Chapter Twenty Three
The Garden Party Pt. Two
0o0
Astoria said her goodbyes to Vincent and Giambattista near the doorway to the cloak room. Feeling light as a feather (even though her feet were sore from her heels) and positively drunk on the experience, she pivoted about and began to contemplate the rest of her evening.
She passed back into green room that led to the conservatory. In her haste to be witty and charming, she had forgotten to ask Giambattista to sign a napkin for Parvati. With a surge of regret, she realized that it was too late to turn around and catch them again. Perhaps she could fake one? Would Parvati even know the difference?
Draco and Blaise were sitting on a couch nearby; both of them turned to look at her.
"Was that the funny foreigner from the garden earlier?" called Blaise curiously.
"Yes," returned Astoria flatly. "He's Giambattista's personal assistant and a tailor for his line, so it's a good thing that no one was rude to him."
"We couldn't have known that," shrugged Blaise carelessly. "Nobody could understand him."
"Where's Tracey?" asked Astoria, looking about.
"Bathroom," Blaise smirked. "She's drunk."
"Perfect," Astoria muttered.
"What happened to McLaggen?" drawled Draco, looking decidedly more smug than he had before.
"Giambattista speaks English, but Vincent doesn't," admitted Astoria, unable to comfortably meet Malfoy's eye. "We had to talk in French—Cormac bailed before we got to the rose bushes."
Astoria sucked in a tight breath. Whatever stunt she had been trying to pull by the fountain had really only made sense while she was still angry. A bit of fresh air and a stroll with strangers had restored her sense of perspective: encouraging Malfoy to molest her was a mad thing to have done.
Theoretically, she was certain that her actions had stemmed from a desire to make Draco feel uncomfortable, but somehow the plan had backfired: it was Astoria who felt embarrassed—if anything, Draco almost looked faintly proud of himself. Perhaps this was because he had technically—albeit under bizarre and unkind circumstances—gotten to second base with Cormac's date inside his own house? Astoria neither knew nor cared. She had achieved what she had come to do: she had met Giambattista and held his attention for more then an hour. Her desire to go home and climb into bed was mounting.
"Oh, Astoria, you're back!" squealed Tracey, reappearing. She flung herself into a chair and dangled her legs over one of the arms. "I thought you had left!"
"I was in the garden, Trace," admitted Astoria, privately relived to find that her friend was not half-asleep or slurring. "I think I'm leaving soon, though."
"What?" gaped Tracey, unable to understand why anyone would want to leave a party early. "There's still two hours until midnight!"
"Yeah," agreed Blaise, flashing a crooked smirk, "two more hours until Cormac goes in for his new years kiss."
The threat of Cormac's mouth hadn't even occurred to her.
"Right, well, I'm going to go find my father and let him know that I'm leaving," Astoria announced.
"Wait!" cackled Tracey, jostling a scrimshaw tusk with her foot. She pulled herself upright, exposing an inch or two of inappropriate thigh. "Are you going back to your aunt's house?"
"Yeah," answered Astoria. "Why?"
"Take me with you!" Tracey breathed pleadingly. "I'm too drunk and that old man is staring at me—OI!"
On the other side of the room, a man in his late seventies jolted and turned an irritated shade of crimson. He promptly gathered his things and fled to the conservatory.
"Alright," Astoria relented, thinking of her silent, empty house. The promise of Tracey's company was almost heartening—she didn't really want to spend the night alone.
"Actually, we should all go!" continued Tracey, expanding with excitement. "Your aunt must have a liquor cabinet!"
"I don't think she'd be happy about a pack of teenagers stopping over," countered Astoria at once. "Especially drunk ones."
Blaise laughed, but Tracey forced herself up onto her knees. She peeked over the back of the armchair to look at Astoria's face.
"Only your aunt would never know, would she?" Tracey insisted slowly, eyes sparkling. "She's in France for the night—she told me when I brought my mother over for tea. Your house is totally empty..."
"Yes, but Bonky is home," hissed Astoria, beginning to feel cornered. She did not want to appear outwardly impolite, but the idea of Blaise touching her things was enough to make her nervous. "Belladonna will know I had people over—that elf is half spy."
"So what?" scoffed Tracey baldly, unwilling to take 'no' for an answer. "It's New Years eve and she left you home alone!"
"Interesting," mused Blaise, mulling the idea over thoughtfully. He turned to Draco. "My mother hates Astoria's aunt, but we could tell our parents that we're going to Montague's. No one will check if we're back just after midnight."
"Yeah," shrugged Draco, warming to Tracey's plan, "that would work."
"See?" declared Tracey. She flashed a dazzling smile; for the umpteenth time, Astoria realized that she had underestimated her.
"Fine," Astoria muttered, seeing no way out. "But no later than midnight or I'll get an earful when my aunt comes home."
