Chapter Thirteen
The Country Club
AN: The first chunk of this chapter should really have just been attached to the last chapter. Most of this is about the summer before third year and Sirius Black, but I've tacked on the finish for Chamber of Secrets in the beginning. Sorry if the flow is all funky.
0o0
The week before their originally slated exams, Professor Mcgonagall announced at breakfast that they would proceed with end of the year tests as scheduled.
"Only at Hogwarts," Theodore muttered to himself darkly over a cauldron full of shrinking solution a few hours later. "I really thought that after Dumbledore went, the whole system would break down and we'd end up home a month early."
"I don't suppose I care about the exams," Malfoy drawled, picking up on their conversation from a table away. "It's not as though my studying has been interrupted."
But Malfoy seemed to be a minority where this was concerned. While Theodore might be the only person to have let his Charms homework slide in order to catch up on his knowledge of obscure Goblin military affairs, he was certainly not the only one who had let his studying suffer.
"This is dreadful," admitted Tracey Davis. "I'm behind on everything. I won't pass anything."
"I could help you study?" suggested Daphne primly, chopping up her fuzzy caterpillars.
"Why bother?" Tracey sighed dramatically, her eyes falling onto Astoria and sticking there.
Astoria measured out a portion of shrivel fig juice and ignored her.
Not everybody was busy sweating their exams however. Some people were optimistically looking forward to the revival of the petrified students and the school's inevitable return to normality.
"What do you think the students will say when they wake up?" Lavender wondered at lunch.
The news that the mandrake restorative draught was nearly finished had been announced at breakfast.
"What if they don't know who attacked them?" asked Parvati somewhat fearfully. "What if no one ever catches the Heir?"
Astoria tried to tune this talk out. She too would be relived when the ordeal was over, but something about the rapidly approaching end of the attacks seemed to invite all manner of last minute tragedies.
"I wonder if Hermione will tell us what being petrified feels like?" added Lavender excitedly.
Astoria privately suspected that the experience of being petrified could not be any more interesting than sleeping, but she did not say so.
"Do you think they'll let Dumbledore come back once everyone has been revived?" asked Parvati. "What do you think, Astoria?"
Astoria blinked, startled out of her own private reverie by the sound of her name. "What? Yeah. I think Dumbledore will come back."
"Isn't your aunt on the board of governors, though?" insisted Lavender.
"No," said Astoria, "and the last time I checked she had no plans to join either."
"Oh," said Lavender, undeterred. "Well, what do the Slytherins think? They keep pretty close tabs on that sort of thing, don't they? They're not great Dumbledore supporters."
She shrugged so Lavender, annoyed by the lack of information, returned her attention back onto Parvati until the bell rang.
Astoria was standing behind Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan in the line for History of Magic when Professor Mcgonagall's magically amplified voice filled the air.
"All students are to return to their house dormitories at once! All teachers return to the staffroom. Immediately, please."
At first, the hallway fell into a terrible silence. Then, the hum of buzzing speculation burst wide open like an angry hive of bees.
"Do you think they've cured everybody and figured out who the Heir of Slytherin is?" asked Neville Longbottom hopefully.
"I doubt it," muttered Astoria darkly as the crowd began to pull itself roughly in several different directions.
"Gryffindors, this way!" called Percy Weasley flagging them forward.
"Come on, Neville!" said Astoria shuffling around a troop of harassed looking Ravenclaw third years. "Let's get back to the common room."
They passed the second year Slytherins on the fourth floor and Astoria successfully managed to catch Theodore's eye. She slipped away from Neville as discreetly as she could.
"What's happened?" she hissed, ducking low next to Theodore so that Percy would not see that Astoria had ceased to follow him.
"There's been another message written on the wall," Theodore informed her grimly.
"What did it say?" asked Astoria, conscious of the fact that Neville's cloak had disappeared around the corner. "Quickly! I have to go—"
"It said 'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever,'" intoned Theodore quietly.
"Whose skeleton?" whispered Astoria sharply
Theodore shifted uncomfortably.
"Who?" Astoria pressed tensely.
"Well, they're all saying it's Ginny Weasley."
0o0
It was the worst evening Astoria had ever spent at Hogwarts. Nobody was allowed to leave the tower and the Weasley's grief lay heavily over everything like a funeral shroud.
"They'll just have to go in and get her," Lee Jordan kept repeating. "Ginny's not dead. The students who were attacked will be able to help the teachers find the chamber. They'll go and get her back."
This was not reassuring to anybody, however. There was simply no reason why the students who had been petrified would know how to find the Chamber of Secrets. Fred and George were inconsolable and after a time, they broke away to be by themselves with Ron and Harry by the hearth.
"Oh, man," said Lee, burying his head in his hands. "This is the worst. She can't be dead, can she? She's a pure-blood."
Astoria had no answers for him.
Professor Mcgonagall stopped by around six o'clock to inform the entire house that they would all be leaving by the train the next morning. Dinner was served late in buffet style against the wall near the windows that overlooked the forest and Hagrid's empty cabin. Astoria hated every mouthful of this last supper, and when it was done, she took herself away from the heat of the fire and went up to her dormitory.
Everything here was quiet and familiar, but Astoria could find no peace in her bed or the familiar smell of its furnishings knowing that it might be the last time she ever saw them. Two beds away, where Parvati slept, Astoria could hear the faintest sounds of muffled crying.
Astoria climbed under her blankets fully dressed, fighting against the sore feeling in the back of her throat that insisted that she too would like nothing better then to weep.
