Chapter Eleven
Card Carrying Cupids
0o0
Christmas morning arrived, pale and cold. Astoria awoke without any real desire to move, much less rise, and only the sudden recollection of gifts waiting at the end of her bed was enough to make her sit up and rub her eyes.
Shrugging her blankets down to her waist, she began to inspect her presents, yawning and shivering intermittently.
Her father and Beatrice had sent a single parcel together, all tied up with a large golden bow. Astoria started here, suspecting that it would be the least exciting of the lot. She was not disappointed: enclosed, she found another gift certificate and a cashmere sweater. Soft but not altogether distinguishable from any other sweater that Astoria owned, she removed the tag and pulled it on over her pajamas anyway, relishing the additional warmth.
A long, thin package from Belladonna came next, and Astoria was soon surprised to discover that it contained an antique parasol. Well pleased by such quirkiness but secretly suspicious of hidden messages (perhaps Belladonna thought she was looking a bit too tan?) Astoria laid the parasol aside for further inspection in the spring.
A package of sweets from Theo (made even sweeter when she considered his effort-he loathed candy) and a set of leather bound notebooks from Daphne rounded off the majority of the pile. Lastly, Astoria tore into a small, square package addressed from Aston Mendel. Inside, she found a first edition copy of the book he had been researching that summer in Turkey and a short note: Flip to back of book jacket...
Careful to avoid damaging the binding, Astoria let the book fall open and lifted the stack of pages to the left. A tiny squeal of delight caught in the back of her throat almost immediately.
A vacation photograph from the summer before hovered over a brief synopsis of the book's biographical information. It featured Aston in his whitest suit under the blazing Turkish sun, and beside him, windswept and delighted to be included, stood Astoria. He had not just sent her a copy of his research, he had had her face published on the back of it!
"Look at this!" cried Astoria excitedly, thrusting the book at Fred and George the moment she skipped down to the common room.
"A Mythology of Turkey?" read Fred out-loud dubiously, inspecting the cover. "Eh. Seems more like Percy's speed, to be honest."
"Fine," Astoria allowed happily, "just look at the back!"
Fred flipped the book open. A slow grin tugged at his lips. "Well, will you look at that!"
"Very cool!" George agreed. "Who's the man in the suit?"
"That's Aston Mendel," said Astoria, taking back A Mythology of Turkey and putting it safely down on the coffee table. "He wrote the book last summer."
"Aston Mendel?" repeated George slowly, tasting the name for a hint of recognition. "I reckon I might've heard of him. He's not really a historian though, is he? I thought he was a foreign politician."
"He is," Astoria clarified. "The book was just for fun. He's interesting like that."
"How do you know the Mendels?" asked George cautiously. "Aren't they sort of a big deal on the continent?"
"Oh, I've always known them," breathed Astoria, waving this aside. "Aston knew my mother when they were kids, I think. He's an old family friend. I see them about once a year..."
"They've got a bit of reputation," Fred pointed out, eyeing the book warily. "Dirty business and all that."
"I don't know. Maybe," admitted Astoria vaguely, uncomfortable with this suggestion, "but if any of those old stories are true, they happened a long time ago. Aston's alright, really."
"Well," said Fred, pulling a lumpy brown package out from under a pile of ripped apart wrapping paper, "we've got a gift for you too. Mind, it doesn't come with critical acclaim."
Astoria laughed nervously, incapable over overlooking the fact that both boys were now sporting brand new Weasley sweaters.
"Happy Christmas, Astoria," Fred cooed. His eyes lit tensely on her chest. "But I see someone else has already thought to buy you a lovely, new sweater!"
"My father sent it," Astoria admitted fearfully, glancing down at the cashmere she was still wearing.
"Isn't that a coincidence!" exclaimed George. He pushed the lumpy brown package on the table in front of her closer.
"Go on," Fred urged her, "open it."
"Maybe later," muttered Astoria evasively.
"Go on," ground out George, treating his suggestion like a threat. "Have a look."
Astoria sighed and untied the parcel. The sweater inside was just as pink and misshapen as she had feared—perhaps worse.
"The arms are different lengths," observed Astoria, repressing a smirk.
"But there's three of them!" added Fred brightly. "At least one of them is bound to be the right size."
"Uhuh," agreed Astoria, letting go of the string. The paper fell back down, hiding the sweater from view. "Thanks."
"Try it on," George encouraged intensely.
"No," said Astoria stoutly, flat out refusing. "I'll look like I've got udders."
"We insist," leered Fred.
Astoria shifted away from them.
"Grab her arms," declared George, seizing the sweater.
"No!" yelled Astoria, jumping away.
"Yes!" hollered Fred, catching her arms.
Astoria wriggled, knocking over a stack of empty boxes in front of the hearth. She seized an orange and lobbed in the direction of George's head, laughing madly.
"You'll wear your Weasley sweater, and you'll like it! Just like the rest of us!" bellowed George, ducking the flying fruit.
Harry Potter had arrived at the bottom of his dormitory stairs, barefoot and sleepy eyed. Catching on to the commotion, he was soon blinking rapidly in confusion but it was too late for Astoria to call for his assistance. With a final whoop of joy, Fred foisted the sweater down over Astoria's head until it hung limply from her frame like an ill fitting, pink tent.
