Chapter Fifty Two
Ferns and Ruins Part Two
0o0
"Astoria!" bellowed an excited voice. "Is that you?"
Astoria jumped and nearly pricked her finger on the pin attached to her sorority badge.
Marcus Flint, dressed in a very expensive-looking suit complete with a dangling gold watch fob, was beaming at her from the other side of the table. In his left hand he appeared to be holding a tumbler of something brown and alcoholic. Under the other, Astoria was a little alarmed to note that Slytherin's old seeker, Terrence Higgs was currently stuffed into a one-armed choke-hold.
"Marcus!" Astoria trilled, delighted by the sight of his long absent face almost as much as the decidedly well-tailored suit it was attached to. "You look like a grown up! Professional quidditch agrees with you!"
Astoria's eyes flicked past Flint and onto Blaise and Draco, who were both leaning against the hearth behind Marcus, watching Terrence struggle under the weight of Flint's aggressive embrace rather warily.
Pansy was picking at an appetizer tray but she looked up the moment Marcus cried Astoria's name. With a pang of self-consciousness, Astoria could not help but notice that Pansy was looking rather nicer than she usually did, perhaps because the basis for comparison was so very altered. After all, Pansy had taken the precaution of wearing a dress that actually fit her body and which did not boast a skirt that could literally be used for smuggling
"Yeah?" replied Marcus, tweaking his lapels rather cockily. "You like it? It's designer, of course. What happened to you, anyway?" he continued with a laugh, finally getting a long, hard look at her. "Did you lose a bet?"
"My dress, you mean?" asked Astoria brightly, sensing an opportunity to slander Cassandra at long last. "Cassandra sent it to me. Of course, she also promised me that everyone else would be wearing the same thing…"
Blaise let out a soft chuckle and his glittering eyes teased over Astoria's collar with new-found appreciation.
"Here," said Flint, snagging a glass of champagne off a serving tray as it bobbed along, supported by the head of a very nimble house elf, "have a drink with me! It's been too long—I haven't even had a chance to brag about my new girlfriend, yet!"
"Oh, well—" Astoria stalled, thinking of the many excuses she had for wanting to keep her wits about her.
"Your father won't notice," scoffed Flint carelessly. "He's downstairs being chased about in circles by the Lady MacLaggen."
If there had been a magic phrase guaranteed to entice her, this would have been it. Struck stupid by the idea of her father enjoying a publicly adulterous game of hide and seek with Cormac's mother on the first floor and painfully conscious of the fact that she was dressed down by Pansy for the first time in her life, Astoria took the glass from Marcus's hand.
"Anyway," Flint continued, "about my girlfriend, Priscilla. It was her birthday last weekend and I'm looking for another woman's opinion. I gave her my present over dinner at the restaurant. I pulled out the package, right in front of her father, bold as can be. Mind, her father is Ulick Gamp the third, so he's practically Ministry royalty—"
"Priscilla?" Astoria teased delightedly, cheerfully enticed by this. "Do you call her 'Prissy'?"
"You know, I don't," mused Flint with a flat little smirk, "which is ironic really, considering she almost always is..."
"Ministry royalty?" challenged Draco snidely, determined to be unimpressed. "There hasn't been a Gamp in office since the sixteenth century."
"The first Minister of Magic was a Gamp, Malfoy, as you well know," countered Flint, clearly enjoying his recent successes both on the field and off if his smile was anything to go by. "Anyway, I hand Priscilla the gift, but it's wrapped up so tight that she can't get into it with her frail little hands—tell me, why is it that the ones with the biggest bank accounts always turn out so feeble?"
Draco, to whom this comment had most likely been aimed, straightened up out of his slouch, his eyes darting irresistibly toward Astoria almost self-consciously.
"Don't be ridiculous, Marcus!" protested Pansy shrilly. "What about Draco! He's not fragile and he's rich enough!"
Feeling that this was a bit on the nose even for Pansy, Astoria looked away, torn between annoyance and actual embarrassment. Unwanted, Draco's last words before she had fallen asleep after Kitty's party seemed to rise up inside her like a seizure hallucination: I'd kill anything that tried to hurt you.
Pansy had started to stroke Draco's arm, doing her best to reassure him of his manly dignity. Astoria had to think fast in order to find a place to fix her eyes where they would not betray her conflicting emotions.
"Anyway, Priscilla said something like 'daddy, could you please, please ask the waiter for a pair of clippers?'" continued Flint, replicating his girlfriend's voice in a snobbish, girly falsetto. "You'll never guess what happened next!"
"You and Mr. Gamp both stood up?" suggested Astoria coyly, rather amused by the thought.
Flint sucked in a large breath to sustain his rapid speech but it came ripping back out again in the form of surprised laughter.
"Because she said 'daddy'?" Flint howled, his eyes positively glittering. "Greengrass, you wretched little strumpet! Hurry up and make yourself legal, why don't you! What was I even saying—?"
"You were trying to give your girlfriend jewelry, so she asked her father for a weapon," supplied Draco coldly, trying to shrug away from Pansy.
Astoria's own father was sitting on a nearby couch, eating caviar on a toast point and chatting with Bertie Higgs. Entirely ignorant of the fact that his daughter was standing only feet away, Astoria distracted herself by watching him, pleased that he was no longer making a spectacle of himself.
The absence of Mrs. MacLaggen's bottle-blonde head seemed like a very good sign and Astoria was happily inclined to keep her peace and enjoy their distant arrangement when Mafalda Hopkirk dropped down onto the cushions beside him, causing Astoria's anxiety to spike all over again.
It was one thing to monitor Kitty, Anthony and Padma's love triangle, as Astoria felt somewhat responsible for its creation in the first place. It was entirely another to have to worry that her father was embroiled in one of his own between a married woman and a top ranking Ministry official.
Astoria bit her lip and tried not to stare. It was as though she was destined to meet with disaster no matter where she turned. There was literally nowhere left to go; every room had been claimed, leaving Astoria to scrabble about like a frantic animal, scuttling between the Rowle's fern-spotted chambers in an attempt to keep up with each fresh, successive horror.
Astoria raised the glass of champagne she was holding in her sweaty hand and downed it, trying not to think of the damage that the stress of her Easter holidays must surely be doing to her liver.
When the elf with the tray of wine came by again, Astoria gave up on propriety and snatched another glass, wanting something to nervously clutch between her fingers.
It's just one evening, Astoria reminded herself, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat. No more than five hours.
"I should find Theodore," interrupted Astoria, her thoughts simplified by logical reasoning and the wine she was steadily consuming with the speed of a sailor on leave. Theodore would be her priority, Astoria decided. He was the person that she cared the most about. In any case, he would have to do, because her father had already disappeared into the crowd again, taking Mafalda with him.
