Chapter Forty Four
Fever Haze
0o0
Astoria slept in on boxing day, laying flat on her stomach with the bed hangings slightly open, too lazy to roll over and fix them. The wet snow of the night before had melted into cruel sheets of winter rain and the sound of icy water thundering down against the window panes and tower turrets acted as a sedative until the early afternoon.
Someone had kept the fireplace in the common room well-stoked all morning and at last, rising up the stairs to the circular girls dormitory like a dense fog, the suffocating heat became unbearable.
The first thing Astoria did was crack the window in the ladies bathroom before washing the makeup off her face by the sinks. The rainy chill from the grounds invaded the room, causing her to shiver as she tried to wake herself up. A slight pressure in her sinuses warned Astoria that she had either slept too long or was developing a cold. The skin beneath her eyes was dark; not with runny mascara, but with the promise of a flu-like illness.
Feeling very dull and groggy, Astoria lingered for half of an hour in the showers, trying to allow the steam to loosen the heaviness in her face. By the time her fingers and toes had begun to prune from the spray, Hermione Granger had come in to comb the straightening-potion out of her hair and left again, closing the bathroom window behind her. With a resilient stuffiness between her ears, Astoria padded back to her trunk to dress, hoping that food might set her right again.
The trip down the stairs left Astoria surprisingly winded however, and she had to pause near the doors of Great Hall, feeling dizzy and very out of sorts. Half of the school seemed to have slept in after the Ball, because the four long house tables were packed with students taking a late breakfast. Unequal to much discussion, Astoria was relieved to spot Theodore in his usual seat, messily eating an english muffin over his newspaper.
"Morning," said Theodore distractedly, flipping a page without glancing up or bothering to brush the crumbs off his tie.
"Morning," Astoria croaked back, surprised to find that her voice was hoarse.
Theodore shot her a brief but very penetrating look over the top of the economics section before pronouncing, "You look like shit."
"I feel like shit," Astoria admitted, eyeing several of the nearby muffins and jars of marmalade, unable to summon any interest in consuming them.
Theodore peeled the style section off the back of his newspaper and passed it over to Astoria with a frown. "How much did you drink last night? Tracey must have done a number but I thought you looked fine."
"I'm not hungover, it's a cold," Astoria sighed. The tiny newsprint in her hand seemed to be rising and falling slowly, like the bow of a boat on a calm sea.
"Go see Madame Pomfrey," said Theodore bossily. "You look like you're about to keel over."
"Yeah," Astoria muttered, blinking slowly in the direction of a photographic editorial featuring a Ministry Christmas party from the night before. "I thought I might try to eat first."
"Forget it," Theo insisted, dropping the unwanted crust of his english muffin. "You look disgusting. Take the paper with you and get it over with."
Not wanting an argument, Astoria got up from her seat and wandered back the way she had come, a little nauseated by what little of the wafting smell of bacon and eggs managed to actually reach her senses through her stuffed nose.
Unwilling to go to Madame Pomfrey, (Astoria suspected the nurse would force feed her a pepper-up potion that would make her ears steam, if she did) and even less desirous of going back to her dormitory, Astoria dithered on the second floor uncertainly. What she really wanted was a private place to go where she could be alone and nap without interruption. With the school so full however, Astoria could not think of where such a place might exist. Her own bed was too hot and her usual chilly haunts: the library, Divination tower nook and courtyard, were not well designed for lying down.
Shivering desperately, Astoria balled her fingers up in the sleeves of her sweater and decided to go to the study area on the third floor, as it boasted a window seat and several throw pillows.
She made it halfway down the second floor corridor before the door to the staff room opened and Professor Vector came out. He was holding a steaming cup of coffee in the same mug he always seemed to use- the one Astoria had spotted countless times on the edge of his desk looking empty and dirty- and for a moment, Astoria wondered rather dizzily if it was the only mug Professor Vector owned.
"Miss Greengrass," remarked Vector warmly, brightening when he spotted her. "A very merry and belated Christmas to you! How was the Ball?"
Astoria strained, trying to recollect if she had seen Professor Vector the night before and realized that she had not. Could he have been dancing with Professor Sinistra, perhaps?
"Everything was gorgeous," Astoria smiled, forcing enough lightness into her voice to disguise her gravelly croak. "Didn't you go?"
"I missed it, I'm afraid," said Professor Vector mildly, sipping from the coffee in his hand. "I was invited to a rather pompous dinner party hosted by the French Minister of Magic, but I'm sorry to say that it wasn't half as amusing as I had hoped it might be."
Astoria laughed at this, subtly peeking at the purple golf socks that Professor Vector wore under his loafers, wondering how it was that Professor Vector might know the French Minister.
"Which reminds me," said Professor Vector, his hand twitching upward to pat his breast pocket absently, "I have something for you."
"You do?" asked Astoria, rather taken aback. If Professor Vector had discovered an excellent book of remedial Arithmancy problems during his travels, Astoria would just as soon not know about it.
