Chapter Nineteen
The Abduction of Tracey Davis
0o0
The first rays of sunlight prickled Astoria's eyes like thistles. She had woken up once before after drinking fire whisky—this second time was no better. She felt like death; her head was pounding, and her mouth was dry from salt and liquor. When she blinked, she found that the vision in one of her eyes was blurry. Had she slept with her face pressed against the mattress all night?
Heaving a sigh, Astoria rolled over and attempted to loosen her sheets, which had become wrapped around her neck during the night. After a moment of deliberate and confused scrabbling, however, she discovered that the culprit wasn't a blanket at all—it was a Slytherin colored scarf.
She unwound the scarf and studied it carefully, massaging her bleary eye. She was almost positive that it belonged to Draco.
"Ugh," Astoria moaned out loud, surprised by the sound of her own voice in the thick, fabric draped silence.
Between the pounding in her temples and the pressure in her face, she might as while be underwater. The idea of moving— beyond unpleasant—made her want to lie back down and sleep until sunset. Only her stomach was growling painfully; if she did not drink water soon, she had a bizarre notion that she might shrivel.
The clock beside clock told her that it was ten thirty. There was still plenty of daylight left. Dizzily, Astoria stood up and began to dress herself. She was just fixing pearls on her ears when the door of the common room banged open.
"Oh!" cried Lavender Brown. "You're up."
Astoria shrugged and then wished she hadn't: the needless tightening of her shoulders made her head ache. Since when did Lavender care about Astoria's sleeping schedule? Stowing the jewelry she had just taken off in a box, Astoria purposefully kept her eyes averted.
"You owe me a bag of pretzels," accused Lavender pertly. She glared sidelong at Astoria's hungover face and then sunk onto her bed to change her shoes. "I checked with Hermione and Parvati—they both say that they didn't eat them."
"Fine," Astoria sighed. She did not have the energy to combat Lavender's somehow chipper savagery.
"The good kind, too," Lavender insisted. Shoes exchanged, she bounced to her feet and finally spotted the Slytherin scarf on the floor.
"What?" demanded Astoria hostilely.
"Nothing," insisted Lavender primly. "I'm sure I don't even want to know."
Astoria waited for her to leave before shoving the scarf out of sight, certain that it would only invite unwanted questions. She finished doing her hair in painful, self-imposed silence.
0o0
The great hall was almost empty when she arrived. It was Sunday; the early risers had already eaten and the rest of the school was sleeping in. Spotting Theodore's long, anxious face from across the room, she made her way towards the Slytherin table—mercifully free of any quidditch players—and slumped into a seat.
"Morning," she grumbled, pulling trays of toast and tomatoes toward her plate.
"Afternoon, you mean?" corrected Theodore, just a little unpleasantly.
"Afternoon, then," amended Astoria snappishly.
"Tired, are you?" asked Theodore. He was peering at her face intently. The effect was not comforting.
"A bit," Astoria admitted. She swallowed her mouthful of toast carefully, unsure how her tender stomach would react to solids.
"Well, you look a right sight better than Blaise did this morning," grumbled Theodore at last. "He must had have a rough night—but I'm sure you already know all about it..."
Astoria forked a tomato and stared straight at Theodore's pale, suspicious face.
"What?" she demanded at last. "We were obviously drinking, and there was more Fire-Whiskey after you left. I'm sure Blaise did wake up wretched this morning—I certainly feel horrible."
"Fire-whiskey?" shrilled Theodore. "What happened to the butterbeer?"
"We finished it," Astoria deadpanned. She was doing a very good impression of 'unworried', but the truth was, Theodore was making her nervous. Even worse, she did not entirely understand why.
"I shouldn't be surprised," Theodore grumbled coldly. "Judging by the state of everybody when they returned last night."
Astoria helped herself to more tomatoes.
"You're lucky you didn't get caught," Theodore pressed.
A hostile silence fell, threatening to envelop their conversation. Astoria shrugged.
"Malfoy sure looked pleased with himself!" Theodore finally burst. Astoria's already-churning stomach did a hard flip-flop.
"Hmm," she grunted, conscious of the fact that there was air of accusation in Theodore's tone.
"I suppose that was just the fire-whiskey, was it?" Theo went on, piercing her with look of such a blazing intensity that Astoria gave up playing coy.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she scowled.
