This chapter was PAINFUL. This has sat unfinished for quite a while, with me toying around with how to end it, how much to share in this chapter, etc. etc. I know those who love this story have been waiting a while for an update, so you know what? Screw it. It's getting posted the way it is. Maybe it'll get edited later, maybe it won't.

You all know the deal. Comments and PMs are life. Feed my ego. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 10 - Truth

Draco didn't quite know what to do with himself.

To be fair, that had been true for a while now. After his trial, it had been a massive relief to move to London. The rooms of his grandfather's townhouse were odd and ostentatious, but at least they weren't filled with gut-stabbing flashbacks of the Dark Lord and his sadistic aunt, or the pathetic, impotent placations of his parents. No, they were simply a quirky backdrop to his monotony of existence between St. Mungo sessions. Days and weeks had passed in a strange abstracted way that felt both too quick and too slow.

Pansy had tried to be in touch multiple times; he ignored most of her owls. She demanded so much from him, and he had nothing left he wanted to give her. Both she and Daphne had teamed up to get him to come out with his old friends in Falmouth, and Daphne always had a way of getting what she wanted. So he'd made an appearance… and there was Astoria.

The little imp had been something new, with her infuriating blue hair and smart mouth, and she had made him feel both annoyed and seen. She'd led him by the fucking cock to her bedroom, showed up at his place in the middle of the night uninvited, played him classical music before jumping him… and from her own admission, had practically been untouched before that first night. It was strange and confusing and maddening and sexy.

"Maybe it's just me," she'd purred the other night. "Maybe you think about having that power over me - making me want you even when you aren't around." Fuck. He'd actually thought she might be using Legilimency on him the other night, but he didn't have to be an expert Occlumens to realize she wasn't. Even still, her words had pulled at him like a smooth and steady wank.

Now, nothing. No sign of her for days. The parchment she'd sent him a week ago sat on the floor in his black box of a bedroom with nothing on it. He'd been waiting for her to write first since that night, but not a splotch of ink had appeared on it. So now his days were no longer the meaningless blur of the Pre-Astorian Era; instead, they were in heightened focus. He'd counted each second as his frustration and confusion built. Draco felt restless down to his marrow and it was all her fault. And he was furious about it.

Maybe this whole thing had been some plot of Daphne's, one she'd roped her sister into. But to what end? Astoria was a piece of work, it was true. She was as bold as she was sexy, but not fake. Stylish with an unpolished edge. The memory of her painted lips around his knob made him stiffen just remembering it. As much as her clutching at him during their flight around London. If she had been acting, she was a bloody marvel. He was sure she hadn't been… but maybe he'd just been spectacularly played. Or worse, used.

It's obvious, isn't it? She just wants a distraction from her banality of existence. Wasn't that what he'd wanted too? And yet, here he was, tied up in knots because of her.

Frustrated to distraction, Draco grabbed his wand and headed off to the roof to Bombarda some empty champagne bottles.

It could have been much, much worse.

That's what Lyra had told her after tests and charms said she was good to go. They'd even had a not-entirely-unbearably-awkward conversation about sex and contraception. Astoria had been worried that her weird fascination with anything related to sex would somehow be revealed, and she really didn't need any more mortification in her life. Instead, they'd talked very specifically about the medical repercussions of various prevention methods and what would or might add complications to Astoria's condition. So, manageable.

She hadn't written Draco yet, though. Lyra had given her strict stay-home-for-the-next-few-days(-and-nights) orders, and Astoria had been feeling so rotten she had been happy to comply. It shouldn't have been so difficult for her to just tell him she'd be busy for the next few days… but she couldn't find the words.

You can't tell someone you're cursed and doomed to die early in a letter. That's hardly fair.

But he deserved to know. And she wouldn't be seeing him for days… how did she explain that without lying?

You don't have to lie, precisely. Only tell him the parts he needs to know.

