Chapter Forty Eight
Harry Potter's Secret Heartache
0o0
Astoria staggered to her feet, still laughing madly. Tracey and Maudlin had pushed into the line of students surging down the narrow stairway and Cassandra had already disappeared. Wrapping her arms around her shaking shoulders, Astoria made to follow them.
"Seriously?"
Draco had lingered behind and was now leaning against the banister. His body was inclined toward the steps, but his frustrated face was turned towards Astoria and she knew immediately that he was going to be difficult to shake.
"Oh, what?" Astoria tried, anxious to avoid a fight while adrenaline was still stuttering through her veins like the flapping of anxious wings.
"Granger, I get," Draco sneered, pushing out in front of her. Even as Astoria watched, his shoulder twitched as though he were shaking off an irksome pest. "She has nothing else to compare Potter to, but I never expect it from you, " he finished contemptuously. "Why don't you just throw yourself on him now and spare us all the wait? Get the hero worship out of your system early-"
"You're talking about Harry?" Astoria scoffed. "Draco, his hostage was Ron Weasley. Something tells me that I wouldn't do much for him."
It was a mark of how desperate Astoria was to elude the argument that she found herself entirely willing to take a swing at Harry. Instead of glowing with faint gratification, however, Draco seemed, if anything, even more irritated.
"That's cute," Draco sneered, finally forced to move aside by the jostling flow of foot traffic.
Astoria seized her opportunity to gain the steps, but Draco cut off a curly haired Hufflepuff and continued to dog her. "How much did you bet on him, anyway?" he demanded.
"Does it matter?" Astoria sighed, searching the crowd eagerly for Maudlin, whose presence was usually enough to check Draco's cruel sense of urgency when he was worked up.
"Yeah," Malfoy sneered, "it does when I have to sit next to you and listen to you simper!"
"Don't sit next to me, then," suggested Astoria tartly, standing on tip-toes in order to scan the crowd with more accuracy.
"I mean it, Greengrass!" Draco snarled, perhaps just as annoyed by his lack of ability to command Astoria's full attention as he was by her apparently unshakable confidence in Harry. "If you take another bet on Potter for the Third Task, I'll—"
"You'll what?" Astoria snapped, sensing a threat and prickling almost immediately. "Tell the teachers on me? You're good at that, aren't you? Playing the snitch?"
It was a very tense moment. Draco's already red face flushed anew and his twitchy shoulders went very still.
A tiny voice in the back of Astoria's head—the one belonging to her worried inner child, who wanted nothing more than for the people she cared about to unconditionally love her—urged her to stop speaking. She was only going to provoke Malfoy into saying something really nasty—something that would stick to her for her bones for days. But, perhaps because of the painful awkwardness that just sitting next to him seemed to have tainted her with, Astoria was suddenly fighting a powerful urge to make him do just that.
"It wouldn't work," Astoria went on stubbornly. "Goldstein already tired, remember?"
"I'm not Goldstein," Draco retaliated dangerously.
"No," Astoria scoffed, "only you've been on an annual quest to have Hagrid fired for nearly half a decade and the last time I checked, he still works here!"
"Because of Dumbledore," Draco snarled defensively. A lick of the deep rooted ugliness that Astoria knew him to possess flickered up behind his features. "You think that daft madman cares about seeing you go? All I'd have to do is mention the goblins to my father—"
"Ooh!" Astoria leered, greatly resenting the turn of the argument. "Big man. Let your father do the dirty work!"
Draco blinked rapidly. Obviously he had not expected such a low blow, even if he was going out of his way to very nearly threaten her.
"Where's Maudlin?" Astoria snapped, deciding she had had enough, pushing back up onto the tips of her feet again. A bizarre tremor of fury that had little to do with Harry Potter and much more to do with the burn Astoria had sustained on her wrist while trying not to make a fool of herself in front of Lucius seemed to be obscuring her vision.
Draco did not answer her; his expression narrow-eyed and withdrawn.
"It's not like your stunt with the Weasleys is the only target on your back, you know," he said at last, employing a tone that was far too even to be entirely natural and almost frighteningly resentful.
"What does that even mean?" Astoria sniped. "You're going to take out a hit on me if I keep cheering for Gryffindor's champion?"
"I wouldn't need to," Draco insisted unpleasantly, hesitating. "You've already got a mother whose name you wont even say. Not to mention a sister who spends half of her time alone in my common room these days. I don't need my father to make your life a living hell—"
He stopped talking, perhaps because the look on Astoria's face seemed to promise that an injury might transpire if he didn't. It once again occurred to Astoria that Draco was the only person she had ever physically hit before and in that moment, she remembered exactly why.
Not to mention a sister who spends half of her time alone in my common room these days.
"Draco," said Astoria very quietly, almost dizzy with anger, all because of a fight that had never needed to happen in the first place, "if you ever touched my sister—"
"You'd what?" Draco hissed rawly, pulling up and squaring himself stubbornly. "Slap me? Spend half your time fawning over people that I hate? Tell everyone how much you already don't like me anyway? Go ahead—it's not like it would make any difference!"
"I swear to God," Astoria gasped, her mind sharper in Draco's presence than it had been in months, guided by a shiny, cold sense of purpose, "the first thing I'd do would be to find Harry Potter and polish his wand for real. The second would be to come find you and never say a thing about it."
Draco froze, stunned into shivery silence by this bit of painted fiction.
"Then," Astoria continued, clinging to the new hatred in her chest, amazed by how much she preferred its brutal simplicity over the insecure madness she had felt in the stands, "I would just bide my time. Whenever I saw you, I'd think about it and when the opportunity finally came, I would push you off the top of the North Tower. Do you understand me?"
