Book 3: Astoria Greengrass and the Legilimens of Hogwarts
Song rec: "Crash and Burn" by Angus and Julia Stone

A grisaille is an entirely grey painting. It may serve as a foundation to which layers of colour will be added, but before the Colour-Changing Charm was developed, grisailles were produced because they were cheap. The lively subjects in Wizarding grisailles often made known their dissatisfaction with the lack of colour, and the paintings quickly fell out of style.

Maybe it was the mist talking, but nearly each new aspect of Draco's life seemed like it was painted in grey. Quidditch trials were fast approaching, but Draco knew the manoeuvres and had the clout. There wasn't a wealth of talent involved beyond that for the Slytherin team. Draco tried not to think of himself as the Dark Lord's free labour, but the first weekend at school was a convenient marker of time passed, and he had only pitiable plans for killing Dumbledore. Seeing Dumbledore in person made it extremely hard. Draco thought of an Imperius Curse here. A stolen Polyjuice potion there. Nothing was quite adding up in his head yet. He could hardly even look at Pansy without being reminded of his mission. Any ineptitude on his part would disappoint her even faster than the Dark Lord. He should have never let her known he had become a Death Eater, because "ordinary Draco" was drab and grey to her in comparison.

Then there would be another splash of paint on Draco's grey canvas, like it was spilt and didn't belong there.

"Urquhart's no good. You ought to try out for captain," said Astoria a little nervously.

It was a very valuable paint — a bright red paint that threatened to ruin the whole grisaille and start something colourful but costly.

"The game's all up to the Seeker anyway, really," she continued.

"Call me lazy, I suppose. You did turn that lamp into a cobra, right?" Draco asked.

"Yes! You didn't see that?"

"Not like I'm busy or anything…"

Draco was doing his best to make a diagram of the difference between the moon's ideal orbit and its true orbit. The goal, Astoria said, was to see how much one object can displace the ideal orbit of a planetary body. Professor Sinistra wanted the students to dabble in "orbital perturbation analysis" in order to understand how gravitational force can affect long-term spells. It was really heavy stuff. Astoria explained that a long-term Shield might shift slightly each day it is in effect. A curse may become stronger as it remains contained in an object, its energy unable to move naturally in the container.

Astoria inched closer and glanced at Draco's diagram. With an expensive pencil that was meant for art, she drew an orbit even more perturbed than the one Draco had calculated.

"Things don't go as planned," she said to herself.

"That's… Thanks, but how do I show my work when I put that orbit in?"

"You recalculate," Astoria said.

"I don't have the time," he argued.

"You find a book in the library by someone who's already calculated it," she shrewdly disclosed.

On the grey day of Quidditch trials, more than half the house wrapped their scarves over their noses and made their way to the pitch. Draco was surprised to see Rhiannon Clarke trying out for Keeper… or anything else for that matter. He had nearly forgot about her, but his mental framework for her came back quickly. Slytherin's Blot, Astoria's best friend, and definitely the only girl in her year who would make a double-entendre about the goal hoops she was guarding. Draco would never admit it in his life, but she was the best candidate for Keeper he saw that day. It was a lost cause for her, though. A Muggle-born might have slipped into Slytherin, but she was still not going to be on their team. He knew Urquhart, the captain, would rather lose with old faces than win with a Mudblood.

If it rained too much in one day, the humidity had no trouble getting into the castle and turning Theodore's mop top into a feather duster. He kept messing with it and clearing his throat whilst he read the Evening Prophet at dinner. Draco had had enough after the second Theodore hair he found in his roast beef and moved.

"What are friends for, right?" Pansy said.

Well, to start, Astoria's friends thought they were bodyguards, since they all spread out to put as much space between Draco and Astoria as possible when he moved toward them. Astoria's practising Transfiguration and Astronomy with him received no more approval from them than it had from Pansy. Pansy had tried to disguise her jealousy by saying, "You have more important things to do than Astronomy, remember?" She didn't know it, but that remark had only alienated him further.