"Yes," Vector continued. "Aston Mendel gave me photograph to pass along to you. It should be in my carrying case. Can you spare a moment? I'm afraid my luggage is still in my office-"
Curiosity won the battle against burgeoning illness and Astoria decided that she could spare Professor Vector as many moments as he needed. She turned to walk with him up to the seventh floor.
"Do you see Aston often?" asked Astoria slyly, lingering near the doorway as Professor Vector rummaged about in a leather case behind the blackboard.
It was an odd thing to be in the Arithmancy classroom during the holidays. The shades were all half drawn and the many personal affects that Vector had left strewn about his desk served to make Astoria feel as though she was trespassing into his private space.
"I have lately," ventured Professor Vector in distraction, finally locating a large manilla envelope in a side pocket of his bag. This envelope appeared to contain a number of very personal and private looking documents, so Astoria averted her eyes, afraid that Vector might think she was snooping otherwise. "Here it is."
Professor Vector licked his thumb and forefinger, gently sliding the photograph out of the envelope without disturbing the contents of the packet.
When it became clear that he did not mean to bring the photograph to her, Astoria crossed the room to gaze at it in the light of his one un-shuttered window.
It was a black and white image of Astoria, Maudlin and Aston Mendel, taken perhaps five years previously. Aston Mendel, wearing a wildly purple tartan scarf, was leaning against the oak desk in what Astoria recognized as his office at home. Cringing with the grim embarrassment of the recently chastised, Maudlin appeared to be lingering under a nearby lampshade, the corner of his tartan sweater only just visible, despite the effort that his tiny photographic self was making to hide it.
Directly in the foreground, sprawled on the floor in an oversized tartan beret and sobbing uncontrollably, was Astoria.
"Oh!" cried Astoria in delight, seizing the photograph at once. "It's us on Dionysus Day!"
Professor Vector blinked, glancing between the miserable looking photograph and Astoria's face, evidently surprised by her cheerful reaction.
"Dionysus Day?" remarked Vector, looking slightly bemused. "I can't say that I've ever heard of it."
"That's because we made it up," breathed Astoria quickly, unable to hide her enthusiasm. "It's a fake holiday- a competition, really. It starts on New Years Eve morning and carries on until midnight. The goal is to try to make the other players do as many nonsensical things as possible before they realize what they're about. Whoever causes the most mischief wins. Then, the winner gets to punish the losers by giving them a task that they can't refuse."
"Oh? How clever," quirked Professor Vector, looking as though he would have dearly loved to laugh at her.
"It's good fun," Astoria finished lamely, a little embarrassed by the unfettered joy she had just displayed. Astoria's tiny photographic double continued to bawl in grainy, black and white discontent. "Sort of..." Astoria amended.
"That explains the tartan, I suppose?" prompted Professor Vector kindly. "I thought it a bit out of fashion."
"That's the fools uniform," Astoria answered promptly, wishing that her mouth would stop speaking of its own accord. "Well, thank you. I'll let you unpack."
Astoria left the room as quickly as she could, feeling as though she had already lost enough of her dignity to make rushing out seem like an inconsequential evil by comparison.
The heavy sleet continued to hammer the castle windows in the stairway. Astoria's eyes itched and her nose throbbed but she was suddenly wild to show Maudlin the photograph in her hands and she did not think she could sleep until she had done so.
Not wanting to cross the wet grounds if she did not absolutely have to, Astoria decided to start with the Great Hall and she was not disappointed. Theodore had left but Alec, Maudlin and Draco were all eating toast together near the end of the Slytherin table.
"They decided not to send him back to Beauxbatons but, short of corporal punishment, Maxime's taking the most ruthless line that she can..." Maudlin broke off at the sight of Astoria and beckoned toward her excitedly. "Ria, come here!"
Astoria had been walking toward him anyway but she slowed her pace at once, determined not to look as though she was responding to his summons. Draco watched her covertly, the toast in his hand momentarily forgotten.
"What's going on?" asked Astoria, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that her voice sounded like a sack of rocks being jostled.
"Have you heard about Luc?" demanded Maudlin, his eyes bright with amusement.
"No," Astoria sniffled, drawing her sweater tight about her as she took a seat. "What's happened to him? He didn't actually fall in the lake?"
"No," replied Maudlin smugly, "although he probably wishes he had."
"Are you going to tell me or am I supposed to guess?" asked Astoria tartly, the discomfort in her face shortening the fuse on her temper by half.
"Your Professor Snape caught him roaring drunk and trapped in the rose bushes at the Ball. Snape turned him over to Madame Maxime last night," explained Maudlin, snickering unkindly. "Maxime's beside herself, declaring that he's an embarrassment to the whole school. She made Luc stand outside in the rain for three hours this morning to recite an apology to no one until Delacour complained and said he was keeping her awake."
"What?" Astoria gaped, momentarily absorbed.
"Nothing but beauty rest and relaxation for the school champion, of course," remarked Maudlin snidely. "Maxime sent him back to our room drenched and then I had to deal with him. I've only just gotten away."
"I suppose that's why we couldn't find him the maze," said Astoria, piecing this information together.