For a long time, she lay very still, waiting for morning. Eventually Parvati ceased to cry and the room fell still, but Astoria could not force herself to relax. A horrible storm of emotions was wreaking chaos within her chest. What if she never saw Hogwarts again? What if Astoria was sent to Beauxbatons? It was very likely that she would be, as her father had gone there. Would she ever see Theodore again? What about Fred or George—or even Draco? The countless acquaintances she had made outside of her home; had all of it been for nothing?
At last, angry and devastated, Astoria struggled toward the end of her bed and opened her trunk. When she had been a very little girl, Astoria had been keen on keeping journals. She had not had many friends before Hogwarts, after all, and so many of her feelings had been alarming to her sister that she had picked up the habit as a coping mechanism. Even now, she felt a similar urge stirring within her, but it was not a diary entry that she wanted to write.
Dear Aunt Belladonna, Astoria wrote, her hand shaking slightly.
I'll be coming home tomorrow, as I'm sure you have been already informed. Where I am coming home 'to' still remains a mystery, however. I no longer know if I live with you or my father. I can only assume it will be you at the station waiting for me, just like the omen of dark tidings that you truly are.
Astoria paused, wondering if she would ever have the guts to send the letter she was composing.
I am sure it does not make you sad to know that a first year girl has been captured by the Heir of Slytherin. I say this because I am not convinced that you have feelings. Even now, you are probably busy making plans for me and giving no thought to the fact that a family may have lost a child. The girl is presumed dead. It is my greatest fear that I will someday think the way you do.
Presumed dead. Astoria stared at this sentence for so long that it began to blur and lose its shape. It took one of her own tears falling onto the letter with a silent splat! to make Astoria blink and realize that she was crying. Giving up on writing, Astoria held herself, purging her body of some of its aching sadness.
Eventually, so tried that she could not think properly, she fell asleep.
0o0
Morning light shone brightly through the gap in her bed curtains, rousing Astoria from a deep slumber.
The sound of movement seemed to be coming from all around her and it was a mark of how solidly she had been sleeping that it had not woken her sooner. Assuming that this was the last minute scramble of preparing trunks for departure, Astoria groggily dragged herself out of bed.
One look at the dormitory was enough to plunge Astoria into a state of confusion. Trunks were not packed; they were open and messy as usual. There were no random clothes or books heaped on beds. Parvati and Lavender were both rattling about in the stairwell.
Astoria dressed quickly, trading only her skirt and her tights in a hasty attempt to look groomed and still reach the common room as quickly as possible. She hadn't even finished dragging her messy hair into a pony tail as she stumbled down the stairs.
The common room was an explosion of sight and sound. There were no traveling cases or tearful farewells and nobody was was embracing somberly. In fact, Percy Weasley was drinking a bottle of butterbeer…
Astoria froze and rubbed the sleep from her face, certain she had not seen this correctly. She had never known Percy touch anything stronger than pumpkin juice...
She was still blinking stupidly when someone caught her around the middle and lifted her clean up off of the floor.
"What's happening?" Astoria spluttered, staring at the side of Fred Weasley's face in bewilderment.
"The Heir of Slytherin was caught!" Fred roared.
"Ginny?" Astoria insisted, trying in vain to put her feet back on the ground as Fred pulled her up and down cheerfully.
"Alive and well in the hospital wing! The Chamber's closed and all of the students who were petrified have been revived! Lockhart's been sacked and Dumbledore is back!"
"What!?" Astoria shrieked throwing her arms around Fred mid-bob. "How?"
George pressed a bottle of butterbeer into her hand and Astoria took it without thinking, hardly able to process so many good things in one sentence.
"Lucius Malfoy's been forced off the board of governors," added George, who looked as though he too could barely contain his happiness. "An order's been sent to bail Hagrid from Azkaban and exams have been canceled!"
Astoria screamed and threw her hands up in the air, covering them all in layer of foaming butterbeer. "How did this happen?"
"Harry," said Fred, his look of joy taking on another note of pride and thankfulness. "He and Ron went down into the Chamber of Secrets last night—they figured it out somehow. Harry brought back Ginny."
"Who was the Heir of Slytherin, then?" asked Astoria, tightening her fingers around the neck of her butterbeer bottle.
"Well," said George, "that's where this all gets a little confusing."
They took their time explaining what they knew, energetically consuming butterbeer and fingers sandwiches. To Astoria's surprise, Percy never once reprimanded either of his brothers for raiding the kitchens or demanded that they keep their voices down.
Ginny had been tricked by Lord Voldemort and he had used her to open the Chamber of Secrets. Then, in order to keep Ginny from telling anybody what was happening to her, he had brought her into the Chamber to die, which explained why she had been taken despite her blood status. Harry had gone down to retrieve Ginny and had fought the monster (a basilisk). Lord Voldemort and had once again been preventing from making a triumphant return.
"A basilisk!" Astoria exclaimed, feeling the pieces come together.
"What about the basilisk?" asked Fred, grinning at the expression on her face.
"That hissing voice I heard! That's why I couldn't understand it but Harry could. He's a parselmouth!"
George gaped at this but pretty soon it became just another detail in a series of details that came together to form an incredible story; a story that had miraculously avoided a tragic ending.
0o0
The rest of term passed in a blur of sunshine and glorious well being. Everything had been fixed overnight in a way that only ever seemed to happen in fairy tales. The castle, no longer held hostage by a monster, began to come back to life. Without exams to take in June, the last few weeks were something like a glorious vacation. Only Draco (who seemed to view his father's removal from the Board of Governors as an insult) seemed to be able to resist the general spirit of happiness.