The crimson hallway had the muffled quality of a crawl space after so much chatter. Gathering the hem of dress in order to tackle the stairs without falling, Astoria stopped short when she heard yet another person call out to her.
"Darling! Darling, come here!"
It was George and Astoria could not help but notice that he had not come from the direction of the living room, where the rest of the guests were, but from the darkened hallway beyond.
"What is it?" asked Astoria, raising a hand to her cheeks. They were almost uncomfortably warm after such fretful consumption of wine next to a lit fireplace and she found herself wishing for a glass of ice.
"I'm popping out for a bit, Muffin," murmured George, looking slightly hurried. "There's no reason to worry. I'll be back to collect you and your friends later."
"What?" demanded Astoria, frowning her displeasure. "Why?"
Behind her father, Astoria caught a glimpse of Mafalda Hopkirk lingering in the shadows. She was standing with her hands clasped in front of her, obviously waiting for George. Although Astoria could tell that Mafalda was trying desperately to appear poised and inconspicuous, the look of faint embarrassment on her face gave away her guilt more than anything else could have. This was no business call and they all knew it.
"I need to stop by my office," explained George, going through all the motions of presenting a plausible excuse. "I won't bore you with the details. Stay and enjoy yourself! I'm sure I'll be back by eleven—"
George had already begun to turn when Astoria called out after him spitefully: "What should I tell Mrs. MacLaggen if she comes searching for you? That you've gone off with another woman and left her here?"
Astoria had never held her father accountable for his behavior before and the result was more awkward than she had anticipated. Instead of feeling clever and justified, Astoria found herself wincing regretfully, wishing she had just stayed silent.
To her surprise, instead of brushing off Astoria's thinly veiled accusation or even trying to deny it, George leaned back thoughtfully, balancing his weight on one leg.
"Well, you'll make my excuses, I'm sure," he declared at last, curiously insensible of the responsibility that he was putting on his daughter. "You're quite good with people. I'm sure you'll think of something and handle her tactfully, should the moment call for it."
"Father!" Astoria hissed. "I barely know the woman—if you want to dump her, tell her yourself!"
"Now see here!" admonished George, dropping his voice so that Mafalda would not be able to hear them, his tone becoming much more harassed as he did so. "That MacLaggen woman hasn't got a lick of sense in that silly head of hers!"
Astoria's mouth had literally sagged with indignation but George was not finished.
"You aren't a child anymore! Surely you can understand that it'll be much better for her to hear it from you? She prefers other females, you know. Say whatever you like, she won't make a scene in front of my—Lucius!" George cut off sharply, glancing over Astoria's shoulder with a jolt.
"George," answered Mr. Malfoy smoothly, coming out of the living room. "Were you leaving? I had wanted a word with you."
"Oh, did you?" stuttered George, rallying quickly to disguise his surprise. "I'll be at my office signing papers until about eleven, but I shouldn't be any later than that. I'm sure I'll be able to find you before the hour becomes indecent!"
While Astoria felt that her father had perhaps answered a little too quickly, she did have to marvel at George's composure. He showed no outward signs of nervousness at this request.
In a move that reminded Astoria irresistibly of her aunt, Lucius consulted his pocket watch and raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to convey just how great his displeasure would be if George failed him without ever having to open his mouth.
"Eleven," repeated George, as much to Astoria as to Lucius. "I need to have my daughter home before midnight, anyway. We wouldn't want to leave her aunt crushed and nervous!"
"If you say so," remarked Lucius smoothly, his eyes dancing with cold mirth. "If you ask me, all of the wine presses in Burgundy couldn't wring an ounce of sentiment out of that woman, but have it your way."
Realizing that the final gauntlet had been laid—she certainly couldn't continue to argue with her father about Mrs. MacLaggen in front of Mr. Malfoy—Astoria pivoted and continued down the stairs.
The moment she reached the foyer, it became apparent that something had already gone wrong. Flora and Tracey, an unlikely pair on the best of days, were both standing alone together near the bathroom door, muttering darkly back and forth over the fronds of a potted fern. Theodore, whom Tracey ought to have been guarding like a hawk, was nowhere to be seen. Most ominously of all however, was the sound of someone openly weeping in the lavatory.
The rapid clicking of Astoria's heels as she crossed the black and white checkered floor seemed to strike her own ears like the rhythmic ticking of a countdown.
"Tracey," Astoria hissed tensely, joining the small queue by the bathroom, "what's going on?"
Tracey jumped nervously, thrown by Astoria's abrupt reappearance.
"It's that silly Patil girl!" scoffed Flora at once. "Her boyfriend finally broke up with her in order to date Kitty, only now she won't come out of the bathroom. Can you imagine? In public? Cassandra's livid because she's forcing all of her guests to go upstairs to pee. See if you can pry her loose, Astoria. I'm going to go find Pansy."
"I was only gone twenty minutes!" Astoria growled at Tracey, knocking on the bathroom door. "Where is Theo?"
"Go away!" cried Padma's tortured voice from within.
"I don't know," Tracey muttered apologetically. "I lost sight of him when Padma ran away crying."
"Find him!" Astoria hissed, knocking on the door a second time. "Go!"
Tracey did not need to be told twice. She took off after Flora like a cork out of bottle.
"Padma?" tried Astoria softly, unable to ward off the selfish fear that Padma might know about the hand Astoria had played to cause her current misery. After all, Padma was surely mortified—what was there to stop her from accusing Astoria at the top of her lungs, if she did knew that there was something to accuse her of? "Are you alright?"
"No!" choked Padma. "Leave me alone, I don't want to talk to anybody!"
Normally, Astoria would have done just that and taken pity on Padma without giving a second thought to Cassandra's displeasure. Considering the circumstances however, Astoria could not help but feel that allowing Padma to continue crying noisily would only continue to draw attention, and she was wildly self-motivated to get Padma out of the bathroom and on her way home as soon as possible.
"Is this about Anthony?" asked Astoria, moving closer to the door.
"Who are you talking to?" demanded a drawling voice.
Astoria's head jerked up. It was Draco and, by a cruelly karmic twist of fate, he was not alone. Theodore appeared to have followed him down the stairs.
"I'm not leaving this room if he's out there with her!" Padma wailed.
"Astoria?" asked Theodore, sounding confused and uncomfortable. "I've been looking for you. What's going on? Is that Padma? Who is she talking about?"
For a long moment, it was as though Astoria had gone temporarily deaf and she could not think of a single thing to say for herself. Thankfully, there were really only two choices to choose from; Astoria could either come clean and stop her desperate dance, or she could lie shamelessly and hope that luck would be on her side.
"Anthony broke up with Padma," said Astoria tightly, trying to keep the details as close to their true form as possible. "Cassandra wants me to get Padma out of the bathroom, only she won't leave..."