"Radiant!" declared George, dusting off his hands.
"Now, we'll let you walk about and sit with the Slytherins tonight since Christmas is a time for family," allowed Fred reasonably, "but the sweater stays on. Otherwise, we'll be forcing it back onto you in a jiffy and nobody wants to resort to violence."
"It took us a whole week to knit the damn thing, didn't it? We want to see it properly worn," added George. "We initialed it for you and everything!"
"Yes, I see that," Astoria conceded miserably, scraping a fingernail across the front of her sweater. A shower of yellow flecks to fell to the floor like week old dandruff. "What is this—paint?"
"We tried to do it in bobbles," admitted Fred apologetically, "only they were even harder than sleeves."
0o0
Christmas at Hogwarts was a glorious affair from start to finish, even for a person doomed to spend the day in a Weasley sweater. Astoria passed most of the morning with the twins. Together, they toasted a package of sausages over the common room fire and played games of exploding snap as loudly as they wanted because there was nobody left in the tower to disturb except for Percy.
Around noon, Astoria suggested that they go outside and enjoy the snow. As far as the twins were concerned, however, this was nothing more than an excuse to cause colder variations of their regular mischief. After several pleasant hours of cursing snowbanks to collapse onto anyone else who drew near them, the twins' energy was officially spent. Watery nosed and red cheeked, they slouched back to the castle just as the sun began it's chilly dip behind the mountains.
"Where do you suppose Harry, Ron and Hermione have been all day?" George wondered, performing a drying charm on his pants.
Astoria yanked a loose pink thread out of her cuff and shrugged.
"Didn't Percy say he caught Ron in a girl's loo last week?" suggested Fred mischievously. "Maybe they spent Christmas morning with Myrtle..."
The Great Hall had been given decorated to within an inch of its festive life. Great streamers of holly crisscrossing the magical ceiling and a warm, enchanted snow was falling silently from the rafters. Daphne was already sitting at the Slytherin table so Astoria straightened the front of her smock-like shirt bravely and headed in her direction.
"Astoria!" cried Daphne in delight, "Merry—"
She trailed off as she took in Astoria's heinous sweater and messy hair. A few seats down, Malfoy's head twitched up at the sound of her name and Astoria watched as he did an incredulous—almost comical—double take of his own.
"What is that thing?" he demanded rudely, not even bothering to pretend that he hadn't noticed her.
"A sweater," Astoria shrugged, willing herself not to laugh at her own, criminally silly nonchalance.
"Merry Christmas," yawned Tracey Davis, appearing behind Astoria, fresh from a nap. "Merlin, you look like something a kid threw up at the fair."
Malfoy made a face to suggest how deeply he agreed with this statement.
"You should take it off," suggested Daphne uncomfortably, ever conscious of manners. "People eat here."
"I can't," Astoria shrugged. "Not unless you want the Weasley twins to join us."
"Move over, then," sneered Malfoy, becoming curiously resentful the moment she mentioned Fred and George.
By way of retaliation, Astoria reached out and brushed a warm flake of fake snow off of Draco's shoulder with her sleeve. He startled and then, realizing what she had done, jerked away from her with a look of forced revulsion.
"Stop it!" he snapped, not wanting to be the butt end of a joke.
"Thanks for the notebooks, Daphne," said Astoria, switching her focus onto her sister. "They're fantastic."
"I thought you could use them," admitted Daphne. "Especially now that all of your old ones are enchanted. What did you think of the pen?"
"Why are your notebooks enchanted?" asked Tracey at once.
"What pen?" frowned Astoria.
"Oh, no! I must have forgotten to wrap it!" moaned Daphne. "It was a whole stationary set! I'll give you the rest of it after dinner."
"Why is Potter staring over here?" demanded Draco angrily, not at all interested in pens. "Did he help knit that sweater for you, too? Why doesn't he just come over and sign it."
Something about this idea seemed to annoy Draco so deeply that Astoria did not not test his Christmas spirit any further by teasing him. Instead, she glanced toward the Gryffindor table and was surprised when Harry and Ron both hastily looked away to avoid meeting her eye.
"I had a letter from Father this morning," announced Draco to no one in particular.
"Did you?" Astoria prompted him distractedly, still watching the back of Ron and Harry's heads. They were bent close together and whispering furtively. Suspicious.
"Mhmm," confirmed Malfoy lazily. "The ministry fined Arthur Weasley for that flying car of his. Father's even quoted in the article. He promised to send it by evening post."
"They can't fine Mr. Weasley for that," Astoria argued. "His son is the one who flew it."
"Arthur bewitched it, didn't he?" Draco shot back. "It's the man's job to draw up Muggle Protection acts. Little did anyone know, he's been in the back yard, tinkering away."
"How much did they fine him?" Astoria wondered uncomfortably. Fred and George didn't talk about it much, but she had more than once been given the impression that resources were tight in their home.
"I don't know," shrugged Draco indifferently. "Who cares? More than they can afford, I'm sure—what?"
The look of pity on Astoria's face goaded him into a full-on scowl.
"Feeling bad for them, are you?" he sneered. "They're an old, Pure-blooded family for God's sake. The way they carry on!"
There was a little too much truth in this to completely ignore but somehow, Astoria could not quite see why Arthur Weasley's hobbies were such a thorn in Draco's side. Didn't he have anything better to complain about?
