Chapter Twenty Seven
Defeat
Arg! Apologies for the late post, guys! I've been having the most annoying problems with my internet lately! (Namely, I haven't had any and my internet provider has been sadistically ambivalent about the problem.) Thankfully, someone came and fixed it today, so I shouldn't have any problems posting now. Sorry for the wait!
0o0
The Gryffindor common room was mostly empty when Astoria finally dragged herself through the portrait hole. Several feet away, however, Harry Potter was sitting in an armchair by the fire. Nothing about his posture seemed to indicate that he had been expelled.
"Hey!" she breathed, skidding to a stop in front of him.
"Hello," returned Harry, a little perplexed by her enthusiasm.
"You haven't been kicked out, then?" she continued in a rush. "Snape let you go?"
"No—that is, I wasn't expelled," Harry frowned. "Hang on, how do you know about Snape?"
"Malfoy," confessed Astoria. "I ran into him in the hallway and he was full of it about seeing your head in Hogsmeade."
"Right," said Harry slowly. "Well, Lupin showed up to help me, so it looks like I'll be staying on..."
"Listen," persisted Astoria, dropping her voice and cutting to the chase. "Did you tell Snape where you got your invisibility cloak?"
"Huh?" demanded Harry, looking more perplexed than ever. "Er—no. Wait, you know about the cloak as well?"
"Well, yeah..." returned Astoria slowly, officially disarmed by Harry's confusion. "Fred and George sold it to you, didn't they?"
"No, the cloak was my dad's," insisted Harry. "Where did Fred and George get invisibility cloaks—and who are they selling them to?"
Astoria pulled up abruptly, realizing now that she had made an awkward and foolish mistake.
"It doesn't matter," said Harry, holding up a hand to silence her. "The secret's safe with me. Just between us, though, I wouldn't mention it in front of Hermione."
"Yeah," agreed Astoria. "Sure."
They both fidgeted awkwardly. Eager to change the subject, Astoria pointed to a grubby note in Harry's hand.
"What's that?" she asked brightly
"This?" muttered Harry grimly, brandishing the parchment. "A note from Hagrid. He lost his case—they're executing Buckbeak."
0o0
Care of Magical Creatures class was exceedingly tense the next day.
It was evident to anyone with eyes that Hagrid was terribly depressed—and the fact that Astoria knew why only seemed to make his distress that much harder to ignore.
"I don't know why any of this bothers you so much," whispered Theodore in a low voice. "What did you think was going to happen? Did you really imagine Hagrid was going to win a case against Lucius Malfoy? It's Walden Macnair who does those executions, you know—he and Lucius are old friends from the war."
Astoria shrugged and stubbornly refused to meet Theodore's eye. Truthfully, a part of her had been hoping that the entire affair would be held off until the summer. She did not want to witness the aftermath.
Hagrid paused to blow his nose into a spotted handkerchief, but he was not loud enough to drown out Draco's delighted laughter.
"Look at him blubber!" drawled Malfoy in a very carrying voice.
"Wish someone would make him blubber for being so awful," muttered Astoria under her breath, inclining her head toward Malfoy. "If I take his legs, will you go for his arms?"
This threat was purely rhetorical—she was actually quite thankful to be at peace with Draco—but verbalizing her anger did wonders for her mood.
"Nah," scoffed Theo softly. "Crabbe and Goyle will protect his head first. You take his arms."
Hagrid hiccuped loudly and Astoria's chuckle transformed into a wince.
"If he shows up at Buckbeak's execution looking for a laugh, I'll do it myself," Astoria hissed. "I swear. All you'll have to do is lure him out of the common room for me."
"Hah!" projected Theodore hollowly, his expression souring. "Tell Malfoy that you want to make him blubber alone in the dungeons alone some night—I dare you. See if you need me to lure him anywhere..."
"What does that mean?" scoffed Astoria.
"Nothing," returned Theodore through gritted teeth. "A bad joke..."
0o0
Before anyone knew it, the Easter holidays were nearly upon them. Unfortunately, for the first time ever, the upcoming vacation did not seem likely to offer any respite from studying. Astoria had never had so much homework in her life: her bag groaned from the weight of her library books and a pile of unfinished papers was growing steadily bigger beside her bed. Still, in a strange way, she was tolerably happy for the distraction. Her vast workload prevented her from focusing on Daphne, Malfoy or Hagrid—for the first time all year, she finally had a reason to behave like a shut-in.
True to form, on the first day of break, Astoria went to meet Tracey in the library.
"Have you ever had so much to do?" lamented Tracey, hovering over her rune translation. "I'd write home and ask for help, but my mother is so stupid that it's nothing short of a miracle she even graduated."
Astoria shrugged noncommittally, unsure whether she ought to find this comment funny or tragic.
"Seriously, though," Tracey murmured. "Between mum and my creepy brother, I really don't know how I turned out so normal."