"Well, too bad for Cassandra!" cried Theodore indignantly. "She can't drag a crying girl out of the loo!"
Draco's sharp eyes were on Astoria's face. Even as she watched, they slowly began to narrow as he put two and two together. With a terrible leap in her stomach, Astoria remembered the great show Tracey had made, bragging about their plans for Theodore at Kitty's party. If Draco had not realized what he had just walked in on, he very soon would.
"Guests need the toilets, Theo!" Astoria insisted, thoroughly ashamed of herself. "Padma will be happier at home, anyway."
"You can't be serious?" sneered Theodore, surprised and a little hurt by Astoria's easy dismissal of Padma's feelings. "Since when do you care about what Cassandra thinks? You hate her. Why don't you make Goldstein come and apologize? That seems like a better plan, if you ask me!"
Astoria knew that he was right, but allowing Anthony the chance to explain himself in front of Theodore was a risk Astoria was not willing to take.
"Anthony has an invitation to this party," Astoria stuttered, hating herself. "Padma was his date. Cassandra has every right—"
"What are you talking about!" burst Theodore, trying and failing to understand why Astoria would treat someone that he was so fond with such intentional neglect for, what to him, must seem like very little reason.
"Why did they break up, anyway?" asked Malfoy, just a little too knowingly.
"Anthony cheated on her," Astoria snapped, prepared to curse Malfoy into oblivion if he tried to open his mouth and give her away.
"What?" demanded Theodore threateningly. "Astoria, go get Goldstein and make that wank do whatever Padma needs to come out of there! You have to do it! It's the only descent thing to do!"
Astoria blinked stupidly, trying to find a way out of this tangled yarn.
"Like hell she does, Nott," drawled Draco, seeming to decide that he had heard about enough. "Forget this."
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" snarled Theodore, taken aback and confused by Draco's interference.
"I'm going to go get Cassandra and have her deal with it," Draco scoffed, twitching his shoulders up as of to express his disdain for Theodore's moral rage.
Astoria blinked pitifully, torn between self-loathing and the very real but cowardly desire to allow Malfoy to wash her hands of the problem before Theodore had heard enough to actually hate her.
"Shut up, Malfoy!" spat Theodore, disturbed by Astoria's continued speechlessness. "Are you seriously going to let him do your dirty work, Astoria? Go in there and talk to Padma!"
But Padma had locked the door and they all knew it. Astoria looked on helplessly, entirely unsure of what to say or do that might put the scenario to rights and suddenly very afraid that by attempting to do anything, she would only make matters worse. After all, surely Theodore would be less angry with Astoria for making Padma go home without an apology than he would be if he knew that Astoria was the reason that Padma was crying in the first place?
"Fine," snapped Theodore, his voice thick with betrayal and disgust as he glared at Astoria. "Clean up her mess, Malfoy. We all know how much you want to!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" sneered Draco sharply, a dull flush creeping across his face.
"Please!" snapped Theodore, seeming to feel that he had nothing left to lose because his tone was dripping with disdain. "We both know that you'd probably push Padma off the roof if Astoria asked you to!"
"Theo!" shot Astoria fearfully.
"Yeah? Shows what you know," sneered Draco twitchily, perhaps sensing that Theodore had the upper hand and seeking to attack where he was weakest as a result. "Why would anyone go out of their way for someone else's bawling pet-Ravenclaw half-blood? You think that Astoria has to help you just because you follow her around complaining all day? Frankly, I'm surprised she didn't ditch you years ago."
"She doesn't even like you, Malfoy, you moron!" hollered Theodore, his ears beginning to glow.
At this, Draco's face shot straight from pink to scarlet. Theodore had struck home and Astoria could tell that if she didn't do something very quickly, Draco was going to hit him.
"Stop it!" Astoria snapped, her legs shaking like jelly beneath her.
"I'm finding Tracey and I'm leaving," spat Theodore. "Don't come over tomorrow, Astoria! I'm not going to be in the mood for it."
The only sounds that seemed to remain in his wake were the whoosh of blood in her ears and Padma's continued sniffling. Draco's expression, torn in a battle between triumph and shame, seemed to have rendered his features unreadable.
"Get Cassandra," Astoria breathed, pressing a hand against her stomach because it was aching terribly. "Please. Tell her to kick out Anthony. He was the one who made a scene by breaking up with his girlfriend in public. If she does it quietly, he'll go."
Draco studied her ruined face, trying to decide if she was dismissing him or begging him. In the end, he did not seem to be able to make any headway because blinked irritably and set off across the hall without a word.
Trance-like, Astoria moved toward the staircase, trying to understand how much damage had just been done and to whom. Perhaps, if she could find Tracey soon, Tracey might manage to calm Theodore down before he left?
The long living room upstairs was just as loud and clamorous as it had been before but Astoria passed through it in a world of her own, her ears as muffled as they would have been under ten feet of water.
She stopped when she reached the end of the bar. Leaning against one of the velvet curtains, Astoria snagged another glass of wine and peeked out at the London skyline outside. They were somewhere in Kensington if she had to guess, and not far from the park. Astoria could still make out the glow of towering industry in the near distance however; the tops of all the buildings hidden an artificial orange light that stained the base of the inky sky like woodsmoke.
"Astoria, sweetheart!" simpered Mrs. MacLaggen, reaching for a glass of wine on the platter that Astoria was standing next to. "You look positively glum!"
Astoria stared at Mrs. MacLaggen, trying to decide if she had actually needed a refill or if she had sought Astoria out on purpose.
"Have you seen your father?" continued Mrs. MacLaggen, dropping her voice nervously. "He's always so charming, I'm sure he'd be able to cheer you right up!"
On purpose, Astoria decided, seeing through this rubbish ploy at once.
"He had to go in to the office," Astoria ventured lamely, hoping to end the conversation outright.
"To the office?" pressed Mrs. MacLaggen nosily. "I suppose he had business to resolve with people—or someone? Anyone in particular? That is to say, did you see who he left with?"
"Yeah," answered Astoria evasively, oddly hypnotized by Mrs. MacLaggen's clumpy mascara, which was dangling almost vulnerably around her heavily painted eyes. "I didn't recognize—them, er, the person he was with."
Astoria had caught herself just short of saying 'her' and she could tell that Mrs. MacLaggen had noticed.
"Oh?" quirked Mrs. MacLaggen, her voice working its way toward being slightly higher in pitch as she ran a finger across the lip of her glass. "A man or a woman?"
"A woman," Astoria admitted, feeling that this was not something that she could very well lie about now that she admitted to seeing her father leave.
"It's that Mafalda, isn't it?" cried Mrs. MacLaggen, suddenly irrationally wounded and very shrill. "Were they alone?"
"Yes," answered Astoria, torn between pity and resentment for ever having been given the task of telling Mrs. MacLaggen in the first place.