And how is that better than lying? Also, was she really having a full-out debate with herself?

She picked up her quill and tapped it on the inkpot, as if the rhythmic pulse would jumpstart her brain. But nothing happened.

Two full days passed with Astoria doing little more than lifting the elegant hawk feather. She got only more frustrated - with both herself and with Draco - over the empty page. Any resolution to tell the truth that she'd once garnered had dissolved into fatalistic conclusions that their relationship was, in short, a bloody joke.

He'd have written, she was sure, if he wanted more. Wouldn't he?

Maybe he's busy.

Right. Too busy to send a message at all? More likely he's determined you're better off as a once-off thing.

But he confided in you.

Because of that stupid, stupid Question or Command game. This was Draco Malfoy, after all. He'd played that game (and more) with other witches, Astoria was sure. No, knowing her, she'd built it all up in her head.

And to think you were going to tell him everything. Consider this a close call!

She really needed to stop arguing with herself.

Thus, the quill stayed on her desk beside the quiet parchment. Astoria spent most of the week as she had done before tangling herself up in Draco - reading in the library, walking through the gardens, sinking into the familiar grey daze of life.

"I thought I'd find you out here moping. It's just as well, you know."

Astoria looked up at the sound of her sister's voice. Her sister's beautiful blonde hair was as golden as the chestnut leaves above their heads.

She sighed and took the bait. "What is?"

Daphne sat on the bench beside her. "Honestly, even with that quilt wrapped around you, you must be freezing. Why do you come out here?" Astoria just stared at her, waiting for her to continue. "Draco. He's not worth it."

Astoria's jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't give me that. The Malfoys have a terrible reputation, as you well know. It'd be social suicide. Much better as a one-night stand, don't you think?"

How much did Daphne know about her visits to London? "Weren't you the one who planned it all in the first place?"

Daphne scoffed. "Yes, of course. But I had to do SOMETHING. Your attempts at rebelling were pitiful. I figured one good shag…"

"Are you serious?!" Astoria was exasperated. "You did this for me? Your sole meddling motivation was to help your sister?" She felt as though she should be laughing, but instead annoyance prickled. "Why do I not believe you?"

Her sister didn't react at all, just checked her nails for anything other than perfection. "Not sure, honestly. You should know better by now. I'm a wonderful sister. No, don't make that terrible sound. I put my family first, you know that. And you wanted to do something stupid, so I figured it was the safest pairing. Draco's not going to say anything without adding to his rep, and YOU'RE not going to say anything, because you're you. And Draco HAS to be randy, since I know for a fact that he's rejected Pansy's multiple offers." She rolled her eyes in disgust, seemingly at her friend's desperation. "So problem solved, with minimal damage or impact."

She couldn't believe her sister. No, that wasn't entirely true - she could easily believe that Daphne would think of a night with Draco as disposable entertainment. And she could also accept that Daphne thought of it as helping her family… but how could she have so little empathy? Draco, despite his reputation, was still a person.

At the lack of a response, Daphne nodded in satisfaction. She patted her sister's head. "See? I'm right. You're welcome. Glad I helped." And she got up and left.

Astoria was so livid, she found she'd been clenching her hands into fists unconsciously. She knew her sister was a master manipulator and meddler, but this was too far. This hurt.

It hurt because Astoria would have mostly agreed with her, before this all started. She'd been sure that a one-night thing was all she'd wanted before too, been convinced that Draco Malfoy was a selfish, cold-hearted, prejudiced manchild who would be a perfect way to revolt against the doldrums of her days.

But he was a real, whole human being. He was broken, conflicted, vulnerable, and he'd opened up to her when she'd least expected it. She was angry at herself for her own prejudice, but she also ached for him. Her sister's smug triumph had just reminded her what the world saw him as, and it wasn't true. And she needed to tell him that. She wanted him to know the truth. Of everything.

Back in her room, she picked up the quill and took a deep breath.

I need to tell you things. In person.