How could he kill Dumbledore when the old coot wasn't even there? Dumbledore only sat at the staff table occasionally, and if Draco check his office, that would eventually become suspicious. With this assassination assignment in his mind, Draco couldn't say that Astoria's friends were wrong to try to distract her from him, but he didn't have to like it.

And there she went. Astoria suddenly remembered she wanted to go to one of Slughorn's dinners (he had promised her honeycombs), and strode off with friends and acquaintances alike. Astoria didn't really have enemies like Draco did. The people who sought to fight with her could rarely overcome her poise and her annoying self-righteousness. She was laughing at something Ginny Weasley had said. Just like that, Astoria could weave into a conversation and sacrifice her pretty step to walk in time with some tatty nobodies. Sometimes Draco wished Pansy would distract him from Astoria. However, every time she tried to, it came across as desperate, jealous, or fake. If only he could give her instructions on how to be endearing again without defeating the point.

"Ugh, looks like the Ministry raided your house again," Theodore sighed into the newspaper, rippling its pages. "Sent Weasley on the job — didn't find anything, obviously."

"Weasley! What an idiot!" Pansy interjected. "Blood-traitorous trespassing, that's what it is! The Ministry thinks it can do anything these days. They'll learn soon enough, won't they, Draco?"

See? She overdid it. Pansy was always overdoing it to get approval. It worked three years ago when Draco couldn't tell the difference between having his ego stroked and someone genuinely supporting him. Both were great if they were done correctly, but Pansy couldn't read him anymore. They hadn't even been going steady for long, so what happened? Draco might have been isolating from her for no good reason, because he knew that isolation was not what he wanted deep down. Some isolation was necessary, though. He had to rid himself of both the cursed necklace he had bought and Albus Dumbledore as fast as possible. He would probably have to use the Imperius Curse on someone to get the stupid thing to Dumbledore. How inconvenient.

Halfway through September, Draco still had no luck. He was going to most of his classes as if his life was normal. Professor Sinistra seemed back to her normal sad self, too, as far as Draco could tell. She had Winky delivering her a black coffee and a marbled look in her eyes.

"You will notice that we are missing a student," she croaked. "Hannah's mother has been murdered by Death Eaters."

Sad noises came from the students. Astoria had her hand over her mouth.

"You'll forgive my postponing the lecture. I'd like to tell you what the papers don't. Some of you may know of a list of pure-blood families that was published approximately when You-Know-Who was entering Hogwarts. The list was called the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and its goal was to advertise which families were still 'pure' by the standards of supremacists. Half of this class had last names on that list, and Hannah was one of them."

Draco scribbled on his parchment. He could only think of his mother having dinner every night with a sister who would give her up to the Dark Lord if Draco failed his mission.

"You-Know-Who's list gets smaller every year, firstly because of natural selection, and secondly because of the idea of blood-traitors. My point is a fancy name isn't going to save you from these people. Every family needs a contingency plan. You can't be content because the Minister says it's under control. Believe me, it never is."

Did this really need said? At least the students in this class should have known all about mortal peril by this point. Maybe Sinistra was trying to tell the Sacred Twenty-Eight students to stop being blood-traitors, but at the same time, she was hinting at the rest of them to escape. Draco still couldn't tell where Sinistra's loyalties were, but he knew she wasn't going to help him.

"Miss Kippling, go on and make a trio, and we'll start class."

Astoria invited her cousin to join them with a polite wave, clearly expecting much of Draco.

"You kidding me, Astoria?" Adamina scoffed, bobbing her head at him.

No other words were exchanged. Adamina sat with the other Ravenclaws, and Astoria straightened her back, mumbling something about "raised better" and "her loss." Clearly, Adamina was thinking something similar about Astoria. As Draco was wondering if he was singlehandedly tearing Astoria's family apart, Sinistra gave each group a worksheet. They were supposed to find which wand motions for spells originated from asterisms. The easiest to figure out were the charms involving water, since they often involved stars from Aquarius. The motion for casting a fur-growing spell had come from Leo's mane.