"So," clipped Mrs. MacLaggen wetly but fiercely. "That's it, isn't it? He'd rather be with her—"
Astoria's head swiveled left and right, mortified by the idea that Mrs. MacLaggen might actually cry. What was she doing? Didn't she realized that she had a husband somewhere nearby and that Astoria went to school with her son?
"I'm sorry!" squeaked Mrs. MacLaggen, putting her glass down in order to fan her face with both hands, looking very much like a forty year old Barbie. "I just—I can't believe this! And you! You poor thing! I was so hoping to get to know you!"
Astoria stared at her, utterly bewildered.
"You just seem like such a nice girl!" Mrs. MacLaggen wailed. "I know that my Cormac likes you! Our two families have always had such good times together! Now it's all ruined!"
Wondering if Mrs. MacLaggen had literally lost her mind, Astoria was too slow to move her glass of wine out of the way before Mrs. MacLaggen burst into sobs that racked her entire body. She fell onto her, wrapping Astoria up in a damp, desperate embrace.
"Shhh!" stuttered Astoria, trying to pat Mrs. MacLaggen on back without having to push any closer to her ample bosom, unable to think of anything but her father's body in the same position. "Everything is fine! I'm sure my father is just going over some paper work, or..."
"Oh, no he's not!" Mrs. MacLaggen yowled. "They never are! You'll learn, sweetheart! You'll learn how awful it is to be a woman!"
A few feet away, Bertie Higgs, who was very drunk and sitting on an ottoman alone, suddenly burst into tears as well. It seemed very unlikely that Bertie even knew what Cormac's mother was wailing about, but this detail did not appear to hinder him.
"Now, now Gertie!" he slurred, heaving himself to his feet in order to pet Mrs. MacLaggen's head. "Let it out! Let it all out!"
By shuffling to the side, Astoria managed to wriggle her way to freedom. Mrs. MacLaggen teetered right into Bertie Higgs' willing arms and for a moment, Astoria could not bring herself to look away as they swayed and sobbed together, unaware that Astoria had even left; the wronged mistress and the hapless lush.
At last, afraid that Mrs. MacLaggen might try to pull her back toward them in order to complete their triangle once more, Astoria charged back across the room, sidestepping Emilie and Cassandra only to run headlong into Draco near the landing.
"What the hell?" demanded Malfoy, positively breathless with amusement at the bizarre spectacle that he must have only caught the very end of.
"Is Anthony gone?" Astoria responded, her voice cracking slightly.
"Yeah," said Draco, still sneering over her shoulder, "although by the looks of things, Cassandra should have chucked out Cormac's trampy mother with him. Was she crying?"
They had reached the hallway and although Astoria knew that this was no more than typical fare from Draco, she suddenly did not think she could stand another second of it.
"Of course she was!" Astoria snarled. Her chin was beginning to shake: the most embarrassing and obvious sign that she was going to start weeping as well. Knowing that she had to get somewhere private and soon, Astoria began to search for a way out of the hall, her movements growing looser and more frantic as she went.
"What did you say to her?" demanded Draco gleefully.
"Does it matter?" Astoria snapped. "It's pathetic either way—she's a grown woman surrounded by people!"
Astoria tried the handle of the upstairs bathroom and found it firmly stuck.
"Perfect!" Astoria choked, just barely conscious of the fact that she was rambling to prevent herself from crying. "God, even Theodore is never going to talk to me again after tonight!"
"Yes he will," sneered Draco almost goadingly, trying to grab hold of Astoria's skirt in order to impede her progress down the hall in search of another restroom. "Look—"
Astoria turned very slowly, afraid of what she would find.
Near the fireplace at the bottom of the stairs, Theodore was standing with his arm around Padma Patil. Padma's shoulders were still shaking softly but she was leaning into Theodore and she was no longer howling with agony.
Theodore himself was as pale and awkward as Nostradamus at dusk, but he was dutifully rubbing her back and he did not appear to be searching for a potted plant to dive behind. Displaying a miraculous ability to overcome his fear in the face of a real disaster, Theodore had done what Astoria could not; he had clearly stepped in and coaxed Padma out of the bathroom himself.
"That's the last thing I would have guessed," sneered Malfoy, positively beside himself. "He's not going to be mad at you if your plan works out in his favor."
Too overwhelmed to feel proper relief, not to mention slightly nettled by Draco's easy dismissal of her poor behavior, Astoria turned her eyes back toward the hall. An overwhelming amount of shame in the face of Theodore's goodness was crashing over her shoulders, causing something tight and oddly fluid to form in the back of her throat.
"Ria!" sung Tracey, bursting out of the living room at top speed, stopping to wrap an arm around Astoria's waist. "Did you hear? Cassandra got rid of Anth—" Tracey broke off to stare in wonder at Theodore and Padma's watery embrace. "No way!" she hissed.
"Yeah," drawled Draco, looking more than a little pleased with himself. "You're welcome, by the way. If it weren't for me, Goldstein would still be yapping away in the library downstairs."
"You?" scoffed Tracey. "It was Astoria's idea. Your dad is looking for you, by the way. I saw him asking Pansy where you were just a minute ago."
"Oh," said Draco. He waited a long beat to maintain his dignity before stepping around Tracey, knowing better than to ignore a summons from his father for long.
"Keep it moving!" bellowed Marcus Flint abruptly, bursting out into the landing behind Tracey, followed closely by Blaise and Terrence Higgs. He immediately began to usher them down the hall. "Make it snappy! There's a balcony in the first guest bedroom on the right and I don't want Cassandra to stop us."
Wanting nothing more than a moment alone to collect herself, Astoria regretfully watched the still-locked bathroom door recede, swept away on the current of Marcus's whim.
"Where are we going?" demanded Tracey, tripping a little on her hem as they turned the corner onto a darker stretch of carpeting.
Marcus slowed down and tried first door they reached. It swung open to reveal a guest bedroom of the very old fashioned variety; shadowy, shuttered and currently not in use.
"Cassandra will have a fit if she catches us back here," said Blaise, his expression entirely at odds with this statement, as he appeared almost perfectly unconcerned by his own warning.
Marcus fiddled about in the dark until he managed to locate the cord on a thick set of drapes. "Everybody out," he commanded, holding the fabric back so that they could file outside onto a thin strip of balcony.
The night air was warmer than Astoria had expected, heated by the rapidly changing seasons and the tumultuous, electric smog of the city. Astoria leaned against the railing and breathed it all in with eager lungs, smelling asphalt and chimney smoke.
Next moment, a loud popping sound caused Astoria to jolt and cling to the railing in fright.
"Hah, Greengrass!" laughed Marcus, clutching a recently opened bottle of champagne. "Step back a bit, darling. I don't fancy having to charm the mess you'd make off of the sidewalk."