"You know, it's people like Luc who ruin it for everybody," reflected Maudlin resentfully. "Now, he'll probably have regular room checks and my whole life will go into lockdown just because Luc couldn't hold his liquor."
"At least it wasn't you that Snape found headfirst in a rosebush," said Astoria, taking the photograph out of her pocket. "Have a look at this."
"When have you ever known me to collapse into the shrubbery, Astoria?" demanded Maudlin haughtily. "That sort of thing is for people who drink half a glass of wine on and ice and start trying to—Oh!" Maudlin's affected dignity vanished in a flash of child-like joy as he took in the picture Astoria was showing him. "Dionysus Day!"
Draco frowned, studying Maudlin suspiciously, as though he thought it was entirely possible he might be witnessing a stroke.
Alec's toast froze at his lips however, and his shoulders went very still.
"Fucking hell," growled Alec, parting ways with his usual unshakable stoicism. "Not this again!"
"What?" demanded Malfoy, glancing between Maudlin and Astoria in annoyance, knowing that he was the odd man out and resenting them both for it. "What's a Dionysus Day? Some pagan thing?"
"Don't even ask about it!" snapped Alec, throwing his half eaten toast onto his plate in disgust. "However annoying you think it sounds, you're not even grasping the half of it."
Startled more by Alec's departure from silky-smooth form than his hostility, Draco turned his incredulous gaze back onto Astoria and Maudlin, his face trapped in the kind of half sneer he always seemed to form when he was confused and didn't want to show it.
"What are you talking about, Alec?" demanded Maudlin. "Dionysus Day is the best thing ever, Draco. Don't listen to a word he says."
"It's so much fun!" Astoria rushed to agree. "Its a day of pranks."
"Its a whole day of these two idiots competing with each other in tartan costumes and then breaking down into temper tantrums when they lose," cautioned Alec sharply, eyes flashing with annoyance. "I don't want to hear about this, Maudlin. Enough. You're a grown man, for merlin's sake!"
Luc had entered the hall and was making his way toward them but Maudlin seemed to have forgotten his intention to be rude.
"It works like this," said Maudlin, leaning over the table toward Draco, who actively twitched away from him. "The game starts on the morning of New Years Eve and ends at midnight—"
"Good morning, Luc!" said Alec pointedly, so keen to change the subject that he was willing to court Luc in order to make it happen.
With his hair still wet from his rain-soaked punishment, Luc sat down heavily. He pulled a tureen of porridge across the table violently, clearly in a black mood. "If you say so," he snapped.
"Anyway," said Maudlin, ignoring Luc's outburst with the porridge bowl, "you spend the whole day tricking people into doing foolish things. Every time you trick someone, you get a point."
"How do you trick them, exactly?" asked Draco snidely, unimpressed.
"There's all kinds of ways," said Maudlin, his mouth twitching with a repressed smirk. "Luc, pass the pudding."
Luc gummed his porridge and eyed Maudlin resentfully, his spoon still hovering near his mouth. Finally, he swallowed and began searching about his elbows.
"Ha!" cried Maudlin. "See, it's breakfast! There is no pudding. That would be a point to me."
Astoria and Maudlin exchanged a look of knowing satisfaction.
"What points?" scowled Luc. "What's this rubbish? Where is the pudding, Maudlin? I don't have all day—"
"Lord," drawled Maudlin excitedly, elbowing Astoria in the side. "Can you even imagine? He'll be the worst at this."
"The worst at what?" Luc snapped.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Luc," shot back Maudlin disparagingly. "Anyway, whoever has the most points at midnight wins the game and they get to punish the other players however they want. They also get to hold the title for a year."
Draco's eyes had narrowed dubiously. "Who plays this game?"
"We do," said Maudlin, expressing the same curiously compulsive pride that Astoria had exhibited in front of Professor Vector.
"You and Astoria have a holiday?" asked Malfoy, sneering so openly that it was a wonder Maudlin did not notice.
"And my father," added Maudlin, oblivious to Draco's acidic annoyance. "He was always the best at it. Astoria had a tendency get overly ambitious. That was her weakness."
"What?" Astoria scoffed, uncomfortable with the way Draco was scowling but unable to ignore Maudlin's jab. "We always lost because you were obvious, Maudlin. It had nothing to do with me!"
"You're joking, right?" returned Maudlin stubbornly. "Just because my Father thinks you can do no wrong doesn't mean that he couldn't tell when you were trying to pull one over on him. I was a hundred times stealthier than you."
"No you weren't!" Astoria insisted incredulously. "You were the idiot trying to get him to pass you the pudding!"
"This!" warned Alec sharply, disgusted in the extreme. "This is what Dionysus Day really is, Draco. Stay out of it."
"I can't believe your father let you call it Dionysus Day," rejoined Luc judgmentally, annoyed by the ruse with the pudding and looking for a way to lash back.
"Dionysus was the Greek patron of the arts," said Maudlin, flustered as to how this could possibly be considered inappropriate.
"Dionysus was the patron of nothing but wine!" countered Luc scathingly.