"Of course, we'll have to invite Montague now," continued Blaise. "He'll be game for an empty house, though. I don't know where else he thinks he can go to avoid his parents on a holiday."
"Great," added Astoria snappishly, put out by the insinuation that she was the only teenager in the wizarding world without a present guardian. "Well, I'll be back. I have to go say goodbye."
They headed straight for the bar off of the orange grove where she had last seen her father. Sure enough, she found him sitting between Royden Poke from the Spirits Division and Mrs. MacLaggen.
"Hello," said Astoria loudly. She put her hand on her father's back and attempted to push herself in front of Cormac's buxom mother.
"Oh, hello darling!" beamed George, pulling her closer so that he could hear her. "Are you having a nice night?"
"Yes," lied Astoria, conscious of the fact that she could feel Mrs. McLaggen's body arched against her back. "I'm going home soon."
Her father looked almost as surprised as Tracey had.
"Darling, it's still early! Why don't you go find Cormac and have him show you the gardens?"
"I've seen them already," insisted Astoria as firmly as she dared. "I have a headache."
"Well, alright, if that's what you want. Don't forget to say goodbye to Cormac."
Astoria quickly kissed her father's cheek, loathing the expression on Mrs. McLaggen's face as she did so. It was obvious that she was anxiously waiting to resume the flirting that Astoria had interrupted; she signed with relief when Astoria stepped away.
Tracey and Draco were waiting in the orange grove.
"D'you think anyone would notice if we stole something?" wondered Tracey, pointing toward the bar with a lively interest.
"Probably not," frowned Astoria. She popped up onto her tip-toes to scan the party for Cormac's curly head. "Not that you need to—I'm sure my aunt has something she won't miss. Stay away from the bar..."
"Look at McLaggen's mother!" drawled Draco in a tone of chilly delight. "She's practically licking that man's ear!"
Astoria blushed, eager to make them both move before she was forced admit that Mrs. McLaggen was panting over her own father.
"Well, he's loads better looking than old Mr. McLaggen," Tracey snorted loudly. "I don't blame her!"
Just then, Astoria's father turned his head and Tracey, who had met George earlier in the evening, promptly stopped laughing. She shot Astoria a look of surprise.
"Let's go," Astoria muttered.
"What a mess!" leered Draco enthusiastically.
No longer smiling, Tracey gave Draco a shove in the direction of the floo. Immensely grateful for her help, Astoria fell into step behind them. It was a good thing that Draco had never met her father before. Perhaps he would never even make the connection?
"Astoria!" bellowed a jubilant, bouncing voice.
Cormac had caught up, so Astoria came to a reluctant stop. Over his shoulder, she spotted Blaise and Montague working their way past a table of finger sandwiches.
"You're back! Merlin, Giambattista kept you long enough!" Cormac chortled. "He must have liked you—I don't think I've ever seen him laugh before."
"Yeah, he's quite serious, isn't he? Listen, Cormac," Astoria took him by the arm and attempted to lead him away from Draco and Tracey, who were both watching him like predators, "I think I'm going home."
"Home?" repeated Cormac, taken aback. "It's not even midnight."
"My friend Tracey's had too much to drink, so I'm taking her back to my house," Astoria improvised, privately eager to prevent Cormac from speaking with Blaise. "I wouldn't want to embarrass your father—"
"We're all going!" called Tracey eagerly, just loud enough to ensure that McLaggen would hear her.
"Oh, you're taking people to your house!" Cormac exclaimed; his knitted brow softened. "That's probably a good idea. It'll keep the underage drinkers away from dad's guests. Just give me a minute to let my mother know that I'm popping out."
Draco scowled irritably at Tracey.
"You're coming too?" stuttered Astoria in surprise.
"Sure. Why not?" Cormac chuckled.
"Seems a bit rude to leave your guests," called Malfoy snidely, taking the words right out of Astoria's mouth.
"Oh, they're all dad's friends," said Cormac, waving this accusation aside. He stepped around Astoria and struck out toward his mother.
Tracey fiddled with her head band, smirking to herself.
"Need some help with that, Judas?" hissed Astoria.
"Come on," muttered Blaise in a low voice, bringing up the rear with Montague. "Let's get out of here before someone we know stops for a chat."
"We're waiting on Cormac now," muttered Astoria unwillingly, wishing she had slipped away without saying goodbye to anyone.
"You invited McLaggen?" scoffed Blaise. There was a hint of reprimand in his tone.
"Davis did," sneered Malfoy, keen to make the distinction known.
"Shouldn't I have?" asked Tracey, all false civility. "He is Astoria's date."
Blaise let out a soft noise though his nose and shrugged.
"We can use the floo in the study," declared Cormac when he reappeared. "No one's bothering with it."
He led them out of the conservatory and through a door into a dimly lit hall lined with portraits. Tracey tripped on the rug and giggled when Astoria caught her.