"Only that Pansy was being a complete cow to your sister!" returned Theodore, speaking very rapidly. "And the moment she left, you started making revenge eyes at Draco!"
"I did not!" Astoria lied. "Besides, Pansy didn't come back after lunch."
"I know she didn't," Theodore admitted crossly. "She stopped by the common room after lunch and saw me, so I lied to her. I told her you'd come back to the castle with me. I was afraid she'd rush back out and provoke you into doing something disgusting, you see..."
Astoria blinked, absorbing this news with mixed feelings. The cold reality of sobriety had returned her to her senses; she knew that flirting with Malfoy in front of Pansy would have been a real disaster. Still, Theodore was bothering her.
"You lied to keep her in the castle?" Astoria repeated dubiously. Just how obvious had she been?
"I lied to save you from yourself!" declared Theodore emphatically.
"Don't be so dramatic," Astoria grumbled, massaging her temples with her fingers. "What do you mean 'Stop me from doing something disgusting?" she repeated. "What did you think I was planning to do? I was only going to flirt with him enough to be aggravating!"
A brief look of relief infiltrated Theodore's features, softening his disgust. Astoria's annoyance mounted.
"I wasn't going to strip down and jump in the lake for attention, you know!" she insisted angrily.
"Good," mumbled Theodore. He straightened his very crooked tie and picked up his coffee mug. "The lake is cold this time of year..."
"You know what? It doesn't matter!" scowled Astoria, feeling pig-headed and ill. "I was a big, drunk flirt. I'm sure Tracey told Pansy all about it!"
"Hah," clipped Theodore coldly. "Doubtful. Davis knows that Pansy would blame her for not interfering—and there's no way the boys will fess up. No sense in sacrificing a pretty face for gossip. No, no—your plan was a failure. An absolute, abject failure!"
"Did you swallow a thesaurus for breakfast?" wondered Astoria, narrowing her eyes.
Theodore laughed again; a dry little cough that sounded like a stick of chalk being snapped in half.
At that moment, Tracey Davis entered the hall. Even from a distance she looked pale and fatigued.
"Bloody hell!" Tracey moaned. "Why is it so bright in here?"
She slung herself into a seat beside Theodore. Tufts of her short, bed-wild hair fell into her eyes; Astoria was subconsciously reminded of goose-down.
"Coffee?" suggested Theo helpfully. He held the carafe aloft, but there could be no mistaking his look of vengeance.
"Merlin, no!" Tracey squinted, recoiling in horror. "I don't even know what I'm doing here—I should still be sleeping."
She was not the only person who ought to be sleeping, either: Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle wandered into the hall just seconds behind her.
Theodore heaved a dark sigh of annoyance. Afraid that he would use this as an opportunity to fabric more insane theories, Astoria worked hard to keep her expression neutral.
Malfoy spotted them and hesitated. Unlike Tracey and Astoria, it was obvious that he had taken pains to shower and straighten himself up properly. But a wet comb and a fresh shirt could not entirely hide the toll the whiskey had taken. If Astoria looked closely, she could see faint circles under his eyes.
"What happened to you last night, Greengrass?" asked Draco in an odd voice, sidling around the table the long way.
Astoria was immediately struck by his aura of evasiveness. Draco's eyes seemed particularly eager to shift toward her, but he refused to hold her gaze. The effect made looking back at him feel like a game of cat and mouse. Her sense of unease tripled.
As far as Draco was concerned, any diversion from a facade of utter confidence was usually a bad sign. She began to rack her brains, trying to remember if she had done anything especially embarrassing the day before.
"I was too drunk for the great hall," Astoria admitted, forking her tomatoes with a surprisingly steady hand.
Tracey chuckled, gazing directly at Malfoy. The faint mischief that always seemed to haunt her expression became more pronounced.
"What did you lot do all night?" demanded Theo obliviously, breaking the charged silence. "I don't know how you stayed out in the rain!"
"It stopped raining, of course!" jeered Tracey. "Nobody likes a quitter, Nott. Least of all mother nature."
"We went boating," Astoria added, keen to prevent an argument.
"You mean you stole a boat?" Theodore corrected witheringly. "Why is it always theft and hags with you?"
"What's this about a hag?" demanded Tracey at once, prompting Draco to snort nasally over a bowl of cubed melon.
"Nothing," Astoria sighed, eager to backpedal.