"Was he?" asked Maudlin cooly. "How about you scoot down a few seats so I don't tell Madame Maxime about all the wine you stole from her in the fall."
"Are you serious?" snapped Luc. "You drank half of that—"
"But I didn't get trapped in a rose bush last night," returned Maudlin pointedly.
Slowly, Luc stood up and moved down two seats, carrying his porridge with him. He was glaring so murderously when he sat back down that Astoria almost feared for Maudlin's safety, all too aware that he would have to sleep in the next bed over from Luc later that night.
"I'm done eating," Alec decided. "We should go back to the carriage."
"You know what I'm thinking?" asked Maudlin carefully, getting up from the table and glancing sidelong at Astoria. Three seats away, Luc was spooning his porridge as fast as he could to avoid being left behind.
"What?" asked Astoria hopefully, standing up as well.
"Well, I mean, what are the odds that we would both be together on New Years at Hogwarts?" asked Maudlin evasively. "Do you think we should give Dionysus Day another shot? It's been years since we've done it properly..."
"We could play in teams!" Astoria burst, privately delighted by this idea but afraid to allow her excitement to run over while Draco continued to look so agitated.
The cold sheets of rain outside drove into their shoulders like icy daggers as they crossed the lawn and by the time they had reached the Beauxbatons carriage, Astoria was out of breath and feeling almost uncomfortably feverish. She had not thought to bring a cloak to breakfast and the damp continued to linger in the fabric of her sweater and the around bottom of her stockings long after she had shaken her hair dry.
Maudlin's room was almost as hot as Astoria's dormitory had been and a dizzying rush of wooziness warned her to sit down and try to collect herself. Draco had thrown himself onto one of the purple couches so Astoria sank down next to him, hoping to somehow coax him out of any moodiness before he could turn their excellent New Years plans into a punishment.
"Why tartan?" Alec was saying, his voice sounding curiously distant. "What an unnecessary detail."
"Well, that's Astoria's fault," Maudlin assured him, betraying his first trace of distaste. "It was her idea at the beginning and my father humored her."
"We needed uniforms," said Astoria, defending herself weakly. "I was eight. I thought tartan was funny."
"Fitting, certainly," remarked Alec dryly.
"Yes, well, it's tradition now, so there's nothing to be done," said Maudlin, accepting the rule that he would have to wear colorful plaid in order to compete in his own made-up competition with the same seriousness that he might have afforded a pure-blood decree from the year the International Statute of Secrecy had been signed.
"You can't expect us to believe that you don't own any, Alec," added Astoria mischievously, glancing at the opposite couch without lifting her head.
Maudlin laughed heartily at this.
One of Astoria's shoes fell off of her foot and hit the carpeted floor with a dull thump. She kicked the other one off after it, hoping that perhaps her stockings would dry out faster without them.
"Are you alright?" asked Maudlin, squinting in the direction of Astoria's face at long last. "You look funny."
"I have a cold," said Astoria, thinking of how quickly Theodore had perceived her illness and wondering how it was that Maudlin had managed to finish an entire meal with Astoria sniffling next to him without noticing.
"Nott had something last week," said Draco lazily, eyeing the side of Astoria's face. If he was thinking fearfully of the saliva they had enthusiastically swapped the night before, his expression did not seem to show it. "He's always sick— you'd almost think there was something wrong with him, wouldn't you?"
"You really do look awful, Astoria," Maudlin frowned. "You should probably see the nurse."
Astoria shrugged, tucking both of her feet up. The fever burning in her face was beginning making her limbs feel sore, as sensitivity similar to the kind she might have earned by falling down an entire flight of steps otherwise.
"We should play cards," suggested Luc. "There's nothing else to do."
Astoria did not want to play cards. In fact, now that her body had come to a rest, she really did not know why she had thought it was such a good idea to follow Maudlin all the way across the grounds in the first place. What Astoria actually wanted to do was sleep, and the vast expanse of rain and ice-slicked lawn that now separated her from her bed suddenly seemed like an insurmountable obstacle.
"Alright," Maudlin agreed, tossing the photograph that Astoria had given him onto an end table. "I think they're in the drawer."
The effort of holding her knees near her chest was becoming a strain. Astoria pressed her face against the plush fabric of the couch and let her legs slide down to rest against Draco's side, too warm and sleepy to think much about what message she might be sending him by doing so. His body was encouragingly solid and even this small point of contact between them was surprisingly comforting.
"You're both sobbing in this photograph," remarked Luc. Astoria's eyes were no longer open but she imagined Luc must have picked up Aston's photo in his search for the playing cards. "Astoria looks like a Dickensian orphan."
Across the room, Alec scoffed so loudly that the sound carried over toward them like a dry twig snapping.
"Yes, well," muttered Maudlin evasively. "The game isn't as fun when you lose."
Under the guise of reaching for the photograph, Draco leaned back against the couch and shifted so that his leg slid under Astoria's knees. He let out a short, humorless laugh at the sight of the Mendels joyless childhood holiday and then threw the photograph back onto the end table without passing it along to Alec.