By the time Astoria began to back her trunk for real, she was such a different state of mind from the last time she had contemplated doing so that she didn't even mind folding up her sweaters and burying them under her pile of Lockhart books.
"Those'll be the first things to go when I get home," Hermione insisted, dumping her once well-loved set of Lockhart books into the bottom of her trunk.
It was only as Astoria was emptying her bedside of stray earrings and quills that she remembered the half-letter she had composed to Belladonna on the night the school was expected to be closed. Astoria unfolded the letter carefully, almost as though it might be poisonous and read it again, experiencing a ghost of the same dread she had felt writing it the first time.
For a moment, it was as though the warm sun streaming in the windows had gone behind a sudden cloud. But behind her, Astoria could hear the sound of Lavender humming as she collected socks from under the bed. A decidedly normal noise. She closed the letter again and buried it deeper than her copy of Magical Me, grateful for the luxury of being able to forget her grief.
It was a letter that did not need to be sent. Perhaps someday, Astoria reflected wearily, but not yet.
0o0
A hearty summer storm rattled the windows of Astoria's attic bedroom. Three floors below, the roses in her aunt's garden were wet and tattered; heads bobbing in a pool of water that had been growing steadily wider for two days.
Theodore was stretched out on the floor with his feet against one wall and his head against another, smoking one of Belladonna's expensive cigarettes and exhaling out the window. Belladonna had been gone all morning and Theodore's smoking habits had grown steadily more lazy and languorous the longer she remained away.
"This rain is bollocks," said Theo, eyeing the sheet of water outside. "Wish we could go out into the garden."
Astoria, who was busy curling and brushing out her hair in the mirror on her dressing table, cast him a withering look. Theo's moods changed according to whatever it was that he could not have. If it had been sunny, he would have complained about the heat and insisted they sulk about in the attic.
Theo continued to sprawl and Astoria's eyes wandered from his long nose to the spindly ankles. He had had another growth spurt and it seemed as though an additional foot had been added to his already lanky frame. Theo had never looked more like a spider than he did currently with his feet propped up above his head.
"Your pants are too short," Astoria jibbed, yanking on the cuff near his socks and grinning.
Theo made a undignified little squealing sound and pulled his socks up to prevent her from touching his legs.
"I can't buy them fast enough," he admitted, holding his cigarette between his teeth as he yanked on fabric.
"You'll be a giant soon," Astoria smirked, returning to her hair. "A big, snarky giant."
"And you'll be a trophy wife in a wig. Lay off your hair for a bit, will you?" insisted Theo, rolling onto his stomach as though he hoped the view from behind might give his short pants an air of greater dignity.
Astoria smiled but continued on sweeping back tendrils of hair from the front of her face and fastening them with bobby pins. Her father was taking Astoria to a late afternoon lunch and had promised to bring Daphne as well. Astoria had hardly left Belladonna's house for the first full month of break, and any excursion into the public was a prospect she greeted desperately.
"Fine," she declared the moment she did not think any more improvements would take. "I'll go like this, but if Amos Diggory spots me and tries to cart me off for tea, I'm going to assume that I look like a goat and it will be entirely your fault, sir."
Theo cast her a quick, moody look. "As if that would ever happen. You wake up prettier then half of the witches in London do after a visit to the salon."
Astoria smiled appreciatively but Theo continued to gaze at her almost accusingly until she finally caught his eye in the mirror. "What?"
"Nothing," said Theo resentfully. "It's not fair though, you know," he added after a moment, talking into the carpet. "Summer rolls around, I get even uglier and lankier and you just get more nice looking. As if we needed to be any more different."
"You're not lanky, you're tall," insisted Astoria. "That's a proper masculine trait in my book."
Theo snorted. Two floors below, they both heard the sound of the front door closing.
"That's your aunt, isn't it?" asked Theo, standing up to throw the cigarette over Astoria's window frame. "She must be back."
"I assume so," said Astoria. "That or a gang of inept robbers."
"Send me an owl tomorrow?" asked Theo, pulling his pant cuffs down as far as they would reach because they were struggling back up toward his calves.
"Are you going?" asked Astoria. "I was looking forward to your comments down there while I did my make up."
Theo grinned and yanked one of her buoyant curls before taking a fistful of floo powder and heading for the fireplace in the storage room.
Astoria turned back toward the mirror, studying the shape of her own face expectantly. It was funny what a point Theodore always made of pointing out their differences in looks. He always seemed very keen to insist that she was pretty, but Astoria had a harder time seeing this than he did.
She was pale, too pale perhaps; she had not spent enough time outside, preferring to sulk in the attic. Still, Astoria was beginning to find something unreasonably intriguing about getting to know her own features. From certain angles, she found that she could appear soft. From others, she was able to coax a glimmer of Belladonna into her expression; cold and lovely. It was as though there was more than one person lurking behind her face and this struck her as a slightly more menacing idea than having legs that grew too long too fast.
Still, it was a vain game to play, sitting about and staring at herself in the mirror, especially now that Theo had left. Astoria got up and slipped on the pair of shoes she wanted to wear for lunch and went to meet her Aunt in the foyer.
Belladonna was still standing near the door and holding a shopping bag when Astoria came into view. At her feet, Bonky was bobbing and bowing and doing his best to remove Belladonna's cloak and collect her bag at the same time.
"You look lovely today, darling," called her aunt distractedly when Astoria reached the last stair. "Is there an occasion?"
"Not really," Astoria shrugged.