"Did you really spend two hours with Giambattista earlier?" she asked, grabbing hold of Astoria's arm.
"They took so many laps around the garden that I thought he was going to run off with her," called Cormac. He pushed open a heavy oak door and ushered them all into a low, wood paneled study. "I don't know what you talked about, though. I thought they both seemed uncommonly glum."
"Nothing in particular," murmured Astoria, feeling Tracey's gaze of admiration on the side of her face. Cormac threw a fistful of floo powder into a fire.
"Maybe he'll ask you to model for him!" suggested Tracey, stepping back to avoid the crackling flames.
"I doubt it," jeered Blaise patronizingly. "Giambattista's famous. Astoria's from the wrong country and she's underage—why bother?"
"It is a pity he didn't give you something," Tracey went on in a disappointed voice. "That would have really been something."
"I don't think he carries goody-bags around," said Astoria, laughing.
They stumbled out of the floo into Belladonna's semi-dark foyer.
"Wrong person," said Draco coldly somewhere behind her. Astoria peered through the gloom in confusion.
"Sorry!" returned Cormac's voice, punctuated by an embarrassed little chuckle.
Astoria paused, suddenly consumed by a mixture of dread and morbid fascination. What part of Malfoy had Cormac grabbed in the dark? She lit the nearest lamp and brought the parlor into greater illumination.
Blaise was running his fingers though his hair, afraid that the soot had done something to disturb his dark, wavy roots; Montague was looking about with mild interest, and Draco was glaring daggers at Cormac.
"Where's your bathroom, Astoria?" asked Cormac at once, eager to temporarily vacate the room.
She indicated a short, blue and white wall-papered hall that looped about to the dinning room. Cormac took off for it at once.
"Did McLaggen just grope you?" leered Blaise delightedly, turning on Draco.
"The young Mistress is home and she has brought visitors that she ought not be having," interrupted a croaky voice from the heart of the shadowy living room.
Every head turned in the direction of the eerie muttering.
"Go to bed, Bonky!" snapped Astoria.
"Mistress is telling me to go to bed," mused Bonky. "Mistress wants me to leave so that she can live lawlessly in the house that I am entrusted to keep and hold safe."
"It's not your house," said Astoria angrily. "Go to the kitchens."
"What does mistress intend to do?" asked Bonky nosily, edging into the room. "Will mistress be making a mess and expecting Bonky to clean it, I wonder?"
"That's your job, isn't it?" asked Astoria sharply, knowing that she would pay tenfold for every insult that she uttered the moment Belladonna returned to the country.
"Mistress ought not to have company while her aunt is away," Bonky growled. "Mistress is a brat with no sense of respect, but it is my duty to tell Mistress that she has mail waiting for her, to be attended to whenever it pleases her."
Blaise's eyes widened with gleeful disbelief. Perhaps none of his house elves were likely to sass-mouth him in front of company?
"Thank you, Bonky," hissed Astoria through gritted teeth. "Take my cloak and go. Now."
"Bonky will take Mistresses cloak, yes, but he will not enjoy it, no," grumbled Bonky. He seized Astoria's coat and disappeared down the same hall that Cormac had rushed down.
"You ought to push that thing off the top of the house," ventured Malfoy the moment Bonky was out of sight.
"I know," Astoria sighed, moving to collect her mail from the hallway table, "but he's absolutely devoted to my aunt. Besides, the house has such awkward roof access..."
There were two letters addressed to Astoria in Theodore's handwriting on the table, but they were not what caught her eye.
"What's that?" asked Tracey, coming forward to have a look.
It was a large golden box with Giambattista Valli's insignia embossed in dark blue. Astoria stared, half in wonder and half in disbelief. Without thinking, she untied the ribbon and pulled the lid away to reveal a confection of folded tissue paper and a small envelope.
"It's not!" gasped Tracey.
"It's probably a gift from her father," laughed Blaise dismissively. "You expect me to believe that Giambattista Valli rushed home to send a teenage girl a present?"
Astoria took up the envelope and ripped off the sealing wax.
"A gift for Astoria with the quick tongue," Tracey read out loud over her shoulder, shooting Astoria a very amused look. "Some woman wish to marry, still others wish to meet prince charming. Do yourself a favor and wear this, never marry and remain forever charming. Giambattista."
Astoria threw her head back and laughed. Blaise raised an appraising eyebrow, clearly impressed despite himself.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Draco, unable to conceal the suspicion in his tone. "What sort of note is that? He's got to be fifty. He shouldn't be talking to you about marriage."
"It's a joke," said Astoria placatingly, not wishing to give Giambattista a bad name. "He didn't want to talk to me when I first met him. Something about hating young girls because they're only ever drunk or trying to get married."
"That elf of yours sure has a temper, doesn't he?" bustled Cormac, skittering back into the hall and looking harassed.