Astoria opened one of her eyes and stared along the back of the cushions at Draco's sullen face. Unlike Astoria, he had the foresight to wear a winter cloak and not even the collar of the shirt he was wearing under it appeared to be damp from the rain.
It was a pity that existing in the human form seemed to mean having to abide by so many rules, Astoria thought. If she could have gotten away with pressing her face into Draco's shirt and sleeping there dizzily, she surely would have done it. In real life however, outside the fog of her feverish brain, such simple gratification would always be accompanied by work. Maudlin would want to know what Astoria was doing, napping on one of his male friends in his dormitory and Draco would immediately begin clamoring for escape, as surely the idea of a boiling hot and drippy-faced sick person clinging to him would be less than appealing.
Astoria smirked into the fabric beneath her face, amused by her own unfortunateness and by her sudden, magpie-like obsession with Draco's clean and decidedly healthy looking shoulder.
Luc was complaining again but Astoria was no longer listening. She angled her head so that if she did begin to droop, she would be more inclined to slump away from Draco than towards him, and pulled her damp sweater tighter until she was as horizontal on the small couch as she possibly could be without actually falling over. Whatever hesitation Astoria might normally have had about public sloppiness seemed to have evaporated in the furious heat that was burning under her skin. Draco wriggled his arm out from under the weight of her legs and rested it furtively on top of her knees. Astoria found herself focusing softly on the side of his hand that was touching her leg, finding the pressure oddly centering.
It was not enough to draw Maudlin's notice, Astoria decided. Not with her head on the other side of the couch. Exactly what it was that Astoria did not want Maudlin to notice, however, Astoria could not entirely say. The world had receded into a dull presence, with her own physical discomfort taking the center stage of her thoughts.
0o0
When Astoria awoke several hours later, she experienced a brief burst of panic. She could not remember having fallen asleep in the first place and for a long, confused moment, she was not entirely certain where she was. Slowly however, the purple velvet upholstery of the couch and the sound of male voices came together and began to add up. She was in the Beauxbatons carriage and she literally could not remember the last time she had felt so poorly.
Astoria lifted her head in a daze. The sky outside showed that it was still daytime but the clouds had grown darker. Icy rain continued to fall, casting everything into an unnaturally early evening. The boys had dragged one of the tables toward the window for light and they were busy playing cards amongst themselves, their talk a dull rumble against the heavy pounding of water on the roof.
Astoria sat up, feeling distant and removed from her own body. A wave of lightheadedness made her pause, bracing herself with her hands so that she did not fall over. A raw, lung-rattling fit of coughing finally drew the boys' attention away from their game.
"Astoria, you're alive," observed Maudlin, tossing a king from his hand onto the pile of cards in the middle of the table, frowning at her distractedly. "Are you feeling better?"
"No," said Astoria dully, hardly able to recognize her own voice. Somebody had thought to toss a throw blanket over her—Alec, if Astoria had to guess—as he alone struck her as the type with enough common sense to realize that a sick person's vulnerable body ought to be covered. Astoria struggled out from underneath it as though the fabric had been sewn from lead.
"Go see Madam Pomfrey," said Draco, his sharp gaze taking in Astoria's cherry red cheeks and disheveled hair.
Astoria nodded, more to herself than to acknowledge Draco's assessment, and tried to find her footing on the carpeted floor.
"She's fine," Luc scoffed, trumping Maudlin's king with an ace. "She just needs water."
"She looks like she's going to faint," argued Maudlin clinically, continuing on as though Astoria could not hear him. "Water won't help."
Astoria did not have the energy to listen to them bicker. She located her shoes and rubbed her bleary eyes. "What time is it?"
"Quarter past three," answered Alec.
Astoria shuffled her toes into her shoes until they were sitting properly against her ankles. Spotting the grey-black sweater that Draco had tossed onto the back of the nearest arm chair and thinking of the chilly grounds she would have to cross, Astoria grabbed it and yanked it over her head without asking for permission.
She did not feel bad about this bit of thievery, as she could see Draco's cloak hanging on a hook near the door, but Astoria was thankful that he allowed her to put the sweater on and rearrange her static-trapped hair without complaining about his loss of property in front of an audience.
"Rest up!" called Maudlin. "We'll make plans for New Years tomorrow."
"Ok," Astoria agreed flatly, no longer capable of summoning any excitement about the prospect.
"Breakfast!" Maudlin insisted, continuing to shout after Astoria until she was halfway down the hall.
Astoria knew by the time she had regained the front steps of the castle that she would not be going to breakfast the next morning. Everything around her seemed to be reaching her brain in hot, sick flashes. The debate over going to see Madame Pomfrey ended up the fourth floor. Shaky and desperate to be under her blankets, Astoria sped past the infirmary and headed toward the Fat Lady.
The Gryffindor girls dormitory was empty when Astoria collapsed against her pillows. Water and sleet continued to slid down the glass tower windows well into the night. Astoria listened to it fall, sleeping for long restless fits, only to be jerked awake again by spontaneous and painful periods of coughing.