It was perhaps the most outrageous utterance that had ever passed Astoria's lips. But, instead of laughing at her for being embarrassingly dramatic or even scowling his disgust, Draco seemed to have forgotten how to blink. He continued to stare at her, half transfixed; a reaction Astoria had rarely ever seen anybody other than her aunt Belladonna manage to provoke in another human being.
"Forget it!" said Astoria savagely, finding a gap in the crowd. "I'll find Maudlin myself!"
Astoria's sense of scalpel-sharp righteousness lasted about as far as the floating walkways. By the time she had her feet on solid ground again, reason and regret threatened to consume her.
Why had she just said that?
Astoria's mind hissed and writhed as she pounded up the frozen, sandy path. Four years of trying to convince Draco to stop obsessing over Harry and she had just spoiled her own credibility with a single comment. She kicked the pebbly beach beneath her feet, furious with herself and Draco, who should have known so much better than to mention her sister in the first place.
'...a sister who spends half of her time alone in my common room these days.' What could he have possibly meant? That Daphne was outside of Astoria's realm of protection? That he only didn't cause Daphne distress because of how Astoria might react if he did—and that he was more than willing to change his tune if Astoria displeased him? She kicked at the ground again, this time picturing Draco's face.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! She had once again let her temper get the better of her. Instead of walking away from a fight that she could have won— a fight based entirely on someone else's insecurities—she was practically running up the lawn like a naughty child.
Astoria's feet continued to slam out a jarring rhythm until she reached the courtyard. Here, she was finally forced to stop and look around. In her disconnected hurry, she had not so much as bothered to keep a single eye out for anyone that she knew and it now seemed possible that she had beaten everyone back up toward the castle. Denied even the simple comfort of having a task to keep her busy, Astoria took a seat on one of the stone benches. Her fury had driven away the cold, but she knew that she did not have long to wait before she would begin to tremble and shake again.
Astoria stood up and stared at the bench. Then she stared at the front doors of the castle. Then at the bench again.
It was a bit like being out of her mind. For a moment, she actually wondered if, given the right provocation, she might not have it in her to strangle another human being. Feeling wild and more than a little ill, Astoria decided to head back into the hall.
The coffee and cider services had been cleared away, but there were still people milling about here and there. The door to the Room of Portraits had been left open, perhaps by Emilie and Cassandra. Astoria peered inside, hoping desperately that it would be empty so that she could take a seat on one of the couches until her feeling of partial insanity passed.
She was disappointed at once. Lucius Malfoy was leaning against the mantle of the unlit fireplace and Walden Macnair was sitting on one of the couches. Most disconcerting of all, however, was the sight of her father and Professor Vector, who were both near at hand and clearly somehow involved in Mr. Malfoy's conversation.
"There she is!" said a voice behind her. "Astoria!"
It was Maudlin, accompanied by Alec and Draco who, Astoria noticed, was carefully avoiding making any eye contact with her.
"Draco said he lost you," said Maudlin jauntily, unbothered by remorse or rage. The only thing on his mind seemed to be the mundane Task that he had just watched. Astoria recoiled instinctively, suspecting that any time she spent in Maudlin's company at the moment would be nothing short of a karmic punishment.
"Did he?" Astoria managed at last, earning a brief, deeply resentful glance from Draco.
"We were just talking about the after-party," Maudlin rattled on, missing the cold tension surrounding him. "I think we should meet up at the carriage and then see what we want to do from there. Draco has to say goodbye to his father. Do you want to find a cloak and come with us now?"
Astoria opened her mouth, trying to think of a way to escape when Maudlin supplied her with a ready-made answer.
"Oh," Maudlin started, "your father is here too. You can walk back with Draco, then. Come on, Alec! Let's see if we can uproot Cassandra—drinking with her is such a bore."
Alec peeled away from the wall and stooped to pick something up off the floor. Grinning, he handed over the paper to Astoria: it was a pamphlet listing the various charities sponsored by the Sisters of the Eastern Star.
"In case your father didn't get one," Alec insisted, smirking crookedly.
Astoria watched them both go, painfully aware of the fact that she was alone with Draco again. She wanted nothing more than to slip away, but she was too afraid to do so without bidding at least one of her relatives goodbye. An arctic silence descended. Draco continued to stare straight ahead, his expression tight and outside of himself.
The sound of the clock ticking in the Room of Portraits became audible, even where they were standing some thirty feet away. Astoria tried to lean back against the suit of armor behind her but the metal pricked her side and she stood up again sharply.
In response to her discomfort, Draco let out a low, snide scoff. The sound was enough to press Astoria back toward the tipping point. Before she even knew what she was doing, Astoria had balled up the pamphlet in her hands and thrown it at him.
Draco had not been expecting this, but he took the impact without so much as flinching. The small, compact ball hit his chest and bounced off. Draco's eyelashes fluttered—as though he wanted to squeeze them closed—and a muscle worked tensely in his jaw, but he said nothing, cowering away from her wave of anger by sullenly refusing to look at her. The more Astoria looked at him, the less convinced she was that he was even breathing.
"If you see my father," Astoria sneered, breaking the silence as she pushed away from the suit of armor, "tell him I'm sorry that I missed him."
With that, Astoria crossed the room, forcing herself not to look back and register the shock and anger surely playing itself out on Draco's face.
Her father had left her in a vast plethora of bizarre places throughout her lifetime, Astoria reasoned as she stormed down corridors and up steps. Well, now it was time for him to taste a dose of his own medicine. Belladonna would be offended and would surely send her an irate owl the following morning, but this was something Astoria could live with. Standing next to Malfoy for a even minute longer wasn't.