Annoyed, Astoria moved away from the edge, allowing the night air to work its magic on her, re-composing her face and steadying her chin. It was somehow much harder to remember the sound of Padma crying or the way Mrs. MacLaggen's makeup had become splotchy now that she was outside. Astoria focused the symphony of cars honking and backfiring in the distance, grateful for the distraction they created.
"What are we toasting to?" asked Terrence Higgs, who was the last to make his way through the curtains. "Wait, we didn't bring glasses."
"The bottle is a glass, Higgs," scoffed Flint. "Don't you dare go back in there!"
"Let's toast to summer!" suggested Tracey, still high on the promise of Theodore and Padma's unlikely new friendship. If she was disturbed by the measures it had taken to get them there, Astoria could not tell by looking at her.
"A toast to me," decided Marcus, ignoring Tracey's reasonable request as he held the bottle aloft. "I'm handsome, employed and dating a Gamp, but mostly today is my birthday!"
Against her better nature, Astoria laughed at this, unconvinced but amused just the same.
"Here," said Flint, taking a swig and trying to pass the bottle down the line. This was made slightly more difficult by the way that Tracey and Blaise were leaning over the rails in order to getter a better—and therefore more perilous—view of the street. Their preoccupation was just as well, however, because Marcus was smirking deeply and he had eyes only for Astoria.
"You seem awfully pleased with yourself," remarked Astoria, trying to re-summon some sense of liveliness. She took a tentative sip from the champagne bottle, waiting to see if she would remember how.
"That's because I'm excited to have you alone!" said Flint, spreading his arms out along the railing. "You've certainly spent the year making yourself known, you wicked thing!"
"Are you talking about your grandmother?" Astoria scoffed.
"Lord no!" breathed Marcus, his eyes shining deviously. "I'm talking about Ragnuk. What on Earth compelled you?"
Astoria's eyes twitched back toward the rest of the group, immediately disliking the way that Blaise's head was angled toward them. Astoria smiled softly at Marcus, unwilling to dig into her recent adventures with goblins while there were so many people at hand. A pity too, because Flint's perspective was worth its weight in gold.
"Not to mention," Flint continued under his breath, "word on the street says Bagman's all paid up with Hodrod. A regular tidy plate on the table of organized crime. I wonder who could have scooped him up at the last minute?"
"What are you two talking about?" asked Blaise, perhaps realizing that the jig was up because both Astoria and Marcus were staring at him.
"Sports," leered Marcus contentedly, savoring the pleasure of holding something over Blaise's head.
"Is that so?" asked Blaise dubiously, knowing that he was being left out and trying to decide if it annoyed him.
"It's nothing," Astoria ventured, passing the champagne to Terrence Higgs and hoping that Flint would take the hint.
"Both goblins have sponsors, you know," Marcus went on quickly, heedless of Astoria's discomfort. "Hodrod is practically funded by old man Rowle. I'm serious, he told me so himself less than an hour ago. He also had a thing or two to say about who is funding Ragnuk—I have a feeling you'll never guess."
"I'm sure I won't," Astoria agreed.
"Apparently, Ragnuk told Hodrod that his big money comes from within Hogwarts itself," said Flint, sucking on his teeth apprehensively, waiting for an outburst.
"What, you mean one of the teachers?" Astoria snorted. "I doubt it."
"Greengrass, I'm talking about you," clarified Flint, shaking his head at her foolishness. "A word to the wise and consider this fair warning: expect Ragnuk to play hard ball on the last task. I hope you haven't been cheating, because he'll use it against you."
"Wait," snapped Astoria, "why would Ragnuk mention me to Hodrod? I thought they hated each other!"
"Because you're his financial security blanket," Flint snorted. "That's why. Without you, Ragnuk's not expecting to turn a profit. In fact, he's probably been betting the money that he thinks you're going to owe him all over the country. If you pulled out now, you'd bankrupt him."
Astoria's thoughts flashed back to her last meeting with Ragnuk, recalling how finicky he had become about the exact terms of their business together. Still, Astoria had never once gotten the impression that the goblins were in any way dependent on the money that she and the twins were betting against them; quite the opposite in fact. From Astoria's pint of view, Ragnuk had consistently been just one trifling annoyance away from pushing her and the twins off a tower ever since the day they had met him.
Before Astoria could think of anything clever to say in return, Tracey accidentally dropped the bottle of champagne over the railing. It landed with a cringe-worthy smash on the street below several seconds later, sending everyone on the balcony into a curse-ridden frenzy as they scrambled for the cover of the drapery, trying to disappear before a neighbor or pedestrian could become irate.
They all blundered through the darkened guest bedroom together, knocking into one another as their eyes adjusted to the gloom.
"Davis, you moron," sighed Flint. "I'll never get another bottle out of that living room!"
This was probably just as well because the moment they reentered the dim stretch of hall, Astoria began to realize that, in her state of oscillating guilt and misery, she had probably already drunk a good deal more than she should. Her cheeks had been stinging since her father had announced that he was leaving and she was so tired that she was very nearly dizzy.
"Where have you lot been?" snapped Cassandra, narrowing her eyes as Marcus led the way back into the well-lit, guest friendly landing.
"Thought we'd take in the view," announced Flint, smirking in a way that seemed to suggest that he had been expecting this.
"Let me explain the rules of decency for you, Marcus," sneered Cassandra. "If the lights aren't on, stay out."
Astoria peeked over the banister, unconsciously searching for some sign of Theodore, but he and Padma were already gone.
"Cassandra!" boomed an imperious, female voice near the bottom of the stairs. Wincing, Astoria stood up on her tiptoes. To her immense surprise however, Cassandra did not turn her own head, but recoiled away from the stairway instead as though she had been pinched.
A second later, Astoria understood why. Coming up the stairs was an unhappy, heavily built woman of about sixty. She was wearing a floor length black dress but it was the woman's head that drew Astoria's notice. Every tendril of her graying hair had been swept up into a rigid bun, held in place by an opal-studded hair net. Without having to wait for an introduction, Astoria took this magnificent, slightly frightening woman to be Cassandra's grandmother.
If Marcus was right and Mr. Rowle really was betting against Hodrod, than it was probably safe to assume that his wife knew nothing about it. Everything, from her shimmering hairpiece to the lacy trim of her dress, spoke of a strange marriage between the whimsy of outdated fashion and the traditional, rather no-nonsense air of black intolerance so commonly found among the matriarchs of old families.
"I thought I warned you to send out letters when you changed the dress-code!" barked Mrs. Rowle, eying Astoria and Tracey with displeasure. "What do we have here? A couple of street performers? Surely that is what your guests must think!"
"Of course I sent out letters!" Cassandra began, trying to force her grandmother to walk in the direction of the living room. "You know how owl post can be—"
"I know nothing of the sort!" Mrs. Rowle boomed, closing in on her crimson-stained granddaughter. "Owl post indeed!"