Astoria ignored him and unfolded the tissue paper inside the box. She withdrew a dark felt hat, ideal for wearing to ignore passerby and put it on her head. Brushing away her hair, she turned to examine herself in the mirror on the wall almost lazily; the hat was such a good fit that it required no pulling or adjusting.
"What's that—a Christmas present?" asked Cormac.
"Giambattista Valli sent her a gift," drawled Blaise. "Apparently it was love at first sight."
Before she could allow herself to become too fond of the new hat, Astoria swept it off of her head and tossed it back into the box. She had made the mistake of forgetting to have something signed for Parvati and here was a ready-made solution: she would simply forfeit the hat and give it to Parvati in place of a signature.
She smiled as she re-fixed the lid, no longer regretting Cormac. The gift made up for everything. It meant that, in a Rolodex somewhere, Giambattista Valli had her address.
"This way," called Astoria, heading toward the living room.
It was a mark of how much power that the hat seemed to have bestowed that everyone followed without protest. Tracey coaxed the lamp on the table near the bookcases with her wand. Astoria intentionally avoided the couch and tossed herself into one of the red velvet armchairs, afraid that Cormac (or indeed, if she was being truly honest with herself, perhaps even Malfoy) might try to cage her into a corner.
Astoria tilted her head back and surveyed the scene before her, suddenly alive to the strangeness of what Tracey had gotten them both into: Montague, the Slytherin quidditch chaser, was inspecting a photo of Astoria on the bookcase; Blaise Zabini was playing bartender, casually opening drawers and cracking bottles. Draco Malfoy was already sipping a scotch near an antique globe, twirling it about with two fingers, his face a mask of supreme confidence. It was such a strange picture that, for a moment, she felt like an intruder in her own home.
After all, it was one thing to occasionally meet with a group of Slytherins and hang about at school—on those occasions, Theodore was usually present and Astoria felt herself to be in the company of a firm ally. It was another thing entirely to host so many of them in her home. Cormac was the only other non-Slytherin in the room, but he was faintly repulsive and Tracey was intent on wreaking chaos. Where did that leave her?
"I'll have the scotch," said Cormac, pushing his glass closer to Blaise.
"Are you doing gin, Astoria?" asked Draco lazily. He sidled up and took the glass from Cormac, ignoring him completely.
"Mhmm," she confirmed, dangling one foot over the edge of her chair. Tracey sunk down on the armrest behind behind her head and began to pull a strand of Astoria's hair with her fingers.
Astoria's eyes shot toward Cormac and then returned to Tracey's face accusingly.
"What?" murmured Tracey in a low voice. "It's funny!"
"Funny for who?" returned Astoria quietly.
"Me!" leered Tracey, breaking into a shark-like smirk. "I don't think Malfoy agrees, though..."
"Did he say something?" asked Astoria nervously. Her voice was so quiet now that Tracey had to lean closer. Surely he wouldn't have said anything about what she had done in the garden?
"Who?" Tracey asked in confusion, following Astoria's gaze. "Draco? No, why?"
"Shhh," said Astoria, conscious of the fact that Montague had paused in his pursuit of Lestrange childhood photos to listen in.
"Gossiping, are you?" Montague leered, brandishing a picture frame. "Is this you? In nothing but bathing suit bottoms and a hat?"
Draco and Blaise moved away from the bar, leaving Cormac to pour his own drink. Malfoy handed Astoria her drink before glancing over at the photo. He snorted.
"I'm five," scoffed Astoria. She sipped from the glass in her hand, pleased to find that he'd mixed tonic into it.
"You were an ugly child," Montague declared, moving down the shelf. "Is this your aunt when she was young?"
The photo he was holding was not of Belladonna, but of Astoria's mother, Lucrezia. It was the only picture of her on display in the house—the rest were all in photo albums. At the age of nineteen, Lucrezia was tall, youthful and almost glowingly beautiful. In the particular snapshot Montague was holding, she was clutching a broken umbrella (despite the fact that it wasn't raining) and laughing dazzlingly in the direction of the photographer. Her expression was both perplexed and endearing—as though the whole scenario of being lovely and clutching a broken umbrella was just as mysterious to her as it was to anyone who looked at her photograph.
"No," admitted Astoria begrudgingly, "that's my mother."
Draco turned his head to look at the portrait, this time with more than just faint interest.
"She's a looker," observed Montague.
"You're starting to bother me," returned Astoria. She did not want to talk about her mother. "Tracey, do you want something? Cormac can make it for you."
"Yes!" cried Tracey at once, bouncing off the side of Astoria's chair.
"Why is she holding an umbrella?" asked Draco and Astoria realized that he was still looking at her mother's photograph.
"No idea," she returned honestly, wishing to be as obvious as she could that this was not a discussion that she was willing to have.