"You know about the hags, too?" insisted Tracey, rounding on Draco. "What did Astoria do with a hag?"
Astor bit her lip and let out an irritated breath: "This is how rumors get started."
"You seem to have a knack for starting unreasonable rumors," sniped Theodore.
"Maybe I'll go to the library?" mused Tracey idly, already distracted. "It's quiet there."
"Maybe I'll come with you," projected Astoria. She stood up and shot Theodore a punishing look.
"Yeah?" retaliated Theodore. "Well, maybe I won't tag along!"
"Maybe she doesn't care," finished Draco impatiently, pushing the melons toward Goyle. "What's with you, Nott? You sound like an oracle—"
Theodore opened his mouth, but Astoria missed what he said next. She was already hot on Tracey's trail.
"That was weird," chuckled Tracey, slowing down in the entrance hall so that Astoria could catch up.
"Yeah, well, Theodore has a knack for weird," admitted Astoria.
"I was talking about Draco!" exclaimed Tracey. "He was piqued."
"Was he?" ventured Astoria guiltily. "I suppose he's just afraid afraid that I'm going to pull a Pansy and spoon feed him fruit. I didn't lick his neck and repress it, did I?"
Tracey made a choking sound. After a brief pause, Astoria realized that this was her way of expressing utter glee.
"As if you're one to talk!" Astoria retaliated. "You spent all yesterday tickling Blaise with a leaf!"
"Yes, but I'd jump Zabini drunk or sober. I think he is glorious and I feel no shame," corrected Tracey. To her credit, Astoria believed her. "Your little show was just a jab at Pansy, though, wasn't it?"
Astoria did not like hearing this observation put so bluntly. It made her feel petty and almost patently ridiculous.
"Unless the urge to sit on Malfoy comes naturally to you?" continued Tracey hopefully. "When you ever put on his scarf! Oh God, you wouldn't stop giggling! I thought I was going to die!"
"Obviously it was an attack on Pansy!" Astoria bristled, trying very hard not to think about the image this description conjured. "What else would it be?"
"Eh," huffed Tracey, clearly disappointed. "I figured as much. You didn't lick him. Between the two of us, you were far more dignified."
"I wasn't outrageous, then?" Astoria pressed, relieved to find that her memory had not entirely failed her.
"Well, less outrageous than me at any rate," shrugged Tracey. "What exactly is your problem with Pansy, anyway? Is it all about this thing with your sister?"
"Mostly," Astoria muttered. In truth, she had never really liked Pansy, but it was only recently that the feeling had turned to loathing. It was easy to blame the change on her sister's defection, but perhaps there was more to it?
"It's a pity!" Tracey sighed, rounding the corner into the library. "It would be so much funnier if you were desperately in love with Malfoy."
"That's a funny sense of humor you're working with, Davis," snorted Astoria.
They passed several bookcases dedicated to Vampires and began to search for an empty table.
"Just imagine it!" moaned Tracey ecstatically, misting over. "Pansy would lose her mind!"
"Tracey!" squealed Flora.
Astoria froze. Beside her, Tracey stiffened, plainly terrified that they had been overheard. Her face was sharp with annoyance and fear. Several feet away, at a long oak table, Pansy, Flora and Daphne were all editing essays.
Their fear proved unmerited almost at once: Flora waved, hailing Tracey toward them and her smile remained enthusiastic until she spotted Astoria. Blinking balefully, Daphne also glanced up. Then, without a second look, she turned stiffly back toward her homework.
Astoria felt a blush rise in her cheeks. It continued to spread until it was no longer a flush so much as fever-sheen.
"Come sit with us, Trace!" called Pansy, gesturing toward an empty chair. "We have an extra seat."
The implication was clear—this was not an invitation for two.
A terribly awkward moment followed. Seeing nothing else for it, Tracey finally turned and gestured an uncomfortable apology. This look told Astoria all that she needed to know: Tracey would have to sit with Pansy, or else risk the penalty of disloyalty.
You horrible hag, thought Astoria, watching Pansy scoot over to make room for Tracey.
She continued to watch, protected from self-awareness by a hot bubble of rage.
Tracey pulled in her chair and ran her hands through her mussed up hair; something about the motion grabbed Astoria's attention like static. All of a sudden, it wasn't just Pansy that she hated. It was all of them. What were Tracey and Daphne doing?
