Disclaimer: JK Rowling created Harry Potter.

Chapter 16

Backbone

19th September, 1998

Theo was getting on his nerves. That odd way of his, of being aloof one moment and then suddenly warm and friendly, was going to drive him mad. He would have understood if Theo had blocked him out and avoided him forever after what he had done. He would even have understood if his friend had pretended nothing ever happened, because that was the kind of thing Theo did. But this constantly fluctuating attitude he couldn't understand. And it annoyed him. He had taken to avoiding Theo.

"Can't," he replied to his friend's invitation to join the circle of Slytherins lounging in the Common room with a game of cards. "I have class."

It wasn't even a lie. There was a new class on their schedule this year. Restoration. He absolutely hated it. It took three hours of his time every week, and it consisted in half a dozen other people guilt-tripping him as they worked on the smaller things that hadn't been repaired yet around the castle. Technically it was optional, but the way he was doing, a little extra credit couldn't hurt. McGonagall had been pretty clear about that the last time he'd seen her. Oh, the fun they had during their little chats. He couldn't shake the feeling that she really didn't like him, and most days, it took all he had to remind himself that this dragon was the woman who had awarded him his captainship this year.

"This is our free period," Theo pointed out.

"Not for me," he said shortly, and slung his bag across his shoulder and left.

Restoration was terrible because everyone suspected him of something. Theo had said that, over the summer, it had been enjoyable, but Theo had a way of blending in. He, on the other hand, felt as conspicuous as a pregnant Hungarian Horntail whenever he showed up among the handful of other volunteers. To make matters worse, Hermione bloody Granger was one of those six other students. She wasn't the most unpleasant – she didn't go out of her way to shoot him death glares or say, in a very loud voice, that the people who had done this had been bastards and deserved to rot in Azkaban –, but her very presence was unnerving. He sometimes caught her glances in his direction, and he knew she was as uncomfortable with his being there as he was. Their tasks were usually spread out across the castle, and he had noticed (why did he care?) that she always chose the more difficult or time-consuming. He himself tended to choose the ones that were furthest from wherever she went. They had found themselves working side-by-side only once, and that hadn't been an experience he would remember with fondness in the years to come. Granger hadn't said a word during the entire hour, hadn't even looked him in the eye. That was almost worse than the others' open hostility, and he much preferred working with any of the others, even Looney Lovegood.

"Draco," said a gentle voice behind him. "Wait up."

He turned, recognising the voice. "Hey," he said, knowing he sounded surprised.

"Are you headed for Restoration? I am, too."

And just like that, she fell in step with him.

Only seven students had volunteered for the class, and only one of them treated Draco as a human being. Out of Hermione Granger, the Looney girl, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Head Boy Ernie McMillan, Michael Corner and Astoria Greengrass, Draco had no trouble admitting that Astoria, as the only other Slytherin in the group, was his favourite partner. (Though, if all had been right with his mind, then she should have made him even more uncomfortable than Granger.) He was glad to see that the scar on her cheek was finally gone; he had felt the unexplainable urge to trace the smooth skin of her face the first time he'd seen her this year. She still had that strange way of making him feel human.

"How was your summer?" she asked him.

He stiffened. "Fine."

"Mine wasn't," she said honestly. "The Ministry practically kicked us out and searched our home for two weeks. They thought, since we were pure-bloods and all, that we might have links with the Death Eaters." Her upper lip curled slightly into what might have been a sneer, and in that instant, she looked more like her sister than he had ever seen her. "We didn't, of course, and they didn't find anything, but they still treated my parents like they were criminals or something. Daph was horrible to them; she went crazy when she heard what they were accusing us of and kept saying terrible, terrible things."

"That sounds like Daphne," Draco said despite himself, and she smiled.

"Doesn't it? I wanted to go to Hogwarts during the rebuilding, but my parents said it was too dangerous. When I told them Theo would be there, they just said, 'even worse.' But that's stupid, isn't it? Theo would never hurt me."

She said this with such certainty that it couldn't have come only from her naivety. Was she friends with Theo? He had never seen the two together.