"Roger's not so bad," Astoria offered feebly.
"Roger would have sex with a flobberworm if no one was watching!" Tracey snapped. "Your mates sold him one of those invisibility cloaks that people aren't supposed to know about—I keep waiting for some Ravenclaw prefect to let me know that I'm about to be an aunt!"
Astoria cleared her throat and attempted to disguise her nervousness. She did not like how far word of the cloaks had spread—it seemed inevitable that they would eventually spell disaster.
"At least your brother talks to you," Astoria admonished. "Daphne still won't look at me."
"Yeah?" sneered Tracey. "Your relatives aren't laughable, though, are they? I'd swap my mother for Belladonna any day..."
Astoria sucked in a sharp breath. Tracey obviously didn't know what she was talking about, but the comment still chaffed.
"I have loads of embarrassing relatives," Astoria returned stiffly. "You've never met my stepmother."
"I suppose," Tracey sighed. "And we're both are at a loss for having a dead parent, too, aren't we?"
A tremendous pressure was beginning to make Astoria's ears ring.
"My dad's dead and your mother—she is dead, isn't she?" Tracey went on, oblivious to the discomfort she was causing. "She didn't run off or something?"
Astoria swallowed thickly. She had bluffed her way through this with Tracey once before, but it seemed different—somehow sneakier—to lie outright when the question was being asked so bluntly. Without really thinking, she made a twitching motion with her head, knowing that Tracey would understand this to mean whatever she already wanted to hear.
"I thought so," nodded Tracey consolingly. "When did she die, anyway? During the war?"
Astoria nodded again. She was not anxious to make up any details that she would have to remember later.
"Was she a causality? Or did she get caught passing information?" persisted Tracey. "I know your uncles were in it up to their heads, of course. Blaise was saying something about that a week or two ago."
"What's with Blaise?" asked Astoria sharply, appalled. "First he tells my sister that I should be charging for blow jobs—then he goes around talking about my Death Eater uncles? Sounds to me like he needs a fat boot up the arse—"
"Oh, he just likes to gossip," scoffed Tracey, waving aside the tantalizing visual of an assault on Blaise's ass. "But he likes to pretend that he's better than Pansy and the lot, so he has to tell thrilling political stories and old family tales instead."
"Why bother?" Astoria sniped. "Who cares about ancient history?"
"Yeah. If Malfoy can't one-up him, he usually shuts it down," continued Tracey, "but even he seemed curious about your family. Of course, I could listen to Blaise talk all day. His voice is like honey..."
Astoria snorted, growing tenser by the second.
"You've said yourself that you think he's good looking," insisted Tracey.
"Not that good looking," snapped Astoria irritably. "Mostly he just dresses well. I think he's a sneaky, fruity git."
"Well, I'd take him just as he is," sighed Tracey. "Only he doesn't seem to be that interested in me, does he? I must not be good looking enough. His mother is gorgeous—have you ever seen her?"
It was a well known fact that Seraphina Zabini and Belladonna Lestrange loathed each other. As a result, Astoria and her aunt tended to avoid events where Mrs. Zabini was likely to call. She hadn't laid eyes on the woman in at least four years.
"That's ridiculous. I'm sure he likes you just fine," sighed Astoria, secretly hoping that he didn't. "You got on well enough at Cormac's father's party..."
"He just thought it was funny that I wanted to go so badly," Tracey mused. "I also know you and you've got that whole air of mystery thing. He probably took me to nose into your business."
"If you say so," snorted Astoria skeptically. It was hard for her to imagine anybody—especially a person as snotty as Blaise Zabini—viewing her as a creature of mystery.
"You are kind of elusive, you know," frowned Tracey thoughtfully. "You're a Gryffindor, but you're very atypical for your House. I mean, you might know blood traitors, but Belladonna Lestrange is still your aunt. Even I can't tell if you secretly hate everybody or if you just like everybody equally."
"Literally nobody thinks about me that much except for you," laughed Astoria at once.
"That's the thing," squinted Tracey. "I think a lot of people do wonder about you. Literally, the only thing you openly claim to care about is your sister, which is so boring."
"You make me sound creepy," Astoria muttered.
"Maybe you are," smirked Tracey mischievously, waggling her fingers. "Nobody knows for sure."
0o0
The end of their holiday meant more than just new homework: it meant that the quidditch final was at last approaching.
In the days leading up to the match, Astoria witnessed more foul play than she had ever imagined possible. The Slytherins attacked Alicia Spinnet in the hallway between classes. Lucian Bole (the Slytherin beater) came down with a mysterious flu; Katie Bell was cursed in the ladies loo soon after.
"You're going to have to watch the match with a telescope to keep people from accosting you during the game," Fred whispered grimly over his lunch on their first day back.