Astoria crossed the library on firm legs. She did not stop until she was standing directly in front of Pansy. Tracey eyed Astoria fearfully; she hunched her shoulders silently, anticipating lightning.
"You're no longer talking to me, then?" Astoria demanded, turning her furious gaze toward Daphne.
Daphne colored, but did not look up. Pansy and Flora exchanged looks of twin ecstasy.
"Daphne!" said Astoria loudly. "I'm talking to you!"
"What?" muttered Daphne, slowly putting down her quill.
Astoria paused, thwarted by the barrier of language. She wanted to scream and storm until Daphne understood her—until she stopped being stubborn and admitted that she was behaving badly. Only this was not going to happen. Astoria already knew it. All she was doing was embarrassing herself and she did not know how to stop.
"Yes, what are you on about, Astoria?" asked Pansy, cackling in a very high, gleeful way.
"The fact that my sister no longer talks to me!" Astoria broke off, afraid her voice was going to crack.
Daphne remained silent, unwilling to address her.
"You know what? Fine, Daphne!" Astoria exploded. "Do what you want! Avoid me in the hallways—pretend I don't exist, but like it or not, I'm still your sister! I'll be here whenever you come around from this bout of insanity! You know why? Because that is what decent people do!"
Daphne was the color of a crimson holiday bow, but her expression remained impassive. Flora, on the other hand, was shaking with such repressed delight that it was a wonder she was even managing to remain upright.
"Is this for real?" demanded Pansy, eyes sparkling with malicious mirth. "God, could you be any more desperate? It's not Daphne's fault that you're always off flouting the rules! Face it, you're a mess! Any decent person would be happy if their sister found people like us!"
Tracey tapped her fingers on the table and let out a tense breath. It was obvious that this fight did not please her at all.
"Yeah, Tracey?" Astoria snarled. "Something you'd like to add?"
Tracey shrugged. Her eyes were blazing, but her body-language remained submissive. This was no subtle game—she could not help Astoria win this.
"No?" Astoria sneered. "You're worse than Daphne, you know! Daphne's all eaten up by anxiety, but you're just a giant phony!"
"Excuse you!" sniped Flora, jumping to Tracey's defense. "She's not a phony. She's a good student!"
Tracey was also turning red—it was a look that Astoria had never seen her wear before. Shame was not a good color on her.
"She is a phony!" cried Astoria shrilly. "Come on, Tracey, you're smarter than these idiots! You know it, too—that's why you're not saying anything!"
"Astoria," muttered Tracey. Her voice was low and even—placating.
"Oh, don't!" Astoria snapped. "You're so desperate for friends that you hang around with Pansy. Then you grouse and grumble when they won't let you wear a matching accessory! Anything to get the gossip on the latest parties, is it? You call me pathetic!"
Tracey had not specifically called Astoria pathetic and something in her expression seem to indicate that she found this accusation unfair.
"You're not pathetic!" said Flora consolingly, sticking her lip out at Tracey.
"What would you have me do then, Astoria?" asked Tracey in a tone of surprising clarity.
"I don't know, be my friend?" suggested Astoria desperately, conscious of the fact that she was scaling the mountain of shame to dazzling new heights.
"Is she kidding?" Flora wailed, gasping for air.
"We barely know each other, and you still like me better than this lot!" Astoria insisted wildly. "What should you do? Stop being a huge, stinking coward and just be my friend! Are you afraid that they're going to take your Slytherin badge away? It's not like my father was a green grocer—nobody is going to lynch you!"
Pansy was gasping huge bolts of air; her eyes were wide and delirious with glee. "Astoria!" she heaved in cold delight. "You're a proper psycho!"
"Yeah?" Astoria sneered nasally, no longer certain how had allowed herself to implode so completely. "So is Tracey. She's a manipulative lunatic and I hope she gets you one day!"
"I'm going to fetch the librarian if you don't stop," warned Pansy. She would, too. It was clear that she found the idea immensely pleasing.
"Don't bother!" Astoria shivered, overwhelmed by adrenaline and regret. "I'm gone! Enjoy your Witch Weekly quizzes and your life of crushing boredom!"
Astoria turned on her heel and began to march away. The table behind her exploded with noise.
"Oh my God!" Flora hissed. "What was that?"
A wave of genuine self-disgust crashed over Astoria's head and threatened to consume her. For a moment, she was afraid that the sensation would travel to her eyes in the form of tears. But then, to her surprise, a chair scraped across the floor and a premature hush fell over the study nook.