Around midnight, Astoria was roused for what felt like the dozenth time by a fitful ticking in her chest. Promptly, Astoria rolled over and pressed her face into her sheets, trying to wheeze quietly, conscious of the annoyed huffs that had been coming from direction of Lavender Brown's bed all night.
When the worst of it was over, Astoria lay with her head just under her pillow, gasping for air and wiping forced tears from her eyes with the cuff of Draco's shirt. It occurred to her as she ran the fabric of his sleeve against the skin underneath her eyelashes she was not wearing a standard issue school sweater, no matter how similar the dark coloring of the garment might be to their uniforms. Intrigued by the idea that she had accidentally stolen a personal item, Astoria took greater stock of the sweater's softness and smell .
Silently, because there was no one around to see her, Astoria tucked her nose down into the fabric near her armpit, breathing in slowly through her watery nasal passages. It did not smell like anything that went through the school laundry, Astoria confirmed. The scent that clung to it was private and domestic; a mixture of the soap Narcissa Malfoy liked her house elves to use, and the closet space that Draco's clothes were kept in. There was no trace of either the deodorant or formal cologne that Astoria associated with Malfoy's actual presence; it smelled like his home, a place that Astoria was entirely unfamiliar with.
Astoria rolled over and stared at the top of her bed, careful not to agitate the rhythm of her breathing. Alone in the darkness, Astoria wondered how Draco's mother would feel, if she knew that something she had purchased and ordered her elves to pack in order to keep her son warm at school had ended up on the body of a sick girl who sometimes liked to hit him.
Not much, Astoria realized, experiencing a niggling lick of shame before sleep reclaimed her. She was sleeping in the borrowed cocoon of an unshakable safety that had been meant for somebody else.
0o0
Lavender Brown was awake and gone from the dormitory before eight o'clock the next morning, exasperated and entirely sick of having to listen to Astoria cough and choke.
Parvati was a bit kinder, bringing Astoria half of a sandwich around dinner time, once it became evident that Astoria would remain bed-ridden, and asking if she needed anything from her trunk before disappearing again. Astoria could not bring herself to eat and it was not until late the following evening that her fever finally broke.
On the second morning, after having slept for nearly forty eight uninterrupted hours, Astoria was up at the sound of the first bird song, purged and almost ravenously hungry.
The temperature of the world seemed to have finally righted itself again. Astoria cranked the creaky metal tap in the ladies tower bathroom toward hot and spent a good twenty minutes working the knots out of sweaty hair in the early morning light. The feeling of bubbles beneath her fingers was almost as satisfying as the idea that all traces of her illness could be washed down the drain, and she made a thorough job of it.
Dry, pale and cleansed, Astoria forced herself to take the time to apply mascara, anxious to hide the signs of the battle she had been fighting from her bed before presenting herself to the world again. Feeling as hollow and light as the birds that were chirping in the eaves, Astoria set off for breakfast.
The rain had receded during the night, taking Astoria's fever haze with it. A feeble, golden light was working its way in through the long windows and puffs of hopeful white clouds were visible against the blue sky that was hanging over the forbidden forest.
The Great Hall smelled wonderful. Astoria sat in the nearest seat, unconcerned by the fact that she was nearly the only person awake, and began to pull everything she could reach toward her, stacking enough food on her plate to satisfy a small hoard of goblins.
Growing up with Belladonna, Astoria had long ago become accustomed to careful consideration and reasonable self regulation when it came to feeding herself. Eating wildly was something that had always been frowned upon as un-ladylike. Delighted to have an excuse to gorge herself, Astoria spread a thick wad of butter across a crumpet and stuffed half of it into her mouth, spooning blueberry jam directly onto the second half in her hand.
"There you are!" called Theodore, as delighted and surprised to see Astoria as Astoria herself felt about with the biscuit she was clutching. "You're up!"
"Mmph," Astoria mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. "I was sick," Astoria continued, swallowing thickly.
"I know," said Theodore, a flash of something like annoyance crossing his features. "Malfoy told me. He was really smug about it too, like he thought it was excellent that he knew something about you and I didn't."
"I fell asleep on a couch in the Beauxbatons carriage," Astoria explained, hardly able to keep herself from cramming the second half of the crumpet into her mouth before she finished chewing the first. "I don't suppose he could have missed it."
"No, he wouldn't," Theodore grumbled, pouring out a measure of coffee.
"We should do something today," exclaimed Astoria wistfully, so cheered by the combination of easy breathing, sunshine, butter and company that she could have exploded with happiness. "It's nice out."
"Like what?" demanded Theodore, eyeing the sunny ceiling skeptically.
"Anything," Astoria returned, brushing down her lap and starting in on a bowl of berries. "I don't care."
"I know Tracey is looking for you," said Theodore. "She hasn't seen you since the ball and it's killing her."
Astoria poured herself a steaming mug of tea and tossed a crushed handful of mint from the top of her berry bowl into it. After a moment's hesitation, she fished several lemons out of a nearby pitcher of juice and added them as well, desperate to put everything she liked into her mouth at once.
"We could go to the library, I guess," Theodore mused.