"Oh, look," said Montague, his face cracking into a wide smile. "It's baby Astoria—only this time she's armed."
He pointed to a small picture in a tin frame. It featured Astoria holding a bow and arrow aloft; the green lawn of an archery competition stretched out behind her like a splash of bright paint. She was old enough to be recognizable this time, but her face was still round and childish.
"Was that before or after you shot your teacher?" called Tracey in a sing song voice.
Blaise, who had heard this story before, laughed wickedly. Draco's eyes, however, were still lingering on Lucrezia and the umbrella, his expression distracted and unreadable...
A lick of fear went up Astoria's spine. She began to wonder if Draco might recognize her mother from another photograph he had seen—a photo of known death eaters from the late seventies perhaps?
"It's the same day, actually," said Astoria, wishing fervently to draw Draco's eyes away from Lucrezia's face.
"You really did shoot your teacher, then?" asked Tracey, betraying a touch of excitement. "I never knew if Pansy had made that up or not."
"I really did shoot my teacher," confirmed Astoria enthusiastically.
"Wait—you shot someone and your aunt framed a photo of it?" asked Montague dubiously.
"She's an odd woman, Belladonna," sighed Astoria.
"Because it was an accident, I'm sure," rejoined Cormac chivalrously, sitting down on the couch nearest Astoria's chair. "There's no reason not to keep the photo..."
Draco blinked. Then, finally, he seemed to hear what Cormac had said and scoffed.
"Well, she obviously didn't do it on purpose," argued Cormac, rounding on Draco.
"Have you ever seen her shoot?" asked Malfoy coldly.
"Enough with the photos, Montague," declared Astoria roughly. Draining her drink in two large gulps, she moved toward the couch.
Several minutes later, Blaise found a deck of cards hidden inside a small drawer in a side table, thereby ending all talk of Lucrezia Lestrange. Montague dealt poker, but Astoria could hardly remember the rules and Tracey seemed determined to play badly. After several miserable hands, it became obvious that they were not destined to enjoy themselves.
"It doesn't matter if they're all royal, Tracey," groused Blaise, "they have to be in the same suit or else you need doubles."
"Mistress has another guest at the door," croaked Bonky suddenly, making everybody jump.
"Who is it?" asked Astoria, startled.
Letting her card hand fold, she stood up and followed Bonky out into the hall. To her immense surprise, Millicent Bulstrode was loitering at the foot of the stairs. She turned to face Astoria, looking very unsure of herself.
A warning bell began to ring in her mind: Millicent was famous for ignoring Astoria at all costs—she had never been inside Belladonna's house before and she'd certainly never suggested that she had any desire to change that status.
"Millicent?" ventured Astoria, checking to be sure it was really her.
"Hello," returned Millicent dully, her eyes on the closed off living room. "Am I disturbing you?"
"No," breathed Astoria. "My house is probably the worst place in the country right now, trust me. What's going on?"
"I was wondering if you'd talked to Theodore today," continued Millicent suggestively.
"I don't think so," Astoria admitted, tensing. "Why? Is he all right?"
Her stomach churned as she thought about the two letters addressed from Theodore under the gift-box in the entryway. She hadn't read either of them...
"He's fine," continued Millicent evasively, but Astoria could tell that she was willfully leaving her in the dark about something. "I just thought that it might be nice if you dropped in on him."
A surge of laughter erupted from the living room. Astoria could very clearly hear Draco's drawling voice from where she was standing halfway across the foyer. Millicent's face registered surprise.
"I mean, I'm a bit tied up at the moment," Astoria stammered ineptly. "A pack of people who secretly hate me are raiding my aunt's liquor cabinet. Can it wait until tomorrow?"
"Sure," said Millicent, shrugging in a way that was calculated to make her feel guilty.
"I can't go anywhere right now," insisted Astoria a little defensively, "so If something's really wrong, you might want to tell me so that I can force this lot to clear out."
"It's not like that," murmured Millicent, her eyes still on the closed doors. "Just...go over later. If you can make time."
"After midnight?" asked Astoria doubtfully.
"I have a feeling he'll be up," returned Millicent.
Astoria reentered the living room feeling distinctly shaken.
"Who was it?" asked Tracey.
"No one," answered Astoria. "It was nothing."
But it wasn't nothing: in truth, the fact the Millicent had come to do Theodore's bidding was very worrisome.
Draco had taken her seat on the couch, so Astoria sat in the new space between him and Montague, calculating how much time she had left before she could make her escape to Theodore's house.
What if no one was awake there? Or worse, what if Theo's father mistook her for an intruder and attempted to shoot her with that giant shotgun of his?
"So anyway," Montague went on, continuing a story he had been telling in Astoria's absence, "Nash wasn't arrested, but needless to say, he was never invited back for tea again."