Astoria loved the assignment and started jabbering:–

"I assume using patterns like these make spell creation easier. It would be easy to remember a pattern to put your magic in the context of your goal. I should try this if I ever start making spells like my father does. You might even be able to draw power from the stars…"

"I think you're giving the stars a lot of credit," Draco responded. "They aren't helping us finish this worksheet, are they?"

"Come off it, Draco. There's only one left."

"Yeah, the Gripping Charm. I was thinking Cancer's claws, but that doesn't work."

Astoria studied her map only briefly, mumbling of how the spell must be old.

"Scorpius used to have bigger claws. That's why we aren't seeing it. The claw section of Scorpius is just Libra now, see?"

Her finger traced the previous form of the arachnid constellation, like she was fondly remembering something from a very old book. They were the only ones to turn in the worksheet with the trick question solved. For all of the trials going on in his life, it was incredible how Draco's heartbeat could still warm his body instead of induce panic. Maybe it was something in between. Astoria wasn't walking very fast, and soon they lost the rest of the class in the descent from the tower. Draco could usually handle situations like this by making her flustered first. That way, he had the upper hand. But he had no words in mind that night. Astoria's yawns were contagious. Her eyelashes fluttered sleepily. Maybe they could just kip on the stairs.

"Oh, wait."

It was the only thing she'd said in twenty minutes. She walked into a hallway on the fifth floor, either ignorant of or unconcerned about the Aurors that prowled about the castle. She didn't ask but instead guessed that Draco would follow her against his better judgment.

"I've been working on a song for the next album."

"I never heard the last one."

"You wouldn't like Fylth. It's a protest album. However, I wanted your thoughts on this because I haven't shared it with the band yet," Astoria chattered.

"Huh. I feel special," Draco said much less sarcastically than he wanted.

The door to the music room was locked, and surprisingly, Astoria took a hair grip out and started picking the lock.

"Er, why don't you just…?"

"Trust me, this is faster," Astoria admitted as the lock gave. "My wand doesn't take kindly to my lack of sleep. One day, though."

It was a good thing Draco's wand wasn't that picky about sleep, or he'd never cast anything.

"Did Clarke teach you that little trick?"

"Mm, Rhiannon doesn't use hair grips for anything else," Astoria smiled.

She asked Draco to put an Imperturbable Charm on the room so Filch wouldn't hear.

"Now, be honest, and let me know if you like it or not," she said, sitting at the piano.

She placed her messy manuscript parchment in front of her, and music engulfed the room. It was the perfect soundtrack to how wonderfully bad their situation must have looked through a window. A Greengrass played music for a Malfoy at the stroke of midnight in a room with no sound coming out of it. The music was stormy enough for her hair to slide over her shoulders as she played. Draco had to look at a wall, away from the siren.

"That's all I have thus far. Do you like it?"

"Yes. Er, will your label like it? They want you to have a consistent sound, right?"

"Once Rhiannon gets her hands on it, it will definitely become a rock song. Still, it doesn't matter what Infinite thinks since they're likely to drop us anyway."

"Were you seeking my advice? Because I don't have any."

"I didn't mean to waste your time," she said.

What he said must have come out wrong.

"Well, it's good as it is. What can I say?" Draco attempted. "You know what you're doing."

He sure didn't. Astoria was really supposed to be a fourth-year. He was really supposed to be a Death Eater. Nothing about them mixed well, but the old, woodsy smell of her house had been so inviting in Slughorn's stupid potion that Draco couldn't keep away from her. It was the kind of smell that might never come out of the suit he had worn to her house last Christmas, and it was always on her clothes at the beginning of the school year. The alleged power of the potion had nothing on Astoria's unforeseen magnetism. But Draco couldn't have her.