Astoria readily agreed and, after finishing two poached peach pancakes dripping with syrup and several cherry almond biscotti sticks, she stood to follow him, feeling significantly less unsubstantial than she had before.
"I suppose Krum will be here somewhere," Theodore complained, disrupting the delicate swirls of dust in the shafts of sunlight as he moved between the book shelves. Astoria trailed in his wake. "He's always here, rain or shine."
"What section?" asked Astoria curiously, the sound slightly muffled through her mouthful of biscotti
"I dunno, the back hall. Transfiguration?" answered Theodore. "Does it matter? His fan club would follow him to the moon, if they could."
"He's probably getting ready for the Second Task, you know," said Astoria pointedly. "Whatever it is that he's studying might be a good indicator of what the Task will be."
"I don't even care what the Task is," said Theodore, a faint glimmer curiosity betraying his lie.
Before Astoria could suggest a proper scheme for spying on Viktor Krum, she and Theodore were both startled by a loud and slightly accusing shout.
"Astoria!"
Tracey had paused near Madame Pince's desk, the book she was returning still clutched tightly in her hand. Astoria quickly hid the biscotti behind her back and attempted to stop chewing.
Tracy abandoned the text and rushed over to them, her eyes darting about nervously.
"Where have you been?" she demanded, pushing Astoria back toward the hall. "Come on, let's go-"
"OVERDUE!" boomed Madam Pince, causing the nearest bookend to rattle.
"What the—?" gaped Theodore.
"Move!" Tracey hissed.
Thinking of the illegal cookie in her hand and the greater wrath that it would surely inspire, Astoria turned tail and rushed after Tracey.
"NOT A THOUGHT ABOUT ORDER!" Madame Pince's voice echoed behind them. "NOT A THOUGHT ABOUT DECENCY!"
Tracey yanked them both down a short wooden staircase until they came tumbling out near the courtyard by the Transfiguration corridor.
"I can't believe I found you!" declared Tracey triumphantly. "I thought you had died."
"That woman is deeply disturbed," muttered Theodore, still staring back in the direction from which they had come.
"Oh, the yelling? She always does that," said Tracey dismissively, rounding on Astoria again.
"No she doesn't," Theodore argued, properly aghast.
Astoria took from this comment that Theodore was probably not a chronic offender of turning in late books, but Tracey did not want to talk about the librarian and she quickly cut over him.
"We have to talk about the Ball. How was the end of your night? I lost track of you! Did you dance with Alec? Did Maudlin try to kiss you even though he has a girlfriend? Where have you been for days?"
Astoria blinked at this rapid fire succession of inquires, unsure where to start.
"She was sick," said Theodore. "I must have told you that eight times."
"Sick with what?" Tracey demanded. "Why couldn't Madame Pomfrey do anything for you? I let Blaise feel me up in the coat room and I've had no one to talk to about it for days!"
Theodore let out a low sound of revulsion.
"I had the flu," said Astoria for the umpteenth time, trying not to pull a face as she thought of Blaise putting his hands anywhere on Tracey's body. "I couldn't make myself get out of bed."
"Where you really phlegmy?" Tracey prompted, as though this reminded her of something. "I mean gobs and gobs of it? Because Daphne had something nasty like that."
Theodore let out a second and highly offended sound of disgust, this time so loudly that he could not be ignored.
Across the courtyard through the windows, Astoria spotted a shock of blonde hair out of the corner of her eye. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle appeared to be crossing over the snow-patched patched grass, taking the long way back from the owlery.
"Ugh, incoming," Theodore muttered, following Astoria's line of sight.
Astoria was in too good of a mood to let anything bring her down, however, and even the sight of Draco and his goons commiserating together in low voices could not put a dampener on her spirits.
"Well, I'm going back to the library," Theodore declared, turned off by both Draco and the conversation at hand. "You can talk about groping Blaise Zabini and your misadventures with phlegm in private, how about that?"
"What?" drawled Draco delightedly, coming in at precisely the worst possible moment of this declaration. "Your groped Blaise, Davis?"
"Yup," said Tracey boldly, as unashamed as she was proud.
"And why was there phlegm?" Draco continued, his eyes sparkling malevolently.
"Oh, that wasn't me," began Tracey.
"Morning, Draco!" Astoria beamed, pleased when her unexpected brightness caused him to do a double take, momentarily distracted from all talk of mucus.
"Anyway," Tracey went on, "we made out in the coat room but I haven't seen much of him since."
"What a surprise," drawled Draco.
"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Tracey at once, displeased by Draco's tone of voice.
"Nothing, Tracey," said Astoria, not wanting to watch Draco brutalize her friend while she was in a state of such tender hopefulness.
Draco scoffed disinterestedly, the sound hinting at Blaise's suspected ambivalence, but said nothing more.
"It's not like he's ignoring me," Tracey bristled. "He's definitely interested."
Draco raised his eyebrows, unconvinced.
"He is!" Tracey continued, letting Draco get the best of her. "He told me just last night that he was bored and jerked off to my Christmas card."
Theodore gagged.