They fell silent to watch Harry Potter enter the hall. He was winged as he always was lately—by Oliver Wood and Katie Bell, who stood tall and imposing as bodyguards on either side of him. Struck by their formation, Astoria scanned the doorway behind Harry and was not at all surprised to spot the skulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle lukring in the shadows. A surprise attack, she realized. They're gunning for the seeker.
"Maybe we shouldn't take any bets?" suggested Astoria.
She knew this was a good idea the moment she voiced it out-loud. There was too much buzz: both of the teams were good. It was a risk to put odds on either of them. But Fred let out a bitter scoff and slunk back in his seat.
"You're already making money off the cloaks!" Astoria continued almost pleadingly. "Why not sit this one out?"
In the end, Fred and George both begrudgingly agreed. At the bell, Astoria left for class feeling as though a weight had been lifted off her chest. For the first time in a very long time, she was going to be at liberty to enjoy a quidditch match—no worrying, no mid-game mathematics.
It was a prospect worth looking forward to.
0o0
Breakfast was a noisy and tense affair on the morning of the match.
Marcus Flint bolstered his team with a bracing pep-talk over bowls of porridge. Astoria could only hear half of words he was saying from the far end of the table, but the ones she did hear were not very encouraging. It did not seem to be a particularly optimistic speech—from what Astoria could tell, it was peppered with more threats and insults than helpful advice. Draco was looking particularly pale; he scowled nervously at his untouched plate.
This was very much in fitting with conversations she had heard that morning in her common room. As far as everyone was concerned, this was the match to end all matches. For the Gryffindors, it was the game that would determine whether Oliver Wood would ever win a quidditch cup. For the Slytherins, it was the perfect chance to finally prove that Harry's hitherto unprecedented winning streak was nothing more than a fluke. Everything seemed to be riding on that tiny golden ball.
By the time Astoria, Tracey and Theodore got up to head to the stadium, the desperation and anxiety of both teams had become infectious. They chose seats high up above the crowd to avoid company. Mashed close together, they sat with their feet pressed against the railings and peered down at the field.
"The players look tiny from here," complained Tracey.
"That's because they're not in the air yet," grunted Theodore. Sporting events were always a little out of Theodore's wheelhouse and his discomfort had a tendency to make him grumpy.
Thinking they had been rather clever to sit in such an undesirable section, Astoria was very surprised when Blaise Zabini slipped in behind them. In a perfect confluence of bad luck and timing, just before the match started, Pansy, Flora and Daphne joined him.
"Theodore!" guffawed Pansy, all mock shock and stifled grins. "What are you doing here! I thought hated quidditch..."
"I don't like quidditch," Theodore grumbled.
"Astoria must have brought him," joined Blaise smoothly, dismissing Theodore like an accessory. Tracey stiffened at the sound of his voice.
"In that case, you two are sitting on the wrong side of the field," sniffed Pansy. "The Gryffindors are over there, Astoria."
Astoria's eyes followed Pansy's finger toward the predominantly red and gold band of students in the stands across from them. Hyperaware of her sister's presence, she bit back a retort.
"Ooh, look!" cried Flora suddenly. "The players are coming out onto the field!"
"There's Draco!" effused Pansy, standing to have a better look.
"Lord," drawled Zabini softly, "he's the shortest person on the team by a whole head, isn't he?"
"Shhh!" Pansy chastised, giggling slightly. "I think he looks quite handsome in his quidditch uniform!"
Flora began to titter and Astoria found herself repressing a sudden and bizarre urge to slam her body back into both of their knees.
"You think he looks handsome in his uniform?" leered Blaise, projecting an air of doubtful amusement. "How can you even tell from up here?"
"A girl can tell," insisted Pansy, snorting and squealing and smacking Flora's hands away.
"What do you think, Greengrass?" asked Blaise suddenly, his voice quite at odds with his careless expression. "You're discerning. Do you think Draco looks nice in quidditch robes?"
"What are you asking her for?" snorted Flora dismissively, but Pansy was not laughing. On the contrary, she pivoted to watch Astoria intently, her expression closed and calculating.
"I think he looks nervous, Blaise," sighed Astoria truthfully. "Why? Do you think he looks nice in his quidditch robes?"
Theodore snickered.
"He shouldn't be nervous," declared Pansy. "Our whole team is on better brooms—well, except Potter..."
"And it's Potter he's got to beat to the snitch," snorted Blaise. "The rest of the team hardly matters."
"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Pansy. "You think Potter's going to win the match?"
"I didn't say that," returned Blaise, shrugging carelessly.
Without really wanting to, Astoria found herself studying Blaise out of the corner of her eye. She'd spent very little time with him outside of Draco's company: it had honestly never occurred to her that the two boys might not be particularly good friends. Certainly they were equals of some sort—and therefore mindful of each other in person—but Astoria could tell without trying that Blaise did not think Draco was going to catch the snitch and the idea did not seem to trouble him at all. With a surprising tug of discomfort, she realized that she didn't think Draco would win either.