Belladonna finally managed to extricate herself from Bonky, so Astoria moved in to have a look at the mail. She shifted a letter aside and read the Daily Prophet headline silently. BLACK STILL AT LARGE.
"They haven't caught him yet?" asked Astoria, flashing the newsprint at Belladonna.
"What?" murmured Belladonna, brushing down the front of her robes. "Oh, no. They've even begun to air warnings on muggle newscast now, I hear."
Astoria dropped the paper back on the table, disturbing a bouquet of roses that had been cut before the rain had started.
She did not like the idea of a prisoner escaping from Azkaban. It was bad enough that anyone was ever sent to Azkaban at all, but Astoria rather liked to think that, once a person had been sentenced, they were obligated to stay there. She had spent her entire childhood fighting a battle between wishing her mother had never been imprisoned and being afraid of what would happen if that fact ever changed. She did not like having a daily reminder that wizarding prison existed sent to her door.
"Where have you been all morning?" Astoria asked at last, tearing her eyes away from Sirius Black's moving photograph.
"Oh, nowhere in particular," said Belladonna placidly. "I ought never to have left. It's simply dreadful out."
As if on cue, the wind blew roughly against the windows and Astoria smelled the scent of wet grass and crushed flower petals on the air that blew in under the door.
"Have you had lunch?" asked Belladonna, collecting the mail that Astoria had been shifting through from the table.
"No," said Astoria. "Dad is supposed to be taking Daphne and I out in about an hour."
"Is he?" asked Belladonna, suddenly less distracted. "You never mentioned—where is he taking you?"
"The Club, probably," Astoria answered truthfully, knowing her aunt would sneer.
'The Club' was her father's newest conquest. After years of only ever entering The Club's hallowed halls after being asked to dinner as the guest of an actual member, (usually because he had recently drawn up a client's will or had talked a youngest son out of an unpromising business venture) Astoria's father was finally being sponsored for membership by Tiberius McLaggen.
Aunt Belladonna said nothing. She pursed her lips as though it were on the tip of her tongue to say something comical, but then she seemed to think the better of it.
"He's been sponsored by Tiberius, hasn't he?" she asked keenly. "Tiberius's wife is something of a bonbon."
"Yes," Astoria agreed, not altogether liking the fact that Belladonna's sharp mind had moved so quickly from her father and Tiberius McLaggen to her father and Tiberius's wife.
"Well, the best of luck to them all," Belladonna sighed. "But Tiberius has a son, doesn't he? Nearly your age?"
"Cormac," Astoria supplied, not altogether wishing to discuss the MacLaggens any further. "He'll be a fourth year this fall."
"Do you know him well?" Belladonna asked, motioning with her hand toward the small, floral patterned sitting room where Bonky was laying out a simple tea.
"Not really," returned Astoria, taking care not to shrug or look overly disinterested. The truth was, Astoria knew Cormac, but found him pompous, vaguely rude and altogether uninteresting. She did not want Belladonna to become fixed on him in any way just because he was rich and a pure-blood. "He's in Gryffindor."
"Is he?" asked Belladonna and Astoria could tell that she found this to be news worthy of noting. "What sort of boy is he?"
Belladonna poured them both tea and Astoria's eyes followed the ethereal mist of steam that rose from their cups until it dissipated
"Loud," said Astoria carefully, "a little rude and very forceful. His head is shaped exactly like a shoe box, though. It's almost fascinating."
"Ah," said Belladonna with a wry grin, gently stirring sugar into her cup, "he takes after his father then."
0o0
At precisely ten past two, Astoria's father arrived in a blustering hurry, late but magnificently well groomed with Daphne bobbing along in tow.
"So sorry, darling," said George fondly, planting a kiss on Astoria's forehead. "Things always turn out mad the exact minute before one is about to leave the house, don't you think?"
Astoria smiled warmly at Daphne and fixed the bow her sister had tied into her hair so that it was no longer drooping.
"After years of tardiness, George, you might have learned to schedule time for that 'madness' into your day calendar," called out Belladonna by way of a greeting.
"Bella," hailed George jauntily, purposefully overlooking her rudeness in the way that he always did.
Astoria's father was the only person that Astoria had ever heard call her aunt 'Bella' and she suspected that he did it just to annoy her. It was Astoria's personal theory that, years ago, when her father had first realized that he was no match for Belladonna's barbed tongue, he had made the decision to counter her ire by being willfully annoying and misunderstanding instead. It was one of the most effective methods Astoria had ever seen employed against her aunt, and even as she watched, Belladonna's smile thinned.
"Shall we be going, girls?" asked George, raking a hand through his wavy, still-brown hair. There was always a youthfully vibrancy about George Greengrass. Despite the precise, unyielding nature of his job as a lawyer, his face always seemed to express a desire for dilettantism.
"You'll be back for dinner, I suppose?" asked Belladonna pointedly.
"Oh yes," said George, ushering both girls toward the fire. "Or ten minutes after, if you like."
They stepped out of the next floo into a glorious blur of sunshine. The rain that had hung so heavily over Belladonna's house showed no signs of appearing over the long, sprawling green lawns that Astoria could just see through the sets of tall windows. A pleasant, balmy summer heat seemed to hang heavily over the well ventilated sitting room they had entered and the long white drapes that hung around the french doors were lifting softly in the breeze.
"A drink then," said George, checking his wrist watch, "and then we'll see if they can have us seated."
There were two elderly gentleman a few feet away, talking privately on a velvet upholstered sofa. Astoria had only taken two steps behind her father toward the bar before one of them called out, "George!"