"And that law Weasley's been helping to draw up is a joke, too," Malfoy continued. "Can you believe the Ministry's actually been conducting raids because of it? Father's livid, of course—I'm surprised he even let them in."
Astoria had not known that the Ministry was conducting raids on private homes, but it certainly seemed to explain some of Malfoy's pent up maliciousness.
"Have they found anything?" asked Astoria.
"Nothing valuable," Draco sneered distractedly, but then he seemed to remember himself and fell silent.
Harry, Ron and Hermione got up to leave the hall. They shuffled by awkwardly, still shooting dark looks at the Slytherin table. Closer at hand, Daphne pushed her desert away, as well.
"Are you coming?" she asked Astoria. "I'll pop into to my dormitory and grab that pen for you."
Astoria stood up, so Draco and Tracey followed suit.
"Hold on just a moment," said Daphne when they reached the bare, damp stretch of wall that concealed the Slytherin common room. "I'll be back. 'Pure-blood'."The stone door slid open and Daphne darted through followed closely by Tracey, who was cracking her boney back like a xylophone.
"Where have Crabbe and Goyle run off to?" demanded Draco in annoyance, pivoting about to stare at the barren expanse of hallway behind him. Had he only just realized that they were missing?
"You left them in the great hall," supplied Astoria, bewildered that anyone should treat their supposedly best friends so shabbily.
"Oh," Malfoy shrugged, giving off an impression of extreme boredom. "I was going to show them father's letter."
Astoria peered at Draco slyly, beginning to realize how rare it was to find him outside of Crabbe and Goyle's company at Hogwarts. Dull though they were, Crabbe and Goyle were reliably consistent companions—without them, Malfoy had no one to bounce his ongoing stream of insults off of, and his train of speech was surprisingly aimless.
"Go back for them?" Astoria suggested, secretly hoping for an escort out of the dungeons. "I hate walking by myself at night, anyway."
Malfoy smirked, strangely amused by the idea that his presence might rid Astoria of her nervousness. "You're a pure-blood," he drawled. "You're not going to be attacked."
"Maybe not," Astoria shrugged, averting her eyes from the dark labyrinth of passageways that still separated her from the first floor. "Doesn't change the fact that there's a monster lurking somewhere nearby."
Astoria could tell by the slightly discomforted look on Draco's face that the concept of the monster's 'nearness' had never really occurred to him before.
"Fine. But lose the sweater," he scoffed. "Nothing screams 'mudblood' like a Weasley craft project."
Astoria knew this was an insult but she snickered and pulled the lumpy jumper off anyway. Draco leaned back against the wall, as pleased by his own wit as he was by the removal of Fred and George's lingering essence.
Daphne returned, panting slightly. She passed over a small box wrapped in green paper. "Here —I've even wrapped it up."
Now that the exchange had been completed, Draco turned to go.
"Love you, Daph. Merry Christmas," said Astoria, quickly kissing her sister's cheek. Draco dithered, watching this unexpected gesture a little too intently.
The dungeons were large and hard to navigate, particularly at night. Astoria was very glad that Draco knew his way around as well as he did and by the time they reached stairway that led to the entrance hall, they discovered Crabbe and Goyle. They were not alone however; Astoria recognized the voice of Percy Weasley before they had even drawn level with them.
"There you two are!" called Draco, sparing Percy barely a half of a glance. "Have you really been eating all this time? I want to show you something, come with me."
"Astoria!" Percy jolted. "What are you doing down here?"
"What's it to you, Weasley?" sneered Draco at once.
"Saying goodnight to my sister," said Astoria quickly, hoping to keep Percy from puffing himself up like a blow-fish. "Are you going back up to the common room, Percy?"
"I am a school Prefect," said Percy, dashing Astoria's last hope for an escort up to the tower. "As such, I have duties elsewhere."
Crabbe rolled his eyes in a particularly prescient way and glanced at Goyle sarcastically. Astoria frowned. She had never seen Crabbe express any feelings that weren't wrath or hunger.
"Off to bed!" clucked Percy, retreating toward the hall. "I don't want to see any of you out after hours!"
Draco narrowed his eyes. "That stupid Peter Weasley—"
"Percy," corrected Crabbe.
"Yeah, whatever," shrugged Malfoy. "He's been sneaking around an awful lot lately. He probably thinks they'll make him Head Boy if he catches Slytherin's Heir."
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a look of obvious anticipation.
"What?" demanded Malfoy and it took Astoria a second to realize that he was talking to her.
Something about the dull suspicion on her face must had showed because he was glancing between her and Crabbe. Crabbe stared back at Astoria tensely. Then, Goyle, who was standing to the left of Draco, very slowly and almost pleadingly shook his head back and forth. Astoria froze.
"You're afraid of walking the rest of the castle?" guessed Draco. Dimly, Astoria realized that this was probably his patronizing way of offering to escort her if she begged.
"No," breathed Astoria, rallying herself. The only thing she liked less than a long walk in the dark was the creepy way that Goyle had just signaled to her. "I'm fine."
She stumbled off up the steps, surprisingly jittery from the unexpected jolt of adrenaline. It did not occur to her until she reached the safety of the tower that she had probably acted badly in leaving Malfoy alone. He had helped her out of the dungeons nicely enough; what if Goyle was possessed?