The common room was completely deserted when she reached it. The stillness of the chairs and empty hearthrug had a forlorn, uncomfortable quality. Desperate to outrun her guilt, Astoria went upstairs, drew a bath and kicked off her dress. She sat with her head pressed against her wet knees until the sun began to turn an amber-orange, watching steam condensate against the chilly window panes. When the bathwater turned cold, she pulled the plug and went to bed.
0o0
Either because of the early hour at which she had retired or because of the way Malfoy's face had crumpled when she hit him with the pamphlet, rest eluded Astoria for hours. The common room gradually filled up again around dinner time and, if the noise below was anything to go by, it was a rambunctious crew holding down the fort.
A part of Astoria knew that getting up and joining her housemates in their fun was probably a healthier, less embarrassing way to spend her evening, but she could not seem to summon the energy, no matter how hard she tried. Instead, she continued to lay under her comforter, staring at the fabric of her four poster's bed hangings in the gloomy darkness.
Astoria had fought with Draco more times than she knew how to count, but their arguments were generally short lived and quickly made up for. Leaving him alone in the entrance hall, wincing and bitter was unprecedented; and the violent cloud she had stormed off under had been unmistakable.
This fresh, pointless argument now seemed destined to join the ranks of the very few fights they had had which had gone on to have lasting repercussions. The most maddening part, Astoria mused, was the fact that there was almost no way for her to apologize for her own actions without somehow insinuating that his threatening Daphne was a forgettable offense. She was trapped in an annoying maze of her own making and she would have to suffer the consequences for Merlin knew how long before the incident was forgotten.
The optimistic part of Astoria's mind clamored to insist that she was overreacting; that perhaps the entire affair had meant more to her and that Draco would soon forget about the whole thing. Maybe Draco would go out with Alec and Maudlin, get drunk and laugh his way toward midnight? Perhaps he would not allow the fact that Astoria had as good as threatened to sleep with his mortal enemy and then murder him disturb his sense of well being, (why, why had she even said it?) but the more realistic part of her brain cried folly.
Despite the fact that it was the kind of offense that Draco would cling to long after the corpse was cold, Astoria could not help but hope that he might manage to view her threat as an opportunity to act like less of a scumbag. Like a deflating life raft in a stiff current, Astoria curled up against this idea until she was finally able to fall asleep.
0o0
Theodore was forking smoked salmon onto a bagel in the Great Hall the next morning, his normally pale face the very unusual color of soured milk.
As though Astoria had timed her arrival on purpose, the second she sat down beside him, Theodore gave an almighty sneeze and the fish he had just forked took flight toward the center of the tabletop.
Astoria eyed the limp curtain of sneezed-on lox, trying very hard not to laugh.
"Sorry," Theo muttered thickly, "M' sick again. Sitting outside by the lake for three hours. Honestly..."
"I know," Astoria agreed soothingly, using her own knife to find Theo a fresh slice of fish for his bagel. "It was freezing! Tracey and I didn't even have a cloak. Try not to sneeze on that—"
Theodore opened his mouth for a bite, but was forced to take a suffocating, baited pause first. He directed his next sneeze into his elbow. "I hate everything," he moaned wetly, "and everyone."
Astoria poured Theodore a mug of tea and gently swapped it for his coffee, privately feeling that she understood completely. "Go to Madam Pomfrey."
"Oh, you're one to talk!" choked Theodore. "You stayed in your dormitory for four days the last time you were sick!"
"That was during vacation," Astoria countered evasively.
"That was because you were too vain to let the nurse give you anything that would make your ears steam!" countered Theodore petulantly. "We've got Care of Magical Creatures today. I'll be lucky if I survive!"
"Don't be so dramatic," Astoria pressed, catching Malfoy's entrance into the hall out of the corner of her eye. "You'll be fine, just dress in layers..."
"Everything!" Theodore insisted under his breath. "All of it. I hate it."
Astoria followed Draco's progression down the table until he found a seat next to Blaise Zabini, relived that he hadn't sneered at her or attempted to goad Theodore. In fact, unless she was very much mistaken, it was possible that Draco didn't even look angry at all...
"Are you listening to me?" Theodore complained. "What? What about Malfoy? Why are you staring at him? Is his face leaking, too?"
"Huh?" Astoria blinked, flustered. "No. He isn't leaking anywhere. It's just you."
"It always is," Theodore muttered darkly.
"Did Malfoy come back late last night?" asked Astoria. Perhaps he was simply hungover from Maudlin's party and did not have enough motivation to glare at her properly?
"What are you talking about?" Theodore scoffed. "He spent all night on the couch with Zabini and Pansy's pack of wild dogs plotting something to do with Rita Skeeter."
"Oh," remarked Astoria, surprised by this. "He didn't go out at all?"
"No," frowned Theodore slowly, narrowing his red-rimmed eyes at her. "Since when do you keep tabs on Malfoy?"
"I don't," Astoria stuttered, trying not to blush. "You know I don't. It's just—" she reached for an explanation that would satisfy Theodore's suspicions without making her sound desperate, "—I was really nasty to him yesterday and I'm trying to understand if I should be expecting some kind of payback."
"Ah," said Theo, mercifully seeming to decide that this made perfect sense. "Well, that's nothing new. He didn't say anything about it to Blaise— and I was sitting near them. I suppose he's used to that sort of thing from you by now."
"He threatened Daphne," Astoria responded dully, somehow annoyed that Theodore did not seem to understand the seriousness of her predicament—or worse—that Malfoy himself showed no signs of caring.