"They're in the air!" shrilled Flora, clapping both her hands together.
Within ten minutes, the match had already lived up to its hype—it was the dirtiest Astoria game had ever seen. Watching quickly became tiresome: Madam Hooch called foul after foul, awarding penalty shots for every illegitimate play. When Fred Weasley finally gave up pretending to play fair and threw his club at Flint's head, the crowd reacted with equal parts amusement and shock.
"What a lunatic!" Pansy screeched. "He could have broken Flint's nose!"
"He only did it because Flint slammed into Johnson," argued Theodore, rubbing his hands together, plainly delighted to discover that sports could be much more amusing than he'd imagined.
The Slytherin beaters retaliated by pummeling Wood in the stomach. Madam Hooch's shrill whistle blast cut through the air.
"That was just nasty," leered Blaise, his eyes sparkling.
Suddenly, however, nobody was paying attention to Oliver. Harry Potter had dropped into a spectacular dive.
Astoria clenched her fists, waiting for the moment the stands would explode. It did not come. At the last second, Draco threw himself over the edge of his broom and grabbed hold of the tail-end of Harry's. His trick worked: despite the dizzying height at which Draco had taken his hands off his own Nimbus, he had managed to slow Harry down and remain seated. The snitch vanished.
Gryffindors across the field began to vocalize their wrath. Privately, Astoria was simply thankful that she was not counting galleons in her betting book—such a near miss would have left her a nervous wreck.
"That was genius!" whispered Pansy breathlessly.
It was a mark of how on edge Astoria felt that she did not point out how unsportsmanlike Draco's behavior had been.
Up above, Harry and Draco were now circling each other so closely that their knees kept bumping. Harry pivoted, eager to prevent Draco from searching for the snitch—and Malfoy was becoming visibly angrier and angrier about it.
The Slytherin chasers fell into formation, zooming across the field to ram Katie Bell. Harry tore away from Draco to help.
"EEK!" Pansy screamed, leaping to her feet. After a brief areal search, Astoria understood what she was yelling about.
It was Draco's turn to dive: he had spotted the snitch while Harry was still halfway across the field. Draco was going to catch it.
Astoria's hand snapped toward her mouth. She watched as Malfoy dove, torn between shock and admiration. This was unexpected, but at least by winning they would all be spared Draco's terrible month-long mood.
Only Astoria had reckoned too quickly—she had not counted on the Firebolt's superior speed. Harry was gaining, he was level with Draco's broom...
The stands erupted. Harry had knocked Malfoy out of the way at the last second—the snitch glittered near the cuff of his crimson robes.
Astoria did not even know whether to be pleased. Clearly a Gryffindor victory was something to be cheerful about (especially when Harry might already have won if Draco hadn't cheated). Still, watching Harry push Draco out of the way simply because his broom was faster seemed very anticlimactic.
"That's not fair!" whined Pansy. "Potter got the snitch because his broom is better!"
"Draco's dad bought seven new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones last year," yawned Blaise, determined not to let Draco off the hook. "Potter's broom isn't that much faster—Malfoy shouldn't have let Potter push him."
The stands began to empty. As a result of the anticipation surrounding the match, nearly every student had come to watch. For several minutes, Astoria was obliged to fight her way toward the ground through a claustrophobic mess.
"Bloody hell!" swore Theodore, bouncing off the railings (several Ravenclaws had shoved him from behind).
"He must be so upset!" Pansy lamented loudly nearby. "Someone should tell him that it isn't his fault—Harry's broomstick is just newer! I bet Flint is being absolutely horrible!"
Pansy sprung up onto her tip-toes the moment she reached the grass, craning her head in the direction of the boys locker room. An unexpected and bizarre instinct stirred deep within Astoria's chest, compelling her watch this exchange even though she didn't really want to.
Why couldn't Pansy just let Draco shower off and change before jumping down his throat? He would surely appreciate her support later—his ego was made for that sort of thing—but Astoria suspected that he would want to conceal his embarrassment first. After all, Harry had beaten him twice now: Draco's burst of outward hatred was probably mixed up with a healthy dose of self-loathing.
"Let's go," muttered Astoria in a low voice, trying to nudge her friends forward. The quidditch cup was being hoisted up behind them—Hagrid was sobbing tears of joy onto the twins' shoulders.
But Tracey would not budge—she only had eyes for Zabini.
"Disappointed?" Tracey asked, thrusting herself in front of Blaise. She clasped her hands behind her back so as to maximize the size of her small breasts.
Montague came bowling out of the locker room, damp from the showers. Flint was not far behind: his hair dry, his face twisted with rage.
"We're going to the lake," Marcus shot at Blaise, eyeing the cup hatefully. "I can't watch this."