"Come on," Astoria whispered, tugging on Tracey's resistant sleeve.
"Hah!" breathed Tracey triumphantly. "I hope her grandmother rips her apart for sticking me in this dress! Best part of my night so far..."
The sound of Mrs. Rowle complaining grew softer as they descended the stairs into the now thoroughly deserted foyer. The scene in the library appeared to be dying down but the small crowd that remained more than made up for their dwindling numbers in energy.
Astoria blinked sleepily, beginning to wonder what time it was. It had already been a bear of an evening, after all; bad even by extreme standards. The idea that it might soon be over was the only thing preventing Astoria from sagging down onto the floor next to one of the ornamental vases.
"I hear your dad in the library," observed Tracey, perhaps reading Astoria's mind.
Less than ten people were still gathered by the bookshelves, foraging from the worked-over appetizer trays with absolute impunity now that the crowd had dispersed and openly pouring drinks straight from half-empty bottles. Among this small pool of heads, Astoria very quickly managed to pick out her father's curly dark hair through the haze of cigar smoke. To her moderate dismay, both Draco and Lucius Malfoy were present as well.
"Oh my God," Tracey hissed, pulling up short. "Isn't that Fudge?"
Indeed it was. Bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and smoking a cigar in the glow of an antique lamp was the Minster of Magic himself, in all of his mismatched and tweedy glory.
Feeling like an intruder on the edge of this backroom party, Astoria pressed ahead, emboldened only by the clean, one-minded desire to remind her father that it was time for him to take her home.
George was looking positively merry. An easy opportunity to rub elbows with the minister seemed to have invigorated him past his usual level of frivolous delight and if he was at all ashamed of the last conversation he had had with his daughter, Astoria certainly could not tell by looking at him.
"Astoria, darling!" called George, holding out an arm to her. "You've met my daughter, haven't you, Sir?" George asked Fudge, eager to show Astoria off in the lamplight.
Astoria smiled but held back slightly. These were the sort of important people for whom it would be best to fake a lively enthusiasm and Astoria did not feel at all equal to the task.
"Oh?" quirked Fudge, narrowing his eyes slightly in order to focus on Astoria's features. "Oh, yes, yes!" he decided, nodding so quickly that Astoria began to suspect that he had drunk a bit too much himself. "A star student, aren't you?" chuckled Fudge. "I believe the last time we met was at the World Cup! You helped me translate for that wretched Bulgarian Minister! A long belated thank you, dear girl!"
Tracey shot Astoria a look of slightly envious admiration. For Astoria's part however, the task of making conversation with the Minister of Magic while he was drinking seemed like more of a burden than a privilege.
"Father," whispered Astoria quietly, trying to catch his ear.
"She favors you, George!" continued Fudge, glancing between them. "Similar features, I think, although she's certainly the prettier!"
Across the circle, Draco was peering around one of his father's friends in order to eavesdrop on the queer conversation that was developing between Fudge and the pair of Greengrasses.
"Blue eyes run in the family!" replied George indulgently. "Truthfully though, she takes more after her mother."
Fudge chuckled appreciatively and clapped her father on the back, reminding Astoria of a tolerant and slightly gratified uncle. For her part however, Astoria was too busy obsessing over what her father had just said to smile back. 'Blue eyes run in the family'. What could he have meant by that? While it was perfectly true that George's eyes were blue, Astoria most definitely weren't; they were a mossy shade of green. Suddenly realizing that it was possible that her father did not actually know what color her eyes were, Astoria actively reached out for her father's sleeve, desperate to make him hear her: "Father!"
"Tiberius!" cried George in warning, his eyes on Mr. MacLaggen's cigar, which was only inches away from the arm of the couch. "Your tip!"
Catching himself before he set the room on fire, Mr. MacLaggen let out a long, boisterous laugh. "You sound like my first girlfriend, George!"
"Now, now!" admonished Fudge, wagging his finger at MacLaggen, "there are young ladies present."
Neither Astoria nor Tracey, who was quite literally leering from ear to ear, seemed to offer up enough of a reason for Mr. MacLaggen to check his behavior, however.
"Come now, Cornelius!" boomed Mr. MacLaggen. "Time was, you were something of a dilettante yourself, if memory serves. Didn't you spend the summer after Hogwarts living with two women?"
Tracey reached out and quietly gripped Astoria's arm between two pinching fingers, trying to express some of the fiendish delight that was blazing in her eyes.
"It was never anything sinister!" insisted Fudge, his boyish face going slightly pink. "We were all interns that summer—our situation was perfectly reasonable!"
"What were their names again?" demanded Mr. MacLaggen stubbornly. "They came in a set, didn't they? Mary-Anne and Mary-Ellen?"
"Oh, enough of this!" chortled Fudge, who was perhaps growing uncomfortable. "We don't want to shock George's poor daughter or her friend!"
"You won't!" burst Tracey, risking some inappropriateness in order to hear this scandalous story finished.
"I think what Tracey means," Astoria corrected, resisting the urge to smirk, "is that it's occasionally a treat to be shocked."
"See!" cried Tiberius. "You can't use them as an excuse now! Which one of your girls left first?"
"Mary-Ellen," sighed Fudge, waxing nostalgic. "The poor dear..."
Astoria waited to see if Fudge would continue, curious despite herself. When it became clear that this was as far as he was going to grudgingly allow Mr. MacLaggen to intrude upon his memories however, Astoria turned her own attention toward George again.
"Father," she reminded him lightly, in a voice that was far too loud for him to easily dismiss, "it's nearly time for Tracey and I to leave."
"Oh?" asked George a little distantly, checking his wristwatch. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Lord knows we wouldn't want to upset your aunt. Just give me a moment to say my goodbyes."
"I'll meet you in the foyer?" Astoria prompted, hoping to speed the process along.
George did not respond, far too busy shaking hands with the Minister and eyeballing Lucius Malfoy to notice anything that Astoria did.
When he left the room—presumably to bid adieu to Mrs. Rowle herself—Astoria was not surprised to see Mr. Malfoy part with his current companion to escort him.
Fixing her eyes on the mantelpiece clock, Astoria waited just long enough for the minute hand to beat a wary circle around the numeral face before slipping away from Tracey and moving toward the foyer herself.
The sight of the Parkinson family coming down the darkened staircase only added fuel to Astoria's fire by providing her with yet another reason to avoid the library. The last thing she wanted to do was to make forced conversation with Pansy or—even worse—to witness the fine explosion of simpering and cooing that was sure to take place when she spotted Draco and tried to wish him goodnight.