"Seriously?" Theodore raised an eyebrow. "Did you hit him?"
"No," Astoria sighed. "I mean, I chucked a wadded up pamphlet at him, but mostly I threatened to fuck Harry Potter and think about it every time I looked at him..."
To Astoria's immense surprise, Theodore burst into peals of sickly laughter. The sound of his amusement was horribly lubricated by a phlegmy rattle deep within his rib cage.
"What?" he wheezed, closer to a spurt of joyful squealing than she had ever witnessed.
Astoria eyed Draco (who looked decidedly composed) and frowned.
"Ew," joined Tracey, coming up behind Astoria. "Theo, cover you mouth when you do that!"
Theodore stopped laughing, but his eyes continued to shine with glee. Astoria could not bring herself to smile. What was it exactly that he found so amusing—it wasn't a good story, why did he look so satisfied by it?
"Is Theodore sick again?" Tracey moaned, eyeing the forlorn lox in the middle of the table, somehow understanding that it was connected. "Seriously, what is wrong with you? Why can't you go three months without catching plague? Maybe smoke less of that rubbish Montague sells you, why don't you?"
"Oh, go sit with Blaise!" declared Theodore unconcernedly, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "That poncy git has never had a cold in his life!"
"He is practically perfect, isn't he?" Tracey sighed, snagging a muffin to go when bell began to ring overhead.
The walk down to Care of Magical Creature was exceedingly icy, but a hint of something sensuously green and reminiscent of spring pervaded the air, filling Astoria's lungs like a waft of well-being.
Hagrid was still continuing the course on unicorns. When they reached the bottom of the hill and found several golden fawns, the girls already knew to move toward the front of the pack. This segregation suited Astoria just fine, because it meant that she did not have to stand anywhere near Draco—postponing the inevitable moment when she would have to speak to him again until third period.
"Look at its weeny eyelashes!" cooed Flora, moving closer to the baby unicorn.
"I know," simpered Pansy without looking. "It's a good thing Hagrid decided to stick with Grubbly-plank's lesson-plan, isn't it? Draco says he's only doing it because the School Governors threatened to sack him."
"Draco has been saying that for years," returned Astoria archly, replicating Pansy's superior tone. "Yet every term there seems to be a new monster afoot."
Tracey paused mid-stroke down the unicorns's back; her gaze flickered curiously toward Astoria.
"It's different now, though, isn't it?" insisted Pansy coldly. "Everyone's found out that Hagrid's half-savage, so something will have to be done about him."
Astoria said nothing, biting her lip tight against a flow of bile. She had already caused enough trouble for one week, but the urge to put Pansy in her place was almost too great a force to contend with.
"At least, we know something will be done about it," continued Pansy, her tone suddenly much more smug. "Don't we Flora?"
Pansy elbowed Flora in the side.
"Huh?" Flora startled. She stared at Pansy for a long, stupid moment before a knowing smirk finally flickered across her face. "Ohh, that's right!"
"What?" demanded Tracey, unable to resist a secret mini-drama. "How do you know something will be done about Hagrid?"
"Never mind," insisted Pansy primly, smoothing out her skirt. "We've probably already said too much. It's not my fault if Draco hasn't told you. I'm sure he had his reasons."
She spoke to Tracey, but her eyes were planted firmly on Astoria. They blazed with quiet triumph.
"We don't care, anyway," Astoria bit back roughly, pulling Tracey away from the unicorn so that Pansy and Flora could have a chance to pet it. "No plan of Malfoy's is worth our time."
"What are you doing?" hissed Tracey. She stumbed over a root as Astoria dragged her toward the tree-line. "I wanted to know!"
"What does it matter?" Astoria snapped, careful to avoid looking at Pansy, who was still watching Astoria and Tracey from afar. "She's just trying to egg us on."
"Egg us on with what?" asked Tracey exasperatedly. "Draco's probably got some secret scheme going!"
This was exactly the problem. Draco undoubtedly had something nefarious up his sleeve, but he had chosen to tell Pansy and Flora about it first. Astoria had no disillusions that this was the point that Pansy was taunt them with and she wanted nothing to do with it.
"Fine, go back to them," Astoria muttered. "They'll only make you beg. Just ask Draco—he's never been able to resist bragging."
"To you, maybe," Tracey scoffed. "He won't say anything to me."
0o0
Astoria was the first person to reach the seventh floor landing after lunch. Several minutes later, Tracey arrived, bringing news of Theodore's defection.
"He had a coughing fit into his tuna-noodle casserole," Tracey panted near the top of the steps. "It was disgusting—you're so lucky you weren't there. Anyway, I shamed him into going to the hospital wing, so he won't be in class."
"Probably for the best," remarked Astoria slyly, indicating toward Padma and Anthony Goldstein, who were embracing against the still-locked Arithmancy classroom doors.
"Lord, he probably would have hurled himself off the North Tower!" cried Tracey loudly.
"Who's being hurled off the North Tower?" demanded a cold, snide voice. It was Draco Malfoy, last to arrive. "Or should ask, who else?" he finished darkly, leaning against a patch of wall several feet away, wary of standing too close.
Remembering that this was precisely the same location that Astoria had threatened to push Draco off of the day before, Astoria cursed Tracey's choice of words and ground her teeth together silently.
"Theodore!" answered Tracey cheerfully. "If he saw Padma licking Goldstein's face, that is."
Draco cast a disinterested look at Padma and Anthony, sneered, and then looked away. Normally, his refusal to jump at a subject pertaining to Theo's misery would have been heartening, but Draco's chilly silence struck Astoria as being slightly ominous.