"Macmillian!" cried Astoria's father, stopping short and beaming, "and Bertie too, how are you?"
Daphne dithered behind Astoria so as to visually minimize herself as much as possible from these two strangers.
"Busy, old chap," answered Mr. Macmillian pompously, reminding Astoria irresistibly of his son Ernie. "You've heard, of course, about the new orders concerning the dementors?"
"I had heard something about it," said George. "Of course, in my line of work, I have actually seen Azkaban. Dreadful things, dementors—but you must know what the ministry plans to do with them until they capture Sirius Black. Don't you head the committee for the control of dangerous creatures?"
Mr. Macmillian was clearly eager to launch himself wholeheartedly into what would likely be a long winded diatribe about the ministry's plan to capture Sirius Black, but Bertie had spotted Astoria and Daphne.
"Who are these two lovely creatures, George?" interrupted Bertie before Macmillian could properly begin.
"Oh," exclaimed George, looking as surprised as Bertie when he glanced at them. "My daughters, Astoria and Daphne."
"Your daughters?" exclaimed Bertie, his eyes particularly focused on Astoria. "Surely not!"
"I'm afraid so," said George, flashing his most winning, straight toothed smile.
"Are we interrupting?" asked Mr. Macmillian. "This can wait until after your lunch—"
"Actually," said George and Astoria's hopes for a pleasant afternoon began to crumble, "I was just about to have a drink. Why don't you go on, girls? Explore the grounds for a moment and we'll meet up for an early supper."
Daphne looked as though she would rather be force fed poison than wander about a country club she did not belong to. Astoria seized her hand, not wanting to suffer the indignity of having to beg their father not to leave them in front of strangers.
"Where do you want us to meet you?" asked Astoria, staring into her father's eyes, hoping to at least privately shame him before they were abandoned.
Mr. Macmillian was waving at a waiter, who had appeared out of nowhere. "A scotch for me —you Bertie? Ah yes, two scotches! George?"
"Gin and tonic," said George pleasantly, his eyes on the waiter. "I'll be here girls," he said at last, distractedly.
Before Astoria had to watch him sit down, she turned to face the set of French doors that overlooked a patio and pulled her sister along. They walked wordlessly across the golden parquet floor and Daphne's hand tightened in Astoria's.
"Where are we going to go?" muttered Daphne unhappily.
"The bar," said Astoria firmly, feeling faintly vengeful.
The bar was still within sight of their father and Mr. Macmillian, but the presence of a large potted plant coupled with George's relative disinterest in either of his children made Astoria feel safe enough to lean across the white clothed surface and attract the attention of the nearest server. For once, Daphne kept her peace and did not chastise her.
The bartender, a pimply faced boy of about nineteen, gave her a long, mournful glance and quickly averted his eyes.
"Could I have a gin and tonic please?" asked Astoria, taking a savage pleasure in ordering her father's own drink.
"Are you of age?" the boy asked dubiously, his hand dithering over one of the bottles.
"Of course," said Astoria, smiling her most confidant and winning smile for him.
The boy blushed and seemed to know that she was not telling the truth but after a second of hesitation he fetched a glass, perhaps wishing to avoid a scene.
"Name?" he asked.
"Sorry?" said Astoria.
"Name?" the boy repeated, looking faintly embarrassed. "So I can put it on your tab."
Oh," said Astoria. She was not certain if her father, whose membership had not yet been approved, would have a tab already in place. Perhaps he had been planning to buy their lunch with cash? A darker thought crossed her mind. Perhaps George had been planning to have dinner with Mr. Macmillian and Bertie all along and had not planned on paying at all.
"Macmillian," said Astoria stoutly, earning her first gasp of disapproval from Daphne.
"He won't ever know the difference," Astoria whispered as the boy went to write this down into a ledger near the liquor bottles. "Come on."
Astoria's eyes, which had been scanning the lounge with interest, suddenly stopped as she spotted a glimpse of white-blonde hair in an armchair directly across from them. It was Draco Malfoy and he was alone, flicking through a newspaper on the table in front of him and looking bored. Everything about his casually annoyed posture seemed to say 'waiting' and as if to prove this, he flipped the newspaper shut sneeringly and slouched back against the velvet cushions he was siting on. Astoria looked away the moment he looked up.
"Shall we go outside in a minute?" asked Astoria, turning back toward her sister without acknowledging Malfoy at all.
"I suppose," said Daphne, "but I think it's a golf course."
"Well, what then?" asked Astoria. "We have to do something. We can't just lurk around waiting for dad to finish."
"Since when are you two members here?" asked a drawling, skeptical voice.
Draco, evidently having nothing left to do with his newspaper, had crossed the room and was standing at the corner of the bar. His pale arrogant face was almost unchanged since May.
"Dad just applied for membership," said Daphne brightly, seizing the moment as an attempt to legitimize themselves.
"Mhmm," said Astoria.
"Oh, I thought your aunt must be a member, Astoria. I've seen her here before," admitted Draco lazily, his eyes on Astoria's glass. "I doubt they'll take your father. No one ever wants to sponsor. They're very exclusive, of course. Did they serve you?"
At that moment, the bartender put Astoria's glass down in front of her. Draco eyed it appraisingly. Perhaps it had never occurred to him that the staff might serve him liquor before. He attempted to get the bartenders attention, but the boy had turned away again. Draco leaned across the bar and made a snapping motion. "Make it two."
The bartender nodded, his blush deepening and Astoria couldn't help but pity him.