"What are you doing?" shot Pansy in utter astonishment.
Rapid footsteps were approaching behind Astoria. Thinking of her sister and hardly daring to hope, she turned around.
It was not Daphne—it was Tracey. She came to skidding halt, staring at Astoria expectantly.
"What do you want?" hissed Astoria, expecting a trap.
"To be your friend," returned Tracey calmly.
She peered over Tracey's shoulder. Pansy and Flora were both stony faced and gaping. "Are you serious?"
"Yes," insisted Tracey. Her look of easy confidence faltered slightly. "Were you?"
Astoria had meant the last bit of her tirade more as an example of Pansy's bad influence, but she was in no position to refuse.
"I mean, yeah—"
"Good," chirped Tracey, taking Astoria by the arm. "You needn't have been so dramatic, you know. A simple offer might have done. I didn't even realize that you liked me."
Astoria continued to stare, stupefied by the sudden turn of events.
"Of course, you're always so busy. Off with those twins, or doing secret hi-jinks that nobody hears about until later. I think this could be rather exciting!" Tracey clapped her hands together. "Ooh, now you can tell me about the hag!"
0o0
It was a glorious save to what would have otherwise been the most embarrassing moment of Astoria's education at Hogwarts. Never in recently memory could she recall having lost control so publicly. By the next morning, she was still reeling.
Still, now matter how shaky the execution, there could be no denying that Astoria had done exactly what she had set out to do: she had publicly called out Daphne and Pansy. Furthermore, not only had she made her feelings known, she had also acquired a female friend—something she had not managed to do since Daphne began ignoring her.
The fact that Astoria had ostensibly won some kind of argument in the bargain did not even occur to her until second period potions class on Monday. Here, she began to realize that the news of Tracey's defection had not only spread—the matter was rife with intrigue.
"She's not coming," announced Flora in carrying voice, dithering near Blaise at the back of the queue. "She says she has a headache, but we all know what really happened."
"Who?" drawled Blaise, following Flora's one-sided conversation with minimal interest.
"Pansy!" stomped Flora.
Astoria, who had been repacking her bag in the shadow of a suit of armor, paused to listen.
"And why does she have a headache?" prompted Blaise disinterestedly, staring ahead at the still-closed doors of Professor Snape's classroom.
"Because of Astoria!" cried Flora, employing a tone that suggested this should have been obvious.
"What about Astoria?" demanded a haughty, compelled voice.
Astoria realized that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had joined the queue.
"Pansy is sick with a headache and it's all Astoria's fault!" repeated Flora delightedly.
"Why's that?" scoffed Draco, quickly and less drawlingly.
Astoria stuffed her books deeper into her bag and debated standing up to announce herself.
"You haven't heard?" persisted Flora excitedly. Every trace of her pity for Pansy evaporated in her haste to break the news. "Didn't you notice at breakfast?"
"Notice what at breakfast?" sneered Draco, beginning to sound a trifle annoyed. "Astoria always eats at our table."
"No—I mean, didn't you notice who she was eating with?"
"What are you talking about, Carrow?" asked Blaise, his attention finally captured.
"Astoria and Pansy got into a fight yesterday," explained Flora dramatically.
"So?" Blaise snorted. "They don't like each other—everyone knows that."
"No, but this was just uncalled for! It happened in the library. And you know how Astoria is—all flouncing hair and rude eyes."
Astoria took a moment to reconcile this description with her own sense of self and failed.
"—anyway, she got mad at her sister and was all like, 'Why don't you talk to me anymorrrre?'"
Blaise laughed.
"Naturally, Daphne was upset," insisted Flora. "So Pansy asked Astoria very nicely to leave her sister alone—"
Astoria sneered at this lie.
"—and then she called Pansy a idiot and told Tracey that she was really shallow for hanging out with us. Apparently, Tracey is 'actually clever'."
Flora mimed air-quotes.
"Sorry?" leered Blaise, brightening with evident delight.
"I know!" cried Flora. "It was so rude! Then, Astoria was all like 'It's either me or Pansy! And we all know you're a coward, so have fun reading Witch Weekly for the rest of your life!'"
"What?" insisted Draco, properly aghast.
"I haven't even gotten to the most ridiculous part!" Flora exclaimed, raising a hand to quiet him.