"Ugh!" drawled Tracey, as appalled as she was entertained. "It's like he doesn't even know where her mouth is!"
Padma, perhaps thinking the same thing, tried to twitch away from the suffocating lip-lock, but Anthony was too fast. He pulled her back again by the sleeve, preventing her from making a proper escape.
"Charming," Astoria agreed, disliking the rough way that Anthony's hand was still grasping Padma's wrist. "She'd be better off with Theo, I say."
"Hah," laughed Draco snidely. His mouth twisted with such deep disgust that Astoria wondered how it had never gotten stuck that way.
"She would," insisted Astoria firmly. "Theo isn't a pompous ass."
"Yeah," agreed Draco, sneering sharply, "he's just a dirty lunatic, but who's keeping track?"
The classroom doors opened and Draco shouldered his way in, leaving Astoria and Tracey in his wake.
"What's his problem?" asked Tracey merrily.
"Nothing," Astoria muttered. She took the window seat that nobody ever wanted, secretly thankful that it afforded her the greatest distance from Draco's irritably bouncing knee.
Arithmancy classes on a Monday were always lecture based—meaning the fourth years would have to turn in their classwork at the end of the period. In theory, this was a simple task, but the prospect of completing a set of number problems without Theodore (or even Draco, who was blocking his work with his hand so that she couldn't cheat) was nothing short of Astoria's worst nightmare. By the time she turned in her six inches of botched numerical theory and regained the stairway, she was exhausted to the point of frustration.
Making no secret of how little he wanted to hang around, Draco cut an eager path toward dinner. For her part, Astoria could not help but notice that he was eating with Blaise and Montague again—not Maudlin and Alec.
0o0
Clinging to the hope that his moodiness might still dissipate over over the next several days, Astoria spent the better part of the week in a state of disappointment.
Rather than lashing out or yelling at her, Draco seemed to have brutally curtailed himself. He no longer went out of his way to go anywhere near her, dedicated himself to looking at her as infrequently as possible (to the point of occasional and unnatural staring contests with walls) and whenever he was forced into her company for any sizable amount of time, he seized the first opportunity of making an exit with almost remarkable swiftness. He ate his meals with native Slytherins again and began to bypass all invitations from foreign parties where Astoria had a high likelihood of turning up—either in person or in conversation.
By Wednesday, she was forced to conclude that Draco had not taken her threat as an invitation to behave less cruelly. Rather, he had seen Astoria's angry response as a command to thoroughly and irrevocably piss off and he was doing his best not to disappoint her.
Maudlin hardly seemed to have noticed the change but Cassandra and Pansy had. They now occasionally shifted down the table to join Draco and just the sound their shrill laughter at breakfast was enough to put Astoria entirely off her meal.
This reaction took her somewhat by surprise; while Astoria ostensibly knew that she should be happy Draco had finally given up harassing her, she could not quite wrap her head around the sudden and unexpected nature of his absence. By neglecting to be mad, it was as though Draco was trying to tell her that he did not care enough to become riled up—and this, more than anything else, gnawed at her. Somehow, despite all higher logic, Astoria recognized that had wanted rather than expected Draco to be hostile and the fact that he did not seem to be was beyond frustrating.
Every time Draco's eyes slid meaninglessly over Astoria during class, she felt a new lick of shame swoop her insides. Every time Tracey and Theodore failed to even notice that something was wrong, that same shame morphed into a source of private fury. Apologizing would obviously be the easiest thing to do—but wasn't it always Astoria who ended up keeping the peace? She was sick to death of it and the way that Draco had been sauntering about lately did nothing to soften her agitation.
In this state of heightened tension, another thought—one that she was surprised to find that she was even capable of—began to creep into her mind. Suppose Astoria actually did try flirting with Harry? Perhaps that would not be so easy to ignore? It was not an urge that Astoria necessarily knew how to stomach: it was catty—she liked to think she was a too proud to degrade herself for attention—but the thought remained. For surely this, of all things, would be enough to make Draco call his bluff?
Then, before Astoria could do anything unfathomably stupid, a fresh drama arose and shook up the new order before it could settle into permanence.
0o0
Her last class on Friday was a double Potions block—the final hurdle at the end of a long week. Thinking fondly of the stack of new fashion editorials waiting in her dormitory, Astoria descended the steps to the dungeon in the best mood she could manage, ready to buckle down for two hours in order to get to the weekend.
The moment she reached the stretch of bare, damp hallway that led to Snape's classroom, however, she began to observe that something was not quite right.
The fourth years were not standing in their usual queue. A huddle of Slytherin girls broke apart to stare excitedly at Astoria as she approached.
"What?" grunted Astoria, already certain that they'd been whispering about her.
As if to confirm this suspicion, Flora began to giggle and Daphne shot her a pitying glance.
"She doesn't know!" Pansy cackled, yanking a magazine out of Daphne's hands. "You must not get Witch Weekly."
Witch Weekly was a regular and very popular periodical, but it was largely dedicated to recipes and clever cleaning tips. Astoria doubted very much that she had ever held a copy outside of her father's office waiting room.
"So?" Astoria retorted, unable to understand what had caused Pansy's sudden fascination with sponge cakes.
"So," continued Pansy, real hatred blazing behind her brown eyes, "you're in an actual magazine article!"
Astoria's skin prickled. "Why?"
"Your boyfriend, of course!" she sang, still clutching the magazine like a grenade."Draco!" she trilled delightedly, spotting him over Astoria's shoulder. "Draco, come here! You'll never believe this!"
Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Theodore had just come down the stairs. No longer certain what to do with herself—but certain that any form of retreat would mean showing weakness—Astoria held her ground, feeling cornered.
"S'going on?" asked Theo, frowning in the direction of Pansy's gang of girls.
"I'm in Witch Weekly, apparently," Astoria whispered, trying not to let Pansy's obvious glee make her nervous.
"For what?" Theodore scoffed. "Baking prowess?"
"Harry Potter's Secret Heartache," read Blaise Zabini, shifting in to have a better view over Pansy's shoulder. Astoria's stomach plummeted toward her feet.
"Here," said Pansy triumphantly, pointedly foisting the magazine onto Malfoy instead of Blaise. "Take it. I've already read the whole thing!"
"A boy like no other, perhaps—yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter," drawled Draco. "Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents—" Draco broke off to smirk at Blaise, "—Harry Potter thought he had at last found solace at Hogwarts with his steady girlfriend..."
Draco trailed off and his entire body stiffened. Astoria waited, too clever to not know what was coming, but powerless to guess how it might be combated.
Blaise pulled the magazine out of Malfoy's stiff grasp, anxious to continue. One look at the first paragraph sent his head whipping back up. He stared at Astoria, overcome with surprised laughter.
"Seriously?" snorted Theo, finally catching on. "It's Astoria? Because that's clever."
Astoria studied Draco's face, suddenly very sure that, while he probably had given Pansy and Cassandra the secret means of passing information to Rita Skeeter, he hadn't had anything to do with the article in Blaise's hands. Everything—from his frozen posture to his shivering white fury—spoke of confusion and panic. He obviously had no idea if what he was reading was actually true. Somehow, this made her feel even worse than she would have if he had fabricated the story himself.
"Miss Greengrass, a plan but ambitious girl, seems to have developed a taste for famous names that Harry alone cannot satisfy," Blaise drawled, positively leering. "Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Maudlin Mendel, son of Aston Mendel (a member of the Supreme Court of Monaco and the next Minister incumbent, to say nothing of significant fortune), Miss Greengrass has been toying with both boys affections..."
Blaise actually lowered the magazine to stare at Pansy appraisingly, plainly surprised that she had managed to fabricate such such a ludicrous and wonderfully amusing yarn. Pansy beamed at him.
"The rest of it is all about Granger brewing Love Potions for Krum," Pansy persisted informatively. "That's the part I'm quoted in—did you see, Draco?"
Catching himself just in time to avoid looking like he'd been winded by a sucker punch, Draco blinked and let out a very belated, humorless laugh. Expression fixed, he glanced back at the article fleetingly. He hadn't read far enough to reach the exposé of Hermione's deviancy, but he made no move to dig through Astoria's sordid love story in order to view it.
At that moment, the dungeon door opened and Snape beckoned them all inside.
"Granger! Hey, Granger!" called Pansy shrilly. She snatched the magazine away from Blaise and tossed it to Hermione. "Since you like reading so much, have a go at this!"
Pansy shot one last victorious look at Astoria and pivoted, her tight ponytail bouncing as she made her way to the front row.
Harry, Hermione and Ron all pushed together to have a proper look. Draco slowed down, falling behind Crabbe and Goyle in order to watch as Harry flipped the article up toward the light—his panicky eyes fixed on Harry's blushing face.
"In!" snapped Snape, resenting the hold-up in the hallway.
Astoria stumbled forward, followed closely by Theodore.
"It's all rubbish. You know that, right?" Theodore muttered quietly. "Nobody will believe a word of it."
But Astoria did not know if this was true. After all, the pale, flinching disgust radiating from Draco did nothing to encourage Theo's theory.
"That's twice now," Astoria hissed, slipping into a seat. "Why does the woman keep writing about students? I'm not even famous!"
"You're in the same house as Harry 'golden-boy' Potter," Theodore scoffed. "The article doesn't mean anything."
Astoria took out her potions ingredients. Perhaps Parvati or Lavender had a subscription to Witch Weekly? She wanted to get her hands on a copy without having to actually ask anyone to lend it to her...
"Do you think everyone from Beauxbatons has seen it?" Astoria wondered, thinking about the way Emilie sometimes blushed when Cassandra implied that Astoria and Maudlin might secretly be 'more than friends'.
"Just forget about it!" hissed Theodore firmly, shaking his head back and forth. "It's nothing but mindless drivel."
0o0
A cold, thick rain kicked up that afternoon. It pounded the frozen grounds with fat dollops of water and punched holes into the crusty layer of old snow. An early evening settled over the castle; the usual symphony of ground birds and chattering tree limbs became muffled by the calamitous downpour.
Astoria ate dinner with Fred and George at the far end of the Gryffindor table, subtly checking figures in their Tournament Ledger over fork-fulls of pot roast.
"It's decided, then?" repeated Fred for the fifth time. "On Saturday morning, we'll all go see Ragnuk together to collect our payment?"
"Mhmm," Astoria agreed, toying with the end of an over-cooked carrot.
Over at the Ravenclaw table, Marietta Edgecomb elbowed Lisa Turpin. To Astoria's horror, they both turned and snickered in her direction.
"Chin up," insisted Fred, watching this rude exchange with a suppressed smirk. "You got off better than Hermione did, at least."
"True!" George agreed. "You aren't feeding anyone Love Potions."
"That you know of," Astoria grinned, slightly cheered by the twins' carefree attitude about the matter.
"That Rita Skeeter is a piece of work, though," admitted Fred with a frown. "First Hagrid and now you lot? She's got a lot of nerve."