"Where's Draco?" asked Pansy. "Is he coming?"
"No idea," scoffed Montague, making way for Flint, who strode past them jerkily. "He's still in the showers. He and Marcus had it out..."
"We should all go," ventured Tracey hopefully, eager to follow Blaise. "It's almost nice out for a change."
"I'm going to take a nap," Astoria demurred.
"What?" hissed Tracey, attempting to silently convey her displeasure. "No, let's both go!"
"Gryffindors can come now?" sniffed Flora.
"Who?" scoffed Flint, having been waylaid by a crush of bodies. "You mean Greengrass? She can come. It's never stopped her before. Bloody—" he broke off, pushing several Hufflepuffs, "—out of the way!"
"What do you say?" insisted Tracey through gritted teeth, mutely pleading with Astoria to accompany her. "Doesn't that sound like fun?"
An odd smirk played with Blaise's lips as he watched their exchange.
"Sure," Astoria sighed, although she could think of almost nothing less promising. "Let's go."
They all started off across the damp, tolerably warm grounds together: Astoria, Tracey, Pansy, Flora, Daphne and Blaise. Theodore took off for the castle and did not look back.
Astoria walked in silence. They were an awkward group, but Flora seemed determined to unite them. She switched positions when Theodore broke away, pushing in beside Tracey.
"Is it true that you went out with Cormac McLaggen, Astoria?" she asked, all false camaraderie. "At Christmas?"
"Yes," answered Astoria flatly, unwilling to pretend to be Flora's friend. "Just once—and his parents were there."
"Doesn't your dad work for his dad?" Flora squealed.
Daphne's eyes flashed toward Astoria for a fraction of a moment before returning to the grass.
"Sort of," allowed Astoria stiffly. "Not formally. He handled a case for Mr. McLaggen."
"Are you dating, then?" asked Daphne quietly, surprising everyone by speaking.
"No," Astoria answered, this time more eagerly. "We're just friends. Parvati Patil asked him out a few weeks ago—for all I know, he's dating her."
"Really?" giggled Flora nosily. This was a promising bit of gossip that she might not have heard otherwise.
"Why not you?" demanded Pansy rudely.
"Because I'm not," snapped Astoria.
Flint, Montague and Lucian Bole were already sitting on the sandy banks of the lake. As they stumbled over the rocks toward them, it become clear that the boys were passing a bottle of what looked like fire-whiskey and arguing moodily.
"It wasn't a fair play!" Lucian Bole was saying. "Potter should have been called for charging at us!"
"Except he never touched you," Flint snapped, taking the bottle back, "so Hooch couldn't call it."
There was a hopeful spring breeze coming in off the lake, but it was not enough to dispel the storm-cloud of annoyance hanging overhead. Astoria settled down on a patch of desert colored pebbles to wait. Lucian Bole handed her a glass of fire-whiskey crudely mixed with pumpkin juice; she took a single sip before placing it firmly in the sand.
An hour passed—slowly and without a single amusing moment. The Slytherins persisted in grumbling about quidditch like a choir of disgruntled gargoyles while Astoria stared listlessly at her feet.
"This tastes awful!" Pansy complained loudly.
The longer they sat, the more frequently Pansy's eyes drifted over the cresting hill toward the castle, hoping to spot Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle's approach. Left to anticipation, she seemed to be drinking a good deal more than she usually did to satiate her impatience. By the time she'd finished her second mixed drink, high patches of color were blossoming over her cheekbones. She put down her cup and then hastily dove for it again.
"Astoria," she called, retrieving her empty glass from the sand, "your hair is a such a strange color!"
Astoria could not make any sense of this: her hair was brown and therefore thoroughly common.
"What do you mean?" tittered Flora, perhaps thinking the same thing.
"Only that her hair is darker winter than it is in the summer," Pansy went on. "You should just dye it so that it's even, Astoria. I don't know why anyone would want two hair colors..."
Next to leaving, the only thing Astoria wanted to do was strike up a civil conversation with Daphne. Was there any way to do this without provoking Pansy?
"Miss Tippy always used to say that constancy is God's gift to women," Pansy went on, her voice thick with alcohol and baited cruelty. "You remember Miss Tippy, don't you Astoria? She was so disappointed when you had to leave early that summer..."
This was an allusion to the time Astoria had shot their archery teacher at etiquette school and it was such old news that she didn't know why Pansy would even bother bringing it up.
"Miss Tippy hated how impatient you were," continued Pansy, surprised to discover that there was only a mouthful of fire-whiskey left in her cup. "You were always snatching things at tea or jumping into conversations without waiting—I think she really just wanted to see a change in you."
This was not the first time Astoria had seen Pansy drink alcohol, but it was the first time she had seen Pansy properly drunk. The difference was startling. Sober, Pansy was vapid and sneaky—but intoxicated, these traits became blunt, deliberate and unafraid of consequence. Her face—generally fixed into an expression of either polite displeasure or ignorant confusion—seemed to take on a keener cruelty. Without Draco to distract her, Pansy's primary interest seemed to be harassment.