"We have to make it past the Aurors now," he reminded her.

"True. We could do it your way and hide in corridors to avoid them at all costs. If we're caught, it won't end well," she considered.

Draco coughed, trying to capture his voice, and said:–

"We could do it your way by going down the Grand Staircase. We'll probably be caught, but you think you can slither your way out of anything."

"Then let's do it my way," Astoria said.

Draco silenced their footsteps with his wand and they didn't talk the whole time. It made everything worse because she would merely smile at him for communication, like when a step disappeared and she hopped over it or when the paintings looked at them disapprovingly. Somehow, the two made it all the way to the common room with no problems. He wished he had that kind of luck when he was looking for ways to get Dumbledore. In that moment, though, he probably couldn't even pronounce the word Dumbledore correctly. He and Astoria were the only ones in the common room. She pointed out the small luminescent fish that drifted past the window, and their light briefly made her eyes glow. Draco wanted to kiss her — how awful.

He felt like Draco with Pansy, but she wanted him to be a good Death Eater. He felt like a menacing Death Eater with Astoria, who wanted him to only be Draco. None of it reconciled, and he and Astoria bid each other goodnight plainly.

By October, Draco had ended up in detention with McGonagall, who believed that his neglect of homework meant that he could not handle the class. She didn't know that Astoria's improved marks were thanks to him and probably congratulated herself thoroughly for how good a teacher she thought she was. McGonagall locked him up during the first Hogsmeade trip, which wasn't a problem apart from how tedious the work was. Draco had already played the cursed necklace piece in the chess game against Dumbledore. He merely had to wait.

Waiting was actually nerve-racking. Draco had been instructed to summarise fifty pages of his textbook; at first, he had tried to pace himself so he wouldn't finish too early. Now it felt like he'd never get it done. The weather was a monster that day, alternating between heavy rain and sleet but never calming. It felt like lightning bolted each time Draco paused, clarifying the lines on McGonagall's face. The wind wailed in his distractible ears, and his mind wandered to Astoria. Bad habit. She was stuck in the Wizarding Wireless Network building, recording rushed demos. Draco knew next to nothing about electricity and started wondering if there were enough traces of it in Rhiannon's Muggle guitar to attract the lightning. Did it work that way…? Was Astoria in danger being near the contraption?

His quill shivered, trying to let him know he had misspelled a word. It wasn't worth it to correct it. How long would it be until someone found Dumbledore dead? If everything went smoothly, no one except the Dark Lord and his contacts would know Draco was the culprit. He'd still probably have detention, though. McGonagall would waste no time in taking over the school.

The rain outside froze again as Draco's detention ended. He found Crabbe and Goyle, who looked at him expectantly, but he had no news. Draco wished he had given Pansy less money to shop for replacements for her "out of style" hats. She could have been back already to let him know what went on with the necklace. But he only had to wait another ten minutes. She came scurrying into the common room with no good news.

"Katie Bell touched the necklace and it made a big scene," she whispered, adjusting a new hat.

"Wait — you mean…?" Draco garbled.

"It didn't make it to Dumbledore at all."

"Damn it," Draco said, drumming his fingers.

Did Bell die? Where was the necklace? How many witnesses were there? What were the implications? Draco was coming up with questions faster than Pansy could reply.

"She flew up in the air and just started screaming her arse off," Pansy laughed. "She's in the Hospital Wing, but they'll have to send her to Mungo's. Probably don't want to listen to her here!"

It was a miracle that Bell hadn't died, but regrettably, neither had Dumbledore.

"Guess it wouldn't have worked on the old man anyway," Goyle said. "So what's next?"

Draco was thinking of poisons he could brew, but he realised he had to put his ugly backup plan into motion. He knew of a secret room that had something that could bring him real support.

"You two are going to help me," he said gravely to Crabbe and Goyle. "I have to go to the hidden room in the castle."