0o0
"Granger is a cat," whispered Theodore nearly a week later, pushing Astoria's potions textbook down onto the table so that he could converse with her in private.
Meanwhile, Snape was striding between desks, handing back homework assignments and smiling dreadfully to himself.
"How do you know?" Astoria whispered back out of the side of her mouth.
Hermione had been in the hospital wing since Christmas day, a coincidence that Astoria had not quite been able shake whenever she remembered Goyle's shenanigans in the entrance hall on the very same night. Half of the school had returned to classes assuming that she had been attacked by Slytherin's monster, but Astoria had it on good authority from the twins that she was merely recuperating from a spell gone badly wrong.
"I saw her," Theo conveyed, dropping his voice even lower as Snape drew nearer to their table. "I stopped by the hospital wing after lunch for a headache—."
"Enough chit-chat, Miss Greengrass," shot Snape curtly, placing her essay face down on the table.
Theodore cleared his throat and had the good grace to look slightly ashamed of this blatant House-bias.
"Whiskers and everything!" he went on the moment Snape had proceeded to the next table. "How's your essay?"
"An 'A' for acceptable," admitted Astoria, trying not to let her disappointment show. "You?"
Theodore hastily began to stash his paper out of sight. Astoria fully leaned over to sneak a glimpse of it.
"You got an Exceeds Expectations!" hissed Astoria, outraged. "I helped you write that essay! Why did you get better marks?"
"Maybe I expressed my opinion more articulately," ventured Theodore airily.
"Silence!" demanded Snape lethally, his eyes flicking back to their table for the last time before a punishment would be issued.
Term had officially recommenced, bringing with it the feeling of a slate wiped clean. No new attacks had occurred over the holiday—a hopeful sign. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout had even begun to talk about how fast the mandrakes were maturing.
"Nice, relaxing break then?" Theo went on, pushing their luck.
"Not really, honestly," Astoria admitted, keeping her eyes down to avoid provoking Snape. "The castle is too haunted these days to be any fun while it's empty."
"Who stayed behind?" Theo asked, "You, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and the Weasleys? I probably would have thrown myself off the north tower."
"That girl, Tracey Davis stayed too," added Astoria. "I got to know her a bit. I don't hate her."
The return of Pansy Parkinson and the rest of the more accessible gang of Slytherin girls seemed to have put an end to Astoria and Tracey's blossoming friendship, but it had been enjoyable it while it lasted. At the end of the day, Astoria was just glad to know that her sister had at least one friend who—although slightly vapid—was not altogether silly.
"She's a nosey newt, is what she is," snorted Theodore.
"A what?" laughed Astoria, staring at Theo incredulously.
"You know, a busy body," Theo explained, blushing slightly. "A gossip. She's always got her nose in everyone else's business."
"I stole a bottle of the teacher's mead with her," admitted Astoria, knowing Theodore would be horrified.
"You what?" hissed Theo. "You're lucky she didn't tell the teachers and blame the whole thing on you! I'm sure she's been talking about it in the common room—even Malfoy probably knows by now."
"I expect he does," agreed Astoria, not even attempting to hide her smirk. "He drank it with us."
"What?" Theo breathed
"Five points from Gryffindor, Greengrass!" snapped Snape. "If I hear another word, I'll make it twenty."
Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown turned about in their seats to glare, so Astoria fell silent. When class let out, she latched onto Theo's arm companionably and dragged him off in the direction of her Transfiguration class.
"I've got charms next," spluttered Theo, watching the rest of the Slytherins trickle off in the other direction over his shoulder.
"Be late then," said Astoria firmly.
She wasted no time filling him in. Hagrid and the rooster: ("He is the groundskeeper, Astoria.") Hagrid and Knockturn Alley: ("Everyone goes there, only no one talks about it.") And Crabbe and Goyle's mysterious behavior: ("What?!").
Ironically, it was this third, least concerning story that seemed to strike the strongest chord. To Astoria's surprise, he looked genuinely annoyed with her.
"Crabbe shook his head at you like he was confused?"
"It was Goyle," corrected Astoria, skirting around a pack of third year Hufflepuffs. "No, he shook his head like he wanted me to shut up before I gave him away."
"And you didn't say anything?" demanded Theo.
"I didn't want to be paranoid," argued Astoria, beginning to feel a little defensive.
"Two things that could make a person act like that," insisted Theo seriously. "The imperious curse or impersonation by Polyjuice potion. Do you know how weird and dangerous it would be for a student to have done either?"
"He didn't look dangerous," Astoria stressed. "He looked…"
Embarrassed and nervous, her mind supplied uncomfortably. Baleful even. The more she thought about it, the more familiar his expression seemed to be.
"You're lucky Draco wasn't murdered, that's all I can say," huffed Theo. "Weird things are happening around here lately."
0o0
On the twenty eighth of January, Astoria arrived for breakfast and found four letters with her name on them already waiting for her.
"They're all for you," said Daphne quizzically, eyeing Astoria correspondence with interest.
"Theodore made a sound of irritation and brushed feathers off the bench to sit down.
"Aunt Belladonna," Astoria muttered to herself, reading off addresses as she ticked through the pile.