She waited. For what felt like an eternity. And then, finally…

Fine. Tonight?

His face was stone. They sat in the main floor billiards room, intimidating and nostalgic with its dimly glowing walls. He had kept distance from her, sitting across from the sofa in a black leather club chair. Something about his expression reminded Astoria of the night in Falmouth; he looked regal and ruthless. And cold, cold as ice.

"You said you had something to say," he pressed her.

She nodded, trying to organize the rioting words she'd prepared so carefully before arriving. "Yes."

His patience was worse than if he'd demanded for her to speak. Was she making a misstep here? Maybe her sister was right - this could ruin her family's reputation. She'd spent most of her life trying to keep the truth hidden, to not risk saying anything to anyone. And here she was about to spill her greatest secret to someone who'd been a bloody Death Eater.

"The last time I was here… after I left… when I got home... my sister…" His eyes grew even colder with that. Astoria swallowed and rushed on. "Right, this isn't coming out properly. I had a reaction to the prevention potion," she spluttered.

Draco's eyebrow rose in mild surprise. A note from the healer was not one he'd expected, obviously. And Astoria heard how stupid it sounded out loud.

"There was a problem with the potion I made?"

"No, no, there was nothing wrong with the potion. Of course not. I just… I don't know how else to start explaining. I should have known better… I should have known that I might have reacted. To it," she tried to clarify. Still, he remained silent. And she remembered one of their first conversations.

"I'm very good at swallowing potions, you know. I've been drinking them nearly my whole life. I almost told you that, when we met in Falmouth."

"You admitted a competence when it came to swallowing large… actually, I don't believe you finished that sentence." While the words seemed chosen to tease, his voice flattened them into something harsh.

Just say it already.

"Potions. I'm good at swallowing potions. It's because I suffer from... an inherited malediction. A curse handed down through the Greengrass line."

Finally. An expression she thought she could make sense of: he didn't believe her.

"I've never heard about it."

"We've kept it very secret."

"Right."

"It doesn't show up every generation. The last of my ancestors to suffer from it was over a century ago."

"Of course," he said acerbically.

She wanted to cry. She knew his not believing her had been a possibility, but she hadn't prepared for the sting that accompanied it.

"You don't believe me."

"It's a rather over the top story, don't you think?"

The leather felt clammy under her bare arm. She clenched the end of the armrest, floundering for something to say. "Why would I lie about this?"

He continued to sit so still, his steely eyes fixed on her. "Because you realized that you made a mistake spending time with me, and you want an out."

"What?" She was genuinely shocked; this was not a response she'd expected.

"You could just say you're done. You don't need to make up some Knarlshite excuse."

Her jaw actually dropped open. "You're a real piece of work," she finally said.

"Look who's talking."

"Just because you've spent your whole life slithering out of hard situations by lying doesn't mean that everyone else does it too. I told you, when we first met, that either of us could call it off at any time. Why would I need to make up a story about being cursed?"

He rose and took a threatening step towards her. She stood up, determined not to let him frighten her even as her legs trembled. Their faces were hardly a breath apart from each other, and Astoria could see there was something more than anger in his eyes - fear, maybe?

"I don't really know a thing about you. Maybe you want my sympathy, my pity." He spat the words as if the words were inedibly bitter. "Maybe you're trying to conceal an even bigger secret. Or maybe you just get a sick pleasure out of trying to play me. Fuck you. I'm fucking done with this game." He turned and stormed towards the door.

"Fuck me? Fuck you, Draco fucking Malfoy!" Rage possessed her instantly and entirely and she charged after him. She wanted badly to claw her hands into his shoulders and shake him until he listened. "You can't even recognize truth when it's offered to you. Godric, you're so messed up, aren't you?"

"Shut up," he threatened. But she didn't stop.

"Stun me before I can stun you, really? How boring and disappointing. You're a pathetic coward."