"Dad is sponsored, actually," said Daphne primly.
"Is that so?" scoffed Draco, raising a rather condescending eyebrow.
"Yes," said Astoria, who had had about enough of Malfoy's snideness. "Tiberius McLaggen's gotten him in so they can have a place to sneak off and get drunk together without their wives."
The bartender returned and Astoria thanked him because she was almost certain that Draco would not.
True to form, Malfoy took his drink without casting the boy behind the bar another glance and sneered, "McLaggen? Well thats rich. Has he taught you his highland fling, yet?"
Astoria laughed boldly, moved by the terrific image that this question inspired.
"That'll be on Macmillian as well?" asked the bartender nervously, nodding toward Draco's drink.
"Mine's on Malfoy," said Draco sharply, obviously keen to make the difference known. "Why are you here with the Macmillans?"
"Oh, can't you put them both on Malfoy?" asked Daphne desperately; a rare public display on her part. "We're not here with the Macmillans!"
Astoria smirked wickedly and the bartender blanched, his eyes twitching back toward her in confusion. "Neither of you are with the Macmillians?"
"No, I am," said Astoria, smiling mischievously before adding under her breath, "even if he doesn't know it."
"What, did you case a list of members?" sneered Draco, making a face, as though he could not decide whether he found this distasteful or vaguely genius. "You can put them on mine if Daphne has one. That'll be a laugh."
Daphne clearly did not want the drink, as perhaps Draco already knew, but she rushed to accept it anyway, glad that they were, at the very least, no longer stealing.
"What is there to do here other than hide from relatives behind potted plants?" asked Astoria once the bartender had skirted off, clearly relieved to be away from them.
Malfoy shrugged and his eyes flicked back across the room to a set of doors that he had been sitting near. Astoria guessed that he was waiting for his father and would not want to stray far.
"There's the hall of portraits, I suppose" Draco suggested, surprising Astoria slightly. "No one ever goes down there."
The hall of portraits was aptly named as it was a long corridor, thickly carpeted and lined with hanging pictures of ancient club members. A dignified sort of silence seemed to hang here and Astoria could not even make out the sound of her shoes against the floor because the rugs were so thick.
Draco continued along the hall as though he had walked it many times, moving swiftly beneath the gaze of bearded wizards wearing monocles and top hats until he came to a set of doors that opened up onto a rather professional looking library all done up in oak. Draco did not enter this room, however, but turned and followed the hallway for a few more feet until it came to an abrupt stop in a small deserted alcove sporting the same sort of furniture as the lounge. These couches were set underneath such a spectacular window that everything was dazzled by sunlight.
Astoria immediately cast herself across the couch, propping her knees up on the armrest to keep her dressy heels from pricking the velvet. She heard the sound of Malfoy's feet dropping heavily onto the polished wooden table across from her. There was a swish followed by a thwack out on the green as someone hit a ball off a tee. Astoria turned her eyes back toward Daphne, who was still standing uncomfortably.
"Do you want to sit down?" asked Astoria, making to sit up and make room.
"What if dad comes looking for us?" asked Daphne..
"He won't," said Astoria bitterly, sipping on her gin. "He's too busy discussing dementors with Macmillian."
"Oh yeah," said Draco slowly. "Father says they'll be patrolling hogsmeade until they find Black—if they find Black, of course. The man broke out of Azkaban so he's obviously going to give them a hard chase."
"Why Hogsmeade?" asked Astoria, finishing her drink and fishing the soaked cucumber from the bottom of the glass. "Do they think he's interested in the school?"
"They think he's interested in Potter, of course," said Draco snidely. "Precious Potter's in danger again so the government's taking precautions to make sure they don't have a dead hero on their hands."
"Why would Sirius Black care about Harry?" asked Astoria, not quite able to connect the dots. "Because he was a Death Eater, they just assume—"
"Because Sirius Black turned over the Potters to the Dark Lord," explained Draco, his look of nonchalance slightly marred by the way he was peering at Astoria to see what her reaction would be. "Then, of course, the Dark Lord fell. I suppose they think Black will try to avenge his master. Wish he would…"
"What?" Astoria gaped, blinking at this influx of unexpected information.
"Yeah," drawled Draco, clearly enjoying being the center of attention as he always did, even if it meant having to talk about Harry. "Of course, Fudge is so embarrassed that Black managed to escape prison in the first place that he'd do anything to capture him before he kills again."
"How do you know that?" Astoria asked.
"About Fudge?" asked Draco haughtily. "He and father are close."
"About Harry's parents," Astoria clarified.
"Oh," said Draco, trying to recollect. "I suppose Father must have told me. It's not public knowledge, of course, but I think everybody in the know at the time probably heard. Apparently Black and Potter's dad were old school friends before Black became a Death Eater, so it was a betrayal of the highest order. You know how Black was caught?"
Astoria raised her glass to her lips and came away with nothing but ice. "Yeah, something about blowing up a street full of muggles."
"Your drink is gone and I don't even want mine," said Daphne. "We should go find dad."
"Give Astoria yours," commanded Draco so quickly that she almost wondering if he had expected this might happen. "Anyway, it wasn't just a sidewalk full of muggles he killed—they were just collateral damage. He was actually dueling a man called Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew was another one of Potter's old school friends, and he had hunted Black down for revenge."
Astoria took her sister's drink without looking at her, listening to Draco's story so intently that she almost spilled it. "Did he kill Peter then, Black?"
"Yeah," said Draco, savoring the tale. "The only part of Pettigrew they found was a finger."