"One of them is from dad," added Daphne. Then, with a sharp gasp, she reached across the table and stopped Astoria from flipping through her envelopes. "Oh my goodness! It's your birthday! I'd forgotten!"
Theo raised an eyebrow but as Astoria had never told him her birthday before, she did not see any reason to make a fuss.
"It's your birthday, Astoria?" demanded Tracey, coming to a halt on her way down the table. Astoria and Tracey had not spoken once since christmas, but Pansy and Flora were running late so she seemed content to loiter.
"Yes," returned Astoria somewhat formally, annoyed by the way that Tracey always clammed up or refused to meet her eye in Pansy's presence
"Who are the other letters from?" continued Tracey nosily, pointing toward a thick looking envelope sealed with wax.
"None of your business?" suggested Theo under his breath.
"That's the Mendel crest, isn't it?" asked Daphne, pointing toward the letter that had interested Tracey.
It was indeed the Mendel crest, but the handwriting was not Astons: it was his son Maudlin's.
This was somewhat intriguing. Maudlin typically only wrote to Astoria over the holidays. On the rare occasion that he did think to send her a letter out of the blue, it almost always contained a lengthy rant that had nothing to do with her. Overall, he was a lousy corespondent even at the best of times.
"Yeah. It's from Maudlin," allowed Astoria. She held the letter up to her ear. "It isn't ticking. That has to be a good sign."
"You know the Mendels?" sneered Malfoy, who had been obviously been eavesdropping.
"I've known the Mendels forever," Astoria shot back, unfolding the letter. Inside she found three sheets of parchment in Maudlin's lurid script, all written out in French.
"God, he's even used the back of the pages," she muttered.
"Yes, but how do you know him?" asked Malfoy baldly, eyeing the offending letter alertly.
"His dad knew my mother," Astoria answered vaguely, squinting. "Hold on a second, he always writes in French and his cursive is messy."
"What does he say?" asked Daphne politely, spooning sugar into her earl grey.
"Literally nothing," Astoria confirmed, skimming over his long-winded paragraphs. "Oh—but he's written an award winning essay. That must be what the third sheet of paper is, the blowhard..."
Astoria turned to the last page and a single, golden feather fell out. It landed on the table, catching the sun like still water.
"What's that?" asked Daphne perplexedly, picking up the feather.
"Dunno," Astoria admitted, puzzled herself. She glanced back toward the letter. "He doesn't say. Maybe he's taken up poaching?"
"It looks like a phoenix feather," remarked Theo, displaying interest at last.
"Those aren't even that rare," interjected Malfoy unkindly.
"Could be," Astoria shrugged, taking the feather from her sister.
"Does Maudlin go to Beauxbatons?" asked Tracey pertly, unreasonably curious about a person she had never met. "Is he good looking?"
"He doesn't even wish me a happy birthday!" realized Astoria resentfully, skimming the papers a second time to be sure.
"How old is Maudlin?" Tracey pressed. "Has he finished school?"
"He's fifteen," responded Astoria cooly, folding the letter up and stuffing it underneath her plate. "He's fine looking, and yes he goes to Beauxbatons."
Crabbe, meanwhile, was eyeing the golden feather with something akin to childish delight.
"Here," said Astoria. Seized by a whim to be rid the thing, she foisted the feather onto Crabbe. "You can have it."
"Thanks," grunted Crabbe, casting sparkling patterns all over Goyle's robes as he waved the feather around like a wand.
Malfoy watched him with a lazy half sneer for a moment until a darker look crossed his face.
"It's just a feather, Crabbe," he snapped, knocking it back onto the table, bothered by the sight of it.
Astoria wadded up Maudlin's note and turned to her aunt's letter.
Dear Astoria,
Today marks the first day of your thirteenth year, my darling, and of the beginning of womanhood...
"Ug," Astoria groaned, folding this letter up as well.
"Aren't you going to write back?" asked Tracey intently.
"Write who back?" demanded Astoria, surveying her pile of crumpled up birthday wishes.
"Maudlin!" cried Tracey, clearly feeling that the answer was both obvious and exciting.
"Eventually," snapped Astoria, filled with a fierce urge to shock and annoy Tracey as much as possible for being such a fair-weather friend. "It does him good to be ignored from time to time."
Pansy entered the hall but Tracey did not stir; boys, especially rich ones, were apparently her ultimate trump card.
"Why wouldn't you want him to think you're interested in what he has to say?" demanded Tracey shrilly. "His dad practically owns Monaco."
"It's possible Aston might literally own Monaco," Astoria corrected. "I respond to his letters—God knows they're more interesting.'
This was a piece of cruelness that Astoria would not have dared in front of Maudlin himself, but what he could not hear wouldn't hurt him.
"When has Aston Mendel ever written to you in your entire life?" demanded Draco, positively dripping with skepticism.
Astoria seized the fourth letter and turned it over. Much as she had suspected, she found a second Mendel seal.
"Ha!" Astoria laughed. "Most recently today."
She tore the letter open, savoring the look of irritated shock on Draco's face.
Tracey continued to stare at the mail hungrily, but when it became clear that Astoria was not going to tell her anything more, she faded away toward Pansy.
0o0
Astoria had hoped that this was the last she would see of Tracey for several months, but Valentine's day rolled around two weeks later and dashed her assumption to pieces.