But Draco was still stuck on Flora's warped description and he would not be silenced.
"Astoria said that?" he demanded rudely. "She said 'it's either me or Pansy'?"
"Yeah!" confirmed Flora. "Or something like that. I tell you, that Astoria has no proper blood feeling what-so-ever. She thinks that she can do whatever she wants just because she's technically a pure-blood. There are rules!"
"I'm not sure anything says 'traditional blood-feeling' better than taking what you want, but I'll bite," leered Blaise. "What happened next?"
"Tracey chose Greengrass!" Flora burst. "She just got up and left us in the library! She abandoned her friends of three years!"
"What do you think they do together, Draco?" Blaise mused languidly, keen to explore the possibilities in great detail.
"I'm sure I don't know!" Flora rejoined waspishly before Draco could even respond. "But, personally, I bet they have lesbian sex and plot the revolution! They made out last weekend!"
The doors to the dungeon opened and Astoria was spared the effort of having to stifle her own laughter by the sound of the bell. Fixing her books, she hastily withdrew her moonstone essay and joined the line.
Tracey was already sitting beside Theodore inside. With an uplifting surge of self-importance, Astoria realized that they had saved her a seat. Feeling especially cocky, she dropped Flora's table a salute as she strolled past.
"This essay is rubbish!" muttered Tracey, blotting out a last minute spelling error with her quill. "Snape is going to think I was drunk when I wrote it!"
"Were you drunk when you wrote it?" wondered Theodore, pursing his lips wryly.
So far, Theodore had been miraculously tolerant of Tracey, but it was clear that it would be quite some time before he agreed to take her seriously.
Astoria sat down and let her hair fall forward to block her face, burning under the intensity of Draco Malfoy's unexpected stare. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see Blaise chuckling to himself.
"Pansy skipped class," whispered Tracey, leaning forward. "She really knows how to capitalize on even the smallest drama, doesn't she?"
"I just heard Flora in the hallway telling Draco and Blaise that we're gay together," Astoria admitted. "I think it's going to be a smear campaign."
Tracey snickered but Theodore pursed his lips again.
"See what you get for sticking your nose in Pansy's business?" he insisted.
"What did Blaise say?" persisted Tracey, ignoring Theodore's jab.
"I don't know," Astoria shrugged. Truthfully, she had been much more focused on Flora's news than Blaise's various reactions to it. "Listen, do you think I often have flouncy hair and make rude eyes at people?"
Pansy reappeared at lunch. Nursing a bottle of water and massaging her neck, she did nothing but complain loudly about Madam Pomfrey's negligent treatment.
"She would only let me stay for an hour—imagine!" Pansy wailed. "If I drop dead tonight, you know who to blame..."
This behavior was so reminiscent of Draco's endless parade of arm-related woes that Astoria did not know if she was more annoyed or amused.
The Slytherins could not be avoided forever, though—especially not now, with two best friends in the same house. It soon became evident that, while Pansy had rallied, (Flora's twin sister Hestia had begun sitting with them at meals) she was not planning to forget the insult anytime soon.
0o0
"You're in my seat, Davis," sneered Draco.
Arithmancy class had just started and Tracey, who normally occupied the chair by the window, had broken form to whisper with Astoria instead.
"Well, now it's my seat," responded Tracey coolly. "I don't see your name on it anywhere."
Strictly speaking, neither of them were correct: Arithmancy did not have assigned seating. But, as nobody had changed seats since the first lesson—Tracey had always occupied the window seat—Astoria could sort of understand Draco's territorial reaction to the change.
The arrival of Professor Vector prevented him from kicking up a fuss, but Malfoy narrowed his eyes. Casting Tracey a look of pure resentment, he allowed himself to be shunted toward the edge of table.
The hour that followed was unbearably hostile. Astoria could feel the pull of expected loyalty from Tracey whenever Draco dared to make a snide comment—but, queerer still—she soon began to suspect that Draco's sole purpose was to prevent her from standing up for Tracey at all costs.
His insults, therefore, soon took on an unusual and very factual quality:
He accused Tracey of having bad handwriting (she did).
He insinuated that her tastes were vulgar (they most certainly were).
He made loud, pointed observations about her height (Tracey was a veritable giant).
Astoria did her best to keep up with these jabs, but the effort soon proved exhausting. Thanks in large part to Draco's persistence, it was also almost pointless.