He whirled around at that, and Astoria saw that the mask was gone. He'd been torn apart by her words, and tears streamed out the cracks. His hands clenched and expanded, as if they were fighting the same urges to shred her into pieces.

"Just because you slept with me doesn't mean you know every fucking thing about me."

"Do you even hear yourself?" The hypocrisy was fuel to her fire.

"If you want out, then just fucking leave already," he growled.

"I don't want to leave," she nearly screamed.

He looked confused for a second, his brow scrunching up as he processed her words. She almost felt guilty, watching the emotions rage nakedly on his face. So she took the opportunity to turn away from him and return to the chesterfield. She sat again, as gracefully as she could, and delicately wiped at her eyes as she waited for him to return.

He did.

"I came here to tell you everything, and tell you the truth about it. Because you deserve that. Do you want to hear it or not?" She fiddled with the onyx ring she wore, intent on straightening it perfectly. Anything to distract her hands from strangling him.

She waited, her pulse counting the seconds loudly in her ears. It wasn't like she expected an apology, not from him, but any sign of assent would do. Finally, she watched his lips form words. "I'm listening."

Astoria started talking, at last. The words she'd practised at home came more easily as they spilled out. She told him about the incident when she was eight, and the Fidelius Charm during school. She explained that instead of flying classes, she'd taken healing classes from Madam Pomfrey as a cover, and how she'd had to lie to her friends the whole time (she still couldn't mention Tullia by name). When she got to the events of her last year, she found words fail her. So she only said that she'd decided not to return to school after its temporary close.

"I didn't do the O.W.L.s. Honestly, I didn't see the point."

"Because you're going to die at 40," he said bluntly.

"That's part of it, yes," she said tentatively, a little suspicious of his lack of reactions thus far. "But I've also never been one for ambition. It's hard to make long-term plans when you can't be sure what tomorrow is going to look like."

They sat silently, waiting for the other to make a move. Once more, Astoria found herself desperate to know what he was thinking. She had never had to explain her condition to anyone before, and she wasn't sure what to expect. Draco seemed to be deep in thought and gave very little away.

The marble mantel clock's ticking was the only sound in the room. "Please say something, Draco, or ask me something. You hold so much back sometimes."

He looked up at that. "You're telling me that you have a blood curse that you've kept secret for most of your life, and I'm the one holding back?"

She couldn't help it - her lips quirked up in a half-smile. It was cathartic, really. "I'm no Occlumens, though. I'm just good at avoiding the issue." She almost missed seeing him flinch.

"Wait… do you know Occlumency?" She was fascinated. She'd read about it, of course, but she didn't know anyone who'd actually studied it.

"It's still my turn to ask questions. You said it came from your Greengrass side of the family. Are there any records of previous cases?"

"Very few," she responded honestly. "My father has been quite thorough trying to track down as much about the curse as possible. Discreetly, of course. But it seems as though keeping it secret is also a family tradition. Father wouldn't let me see anything firsthand until after I left Hogwarts. He and Mother seemed convinced that I was to focus on being a child for as long as possible." She couldn't help the touch of bitterness in her tone.

"I can understand that," he murmured.

"Really? Because I'm still rather in a rage about it." But as soon as she snapped the words, she realized that Draco DID understand a childhood cut short by expectations.

She took a deep breath, and the air scraped her worn throat. She'd been talking for who knows how long. Unconsciously, she rose her hand to rub it. Draco noticed and stood up, searching for his wand. With a silent spell, a bottle of pumpkin juice appeared.

"Nothing stronger?" she teased halfheartedly, even as she opened the bottle.

"We could spike it with champagne," he said. She was fairly sure he was joking as well. Fairly.

"What a waste of champagne."

It was as soothing to speak lightly as the juice was to her parched vocal chords. As she drank, she looked anywhere but Draco - the luminescent walls, the green baize billiard tables, the serious-faced brass statue of a griffin. Anything to distract her from the fact that he was about to end things. How could he not? So she braced herself for the worst.