After a moment's contemplation, it occurred to Astoria that this was the first time that she had seen any of the Parkinsons outside of the company of the Malfoys all evening. Perhaps Lucius had invited Pansy's parents to accompany him for the night? Trying to ignore the fact that, because of their similarity in age, this made Pansy Draco's pseudo date, Astoria quietly waited for all three of them to pass.
When Pansy's plump mother finally shuffled past the potted ferns, Astoria allowed herself to slump. For the first time since she had arrived, Astoria found herself indulging her ill-humor, relishing in the fact that there was no one around to watch her grimace or slouch.
Marcus Flint was probably still hooting and hollering merrily with Terrence Higgs by the fireplace upstairs, but it struck Astoria that Mr. Malfoy had probably wanted a private word with her father and he was not likely to have dragged him into the thick of the party. Wondering where two people who did not wish to be disturbed might go, Astoria dithered near the doorway, anxious to remain in the shadows and safely out of sight.
There were so many hallways in the Rowles house, and so many rooms leading off of those that Astoria hardly knew where to start. From what she could tell however, there were two or three doors that must lead into shuttered parlors or music rooms on the first floor. Thinking that it was far more likely her father might have intruded into one of these than any of the spare guest bedrooms, Astoria moved across the hall to inspect her options.
Sure enough, one of the heavy oak doors on the right side of the hall had been left ajar. Moving quietly so that she would not be heard, Astoria snuck up to the entrance and held her ear to the crack. There was nothing but silence on the other side of the wood. Emboldened, Astoria cracked the door a little further and found herself peeking into a very dark, antique tea room.
Instead of the oriental crimson that papered the front rooms, a pattern of be-wigged French milk maids, all frolicking through pastel-hued meadows and fens, held silent sentry over pink-silk upholstered love seats.
A faint halo of light was creeping through the curtains on the far side of the room, exposing the wooden lattice of a set of patio doors. Wondering if it was possible that the Rowles might have access to a small garden of some sort on the ground floor, Astoria slunk past the rose colored furniture and peered through the gap. Outside, a small terrace unfolded against the velvety expanse of a grassy backyard, studded with several small garden beds and bordered by tall trees.
Astoria barely had time to marvel at this bit of pricey real estate enhancement before she caught sight of a cloak near one of the rose bushes. Certain that it was her father's, Astoria leaned forward and pressed her face against the chilly glass, trying to cool her shame-hot cheeks.
"What are you doing back here?" scoffed Draco.
Astoria jumped so hard that her forehead left a smudge on the glass. Soothed by the semi-darkness and preoccupied by the figures in the garden, Astoria had not heard Draco come in and she had no idea how long he had been standing behind her.
"Does it matter?" she breathed back awkwardly, so startled by his sudden interruption that her fingertips were tingling.
Draco came up behind her quietly and craned his head, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the garden.
"My father wouldn't like it if he knew you were spying on him," he sneered, his voice just soft enough to constitute a whisper but somehow much more threatening.
"I'm not spying," Astoria sniffed. "They're too far away for that, anyway."
Draco let out a derisive noise and gave the door a soft push. A whisper of fresh air sucked in through the gap, carrying the sound of murmured voices with it.
Astoria fell silent at once, soothed by the pleasant draft of spring dampness. Out of the corner of her eye, Draco's hand slid down to rest on the door frame beside her. Wondering what he was doing in here, eavesdropping on his father and pretending not to care, Astoria tried to decide if she thought that he had followed her, or stumbled upon her by accident. Resisting the urge to shift away, Astoria focused on the darkened row of bushes outside.
"My father probably just wants some kind of legal advice," murmured Draco, sounding faintly bored. "Your dad is a lawyer, isn't he? I don't know why you care."
"I don't," Astoria admitted, studying the far off figures on the shadowy lawn. "Not really, at least."
"Afraid they're up to something illegal, are you?" sneered Draco, his tone taking on a slightly scornful, taunting edge.
"No," Astoria returned flatly, irrationally annoyed by this. "I don't even like my father, Draco. What difference would it make if he got arrested? They can give him a cell with his ex-wife in Azkaban, for all I care—wouldn't that be ironic?"
This was not entirely true and Astoria knew it. Her father's arrest would actually bother her a great deal. In truth, it was mostly resentment for being left to manage Mrs. MacLaggen (slightly pronounced by the wine she had been consuming) that was speaking for her, twisting her words and sharpening her tone into something tipsy and miserable.
Draco made another little noise and his hand dropped lower against the door frame. Even though his eyes were still fixed on the lawn, it occurred to Astoria that he was standing very close behind her. So close, in fact, that Astoria imagined he would probably jump away from her guiltily if anyone else managed to discover them.
"Switched teams, have you?" drawled Draco, his sentence somehow curt and a little breathless. "I thought it was your aunt that you hated."
Pressing her head against the wood and using the surface behind her as a pressure point, Astoria rotated against the thick curtain just far enough to catch a glimpse of Draco's face through her flyaway hair.
Even in shadow, it was remarkable—startling even—how very much he looked like his father. Still, there was something about the sight of him that she found faintly satisfying to look at, even if he did bear a frightening resemblance to his rather more murderous sire. Perhaps that was why Astoria always seemed to like Draco better in the dark? It really was much easier to pretend that she wasn't asking for trouble when she couldn't properly see him.
When Astoria did not respond, Draco's eyes flicked toward her face uncertainly.
It was a weird moment. Astoria knew that she should probably look away, but the dull sensation of the door pushing into her back was the only thing that seemed to be grounding her. Slowly, Astoria found herself concentrating more and more of her energy on the way that Draco's hand was lingering against the wall near her arm.
"What?" Draco demanded shortly, a little flustered by her silent and unswerving eye contact.
Feeling deranged, Astoria let out an unstable breath and turned away again.
"I can find out what my father wanted later, if it really bothers you so much," Draco muttered, clearly thrown by Astoria's refusal to speak.
Astoria mulled this over silently, more intrigued by the fact that Draco was offering to snoop and report back to her than she was by the actual details of Lucius and George's whispered conversation. When it came right down to it, it was quite uncharacteristic of Draco to give anything away for free; least of all a betrayal of his father's trust, no matter how mundane the secret in question likely was.
"It doesn't matter," Astoria decided.
"Then why are you back here?" scoffed Draco dubiously.
"Because everywhere else is awful," Astoria muttered bitterly. "That's the way of things, isn't it? Everything is always either awful or boring."
"What? You mean Cormac's mother having an hysterical meltdown?" leered Draco. "Why didn't you just shove her back toward the bar? I don't know why you even tried talking to her."
"She was sobbing her head off because my father had run off with a different mistress," admitted Astoria, feeling a certain savage pleasure as she sabotaged her father's best interests. "Imagine if I had shrugged her off? She probably would have started screaming."
"Are you kidding?" demanded Draco, fascinated by this bit of very good gossip and doing a poor job of hiding it. "With who?"