"I'm going to go check on dad and make sure he isn't looking for us," said Daphne, who did not seem to enjoy stories about people being blown up or reduced to single remaining digits.
"So how did Sirius Black know where the Potters were in the first place?" asked Astoria, watching as her sister turned and strode back down the hall of portraits.
"It's like I said," said Draco, stretching out as long as he could in his armchair. "He and Potter were friends at school, weren't they? Potter Sr. was probably just as stupid as his son. He must have told Black where his hiding place was and then Black turned them over."
"So Black was an undercover Death Eater?" Astoria asked. "Until the street duel, at least?"
"All Death Eaters are undercover, Astoria," said Draco condescendingly. "You should know that. For the most part, Death Eaters weren't even supposed to recognize each other. It was the best way to avoid detection. Of course, Sirius Black still managed to surprise everyone. He was supposed to be working for Dumbledore, you know."
Astoria slumped back on the couch, thinking this over. She could feel Draco's eyes on the side of her face as she contemplated what it would feel like to know that the man who had betrayed her parents to their deaths was on the loose again.
"Want to know something even more incredible?" asked Draco.
Astoria could tell at once that whatever it was he was about to tell her was calculated to shock her and was probably not something Lucius would want his son sharing.
"Father says Black had it in so close with the Potters that they actually named him their son's godfather," Draco continued smugly.
"Sirius Black is Harry Potter's godfather?" asked Astoria, a lick of dull shock caressing her insides.
"Goes to show you, doesn't it?" said Malfoy, finishing the end of his drink. "So, of course, the school will be on lockdown again. Can't have 'The Boy Who Lived' getting murdered by an escaped convict."
Astoria was beginning to feel the gin she had drunk. Something about the idea of Harry being hunted down by a lunatic fresh from Azkaban made her feel rather ill. Why did everything always seem to happen to Harry?
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the sofa cushions, letting the sunlight pouring in from the wide window warm her thighs and the side of her hand that was resting on the table near Malfoy's shoes. "I'm sure Harry will be fine."
Malfoy snorted but Astoria still did not open her eyes. The lack of sound in this part of the building was slightly muffled and very soothing...
"It's going to make our Hogsmeade trips this year ridiculously unpleasant, I can tell you that much," said Malfoy peevishly. "We'll probably have to pass by an entire guard of dementors just to get to main street."
"Mhmm," Astoria agreed. A small breeze blew a lock of her hair across her face.
"Are you falling asleep?" sneered Malfoy, perhaps feeling that this was an insult to his story-telling abilities.
"No," said Astoria calmly.
"I suppose your Father and MacLaggen will come looking for you?" asked Draco by way of a clipped warning. "It's probably Cormac's dream to find you unconscious though, isn't it?"
"Not with my father present, surely?" Astoria smirked, opening her eyes and sitting up. Draco's sneer had deepened into a scowl so Astoria went on, "Father's off drinking with a bunch of middle aged lawmakers. It'll be dark before he'll tear himself away to find me unless Daphne interrupts and she's too civil for that sort of thing. As for McLaggen, I haven't seen him since school, so I suppose I'm at liberty to sleep all I like. Where's your father, anyway?"
"In a meeting with the heads of St. Mungo's," said Draco, who seemed slightly cheered by the news that McLaggen wasn't lurking nearby. "Something about donations. Father always says it pays to keep them in his pocket. I know Fudge is on the same board. Thats probably why he does it every other year."
Sometimes the words that came out of Draco's mouth amazed Astoria. It was as though he was capable of completely forgetting who he was talking to.
"That's funny," said Astoria, smirking perversely, "my aunt always says that it pays to be married. I assume that's why she does it every other year, as well."
Draco did not seem to be able to decide whether or not she was joking so Astoria laughed into the bottom of her second drink as a clue.
"Come on," said Astoria, standing up at last. "I want to go look at the hall of portraits."
"Why?" asked Malfoy.
"I want to see if Cormac's got a great boxy uncle hanging on the wall," insisted Astoria, giggling meaninglessly. "Someone with a great big, bushy beard."
The hallway was as silent as when they had left and bizarrely still; even the clocks did not dare to chime the hour. Astoria teetered back a few paces to have a look at an old greying wizard wearing a pince-nez and debated taking off her heels, which were beginning to hurt her feet.
"Can you imagine how silly we're all going to look about a hundred years?" asked Astoria, frowning at the portrait in front of her.
"I suppose," said Malfoy, his pale eyes fixed on Astoria instead of the painting as she rocked back, perhaps afraid that she might trip in her shoes and call down the wrath of the distant librarian upon on them.
"Oh, look," said Astoria, spotting another picture of a severe looking blonde man shaking hands with a politician. Even in a black and white photograph, the resemblance between Draco and the man in the picture was striking.
"That's my grandfather," said Malfoy at once and his tone instantly became haughtier. "Abraxas. I got my middle name from him."
Astoria quirked an eyebrow and watched as Draco's grandfather shook hands over and over again with the man next to him.
"Your father does something smarter with his hair, I think," commented Astoria slyly, tilting her head, "or maybe he just has more of it. Your grandfather lived in a cruel age of formal styling."
"What does that even mean?" asked Draco, leaning against the wall and watching her. Astoria began to suspect that he had never had any interest in the hanging pictures at all and had only followed her to avoid having to sit by himself.
"That your father has rather stylish hair and your grandfather does not," said Astoria, smirking to herself before kicking off one of her shoes. Standing in them was becoming an effort and there was nobody around to offend. Astoria leaned against Malfoy, who was already braced against the wall for balance, and undid the second shoe's strap.