Dreading the walk to lunch (where Tracey and Draco would be free to attack each other openly) she assembled her things long before the bell.
"Astoria," called Professor Vector at the last minute. "I would like a word with you after class."
Prevented from leaping out of her seat, Astoria hung back. She began to feel a little nervous as the class broke up and headed toward the great hall. What did Vector want with her? She hadn't been misbehaving, which left only the matter of her homework to be discussed...
Professor Vector took a moment to beat chalk dust off of his hands. Then, he pulled a wicker chair out of a darkened corner and positioned it in front of his desk. Astoria was reminded irresistibly of Cinderella.
"Sit," Vector insisted. He rustled about in his desk drawer and withdrew several pieces of parchment. "And relax. I'm not throwing you out."
Astoria eyed the lengths of parchment in his hands warily. She recognized her own rushed handwriting; marked and blotched by multiple errors.
"Was there something wrong with the assignment?" asked Astoria, endeavoring to sound jaunty.
But it was pointless. She already knew that her work was abysmal. Astoria couldn't make sense out of her lecture notes, and the process of turning in a paper was becoming more and more synonymous with a exorcism—no more essay, no more mess.
Vector raised an eyebrow and rotated the bundle of heavily edited papers. He glanced in the direction of the amber-brown rafters, contemplating his next choice of words.
"You're smart," he said at last, slowly spreading his hands. "I can tell by the way you write. You conceal the fact that you don't understand your work very well. It takes a relatively cunning person to hide ineptitude—but that does not mean it is not ineptitude."
Astoria's cheeks colored. She stared into Professor Vector's well-meaning, brown eyes and found herself uncharacteristically mute. She had never failed a class before; she didn't know how it was done.
"If you throw me out, everyone will know it was because I couldn't pass," mumbled Astoria, trying not to flinch. "If you could just wait until next term, I can probably transfer—"
"I'm not throwing you out," said Vector firmly, cutting over her. "This is only a conversation. I mean, are you even reading the texts I assign?"
"I'm reading them," Astoria admitted feebly, hating herself.
"Then what do you suppose is going wrong?" mused Vector, crossing his leg at the knee. A purple-patterned sock peeked out above his loafers.
"I can't break down the numbers," Astoria shrugged. There was no better explanation than this.
"Can you manage decent Transfiguration?" Vector persisted.
Astoria felt the heat in her face sharpen into a stinging sensation behind her eyes.
Can you manage decent transfiguration?
"It's one of my better subjects," Astoria insisted, afraid that he would not believe her.
"Show me something."
Astoria pulled a paperweight across the worn surface of Vector's desktop. With an eagerness that belied her desperation, she waved her wand—the paperweight grew legs and began to dance.
"I see," observed Professor Vector, "but that is not very complicated, is it? Don't amuse me, impress me."
Astoria bit her lip, afraid to let her anger show. She raised her wand again and concentrated, praying that her trembling hands would not forsake her.
The paperweight became a mouse. Then it became a squirrel. A quick charm forced the squirrel to waltz.
For a moment, Professor Vector stroked his clean-shaven chin and said nothing.
Astoria hastily picked up a paperclip. She transfigured it into a hat and presented it to the swing-stepping squirrel. The corners of Professor Vector's mouth turned up silently until he was very obviously grinning behind his long fingers.
"A solid O.W.L level presentation," admitted Vector smoothly. "You're in your third year?"
"Yes," Astoria confirmed, clinging to relief.
"I'll be assigning you extra reading," he announced. Vector stood up and approached a nearby cabinet. "Proper animal Transfiguration is not expected until the beginning of your fifth year—I'm impressed. If you can charm a squirrel, you can master a number chart."
He handed Astoria a book. Several of the pages were turned down and there was a reassuring coffee stain on the front cover.
"Read this before the weekend and we will discuss it together. It's a personal favorite of mine: Transformation Through The Ages."
Astoria took the book, nodding enthusiastically. It was a hateful thing, this hasty agreeableness—she could not help blaming herself for the failure that necessitated it.
Lunch was wrapping up by the time Astoria reached the first floor, so she began the cold trek down toward Hagrid's cabin alone. It was now the end of November; there were signs of frost on the crunchy grass beneath her feet and the air was piercingly crisp.
"What did Vector want with you?" demanded a rude, drawling voice.
Somehow, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had managed to sneak up the path behind her in silence.