Astoria shifted, trying to stop her stomach from doing uncomfortable flip-flops. Her gin was long finished and she's left her glass on the table near the armchair. Wordlessly, she reached for the drink in Draco's hand and took a small sip of the room temperature, unmixed scotch that he was drinking.
She winced, swallowed and quietly passed the glass back to him. He took it without saying a word and Astoria was grateful that he refrained from commenting.
"Wait a second, Astoria, you have to hear this!" exclaimed Tracey.
"She's probably heard it before," admitted Montague. "You know about Nash Goldstein, don't you?"
Astoria shook her head to indicate that she did not.
"You don't know the joke about Goldstein?" drawled Malfoy delightedly. "He's famous for getting drunk at holiday parties. Every year he manages to destroy a Christmas tree somewhere. I thought everyone knew!"
Astoria blinked, slowly absorbing this explosion of new information.
"You don't mean Anthony Goldstein's father?" she asked, thinking of the Ravenclaw boy she had come to hate in Ancient Runes class.
"Must be," said Malfoy lazily, going on in a rather satisfied tone: "Oh that's right, I forgot you didn't like him."
Astoria blinked again. A bizarre mixture of nervousness and actual amusement welled up in her chest like a bubble. Without really meaning to, she burst out laughing.
For a second, Malfoy looked stunned, but then his attitude shifted and he began to appear unduly pleased with himself.
"Of course, he's done it so many times now that his friends have name for it," Draco continued smugly. "Whenever Nash Goldstein destroys something, they say he's 'Nashed' it."
"Like trashed," interjected Montague unnecessarily, "only with an 'N'."
Astoria snorted and tried to control herself—now that she had started laughing, she was finding it very hard to stop. Maybe it was the slow and steady consumption of alcohol making her chuckle? Or perhaps it was simply a way of venting her suddenly strung nerves. In either case, she hadn't heard anything else half so funny all evening.
Cormac gave a quick, half-hearted laugh in an attempt to join in. "Of course, his son Tony isn't like that," he added. "He's quite a neatnick, isn't he? Always top in all his grades."
Astoria was not at all surprised by this: it seemed perfectly natural that Cormac and Anthony would be school friends. They really weren't so different, after all.
"The way I hear it, Nash got himself into a bit of trouble recently," continued Malfoy jeeringly, made confident by Astoria's laughter. "Father says he cleared off a bit of his land—wanted to put in a guest house or something—only he didn't have any of the permits he needed."
"I'm sure Nash settled it with the ministry," returned Cormac firmly.
"He did," agreed Draco, smirking. "Of course, it turned that out the land he had leveled was a protected wilderness. He had to write a letter of apology to Fudge himself, didn't he? And pay Merlin knows how many fines. In the end, it's almost like he Nashed his own forest, isn't it?"
"I really don't see what is so funny about squandering national resources, Malfoy," scoffed Cormac pompously.
Astoria held her breath but the look of self righteousness on Cormac's face did her in; she blew out laughing again.
"Astoria, really," scowled Cormac.
Draco spread out in his seat, beyond gratified. His eyes flicked sideways toward her.
"Well," declared Cormac, clearing his throat, "it's nearly midnight. I should pop off and see how mum and dad are doing."
"Good seeing you," drawled Malfoy lazily, not even bothering to look at him.
"Walk me out, Astoria?" insisted Cormac, leaving her with the distinct feeling that he wanted to say goodbye without Malfoy present.
"Forgotten where the fireplace is already, have you?" returned Draco snidely.
"No, I was hoping to say goodnight to my date, actually," Cormac snapped.
Seeing no way around it, Astoria stood up and followed Cormac into the hall.
"Well, I'd like to say that this was fun," he began in a light voice when he reached the hearth, "but maybe fewer Slytherins next time, eh?"
Astoria tried not to pale at the idea of a next time and nodded her head enthusiastically, anxious to have him through the fireplace and on his way home.
"I don't even know how they happened to tag along, come to think of it," continued Cormac, frowning in the direction of the living room. "I suppose that's what you get for having Tracey as a friend, although she seems like the most decent of the lot of them."
"That's probably true," Astoria agreed. "Listen, thanks for everything. I had a great evening."
"It's almost midnight, you know," Cormac ventured slyly, indicating a clock on the table.
Astoria knew what was coming. She made level eye contact, hoping that she would frighten or disarm him, but Cormac came a step closer.
"For luck then," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.
Astoria had not quite made up her mind about what to do when instinct kicked in. She turned her head at the last second, presenting him with her cheek. Cormac's lips brushed against her jaw. Astoria stared fixedly at the clock and did not close her eyes.
He let out a small irritated breath against her hair; the look of annoyance on his face when he pulled away sealed his fate. If he had appeared embarrassed or disappointed, Astoria might have taken pity on him. But as it was, he merely looked like toddler who had been refused a promising toy.
"It's bad luck to kiss before midnight," insisted Astoria, gracefully but firmly.