"They just don't want us to associate with Death Eater families anymore."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked finally.

She laughed. "Because it doesn't matter, does it?"

He shook his head, knowing he would never really understand the girl. She was terrified of blood, of violence, of torture. No notions of blood purity polluted her mind, and she was astonishingly nice. She stood in stark contrast of her sister Daphne, who was two years older.

"You know, I never understood why you – why you..." He paused, not knowing how to say it. "You don't seem to blame me for it."

It. He really was a coward.

"Why would I?" she asked. "The past is in the past. Let it lie where it is."

So easy to say. But where did she get off, saying that sort of thing? After what he had done to her?

He'd officially known the Greengrass sisters since they were kids, because that was how it was with pure-blood families. Daphne was in his year and in his house, and she was very noticeable. She would have qualified for "gorgeous" if she hadn't been so insufferable, and if he hadn't hated her as soon as she opened her mouth, there might have been something between them. Daphne spoke exactly like Draco, voicing exactly the same thoughts and talking down to people exactly like him. She wasn't even mocking him – it was truly the way she was, the way she had been brought up –, but instead of making him feel linked to her, it only made him avoid her as much as possible. He had spoken to her maybe a handful of times by the time they reached their seventh year. And Astoria, as far as he was concerned, was too much like her sister to be worth the trouble of getting to know her. She had her sister's face and her sister's hair, and though she was more quiet and possibly shyer than Daphne, Draco stayed away.

So Astoria was already fifteen when he met her, really met her. That was the year the Carrows came.

The Carrows quite liked Draco actually, for obscure reasons he had never understood (his father hated them). They liked his skill in the Dark Arts and his opinions, his voiced opinions. They seemed to want to mould him into a nice little Death Eater, pushing him to his limits and asking him to perform darker and darker spells, to say terrible things about Muggles that even he had never thought. Then they gathered a (very) small group of similar people – Death Eater's kids. Theo might have been one of them if Alecto and Amycus hadn't detested his father. Instead, he became a favourite target. This elite group didn't have any responsibilities or authority – instead, they were summoned every time a student had broken a rule or done something to displease the Carrows and asked to perform this or that curse. It was on one such occasion that Draco met Astoria.

The Greengrasses were pure-bloods and had mostly been in Slytherin, but while they were elitist, they had never agreed with Voldemort. Not a family member of theirs could be persuaded to "turn" Death Eater, so the Carrows had no scruples about targeting the two sisters. Daphne got off easy; being clever and sharp-tongued, she had managed to please the Carrows. Astoria, from what Draco gathered, was more subdued; and thus, an easier target. Astoria was the first person they ever asked him to perform the Cruciatus on.

He failed miserably, but not miserably enough. Astoria arched her back and screamed, an awful, inhuman sound. The shrillness of her voice weakened Draco's resolve and he lost focus; Astoria collapsed on herself, convulsing violently, letting out odd keening noises. This wasn't what the Cruciatus Curse was supposed to do – Draco knew, first-hand, that the pain should be a hundred times worse than what Astoria was experiencing –, but it was already too much.

The Carrows didn't agree. Amycus laughed and flicked her wand at Astoria, who screamed again. Then Alecto suggested, in that tone which meant or else, that Draco cut her. He had done that before. Twice. It had left him feeling the same way both times – disgusted, horrified, empty.

The anguished look in Astoria's sea-green eyes as he slashed a bright red cut across her cheek with his wand, the way her hair had fallen out of its perfectly sleek updo and tumbled down past her shoulders in a frazzled mess, the hand that reached out, trembling, as though to beg for his mercy... Draco couldn't get it out of his mind. In his dreams, her eyes would then turn night-sky blue and her smooth face would sharpen into more masculine angles and suddenly Theo, covered in blood, was staring at him with those sullen eyes, so full of defiance and hurt. Theo, his first victim, and then the second one. That one had loathed him. Disdained him. Draco had seen it in his eyes. And all he could think of when he passed the Gryffindor in the corridors was: When did Longbottom grow a backbone?