Late coming down, Astoria literally had to pause to wipe confetti out of her eyes the moment she thrust open the doors to the great hall. An explosion of lurid pink flowers awaited on the other side of her temporarily obstructed vision; above, an orgy of frilly, lace hearts cascaded from the ceiling. Stranger still were the dozen or so surly looking dwarves standing along the walls. Each dwarf, Astoria noticed, was wearing a set of cupid wings, and together they were busy checking things off of lists, looking very much like a troop of irritant prison wardens.
Theo's thin, embarrassed face stuck out like a sore thumb in the usual Slytherin breakfast crowd.
"What the hell happened in here?" demanded Astoria, perching on the edge of the bench because the table was so rowdy.
"Lockhart happened, that's what," snapped Theodore, glaring at the candy-coated walls.
Beside him, Millicent Bulstrode eyed her confetti-paper eggs miserably. "What a waste of a perfectly useful day," she grumbled.
"What a waste of a perfectly useful breakfast," added Astoria with a smirk, gesturing toward Millicent's ruined eggs. "What's with the dwarves?"
"Astoria!" screeched a demanding, female voice.
Astoria looked up, surprised to see that Tracey was hailing her from her end of the table. Balancing on her thin knees between Pansy and Flora, she looked like nothing but trouble.
"What do you think she wants?" asked Astoria, genuinely baffled by so much suddenly renewed interest. "Can't she make up her mind whether she likes me or not?"
"You're one of the pretty people," explained Theo glumly. "It's valentines day—you have utility again."
Astoria scoffed but a look around the hall sort of confirmed his point: the gossips were alive with frivolous energy. The outcasts and slumping scholars, meanwhile, had scooted to the ends of their tables, intentionally trying to avoid eye contact as though they found the whole scene to be vaguely shameful.
"Astoria!" screamed Flora harshly, annoyed by the lack of response. Astoria flinched.
"What?" asked Astoria, seeing nothing else for it.
"Happy Valentine's day, Astoria!" called Tracey, eyes shining with mischief. "What do you think of the decor?"
Unlike Pansy and Flora, Tracey did not appear to be blushing or giggling. Instead, she was genuinely enjoying the scene in a level-headed, sociopathic sense.
"Feeling romantic this morning, Greengrass?" heckled Blaise, turning about in his seat as well.
"You know, I'm not?" Astoria held up a hand to catch a few miniature hearts. "But I have a feeling that resistance is futile."
"Yes," agreed Tracey, her eyes dancing mischievously, "romance is rather like a viking warrior today."
Marcus Flint leered toothily. On Blaise's other side sat Draco Malfoy, who was clearly trying and failing to find the whole spectacle to be more humorously beneath him than it was annoying. A bit of confetti stuck to his robes; he twitched it off so sharply that it might as well have been a live bee.
Pansy cleared her throat. "Us girls have made a pact to share our valentines," she announced in a high, coy voice. "We thought you might want to join us."
Astoria tried hard not to snort. "I'm not sending anybody a valentine by dwarf."
"It's not just sent valentines," explained Pansy keenly, "it's received ones as well."
"Why would I want to do that?" asked Astoria, resisting the urge to remind her that they had never been friends.
"So that we'll know if a boy sends more than one of us a note, of course!" trilled Flora, letting loose a high-pitched giggle.
"Or if someone sends anything particularly lewd," added Tracey hopefully.
"You want to be sent a valentine by a dwarf?" Astoria demanded, unable to see sense in this plan.
"So you're not interested, then?" shot Pansy, her tone vaguely hostile and very accusatory. "Why so secretive? Have you got a crush you were hoping to hear from?"
Draco, Blaise and Marcus were all watching her now and Astoria realized she had unwittingly walked straight into a trap. She couldn't very well refuse Pansy now without looking like she was hiding something.
"Fine," Astoria gave in at last, wishing she had stayed with Theo and not allowed herself to let Tracey entice her into such an aggravating situation. Pansy smiled, placated. "But I doubt anyone will send be something."
"Yes they will," insisted Tracey, flashing grin that should have been outlawed. "Ten galleons says you'll spend all day dodging cupids."
What was most incredible about this statement was that, in the end, Tracey turned out to be quite right. Astoria had barely made it out of the entrance hall before she was besieged.
"Signed, sealed and delivered," stated the dwarf gruffly, handing Astoria a scroll.
Theodore read along over Astoria's shoulder:
"Roses are red, Violets are blue,
If I wanted a shag you'd certainly do."
"Well that's classy," wheezed Theodore, laughing despite himself. "Look, it isn't even signed!"
"Probably some first year," muttered Astoria, rolling the scroll back up.
"Bet it was MacLaggen," jeered Theo.
But this theory was proven to be incorrect a few hours later when Astoria received a second, slightly less rude note and a single flower that Cormac had signed his name to.
"Hmm," chucked Tracey, who stopped in the hallway to witness the delivery in person. "I'm disappointed. I thought the card would be tartan…"
Astoria chuckled and rallied herself, thinking that receiving two moderately embarrassing valentines must be better than not receiving any at all.
A box of chocolates from Lee Jordan came next, and they almost would have been a nice gesture if someone had not already opened the container to remove the toffees (although to be fair, Astoria could not totally rule out the dwarf who had delivered it). Even worse was an excruciatingly sweet, poorly worded note from a secret admirer that Astoria could not help but feel had a touch of Neville Longbottom's style about it.
