She had told him she wanted more. He said he was interested. But how far could this even go? He obviously wanted her, at least as much as she wanted him. Needed him. Beyond the physical attraction, and the curiosity though... she wasn't sure she had anything more to give. Before him she hadn't realized how lonely she was. He made her feel more 'herself' than she'd felt in a long while, and it terrified her to want to open up to someone again.

It felt as though she were going in circles in her head. All thoughts and no action, she sighed. So she reached for the quill.

Draco,

You're right, I'm not a very good rebel. I don't like leaping without looking, or having some intangible understanding without rules and guidelines. The second time we met, you told me that knowing the rules allows one to bend or dodge them.

So, in place of rules or guidelines, here is my... plan. Proposal. Whatever you want to call it, if it even needs a name. It isn't eighteen points, you'll be happy to see. (But I will number them. Because I am a Ravenclaw and I like ordered thoughts.)

1. See each other regularly. I'm not saying that we need to stick to a formal schedule, but I know that you're busy with the hospital, and I'm busy with the avoiding my parents' notice. (Yes, I still plan on keeping this from them.) Nights are best for me, preferably after midnight. I would suggest meeting in London, if that works for you. I think if I don't see you at least once a week, I will go a bit mad.

2. I would like to continue our Game. Having rules is better for me (see above). I'm not good at opening up or taking risks without being pushed, and Questions and Commands does that. Also, I like trying to beat you at mind games.

3. Speaking of mind games, the minute this plan needs to change, or come to an end, we will have the decency and the maturity to talk about it. I have no interest in playing games with your emotions, and I ask that you don't play games with mine.

She paused. It would be very easy for them to just keep sending a flurry of owls back and forth. But that would raise questions from her parents, questions she didn't yet have answers for. And she already had the solution… hidden away in her secrets box.

Carefully, Astoria set the quill aside so it wouldn't drip on the page. She retrieved her little inlaid box from the shelf and with her wand and password, it flicked open. If she began rummaging by hand, she'd pull something out that would break her heart... so she silently cast Accio and two pieces of parchment flew into her hand.

She shut the box with a snap and replaced it on the shelf. After taking the parchments over to the desk, she held her wand out again. Before she could vanish the words on them, she made the mistake of reading them. Unstoppable ragged breaths tore through her lungs. It's over. It's done. Keeping it won't bring her back, won't make things right.

Eventually, she calmed down. With a final flick of her wand, the two parchments became blank.

Sitting back down, she folded one of them with trembling hands. After another steadying breath, she picked the quill back up and continued to write.

4. For the times that we can't meet in person, I am including a piece of spelled parchment. I have a similar parchment. Anything I write on it will be visible by you, and anything you write ont yours will be visible to me. That way at least we won't be sending a storm of owls back and forth.

There it is. Only four points. Nowhere near ten, really. I shall now send this off and stare at my parchment in hopes for an immediate answer.

I already miss your lips on me.