"I doubt Miss Tippy ever thinks about me," countered Astoria flatly, wishing Tracey would hurry up and make herself comfortable so that she could leave.
"Are you kidding?" sneered Pansy, doing an admirable impression of Draco. "You shot someone on her lawn—that's pretty much the ultimate failure of good manners, isn't it? She probably still dreams about it."
Flora laughed nervously, obviously more comfortable with Pansy's usual brand of passive-aggressive mockery.
The fire-whiskey came back around. Astoria had hardly touched her first drink so she allowed Flora to scoop up the bottle and hand it off to Pansy.
"Do you want more pumpkin juice?" asked Flora helpfully.
"Why bother?" Pansy drawled, rolling her eyes. "It's always going to taste bad, isn't it?"
Certain that Pansy was nothing more than a ticking time bomb, Astoria stood up and threw a rock into the water.
"I suppose you're happy?" wondered Flint, sidling up to her. "My loss is your victory. Isn't it, my little she-goblin?"
"I didn't take bets on the match," admitted Astoria, laughing for the first time since breakfast. "Do I strike you as being terribly goblin-like?"
"A little," shrugged Flint. "At any rate, you're a crackpot little crook for a Third Year. That was my last quidditch match as captain, you know. You'll be dealing with Montague in the fall—and there's a chance he'll be too stupid to take a bribe."
"I miss you already!" Astoria laughed.
Flint affected a expression of false suffering. It reminded her of the Weasley twins' dramatic pouts.
"I'm thinking of going for the Wimborne Wasp reserves," he continued. "Puddlemore United has shown some interest in Wood, so who knows? The show may go on."
At that moment, Adrian Pucey, Miles Bletchley and Warrington arrived. Pansy fell off a rock in her haste to hug them and Astoria averted her eyes. Now was the time to slip away from the party unnoticed...
"We should move toward the woods," declared Flint. "The teachers can see the lake from the castle."
Flint was the boss and nobody seemed to disagree with him. Flora helped pull Pansy to her feet and Astoria slipped her arm around Tracey, eager to pull her a few feet away from Blaise.
"I'm going back to my dormitory," Astoria whispered.
"No!" hissed Tracey pleadingly. "Stay! It'll look weird if you leave! Just an hour more, I promise—"
They kept walking until they reached the rock wall: a long forgotten and ancient boundary that abutted the forbidden forest's outskirts. The mossy, earthen path immediately struck Astoria as familiar. It was a moment before she realized that they were only feet away from the paddock where Hagrid had kept his Hippogriffs in the fall.
"Isn't Draco coming?" asked Pansy in a whiny voice, recognizing the spot as well. "He shouldn't be sulking!"
"He was in the showers for more than hour," Adrian informed her. "I told him Flint was by the lake, but he told me to piss off. Derrick's back in the dungeon as well—his face won't stop bleeding."
"Someone should do something about those twins!" exclaimed Pansy, looking very emotional indeed. Her eyes darted toward Astoria accusingly.
"But Flint said that Madam Hooch couldn't call a foul—" started Flora.
""Oh, shut up, Flora" snapped Pansy. "That's not what I even meant!"
Thankfully, Adrian Pucey was willing to brave Pansy's drunk savageness in order to abuse the twins and the two of them were soon deeply engaged. Flora touched his arm—almost reverently, as though he was speaking gospel—and nodded along.
"Ridiculous, aren't they?" murmured Blaise.
His voice was low and far too close to Astoria's ear. She jumped, startled to discover that Blaise's Zabini's face was only inches away from her own.
She had been leaning against a pine tree, bored and listless. Between scrunching her toes to to fight the oncoming cold and watching Pansy make a fool of herself, Astoria had been too preoccupied to hear his approach. She blinked hastily, taking stock of her surroundings. The sun was starting to dip behind a bank of trees; it cast long shadows that bathed the path in an early, false night. Tracey was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Tracey?" asked Astoria stiffly. Tracey hadn't left Blaise's side all afternoon and her absence struck Astoria as suspicious.
"Nipped off to pee, I think," Blaise answered lazily. "Of course, she took her drink with her."
Astoria did not entirely like Blaise's tone. If he thought Tracey was so laughable, why was he permitting her to follow him about? Surely Blaise was not the sort of person who was afraid of speaking his mind?
"If you think she's so gross, why don't you go hang around with Flora and Pansy?" shot Astoria coldly.
Blaise's dark, handsome face broke into a smirk.
"That's not a very nice thing to say," he leered. "Even if I did think Tracey was gross, who's to say that I'd like Flora any better?"