The Carrows had told him he could bring Astoria back to the Common room, and he had. He had half-carried her there, her arm slung around his shoulders and his own wrapped around her waist. She had leaned all of her weight on him, and he had been startled by how little there was of her. She was all narrow hips and sharp elbows beneath the black robes. He had also been surprised by her trust. She seemed not to mind that she was being brought back by the person who had put her in this state. The glances people threw them in the corridors clearly blamed him, but the warm, slight arm around his neck didn't.

Daphne did, of course. As soon as the pair entered the Common room she rushed to them, looking genuinely anguished, saying her sister's name over and over again. She sat Astoria down in a chair.

"Astoria! Astoria, are you okay? What happened?"

She saw the blood spattered over her sister's clothes, the gash on Astoria's cheek, the wound that Draco had inflicted and that was bleeding profusely. She shot Draco a hate-filled look.

"What did you do to her?

"It's not his fault," Astoria said, dragging her hand across her cheek, only managing to spread the blood more. "The Carrows got to me. He just brought me back."

Daphne clearly didn't believe her. But then, who would? It was common knowledge that Draco did that kind of thing for the Carrows. It was the way he had found to survive. Almost everyone despised him for it, but it didn't hurt as badly as another choice might have.

"Show me," he said brusquely, kneeling down beside Astoria's chair.

Surprisingly enough, Astoria tilted her head back and to the side, exposing the wound. The gash ran across her cheek and down her jawline to the top of her neck – her neck, Draco realised. How close had he come to hitting a vital spot? There could have been even more blood than this...

He used his wand to clean the blood up a little and his fingers to pinch the two sides of the wound together. Astoria winced but didn't complain.

"It was just a low-level curse," he tried to explain, knowing the words would come out all wrong. "There wasn't that much Dark Magic involved. It shouldn't scar permanently, as far as I know. I can close it up for you if you want me to; it'll accelerate the healing and stop the bleeding. But you'll be left with a scar for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months. I'm not that good at this."

"That's okay," she said. "I'd like for you to close it."

Bringing his wand as close to her cheek as he dared and ignoring Daphne's distrustful gaze, he whispered the incantation under his breath. It was the first time he had tried this on someone other than himself, and he was relieved to see the flesh knit itself back together almost naturally. Instead of the bleeding wound, there was only a strange, shiny red ridge that travelled down her cheek to her neck.

Astoria raised her hand to her face, feeling the scar. "Thank you," she said, her warm brown eyes meeting Draco's for the first time since he had cast the curse.

"You're welcome," he had replied. Inanely.

Then, just like now, there had been no blame in Astoria's tone, blame in her eyes. She wasn't grateful for what he had done to her, but she was grateful that he had healed her. It had been so long since anyone had looked at him like that. The girl had to be mad.

Her next words only confirmed this theory. "I like your hair much better like this," she said casually.

He raised a self-conscious hand to his hair, which had grown out over the last year. This summer, he'd given up trying to sleek it back against his head and it was now downright messy. He wasn't exactly proud of it.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged, which looked strange while walking. "It's just more you."

"How do you know?" he asked. "You hardly know me at all."

"I've known you for years."

Looking at her, he realised how true that was. Even when they were children, Astoria had been the one pestering him with questions. At Hogwarts, he had hardly ever spoken a word to her, but he knew now that she had kept tabs on him throughout the years. Why? Maybe because he was a pure-blood. Maybe because her sister hated him so much. Or maybe, maybe it was just because she was genuinely nice and could see, even back then, that he was just another person she could save, like that cat she'd rescued by climbing after him up to the highest branch on a twenty-foot tree when they were six.

He knew she was brave, from that experience. He knew she was shy, through comparing her with her sister. He knew she was kind. And he knew she was attractive in an understated way: Daphne was striking, but Astoria was pretty. Her features were softer, less angled, but she had the same stunning sea-green eyes. And, he realised, that was all he knew about Astoria Greengrass. He couldn't even have given a single reason for...

"Why are you in Slytherin?" he asked.