Cormac studied her face for a moment before shrugging. The look of irritation disappeared from his features. "Next time, then."
The door of the living room was still cracked when Astoria pushed it open.
"Well, Cormac's gone," she announced, throwing herself into the seat he had just vacated. "And by the looks of it, he managed to drink half of my aunt's best Scotch before he cleared out. Thank you, Tracey. I certainly hope you're happy with yourself."
Tracey let out a shriek of shrill, diabolical laughter and Astoria noticed for the first time that Blaise's arm was thrown casually over the couch behind her friend's shaking shoulders.
"Ah!" gasped Tracey at last, very red in the face. "It was so funny, though! That thing he said to Draco about national resources! I nearly smothered myself!"
"I suppose I'd better be getting back, too," added Blaise with a smirk, pulling himself up off the couch,
"Ugh," Tracey sighed, heaving a deep breath. "I can't go home like this. Astoria, can I stay here?"
"Suppose I said no?" Astoria threatened. She didn't really mean it, but it was hard not to feel a little resentful.
"You won't say no," Tracey scoffed. "You don't want to sleep all alone in an empty house. Don't be stern, it was just a joke. We'll spoon and by morning you'll forget all about it."
"The highlight of my night, I'm sure," Astoria muttered wryly, picking up the book of bird sketches that she had stuffed into the couch. "You can stay," she finally relented, "but I still have to go out for a bit."
"Where?" asked Draco rudely. "It's midnight, isn't it?"
"So?" quirked Astoria lightly. "I can go where I like. Who's going to stop me?"
The empty house seemed to speak for itself. Blaise finished off his glass and put it back down on the coffee table with a neat, satisfying smack.
"You're staying here, Tracey?" he asked, rummaging about his pockets to see if anything had slipped out while he was sitting.
Astoria followed them back into the front room and waited until all three boys had gone through, debating whether or not to read Theo's letters first or to rush over as soon as possible.
"Where are you going?" asked Tracey, leaning against the stairway banister. "You can tell me. I don't care if you're off to boff a muggle—It's not like I'd try to talk you out of anything, you know."
"Theodore's," Astoria muttered, reaching for the floo powder.
"Oh," Tracey snorted, finding this anticlimactic. "Is he the one who came by earlier? Did he leave when he realized you had Draco and Blaise in the house?"
"No," said Astoria, tossing the powder into the fire, "that was Millicent."
"Oh?" quirked Tracey, intrigued. "I didn't know you even knew Millicent."
"Theodore is friends with her," Astoria amended.
"Oh, that's right," said Tracey slowly. She ran a finger across the top of the banister and hesitated. When she spoke again her voice was oddly cautionary. "Millicent is related to Pansy, you know. They're, like, third cousins."
"Fascinating," Astoria snorted.
"Just thought you should know," Tracey shrugged, her eyes suddenly bright. "They don't hang around much together—you know how shallow Pansy is, but they were close when they were kids."
"So?" Astoria sneered, failing to understand the point that Tracey was trying to communicate.
"So," continued Tracey slowly, "they talk sometimes..."
Astoria stared, recognizing a barely perceptible shift in loyalty. Since they had become friends, Tracey had never had any problem abusing Pansy as loudly and verbally as she dared, but this was the first time Tracey had ever attempted to give away a former confidence. It was a warning, Astoria realized.
"Millicent and I don't really talk," Astoria argued. "I can't see that being much of a problem."
"Alright," allowed Tracey, beginning to walk up the steps, "but when Pansy makes a nasty comment about how you lured her favorite boys over on New Years, don't make the mistake of thinking it was because anyone who was here tonight told her."
Astoria nodded and tossed powder into the fire. She stepped out of the shivering green flames into Theodore's dark, unused living room and shivered at the unexpected cold.
Theodore's house was never particularly warm: Astoria had always had the impression that both Theodore and his father were prone to forgetting about about basic human comforts. But between the darkness and the silence, she felt the temperature keenly and worried.
A light was burning in Theodore's father's study; Astoria could see a thin strip of warm color dancing in the space between the closed door and the floor. For a moment, she debated what to do next. She was not entirely comfortable enough to go searching for Theodore by herself—in fact, she had never even been upstairs during the day. She settled for knocking twice on the heavy office door and waiting for a response. Anxious footsteps broke the heavy silence.
"Astoria" mumbled Theodore defensively, his voice dull with recognition. What are you doing here?"
"Well, a happy New Year to you too," frowned Astoria, pushing around him in Mr. Nott's office.
It was considerably warmer in here than it was in the hall. She studied Theodore's face, happy to find him whole and well, if slightly pale.
"Oh, right," grunted Theodore distractedly, running a hand through his snarled hair. "You had your party. Did you just get my letters? You shouldn't have come over. Really, it could have waited—"
"I haven't even read them yet," admitted Astoria, moving closer to the fire. "Millicent dropped by and told me I should come see you."