"What?" burst Draco, his face lighting up with with cruel and unexpected delight. "That stupid photo you showed us in Arithmancy?"
Theodore had covered his mouth with his hand and Astoria had a faint suspicion that he had only done so to hide his own immature smirk.
"Yes. Why shouldn't he?" asked Tracey stoutly, unable to see that her best possible recourse was to stop talking immediately. "It was a good picture, wasn't it Astoria?"
"Don't bring me into it!" said Astoria faintly, torn between disgust over Blaise's rudeness and her own gut wrenching desire to laugh until she gagged.
"You think it's gross, too?" demanded Tracey crossly. "You'd be offended?"
Draco's eyes flicked toward Astoria mid-laugh, sobering just enough to betray a furtive, almost guilty interest in her response.
"Your mother was in that photograph," ventured Astoria feebly, biting her lip to keep from snickering before remembering what it was that had bothered her the most about Tracey's comment in the first place. "Not to mention, why would Blaise go out of his way to tell you that he'd only done it because he was bored? That's absolute rubbish, if you ask me."
"Oh," said Tracey blandly, her face falling as she considered this. "I hadn't thought of that."
"How?" drawled Malfoy in a clear, cruel voice, hardly able to believe his luck or his ears.
"Well, what do I do now?" snapped Tracey.
"Give up on him!" said Theodore scornfully, bringing his laughter under control at last. "Blaise is a wank."
Malfoy chuckled unpleasantly at this choice of wording.
"What do I do, Astoria?" repeated Tracey, turning away from the boys. "Theodore's no help."
"I don't know," Astoria scoffed, feeling uncomfortably put on the spot. "Zabini's always seemed like the type who might strangle puppies for fun. I've never understood what you see in him."
Draco scoffed and leaned against the wall, somehow gratified by Astoria's black opinion of his friend.
"Well, I've got to do something," Tracey insisted. "The power balance is all off. I can't believe I didn't see it before..."
"Tracey, please don't make me plot your demented games," Astoria begged, wondering how it was that Tracey could be so open about something so easily ridiculed in front of Draco, who quite literally lived for that sort of thing.
"You're so good at games, though," Tracey whined. "You're the best at menacing people. They never even realize you're doing it!"
"Merlin, you're pathetic Davis," sneered Draco.
"Come on," said Astoria, taking Tracey by the arm, intending to lead her away toward the privacy she should have waited for in the first place.
The sound of Draco cracking himself up all over again chased them all the way across the courtyard.
"Do you think he'll mention any of this to Blaise?" Tracey worried, peering back at Draco as though the thought had just occurred to her.
"Yes," said Astoria flatly. "You told Draco Malfoy that Blaise had a wank over a photograph of your mother's face. Of course he will."
"That was really stupid, wasn't it?" Tracey mused, curiously unashamed.
"Completely," Astoria returned honestly, steering them toward the opposing hallway.
"Well, what do you think, then? I'll probably see him on New Years, won't I? Should I flirt with someone else? Oh—or should I give him a photograph that doesn't have the rest of my family in it?"
"No!" Astoria returned hurriedly, coming to a halt in the shadows of a tall suit of armor. "You really want to change the balance of power? Wear the same dress you had on in the Christmas photo and then don't talk to him unless he approaches you. Blaise is vain and he thinks he has you under his thumb. Prove him wrong."
"Ooh," said Tracey slowly. "That could actually work!"
"Yeah," Astoria agreed evasively, liking the part of the plan where Tracey didn't talk to Blaise the most. "If he says a thing about your mum though, drop him immediately."
Tracey cackled and started off down the hall. Astoria watched nervously as Tracey's sharp, blonde bob bounced out of sight, disliking the hand she had played in this plot.
Whatever chance of convincing Tracey to stay away from Blaise that Astoria might have once had seemed to have faded. It would take something tremendous for Tracey to give up on him now, either Blaise chucking Tracey or the discovery of an even more suitable male for her to fawn over.
Remembering the biscotti she had hidden in her pocket, Astoria withdrew the cookie and took a tense bite.
0o0
Blaise Zabini. Alias: the last person anyone would want their friend to date.
Alright, I know this was a bit of a bottle episode. Nothing really happened and it was more of a follow-up to the last two chapters, but there were a couple of elements in this that I really enjoyed so I hope you guys can forgive me.
I sometimes take for granted the fact that there is a lot of back-story and history between Maudlin and Astoria. The real goal of the much-maligned 'Dionysus Day' is partially to give the characters something to do for New Years, but also kind of a way to dip into Astoria's childhood. (Alec will get his backstory a little later on). For some reason, Astoria and Maudlin both strike me as the type of people who would probably be considered cool by their peers. I guess the idea that a dumb childhood competition could so easily turn them into a pair of dorky losers really appeals to me. There's nothing like old family stuff to make a person act like a twit, is there?
Anyway, sorry for the frivolousness! The next chapter will finish up the holidays and bring classes, Rita Skeeter and rest back into play. The second task is also on its way so never fear, actual plot will return.
As always, reviews are always an amazing treat! I should have the next chapter up around the weekend.