Pansy had chosen Slytherin. He had never asked, and she would never admit to it, but he knew. He knew she had fought for her place in Slytherin. Theo, Goyle, Daphne... All of the other students in his year were Slytherin, in their own way. Even Davis, despite her Muggle blood. Blaise was the epitome of Slytherin. But Astoria? He had never seen her display the slightest bit of cunning or ambition. Determination, perhaps. Pride, certainly – that was in her blood. Bravery and easily-misplaced trust. But shrewdness and guile? He remembered Astoria's Sorting. Daphne had been tense that day, and had snapped at him three times until her sister joined her at the Slytherin table. How long had the Hat taken to deliberate? He couldn't remember.

"Why are you?" she countered.

The question took him by surprise. "What?"

"Well, that was a rotten example. You are a Slytherin. Clever, ambitious... Narcissistic," she added after a moment. "A lot like Daphne. But you can't just ask someone that, can you? Other people are better at describing you than you are."

"But you aren't Slytherin," he protested. "You should have been a Gryffindor."

"Aren't I clever enough for you?" she teased.

Her tone was light, but he could see he'd hurt her. She looked almost affronted.

"The Sorting Hat put me here. It must have seen things in me, right? Cunning... Resourcefulness... Willingness to break from the beaten path to achieve my ends."

"I'll say," he said, without thinking, and she laughed again.

She was still giggling when they entered the classroom where the Restoration students met up, and almost everyone stared. Corner's gaze was particularly insisting, and Draco couldn't resist the temptation. He turned his head and stared straight at Corner, who dropped his eyes almost immediately.

"That's not nice," Astoria said chidingly.

"They aren't, either," he replied.

Corner was terrified of him, that much was obvious. McMillan, too. They both went out of their way to avoid him and made him feel like he had the plague. He usually hated it when people couldn't meet his eyes, but Corner was an exception.

"Why are you defending him anyway? He hates you, too. You're too nice, Astoria," Draco said. "You're so... selfless."

"Is that so wrong?"

"It's dangerous," he said.

"I'm not afraid of danger," she said.

"Then you're a fool. Haven't I taught you anything, then?"

Her eyes flashed, and she raised a hand to her cheek, to where her scar had been.

"Don't call me a fool," she snapped, and he realised he had never seen her angry. For the first time, at the most inane moment, she seemed to be reproaching him something. Several eyes turned to look at them, but she took no notice. "I suppose it's better to be a fool than a coward, though."

He knew she meant him and his temper rose, but he refused to rise to the bait.

"Cowards stay alive longer," he said simply.

"What kind of life is it, though?" Astoria had lowered her voice. "But you did teach me something, Draco. You taught me that even people like you have a heart, though sometimes you almost manage to convince me otherwise."

Okay, that was going too far. It was obvious he'd hurt her, though only Salazar knew how.

"Calm down," he said. "I didn't mean to rile you up –"

"You never mean any harm," she said. "That doesn't mean you don't hurt people." She touched her cheek again. "You never really talked to Nott about it, did you?"

"Theo? About wha –" He stopped. "No," he said coldly. "I didn't."

"Maybe you should. It could help."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, bracing himself.

She looked at him, smiled softly. "Not necessarily. Not if you don't want to."

"I don't."

"I know that," she said.

As she tilted her head to the side, her cheek caught the light. The faintest of white lines barred her face, a shade paler than the rest of her skin. He reached out to trace it with a finger; she shivered at his touch.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I know that," she whispered back.

He would have said it earlier if he had known it eased the guilt this much.

This was one of the last chapters I wrote. I was so caught up in Draco and Hermione that I left behind Astoria for a long time. In fact, she won't be important to this story; she's a bit young for Draco already making plans to marry her anyway. I just felt like including her in some way, sketching an outline. This is Astoria as I picture her; how do you see her?

Also, I quite like Theo as a character because fanfiction writers are totally free to write him any way. And as I was writing this fic, I started building up his relationship with Draco, a sort of strange friendship – they call it friendship, but it isn't really – even they don't understand. And I always saw Theo as the sort of guy who wouldn't be drawn into the same mess as Draco, maybe because he was more clever, or stronger, or not under the same kind of pressure. I thought, 'this would rip them apart.' Which is where the Carrow scene came from.