"She's got a lot invested in sales, you mean," Astoria snorted, finally eating her rubbery carrot. "The Slytherins have been passing her information—I just know it."
"Can't be," argued George. "Rita Skeeter's not allowed inside the grounds, remember?"
"They're doing it somehow," Astoria insisted, recalling Pansy's triumphant glee.
"Well, where there's a will, there's always a way," mused Fred thoughtfully. "We're living proof of that. The real question is, do you think their way is illegal?"
Astoria tossed a withered carrot stub onto her plate and pondered this question.
"Yes," she decided at last. "I think it would have to be."
"Figure out how they're doing it and we might be able to call in a favor from Bagman," said Fred, inclining his head toward the Slytherin table. "He's useless when it comes to gambling, but he still works at the Ministry, doesn't he?"
Fed up with ignoring the whispered conversations and subtle glances of her classmates, Astoria excused herself before dessert. She passed Crabbe and Goyle (who were both greedily gobbling pie) and tiptoed around the edge of the Slytherin table to avoid Tracey.
The sound of the rain was noisier in the entrance hall. A clean, chilly moisture pervaded the air, forcing her to stuff both hands into the pockets of her skirt. The door to the Room of Portraits was ajar; Astoria peered in as she strolled past and spotted Malfoy on one of the couches, his blonde head bent studiously over his Arithmancy homework. Without really meaning to, she slowed to a stop.
He was probably waiting for Crabbe and Goyle to finish eating—doing homework on a comfortable couch instead over his dinner. Astoria knew that she had no business watching him, but she spent a tentative moment hovering in the doorway anyway.
He crossed something out with his quill and then rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. Writing an essay, she realized; laboring over his exact phrasing.
Go back to your dormitory, thought Astoria. There was still a pile of magazines waiting on her bedside table...
But stumbling upon Malfoy alone, without either of his hulking bodyguards, was a rarity—and the fact that she had done so by accident struck her as strangely meaningful. Astoria leaned against the door frame and knocked.
Draco punctuated his sentence, cast a lazy glance in her direction and then did a sharp double take. For a moment, they stared at each other: Astoria attempted to calculate the precise nature of his mood and Draco registered his disbelief via a sneer.
Finally, Draco leaned back in his seat, tipped his chin up almost challengingly and shrugged.
"What?" he snapped roughly, breaking the frigid silence.
"You do know how to hold a grudge," Astoria sighed at last.
Pulling her sweater tighter, she crossed the room. His tone was cold but his eyes were blazing with repressed fury. It took everything Astoria had not to recoil, although it was almost a relief to know that he was angry.
She perched on the edge of his table, afraid to sit next on the couch, and waited to see if he would revolt against her proximity. His curiosity seemed to be marginally stronger than his disgust—he showed no real signs of storming away.
"I don't know what you're talking about," sneered Draco stiffly. "Do you mind? You're blocking the light."
"Do you mind?" Astoria countered waspishly. "You've been avoiding me all week."
"Yeah?" Draco shot back, his eyes narrowing nastily. "I'd say you made it abundantly clear that you wanted me to!"
Astoria let out a huff and ran a tense hand through her hair. She had mastered the act of unspoken communication with Draco long ago, but in this case, a nonverbal plea wasn't enough.
The silence continued for so long that it threatened to consume them. It was on Astoria's mind to mutter a poor apology and make a hasty exit, but something about the way Draco was staring at her held her in place.
"What did I ever do to you?" asked Draco at last, his tone quivering and uncomfortably nasal.
Astoria blinked, surprised by the awful tremor in his voice.
"I know I annoy you," Draco continued, just shakily enough to indicate an unexpected level self-loathing. "I'm not stupid. I just never realized that you hate me."
"That's not true," Astoria began confusedly, trying to backtrack.
"What even is this?" Draco demanded sharply, his dread becoming infectious. "Did you seriously come in here to tell me that you're taking turns on Potter and Mendel? Because if that's what this is about, I can't imagine why you would bother."
"The article wasn't true," Astoria snapped, unable to control her annoyance. "You should have known it wasn't true the second you read it! It's your own fault it exists—you told Pansy and Cassandra how to get in touch with that Skeeter woman!"
"I don't even care if it's true!" Draco spat hoarsely, but his eyes gave away the tremendous lie in this statement. "Everyone thinks it's true! Go ahead and fuck the both of them, for all I care!"
Torn between guilt and perverse joy (for Draco was finally displaying distress) Astoria threw caution to the winds and moved toward the couch. She tucked her feet beneath her knees awkwardly, determined to face him instead of the door.
"Listen," Astoria breathed.
Draco twitched away from her, but she reached out and caught a portion of his sleeve.
"I shouldn't have said that after the Task," she muttered, her eyes on Draco's textbook. "You started talking about my sister—I came up with the worst threat I could think of. I wasn't trying to upset you."
"Yes you were," Draco sneered, narrowing his eyes incredulously. "That was the point, wasn't it? Everything is so hilarious to you—"
"I don't want anything to do with Harry Potter," Astoria yelled, intentionally cutting Draco off because the subject was starting to upset her stomach. "If I did, the only reason I would hide it from you wouldn't be to laugh at you—I'd be afraid that you would never talk to me again."
"Because I wouldn't!" Draco snarled, snatching his arm away. His fingers flexed in his lap. "What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me?" Astoria repeated hollowly. "What's wrong with you? Normal people don't go around threatening their friend's family members just because they're in a bad mood!"
"Wait, I'm sorry—friends?" scoffed Draco bitterly. "Since when?"
"What do you mean?" Astoria muttered, thoroughly disconcerted. "Of course we're friends."