Theodore blanched, so Astoria lifted an espresso cup up off the desk and sniffed it gingerly. "What are you drinking?"
"Turkish coffee," supplied Theo at once. He shut the door against the hall gloom, his face puckering. "Wait, Millicent came to see you?"
"Mhmm," Astoria confirmed, sensing that Theodore had not sent Millicent himself. Her involvement was obviously a surprise.
"Why would she have done that?" Theodore snapped. "Listen, it's nothing. It's late..." he trailed off and Astoria was surprised to find that he looked faintly embarrassed.
"What's going on, Theo?" asked Astoria softly, leaning against the mantelpiece.
"Nothing," projected Theodore forcefully. He clenched his hand into a fist and knocked against the window sill; his shoulders slumped. He collapsed into the nearest chair, looking exhausted
"I had a bit of a problem with dad earlier," admitted Theodore heavily. "He went out—he was gone for hours. I finally tracked him down outside the village, half frozen and out of his mind."
"Is he alright?" asked Astoria tensely.
"He is now," sighed Theodore darkly. "I've had a healer over to take a look at him. She says everything will be fine, but it was a tense afternoon. I couldn't move dad on my own and you weren't responding to my letters, so I had to call in Millie..."
"I'm sorry," mouthed Astoria miserably, thinking of all the time she had wasted inspecting Giambattista's hat when she ought to have been reading her post.
"S'alright," said Theo thickly, "you were busy."
"I shouldn't have been!" Astoria insisted, craving forgiveness for a cruelty she hadn't even committed on purpose.
"You couldn't have known," sneered Theodore, his voice suddenly bitter. "Who expects to get a piece of mail like that? Nobody else's family members go mad and wander off into the frozen night!"
Astoria eyed the cup of Turkish coffee and began to search behind Mr. Nott's desk.
"What are you doing?" demanded Theodore confusedly.
"Looking for the good stuff," Astoria grunted. "I've already been drinking all night. It's New Years. Have a toast with me."
Theo thought about this for a moment. "It's in the bottom drawer on the left," he conceded.
Astoria yanked open the drawer and withdrew an ancient brown bottle capped with a dusty looking cork.
"You're sure this isn't rat poison?" Astoria wondered. "It is a holiday—we might not be able to get the healer to come back twice."
"Eh, sniff it first," suggested Theodore unconcernedly. He got up to fetch two mugs from the tea set.
"Cheers," said Astoria, clinking her mug against Theo's. They both swallowed the oily substance within. Astoria had to close her watering eyes until the fire she had consumed reached her stomach.
Theodore swore and slammed his cup back down onto the desk.
"That's awful!" said Astoria, fighting against her gag reflex. "Did your father make it?"
"A fitting end to my night!" coughed Theodore. "I bloody hate the holidays."
Astoria smiled, studying Theodore's long face. For the first time, she appreciated how fully he was forced to live like an adult in his own home. George and Belladonna were guilty of many things, but Astoria was frequently guilty of complaining about them. Theodore, on the other hand, had a way of bearing the weight of his sadness in silence.
"You are my best friend, Theodore," confessed Astoria clearly, meaning it with all of her heart. "You prove that Gryffindors don't own bravery."
Theo did not turn to look at her, but she thought she saw a trace of color high in his cheeks.
"Thanks," he muttered at last. "Enough of this. How was your night?"
"Perfectly wretched," Astoria supplied, grinning despite herself.
"Serves you right for going out with Cormac," returned Theodore, cracking his first smile.
"It was Tracey's fault, actually," Astoria mused.
"Why does that not surprised me?" Theodore laughed.
"I had a house party," Astoria went on, savoring the look of revulsion on Theodore's face. "Just me, Tracey, and a couple of my favorite school enemies."
0o0
The sky outside was turning blue by the time Astoria returned home. She crept into her bedroom quietly, careful not to let the door creak.
Tracey's shock of sandy blonde hair was just visible above the top of Astoria's sheets and her heavy breathing filled the air with a soothing rhythm. Her face was greatly softened by sleep—there was something messy and wholesome about the way spit seemed to be pooling in the corner of her mouth.
Astoria slipped into bed and listened as the first bird song started up outside her window, feeling very grateful for the sleeping form beside her. Tracey gave a snort and yanked away when Astoria's cold feet came into contact with her blanket-warm legs. She waited for Tracey's body to relax, pushed her sheet between them and curled up against her back for warmth.
0o0
Gah, I just love Theodore—I couldn't go the whole chapter without him. Additionally, I think Theodore's got a lot going on in his life and is far less likely to talk about it than Astoria, so it's always interesting to force some intimacy on him.
In any case, it's been a while since anybody has gone to class, so I'll have everybody back at Hogwarts shortly! There's some great school drama coming up, after all.