"You like my father's hair?" asked Draco self consciously while Astoria clung to his arm, finally managing to pull the second shoe off.
The feeling of her stocking feet firmly planted on the floor did wonders for her sense of well being. "Yes," said Astoria. "It's always so cheerfully villainous."
"He's got the same hair I have," sneered Malfoy, sounding almost resentful.
"You wear it differently," Astoria insisted.
Daphne reentered the hall and Astoria could tell by the look on her face that she had not been able to speak to their father. She was returning defeated.
"Dad?" asked Astoria, knowing what the answer would be.
"He's still with Mr. Macmillan," Daphne confirmed. "Draco's dad is looking for him, though."
"Oh yeah," said Malfoy, suddenly alert. Astoria took the empty glass from his hand instinctively as he passed, afraid he was going to walk back into the waiting room with it.
Astoria gazed at her sister and shrugged.
0o0
It was nearly nine o'clock at night by the time Astoria finally took the floo back to her aunt's house. The back of her head ached dully from napping with Daphne on the couch near the club library and no matter how often she rubbed it, she could not seem to knead the tension out. She and her sister had not eaten until nearly seven o'clock at night—a later lunch than even she might have expected.
Belladonna was still awake in the living room. Despite Astoria's brewing headache, she teetered toward her aunt awkwardly. The lamps had all been turned down and a faint haze of cigar smoke clung just at eye level, floating like a thick, sweet smelling dream. Astoria heaved herself into a chair across from her Belladonna, her eyes on the still smoldering cigar sitting in the silver ashtray.
Belladonna did not smoke cigars and there were two lowball classes on the coffee table. Only one of them had the faint trace of lipstick around the rim that marked it as her aunt's. Belladonna looked up from a letter that she was reading, her fingers were clutching a thin red wine glass. She was alone but Astoria could not help but feel as though she had just walked into the scene of an intimate romance that had only just concluded.
Astoria reached out to snub the still smoking cigar and her wrist appeared oddly pale in the dim light. "You don't smoke cigars," she observed. "Who have you had dinner with?"
"An old friend," said Belladonna lightly, her almond shaped eyes barred and unreadable. "He's moved to the continent of course. He was only in town for the one night."
Astoria promptly pulled her shoes off again and sniffed what was left of a brown liquor at the bottom of a crystal decanter. "You've broken out the good stuff for him."
Belladonna arched one eyebrow gracefully. "Nothing slips past you, it seems."
"Don't they notice, men?" asked Astoria, experiencing an odd, uncomfortable irritation over the fact that her aunt felt such a need to coerce in order to please. "Don't they notice that you've broke out the best liquor in the cabinet for them? Do you really have to try so hard?"
Belladonna laughed, but the sound was like the chiming of bells and it contained no real warmth. "Seduction is an art, darling, and like art, it is often incomplete, crude or simple. In the right hands, however, it can be a thing of complexity, or beauty." Astoria leaned back in the chair, feeling heavy headed and slightly feverish.
"As with art," Belladonna continued, surprising Astoria slightly, "I think you'll also find that it is often at its most memorable when it is slightly... disturbing."
Astoria shivered, but whether this was the effect of aunt's words or simply because of the choking haze of the cigar, she did not know.
"How was your dinner with the fools and the thieves?" Belladonna asked, sipping her wine.
"Long," Astoria admitted, wiping mascara from underneath her eyes, positive that it must have smudged while she had slept under the warm sun. "Father ran into Mr. Macmillian about five minutes after we arrived and continued talking with him until the sun was nearly setting."
"I thought so," smirked Belladonna, sounding more than just a little satisfied.
"The ministry is sending Dementors to Hogsmeade," Astoria continued, choosing to ignore the satisfaction that her father's ill-care always seemed to give her aunt. "To protect Harry Potter."
Belladonna did not seem to react to this news with surprise, although she did raise an eye at Astoria's phrasing. "Is that the way Macmillian put it?" Belladonna asked keenly.
"No," Astoria admitted. "He only said that the ministry was considering sanctioning a move to quarter half of the Azkaban guard."
"And who was talking about Harry Potter? Or have you simply drawn your own conclusions?"
"Draco Malfoy mentioned it," said Astoria lightly, wishing she had said nothing because admitting this made her feel almost as though she had been caught with a secret. "He seems to think Black has a grudge against Harry Potter. He said something about Sirius Black and Harry's dad being school friends."
Belladonna sucked on her teeth for a moment, thinking. "For a family with so many secrets, one would think Lucius would have taught his son a little discretion."
"I think Draco probably can keep a secret," said Astoria fairly, "only he can never resist bragging. Honestly, I was curious."
Belladonna chuckled darkly. "Go to bed duckling, you look as though you've been hit by a storm."
Astoria blinked her stinging eyes slowly and then did as Belladonna said, walking the two flights of stairs to the attic slowly, the shoes in her hand banging against the banister.
More smoking, more drinking. I'm a terrible author, I know. I'll drown flamey reviews with my child-corrupting tears and feel bad about myself. Really, I will.
On a side note, ten points to Slytherin for anyone who noticed the Hot Fuzz inspired "great big bushy beard" and twenty points to Slytherin for anyone who read it out loud in Inspector Frank Butterman's voice. You are my kind of person and I salute you. For anyone who has not witnessed this magical moment in cinema, I suggest youtube. The clip is only eleven seconds and it makes me laugh every. single. time.
I'll have the next chapter up before Sunday if I can!