"You didn't mention Tullia."

Apparently the bracing hadn't been enough.

"T...Tullia?" she managed.

"Wasn't that your friend's name? You two were joined at the hip at school, from what I remember Daphne saying. Did she know about the curse?"

A cyclone of hurt and guilt and confusion ravaged her thoughts. Had Daphne mentioned Tullia to him? Astoria knew it hadn't exactly been a secret, their friendship. Everyone in her Ravenclaw year knew they'd been thick as thieves. But she honestly didn't think anyone else had cared to notice.

"I don't want to talk about Tullia," she said timidly.

"Her family were related to Borgin and Burkes somehow, I think. Didn't her father manage international trades or something?"

Of course he'd know about that. "I said I don't want to talk about Tullia," she repeated, with more steel.

He didn't press the issue, but it was too late for Astoria to regain her calm. "Right, so... I would appreciate it if you don't mention what I've told you to anyone. I just thought you deserved the truth."

"Family secret," was all he said.

"Yes. I… I shouldn't have said anything, actually. I'm sorry, I've complicated this - thing - now" she gestured between them, "Haven't I? Right. I'll just… go now." She rose to leave, her entire mind focussed on getting out of the damned city as swiftly as possible. Her stomach was knotting up, and she was seriously wondering whether she had just made the biggest mistake of her life. Why had she gotten herself into this mess? So stupid… she chastised herself. Where's your back up plan now?

"Wait, stop! Don't go." He blocked her way and reached out to catch her elbows. She let him, but couldn't look up at him.

"Tell me why. Why do I deserve the truth?" She just shook her head. So much for getting out of this cleanly.

He pressed on. "Of all the people in the world to entrust your deepest, darkest secrets to… your family's reputation, your weakness… why me? I'm the last person anyone should trust." He tightened his grip, as if squeezing his insistence.

"You trusted me," she whispered. And then looked up. Those steely eyes were intense and searching. What did they want from her? An explanation? She was the least likely to offer a logical response; when it came to her own emotions, she'd always been confused by them. "You aren't what I expected you to be like. And that's… interesting… to me." She wanted to wince. Interesting?!

Something in his expression wavered, and Astoria felt her heart pang. "You are not… normal," he said indecisively, as if the adjective he'd chosen wasn't quite right. It made no sense, but she felt comforted by it nonetheless.

"Oh. Well, yes. That's true."

He didn't laugh exactly, but his breath babbled on the exhale and his hands loosened their grips. His thumbs seemed to levitate over her arm, as if afraid to move.

"Stay. Please."

Good Godric, Draco Malfoy said 'please'.

"But I'm not normal. And I'm broken." Her voice caught, decimating any attempt at levity.

But he laughed. He actually laughed. "So am I. Shattered to bits, I'm afraid. I'm..." He swallowed, as if a chocolate frog were stuck in his throat. "I'm sorry for my reaction earlier. I assumed…"

She cut him off. "Hold on there. We have to address the elephant in the room."

He furrowed his brow in frustration. "What?"

"Did Draco Malfoy just say 'Please'? And then 'I'm Sorry'?"

He actually POUTED. "You don't have to say it like that," he huffed. But she couldn't help herself.

"No, no, let me conjure my journal so I can make a note of this. Dearest Diary, Draco Malfoy was polite to me today."

She couldn't tell if he was trying not to explode in rage or in laughter. "Forget I said it."

"Oh no," she replied dramatically and was relieved and delighted to see a twitch of his lips. "No, I couldn't possibly forget something so rare and beautiful. It's like seeing a Quintaped for the first time. I shall revel in this for approximately twenty more seconds, and then you can tell me again how you want me to stay."

Draco Malfoy finally smiled, and Astoria couldn't believe she'd ever seen anything quite as wonderful.

"Now what?"