"I'm not sitting with you at lunch," insisted Theo stubbornly as they made their way back down the marble staircase. "You're embarrassing."
"Good thing I never sit at the Slytherin table for lunch, anyway, isn't it?" said Astoria retaliated hotly, warm around the ears. "You do realize I'm going to have to hand these over to Pansy later?"
"Ha!" burst Theodore exuberantly.
"It's like she knew all of the creeps were going to dredge themselves up for me," Astoria continued self-pityingly.
"I think she had something a little more precise in mind," murmured Theo in a low voice. "Like checking who is sending you valentines, for example."
"Why does she care who sends me valentines?" asked Astoria irritably, resisting the urge to hide herself behind a suit of armor as another cupid went trolling by. "This is a smear campaign against my respectable name!"
"Whatever you say," laughed Theodore darkly, peeling off to sit with Millicent Bulstrode, who had not been bothered once by the sulky, winged messengers.
The worst was still yet to come. Astoria's afternoon double potions lesson was interrupted by a particularly sullen, pushy looking dwarf clutching pan pipes.
"I have a valentine for an Astoria Greengrass," the dwarf bit out in a gravelly voice that would not have been out of place in homeless chain smoker. He propped the door open with one of his sandaled feet.
The class went silent, perhaps in anticipation of how Snape would react. Astoria, who had been balancing on the back legs of her chair let the front ones drop to the ground loudly.
Snape swallowed hard and for a moment Astoria thought she would be rescued. But then, with a wave of his hand, he indicated for the dwarf to proceed quickly.
"Which one of you is Astoria?" demanded the dwarf stoutly, eyeing the collected students with small, hostile eyes.
Oh, God...
"She's over here!" yelled Tracey, pointing toward Astoria's mortified head.
"You've got to be kidding me," muttered Draco Malfoy coldly somewhere behind her.
The dwarf wobbled across the room to stand in front of Snape's desk. He blew on his pan pipes once to set the mood and then, to Astoria's horror, he began to sing:
When it comes to Astoria, I haven't a shot,
Where'er she goes, she's looked at a lot
But whenever she'd pass,
That delectable lass
The front of my pants did advance a whole lot.
There was a long, heavy silence punctuated only by Astoria's own, stunned laughter.
"Out," ordered Snape and the dwarf removed himself from the front of the classroom as quickly as he had appeared without another dungeon door closed again with a dull bang. Astoria buried her face in her arms to collect herself and then peered behind her.
Pansy was tomato red and choking with silent laughter, thrilled by Astoria's humiliation. Astoria pointed past her toward Theodore and mouthed: "You?"
Theo shook his head and mouthed back, "Are you insane?"
Astoria scanned the room for more candidates. Her eyes lit on Draco for a moment but he looked foul tempered and annoyed. Then, without having to give it another thought, Astoria realized exactly who had sent the singing valentine.
They were already pointing and laughing at her from the Gryffindor table when class let out.
"Where did you get it?" demanded George, coming up for air. "Where there people around?"
Astoria bit her lip. "In the middle of potions class."
Fred threw his hands up in the air as though he had scored in quidditch and hooted. Astoria, who had had about enough of the whole holiday, shook her head and wondered off to a quieter stretch of table.
"I got a singing valentine too," perked up Harry, who had been watching her sheepishly. "If that makes you feel any better."
It didn't, because Astoria had just recognized the look on his face as being the same one she had seen Goyle make after christmas.
Checking quickly to see if anyone else was sitting nearby, Astoria leaned forward.
"Harry, you didn't disguise yourself as Goyle so that you could sneak into the Slytherin common room on Christmas did you?" she asked.
Harry stared at her in disbelief. "I—who told you that?"
"No one," Astoria reassured him.
"Then how did you know?" asked Harry, clearly disconcerted.
"Because you made the same face when you were disguised as Goyle," said Astoria. "I assume Ron was Crabbe?"
"Look," Harry muttered, chewing on the side of his mouth. "I thought it was Malfoy doing the attacks. Ron and Hermione helped me come up with a plan to get him alone so we could interrogate without him realizing that it was us. Only he didn't know anything. Please don't say anything."
"I won't tell anyone," promised Astoria, thankful to have solved at least one mystery even if she didn't believe for a second that the idea had been all Harry's. "Even I could have told you it wasn't Draco, though."
"Yeah," said Harry. "We know that now. In any case, you can't exactly blame me for suspecting him."
"I guess not," admitted Astoria, her thoughts shifting back onto Hagrid and his dead rooster. Hadn't she been toying with the idea of telling someone for weeks? Well here it was: the perfect opportunity.
"Listen," said Astoria, making up her mind—if Harry was trying to find the Heir of Slytherin, she might as well give him a hand. "I saw Hagrid in the woods a few weeks ago. He was swinging a dead rooster around. I don't know if you've heard, but the chamber was opened once before. It was about fifty years ago and I don't know how old Hagrid is, but I'm guessing that sort of tracks. I know he's your friend, but he's also got a real thing for monsters. "
For a long moment, Harry didn't say a word.
"I wouldn't normally say anything," insisted Astoria awkwardly.