"He wanted to tell me how excellent my homework has been lately, lied Astoria.
"Oh," muttered Draco indifferently. "So, you and Davis, then?"
Draco pushed Crabbe out of the way and Astoria hitched up her bag, afraid of accidentally hitting him with it.
"What about it?" asked Astoria, annoyed by the slightly accusatory tone in which Draco was speaking to her and the painful angle of her schoolbooks.
"Don't play coy, everybody's talking about it," shot Draco snidely. Somewhere behind him, Crabbe grunted in agreement.
"Is the Slytherin common room the dullest place in Hogwarts?" wondered Astoria.
She swapped her bag over to her left arm, freeing her trapped hair.
"So you're saying it's not true?" persisted Malfoy. In a maddeningly annoying effort to slow her down, he switched to the side her bag was on again.
"It probably is true," snapped Astoria. "But as I have no idea what you're taking about—"
"It's true—you fancy girls?" demanded Malfoy aggressively.
It was plain that, while Draco found the idea of Astoria preferring women oddly frustrating, he also seemed to believe that it might make a good deal of sense.
Astoria laughed heartily, enjoying his stupidity.
"What's so funny?" snapped Malfoy irritably, clearly not enjoying the joke half as much as Astoria.
"Nothing," she burst, fighting to control herself.
Between failing Arithmancy and laughing so hard, she was almost afraid that her mascara would begin to run...
"As disappointed as Pansy will be, you can run along and tell her that it's not true," Astoria wheezed. "I like boys and Tracey only ditched her because she was bored—not because we're secretly having a lesbian affair."
She could barely even finish this sentence without laughing again. In truth, if Astoria was gay, Tracey would probably be her idea of an ideal candidate; at least she had a sense of humor.
"You tell Pansy," said Draco defensively, beginning to look slightly flushed. "I'm staying out of it and I heard it from Flora anyway, so apparently more than one person thinks it's true—"
"From Flora?" Astoria repeated scathingly. "Well, there's a source for reliable news!"
"I don't know, you could have fooled me," sneered Draco. There was something decidedly jerky about the way he was walking now. "What kind of move was that, anyway? You certainly pay more attention to Tracey than any of the boys in our year—"
Astoria's mouth literally dropped open in protest.
"Of course," Malfoy went on, growing slightly more red and irritated, "you'd have more ground to stand on if you hadn't snogged her last weekend."
"As a joke!" Astoria protested loudly. "She kissed me."
"It didn't look like you minded!" snapped Malfoy nastily. "And then you went and stole her away like a viking bride—"
Astoria shook her head, feeling as though the conversation had spiraled so far away from where it had begun that it was no longer salvageable.
"Malfoy," insisted Astoria firmly, slowing down because they had nearly reached Hagrid's cabin. "I'm not attracted to women. Clearly that is a disappointment to you, and Flora, and probably Pansy as well, but I really don't care. Tracey is no longer their friend because I wanted to hang out with her—and I don't take prissy little gossips into my club, do you understand me?"
Astoria jabbed him in the chest.
Draco wasn't expecting violence; he pulled up in surprise. Astoria promptly closed the gap between them again.
"Furthermore," she went on in a low, threatening tone, "you might want to tell your friends that if I hear anyone has been upsetting Daphne on purpose, I will personally hunt them down myself. If you think I can't get the password, guess again."
For a moment, Malfoy looked genuinely shocked. It was suddenly evident that, on a basic level, they'd been having two entirely different conversations.
But before Astoria could work out his angle, she was overtaken by a flow of new students coming down the path behind her. Draco straightened the front of his shirt where Astoria had jabbed him and motioned toward Crabbe and Goyle. Astoria spotted Tracey and made her way across the rest of the chilly lawn toward her.
"What was that about?" asked Tracey at once, her eyes on Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. They had all pulled away from the rest of the crowd and were muttering darkly.
"Nothing," snapped Astoria, sounding more angry than she intended.
Tracey raised her eyebrows. "What did Vector want?"
"I'm failing Arithmancy."
0o0
I'm sort of opposed to the idea of Astoria only having male friends. Especially when it seems that Astoria is so often fighting with another female (Pansy) and the root cause is a boy (Draco). Enter Tracey Davis, who I think is a much more fitting friend for Astoria than Daphne ever was as far as wits and interests go.
As always, reviews make my day!