He turned to hold Flora and Pansy in his gaze, his expression betraying nothing but a kind of lazy cruelty. Astoria decided on the spot that she did not care for the look on his face, nor did she like the fact that he had waited for Tracey to venture off into the woods before sidling up to her.
"It's funny, isn't it?" continued Blaise, still staring across the clearing. "I don't know why everybody is so bent out of shape by a lost quidditch cup. I expected it really. Draco's father had to buy his way onto the team—should it really come as such a surprise that Draco isn't that good of a player?"
This was a ballsy comment for any Slytherin. Coming from Blaise, it struck her as especially calculated and strange. She did not imagine that he would voice the same sentiment out loud in front of Draco—and Astoria wasn't Blaise's friend. So why was he saying it to her?
"What's your point?" asked Astoria shortly.
"No point," scoffed Blaise, shrugging softly. "It's just annoying, isn't it? Three years from now, Malfoy will probably be quidditch captain. Why wouldn't he be? His parents have bought him everything else. It's not just his father's fault, either—Draco's been tied to his mother's apron strings since before he could walk. There is a reason that he's so loud and insecure, you know. No one ever taught him the value of quiet competency."
Despite the heavy dose of truth in this, something about Blaise's speech made Astoria angry. The exact same words would not have bothered her so much if they had come from Theo, but Blaise was not Theodore. Even half marred by darkness, Blaise appeared sneaky and thoughtful in a way that Astoria couldn't entirely comprehend. It made her nervous.
"Say that to Pansy," Astoria challenged. "You'll get a better rise out of her."
"Pansy's even stupider than Malfoy, so why bother?" drawled Blaise carelessly, causing Astoria's sense of warning to triple. "You're not stupid though, are you, Greengrass?"
Blaise leaned back against Astoria's tree, causing her to stand up straight.
"We have a bit in common, after all," Blaise went on, ignoring the way Astoria had recoiled. "There's a reason my mother loathes your aunt—no one likes other people who reflect their own worst qualities."
For a moment, Astoria could not think of a single retort. She stared at Blaise, almost hypnotized by the inherent inappropriateness of his subject matter.
"Do you hate your aunt?" asked Blaise suddenly, his voice dipping lower, taking on a conspiratorial note.
"No," Astoria answered at once, her skin crawling. No matter what her problems with her aunt were, Blaise Zabini was the last person she wanted to admit them to. "Do you hate your mother?"
"Sometimes," allowed Blaise, lightly—almost predatorialy. "She's all I have, but I play my games. So do you, don't you?"
"I suppose," Astoria frowned, trying to understand what Blaise was getting at.
"Of course, I inherited more of my mother's traits than I like to admit," he went on, far too casually to come across as genuine. "People say that we look alike, but it's more than that. Mother plays her games, too. Sometimes with your aunt."
Astoria knew this was true, but she was powerfully disinclined to discuss it.
"Tracey's crafty enough, really," continued Blaise, his elbow brushing against Astoria's, "but she's very predictable. Something tells me you aren't."
Finally glimpsing the edge of of what Blaise was insinuating, Astoria took another pointed step away from him.
"Your aunt would hate it if we were friends, you know," Blaise leered. He reached forward, bridging the gap that Astoria had put between them with his hand. His fingers brushed a pine needle out of her hair by applying a sharp tug. Her hair bounced back into its natural shape—free of foliage and yet somehow dirtier.
"My aunt would think it was hilarious," countered Astoria snappishly.
"Not if I wasn't very nice to you," persisted Blaise, grinning at the notion. "It sounds like a promising game to me—although I suppose Malfoy would stop following you around and I know how much you would miss that."
Astoria did not know what Malfoy had to do with any this, but she was disconcerted by the idea that Blaise would connect him with her own sexual availability.
"Fuck you, Zabini," snapped Astoria, jerking away from him.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. It was plain that this was the exact suggestion he was proposing.
Astoria pushed around him roughly, angling for the path when she was suddenly seized from behind by a set of smaller, girlish hands.
"Astoria!" squealed Tracey, having finally found her way out of the woods. "Lord, it was so dark in there—I've lost my drink!"
"Here," grunted Astoria tensely, "have mine. I'm going to bed. If you're smart, you'll come too."
"What?" whined Tracey, but Astoria was already moving away from her.
"Where is she going?" she heard Tracey ask, swapping Astoria's arm for Blaise's. "The woods are so creepy! You should have come with me, Blaise—"
It was not much brighter on the lawn, but Astoria up the path anyway. She tripped recklessly in the dark, eager to outpace the sensation of being complicit to a crime that she had not committed.
She did not like the idea of leaving Tracey alone with Blaise. Perhaps she should go back and force her friend to leave? But what Tracey didn't believe a word of what Astoria had to say? She obviously thought the world of Blaise—she might not want accept Astoria's story as truth.
"Leaving already?" called a high, unpleasant voice that Astoria recognized at once as belonging to Pansy Parkinson.