"Are you serious?" sneered Draco feverishly, his expression doing a new trick that Astoria could not quite put her finger on. "You think I don't hear the way you talk about me? Like I'm some kind of disgusting pest that you can't wait to swat away—I'm not deaf!"
"Draco!" hissed Astoria tensely, finally recognizing the look on his face as the kind of anger that leans toward tears.
"What?" Draco bit back hatefully, perhaps realizing that he was teetering dangerously close to the precipice of shameful vulnerability. "You can't just have it however you want, you know! One minute you're moaning over Potter's charity cases and the next you're having a go at me instead? Who do you think I am? I can tell you no!"
"I don't hate you," said Astoria fearfully.
"No," agreed Draco coldly, a terrible finality creeping into his voice. "You're right. You tolerate me."
Dimly, Astoria understood that they were fighting about more than Harry Potter. They had reached a point of no return—the time had finally come to make some kind of choice. Threatening to hook up with Harry Potter had not caused the rift: it had merely forced a bigger problem into the open.
If she was going to cut Draco loose for being a cruel, selfish boy with no hope of ever being able to really understand her, now was the moment to do so. He was practically offering to go away—but Astoria, still unwilling to own up to their friendship or dismiss him, did not know what to say.
She opened her mouth, trying to think of how to put her feelings into a words. A fist of sadness caught her around the throat.
"I love you, Draco," said Astoria quietly. "I love all of my friends," she clarified, blushing at the idea of singling him out specifically.
Ironically, out of all the horrible things she had said to Draco lately, this was probably the most selfish. Not because it wasn't true—on some level, it was—but because of how wildly limited her capacity to act on the sentiment was.
"I don't only tolerate you," she insisted.
Whatever Draco was expecting, it wasn't this. His eyes flickered; wrath mingling with a yearning desire to believe her.
"Will you study with me?" asked Astoria thickly, hating herself.
When Draco still did not respond, she edged closer and had a look at his Arithmancy book. He was several chapters ahead of her. If the dense congestion of writing in the margins was any indication, there was really no point in joining him—she had no idea what he was reading.
Draco sniffed stiffly but he did not push her away.
"Blaise thinks Mendel and I are both idiots for bothering with you," he sneered bitterly, speaking as much to himself as to her.
Astoria winced and inched closer still, wondering why he felt the need to tell her this.
"Don't stop bothering with me," said Astoria very softly, no longer sure if she was whispering magic or poison.
Paralyzed by whatever it was that she was trying to do, Draco let out an irregular, repressed breath. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking because Astoria could no longer see his face. Suddenly very tired and more than a little disappointed in herself, she let her head drop onto his shoulder. His shirt was warm beneath her cheek; a slight ringing in her ears indicated her near-brush with misery.
"What chapter are you on?" Draco muttered, unwilling to appear overly eager.
"Four," Astoria answered, long past the point of being ashamed about her academic underachievement in Arithmancy.
Draco's hand twitched toward his book; he measured out the difference (forty pages) and let out an irritated hiss. After a brief pause, however, he turned to the correct section and shifted his foot up onto the coffee table.
"Honestly!" he drawled, his tone greatly changed. "The fact that you managed to pass this class is a miracle."
"Yeah," Astoria agreed. "Vector knows my aunt."
She shifted to pluck a piece of parchment off the table and settled back against the crook of Draco's arm—just a little closer than a friend might.
"How?" demanded Draco suspiciously. His smugness had returned and his entire body seemed to be expanding with it.
"I've never asked," Astoria confessed, suppressing a grin.
When Crabbe and Goyle reappeared a few moments later, she lifted her head off of Draco's shirt so fast that her neck protested.
Neither boy seemed to find her presence to be especially odd, but to Astoria, the experience was somewhat surreal. The fact that Tracey and Theodore were both Slytherins had only ever struck her as a minor detail, but willingly placing herself in the center of Draco's small gang was something else.
For the next forty-five minutes, she sat in perplexed silence while Malfoy oscillated between correcting her number problems and snapping at Crabbe and Goyle for saying foolish things. When the assignment was finally completed, she mounted the stairs alone, privately thankful that Fred and George had not spotted her on their way to bed.
0o0
This chapter probably should have been titled: Astoria Cuts off Her Nose to Snub Her Face and It Doesn't Work Out So Good.
In other news, my computer cord (without any warning) up and broke halfway through writing this (Macbook Pro charger cord, you are NOT a scholar). As a result, the bulk of this post was typed on my friend's laptop and ya'll, her keyboard is a thing of EVIL. If there are more than the average number of typos and rogue formatting errors in this post, I'm SORRY. I suggest that you BLAME DELL for manufacturing the least comfortable piece of machinery that I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. (I seriously screamed "STOP THAT!" at my disobliging keyboard so many times that my friend came in to check on me.) Not to even MENTION the fact that her computer's dictionary seems to have a bit of a problem recognizing totally real and common words like 'Snape', 'Muggle', and 'Ravenclaw'.
Note: I have been using a Mac for so long now that I try to right click with a keyboard command no matter what and then get flustered when I realize there is an actual BUTTON for that on a windows computer. BUT STILL. Why are these Dell keys laid out in the shape of an actual wave? WHY MUST YOU BE SO WHIMSICAL, BILL GATES/ WHOEVER OWNS DELL COMPUTER CO.!?
/END LENGTHY RANT/
The next chapter will push everyone home for the Easter Holidays, I think. I've been excitedly waiting to get this vacation, so hopefully I'll have the post up quickly.
Reviews always make my day and are a wonderful treat!