"No, I know—it's ok," Harry mumbled at last. "Really. Don't worry about it. Someone else basically suggested the same thing to me earlier tonight."
0o0
Beyond tired and desperate for the solitary comfort of her own bed, Astoria climbed the steps after dinner one at a time, mulling over what she had just done.
As sure as she was that Hagrid was capable of accidentally letting a monster loose in the castle, she was equally certain that he wouldn't have wanted it to hurt anybody. Slytherin's monster on the other hand—whatever sort of creature it was—sounded like more of a servant than a wild animal. How many creatures were capable of following elaborate commands? Perhaps Hagrid had nothing to do with it at all?
"There you are, Greengrass!" It was Flora and she was all alone. "Going to bed? As if! Come on, Pansy, Tracey and your sister are in the library!"
She took hold of Astoria's arm and pulled her up the steps.
At seven o'clock at night, the library was nearly deserted but for Pansy's group of Slytherin girls, Marcus Flint and Blaise Zabini who was leaning against the table. As Astoria drew nearer, she caught a glimpse of Malfoy's sleek blonde hair hidden by one of the window seats with his feet propped up against the wall rudely.
"Found her trying to sneak off to bed," said Flora gayly. "Look, Astoria; even your sister got candy!"
Daphne grinned and offered her a candy heart "I found them in my bag. Whoever it was didn't used a dwarf."
"They have my vote then," laughed Astoria, sitting on the table top.
"Thanks for bringing cupid to class today, Greengrass," leered Blaise smugly. "Did all of your valentines come with a musical accompaniment?"
Draco sat up properly in the window seat and sneered, "I still can't believe the teachers actually let those things roam the school all day!"
"It was all Lockhart," scoffed Tracey, speaking to Draco but looking at Blaise. "The other teachers only went along with it. Did you see Snape's face this morning when Lockhart suggested we ask him how to make a love potion?"
"Mudbloods are being attacked all over the school," Draco insisted disdainfully, "there's no way Lockhart got a pack of dwarves in without Dumbledore approving. I bet the headmaster was all for it, the crazy old bag! He probably charmed the confetti himself."
Astoria laughed. This had not occurred to her, but now that Draco had said it, she thought he was probably right.
"The whole thing was so tacky," agreed Pansy, siding with Draco immediately. "What else did you get, Astoria? We've already heard the singing valentine."
"Nothing really," Astoria shrugged, pawing through her bag. "A box of chocolates and a couple of anonymous notes."
"Anonymous?" asked Flora abrasively, shifting to peer into her bag.
"Cormac sent her a flower," said Tracey provokingly, "and he signed his name."
"A flower?" sneered Malfoy contemptuously, his interest sufficiently gained. "Thats original."
"Cormac MacLaggen?" repeated Pansy keenly. "Isn't his dad on the Wizengamot?"
"Yes," said Tracey, her eyes sparkling maliciously in a way that seemed to suggest a private manipulation. "The flower came with a card from a florist too, so he was probably planning on sending it to Astoria even if Lockhart hadn't hired the dwarves."
Malfoy stood up, stretching his arms irritably. Pansy's gaze shifted toward him, lightning fast. "It's getting late, isn't it?"
"It's only seven o'clock," snapped Malfoy waspishly.
"He's just in a bad mood," hinted Tracey, who seemed to possess a real capacity for stirring others without ever leaving her seat. "Didn't any of you boys get into the spirit at all today? None of you sent anything?"
"I didn't," sneered Draco.
Blaise chuckled to himself.
"You lot didn't have to use the dwarves you know," said Tracey. "There was nothing stopping you from sending valentines by hand. Nothing at all."
Tracey had finally gone far enough to make Pansy scowl at her and Astoria began to see what button Tracey was pushing; neither Tracey nor Pansy had gotten a valentine from the boy they had wanted and both Draco and Blaise stood accused of disinterest.
Marcus smirked and spread his hands, "Well, I sent you ladies valentines."
Draco and Blaise both turned curiously towards Flint.
"You sent that?" asked Tracey incredulously, pulling a crumpled piece of parchment out of her school bag. "Roses are red, Violets are blue. Your friends all said no but how about you?"
Blaise raised an eyebrow, his languid features casually appreciative of this wittiness.
"I got one of those as well, " said Astoria. "Did they all have a rude 'roses are red' motif?"
"Why stray from a classic?" leered Marcus. "You should consider yourself lucky, Greengrass. You're the only Gryffindor I sent one to."
0o0
Well, this was a frivolous chapter! I reread the Valentines day part in the book recently though and I wasn't able to resist the urge to do something with the 'friendly, card carrying cupids'. They were just too ridiculous to be ignored but I promise to upload some content containing real plot soon!
On another note (and please, this is not a plea for punishment) I don't usually work with a beta (I'm very lazy about this) and while I do typically do go over a chapter for grammar and typos before posting, I am able to recognize that I'm sometimes guilty of doing a poor job editing my own writing. More often than not, something about the fact that I know what a sentence is supposed to say tricks my brain into sliding right over errors that would obvious to me f someone else had written them. Has anybody been finding that they are frequently getting tripped up by poorly constructed/edited paragraphs because I have a few lovely friends that I'm sure would not mind polishing over these chapters before posting. Just let me know!
I'll put up the next chapter later in the week!