Sure enough, Pansy was standing feet away with Adrian Pucey and Lucian Bole, swaying tipsily in the shadow of the treeline.
"Yeah," Astoria snapped back fiercely. "The party's yours, Pans."
"It always was!" retorted Pansy belligerently, stumbling a few steps after her up the path. "I don't know why you even came!"
"Because Flint invited me!" sneered Astoria."So why don't you just save it?"
She sped up, knowing that Pansy was too intoxicated to match her pace.
"Save what?" insisted Pansy, somehow managing to drag herself up the hill at a clip. "Save my friends from knowing you? I wish! Even your sister hates you, you stupid—"
But Pansy could not finish her sentence. She swayed nauseously, suddenly green as the wicked witch herself.
"Get out of it, Pansy!" hollered Astoria hotly, just barely managing to step out of the way before Pansy threw up a great mouthful of fire-whiskey.
It splattered wetly onto the lawn. Astoria's own stomach heaved at the sight. Leave, just leave, her mind urged her. Go now, while she's distracted.
"Ok—easy," Astoria panted, jittery with annoyance. She guided Pansy toward side of the path, where the grass was slightly taller and more absorbent.
"Get off of me!" Pansy slurred. She tried to wrench her arm away and very nearly fell over. "You're such a cow! I hate you!"
Astoria tightened her grip on Pansy's arm and eyed the edge of the woods desperately. Flora was nowhere to be seen and the boys had disappeared into the undergrowth...
Pansy heaved again, let out a whimper and began to cry. The effect was horrible: Astoria froze, suddenly unsure. Instinctively, she reached forward to hold Pansy's hair back, feeling oddly removed from the gesture: a puppet commanded by invisible strings.
"Why?" Pansy gasped dramatically, gagging and spitting.
This was a very good question—one that Astoria did not have an answer to.
"Just get it all up," she mumbled, trying very hard to keep her feet away from Pansy's spray-radius. "Do you want me to go find Flora?"
"No!" snapped Pansy wetly. "You're an awful person! Stay here, you deserve this!"
Astoria grit her teeth and tried to hold Pansy steady.
"I hate everything!" Pansy moaned, beginning to sound slightly hysterical. "Especially you! Why do I bother hating you so much?"
"I don't know," grunted Astoria irritably. "You might want to sort that out for yourself."
"Stop helping me!" snapped Pansy hatefully. "I would never help you! This should be you!"
Astoria said nothing. Between Blaise's strange come-on and Pansy's bitter wailing, she had never felt more out of touch with herself.
"Easy," she repeated, patting Pansy tentatively on the back.
"Go away!" Pansy sobbed. "I don't want to be friends with you! I want you to die—I want you to go somewhere so far away so that I never have to see you again!"
Astoria continued to hold Pansy's hair, held hostage by a prison of integrity. She did not like Pansy, but she could not leave her to wallow in such a wretched state alone.
"I think you're disgusting!" Pansy choked defiantly. "A giant joke that no one else is in on! Well, I'm onto you Astoria, you terrible hag! 'Oh, Draco! No, don't talk about the Hippogriff!' Who do you think you're kidding, Greengrass! He hates you, you know! Even more than I do! If you think he doesn't, you're WRONG!"
Astoria blinked, fighting a strange desire to cry. Even though the back of her throat ached, she did not let go of Pansy's arm.
Pansy broke down into wordless sobs, finally overcome by nausea.
"Astoria?" squeaked a timid, very surprised voice.
It was Daphne: frozen in shock on the path, peering between Astoria and Pansy's hunched forms.
"Here!" called Astoria thickly, beckoning Daphne forward. "You take her, she doesn't want me—"
Daphne took hold of Pansy's arm, her eyes wide with wonder. For a moment, it looked as though she wanted to say something but Astoria could not wait any longer.
"Night," she slurred, hurrying up the path before her sister saw her face.
She made it back to her common room without crying, but the sudden barrage of people on the other side of the portrait hole did not suit her mood. She had no energy left to celebrate Gryffindor's victory. Slipping through the crowd, she climbed the stairs to her empty dormitory, and crawled into bed. Too tired to change into pajamas, she left her tights on.
A full moon hung outside the tower window; heavy and bright as a luminous plum. Astoria stared at it through blurry eyes, tracing the path of its weak silvery light across the dusty floor. She pressed her face into her pillow until she saw stars—sleep begrudgingly followed.
0o0
So, I know this was a tense installment. Thankfully, this will probably be the last of the moody-angst posts for quite a while. I love Astoria, but as much as I think that she is a very decent, intelligent and fascinating person, I also feel like she has a tendency to be occasionally mindless when it comes to how her actions will affect others.
In any case, I love reviews and I apologize again for taking so long putting this online! More Draco in the next chapter! I know I skimped on him!