Draco had asked the very question she'd been avoiding thinking about. They were lying on the black leather chesterfield, naked and wrapped up in one another. Everything that Astoria had read or heard about 'make-up sex' was apparently true. It had been sweeter and more desperate than she'd ever imagined. But now that the sex haze was wearing off, reality blared at them like unwanted bright light.

"Now I suppose we find something to eat," Astoria said.

"You know what I mean."

"You're telling me you aren't ravenous? I know what your kitchen looks like here. You probably had Cauldron Cakes for supper."

He shifted to an upright position, requiring Astoria to shift as well. She moaned in protest.

"I should meet with your parents."

Forget blaring light, reality was a dousing of ice cold water. "I beg your pardon?! No. No! That is a positively horrendous idea. You shouldn't even joke about that."

He seemed a bit shocked at her response. "Are you afraid of them?" His tone was light, almost as if he were teasing her, but it seemed to conceal a seriousness as well. As if he expected it to be true.

"I mean, I'm not AFRAID of them, per se." She sat up fully, adjusting herself as best she could considering she was stark naked on a sofa. "But they're not the most… welcoming of people. And as much as I don't care about your reputation," she hesitated. "Well, I'm fairly sure they will."

She expected Draco to be offended. Instead he smirked playfully. "So you would rather I ruin your reputation than expose myself to their judgment by doing the proper thing?"

It felt illogical and ridiculous when he put it that way. But she answered honestly. "When you put it like that… yes."

He outright laughed, and Astoria couldn't help but glow. Sweet Merlin, I feel drunk on him.

"I know, I know, it doesn't make any sense. But it's embarrassing how much my Mother cares about reputation and etiquette. And wants US to care about it too, Daphne and me. Daphne even…" she caught herself and stopped mid-sentence.

"Daphne what?" Draco said with interested. Bollocks, I'm caught now, she thought. Oh well. In for a knut, in for a galleon?

"Daphne came to me yesterday to say 'you're welcome' for her role in setting up our one-night stand." Draco's eyes flashed dangerously, but he said nothing. "She fully expected me to thank her for arranging things so I could use you and discard you, as if you were a Sugar Quill to nibble on. She said being with you publicly would be 'social suicide', and isn't it much nicer that we could have mindless sex with no one being the wiser?"

Draco had frozen stiff. "Of course she did," he muttered.

"It made me livid." Her whole body clenched, and Draco watched her closely.

"Did it?"

She looked at him, cold and defensive again, and her heard ached for him. "Daphne has known you for years, but she doesn't really know you. And she doesn't even try to know you. I'm her bloody sister - she's known me for my whole life… or at least, she should know me. But she just doesn't care enough to understand that I'm not at all like her." She reached her hand out to touch his face, gently, caressing his set jaw. "Though I suppose I should thank her. If her stupid, shallow words hadn't incensed me, I don't know if I'd have ever mustered the courage to tell you the truth."

"About the curse."

"Yes," she said hesitantly. For she had just realized that the truth she'd wanted to share most with him was about him, not her. "But not just about that. About you."

"And what truth is that?" He whispered the words, his face moving closer to hers as if her hand was drawing him in.

"That you… are more than I first imagined you would be. I misjudged you, and I'm sorry."

The air was taut between them, and Astoria nearly cried with relief when his lips touched hers. It was like pressing on a bruise; the sweet pain a reminder of past hurts and being alive. Because she'd been so scared to care about anyone again since Tullia. So scared that she'd once again hurt them irreversibly. But here he was, this boy who carried as much baggage as her, pulling her in, wanting her to stay - every judging, prejudiced part of her.

"This is better," he whispered.

"Oh?"

"You apologising to me, and not the other way around."

Her throat hummed with a swallowed chuckle. "Now I know why you stay in this obscenely large townhouse alone; your ego needs all the room it can get." She barely finished the sentence before Draco captured her mouth with his, effectively cutting off what would likely have been a very unattractive cackle.