"Mafalda Hopkirk," answered Astoria unkindly, conscious of the fact that, on some wretched level, she was almost hoping that Draco would repeat this scandal to someone who mattered. "She's pretty important at the Ministry, isn't she? You'd think she would be too clever for his antics."
Draco had narrowed his eyes, torn between curiosity and the faint suspicion that she might be leading him on in order to make him look stupid on purpose.
"Mrs. MacLaggen is really more his style, anyway," Astoria continued recklessly. "He should have just stayed with her. I've never known my father to have a girlfriend who wasn't stupid and I don't see why he'd bother to break his pattern now."
The nasal sound of her rapid breathing as it whistled through her nose was becoming a little bit consuming. The darkness was suddenly no longer enough to sedate her and Astoria could feel herself beginning to sweat.
"What color are my eyes, Malfoy?" asked Astoria suddenly, cutting off whatever Draco was about to say. Her eyelashes fluttered against her face as she squeezed them shut, feeling curiously nervous and exposed by her own oddness.
"What?" asked Draco uncertainly, taken aback.
"What color are my eyes?" Astoria repeated. "They're closed, so don't bother looking—"
"I don't need to look," Draco sneered. "This game is stupid."
"My father didn't know what color my eyes were tonight," Astoria insisted a little hatefully, as angry with herself as she was with anyone else. "Do you know?"
Astoria waited for Draco to jeer or laugh at her for this shameful revelation but for once he held his tongue. Perhaps her could sense Astoria's desperation because he seemed to realize that it would put him in a position of greater power to take her seriously than it would to shame her.
"They're green," Draco muttered at last, masking his discomfort with scorn as he shifted uncomfortably.
Astoria was not really surprised that Draco had known this, but the sudden need to bite her lip again to keep her chin from shaking was unexpected. Something very warm and heavy seemed to be uncoiling in her stomach, stretching out toward her limbs in a rush of tingling stupidity.
Go back and wait for your father in the foyer, Astoria's mind seemed to whisper, conscious of the fact that Draco was watching her with a strange, troubling intensity. Enough of this.
Astoria had already pushed away from the wall when Draco's mouth made contact with her face. Surprised and more than a little confused, Astoria stiffened, trying to understand if she had fallen against him by mistake. Except that version of events did not make any sense. Astoria was certain that she had inched sideways toward the door; which meant that it was Draco who must have lurched forward, only Astoria had been too quick for him because he had missed her mouth by several inches, brushing against her jaw instead.
Blinking very rapidly into a space that was suddenly filled with her own hair and the side of Draco's nose, Astoria reached out blindly, intending to use her hand to keep Malfoy's body at a safe distance. Her fingers betrayed a strange and mutinous instinct the moment they made contact with his shirt however, curling slightly instead of pushing. In the blink of an eye, the world began to slow and become slightly muted.
Draco's shoulders were rigid and something about the way he was holding himself seemed to express a kind of panic, as though he not really planned on trying to put his mouth on her face and he was just as surprised as Astoria was now that he had actually done it. But he had done it and, either because his first impulse had already exposed him or else he was feeling slightly emboldened by the fact that Astoria had not yet shoved him away, Draco soon unstuck himself.
Half expecting Draco to shrug and attempt to play the moment off as some kind of weird slip, Astoria was unprepared when he twitched and pushed her forward instead. Nudging his head in past her hair, Draco used his weight to jerkily encourage her body back against the curtains. He kissed her as encouragingly as he could, perhaps hoping to press some of his own desperation into her. Astoria let him try, closing her eyes in response.
With her eyes closed, Astoria gave up on deciding how she really felt about the matter before she had even attempted to understand her own thoughts. The heavy guilt of Padma's misery had left Astoria feeling mentally weak toward anything that was calculated to indulge her sense of worth, and Draco seemed as though he was literally willing to indulge anything that might provoke some kind of positive response from her.
Safe from Theodore's eyes and weirdly comfortable with the idea of touching Draco's body already, Astoria caught herself arching away from the wall toward him. The moment it became clear that she was trying to pull Draco on top of her instead of push him away, Astoria felt the last cog slip into place. He let out a stunted sound that Astoria took for an expression of relief mingled with elation and Astoria pushed herself up on her tip-toes, dutifully ignoring all of her fears about having to deal with snogging a person she was not sure she even liked in favor of the immediate gratification of Malfoy's mouth.
Draco's motions soon proved to be ruled by a bizarre mixture of greed and the deep desire to be pleasing at the same time. He did not seem to know whether to covetously grab at Astoria or to wait and try to do as she suggested. The way Astoria was pushing up onto the front of her feet did seem to be gradually throwing him off balance though, because he eventually bounced sideways, leaning against the arm of a silky pink chair. Realizing that he wasn't going to frighten her off by moving, Draco sagged back against the cushions and dragged her down on top of him eagerly.
Conscious of the fact that she was sitting on Draco's lap and actively allowing him to invade her mouth with his tongue, Astoria could not help but think of Theodore's warning: 'don't become another Malfoy goon!' with a little spasm of self-destructive horror. Even this did not seem to stop her from nudging closer and shivering as Draco managed to find her bare thigh.
Astoria had barely time to marvel at the dexterity that this must have required, as it was surely a feat that he had even managed to find the bottom of her skirt, much less a way into it, before the sound of voices on the patio brought her back to cold reality.
"Draco!" Astoria hissed, trying to push him away so that she could get to her feet.
"Don't," begged Draco in a low, very subdued voice that she had never heard him use before, trying to stop her from wriggling away from him. A little jarred by the tone of his voice, for Draco wanted for very little in his life and was nearly always too proud and disdainful to plead for things, the sound of footsteps had nearly reached them by the time Astoria managed to get her bearings.
"Draco, that's your dad," Astoria insisted tensely.
"Fucking hell," Draco hissed.
Understanding the cause for alarm at last, Astoria nearly fell off the chair as he shot up straight.
It was a good thing that Draco still had some idea where the door that led back to the hall was, because Astoria doubted whether she would have found it as quickly. The black and white checkered floors swam back into view like a memory from a recent dream. Behind her, Astoria heard the patio doors open at the exact same moment that the wooden door she had just pushed through fell shut.
Thankful that she had an excuse to wait in the foyer, as her dad would be coming through to collect her at any minute, Astoria flagged Draco on toward the library mutely, unwilling to really look at him while panic still thundered in her ears.
"Oh good, Astoria!" cried George, pleased to have found her waiting for him as he tramped back into the hall. "What happened to Miss Davis? I thought we were responsible for her?"
0o0
Two things!:
1. I'm so sorry there was such a long wait for this update! To make a long story semi-short, I somehow managed to delete half of chapter fifty two when I switched files over from my friend's computer to my new one. The chunk of writing that I had typed out on Microsoft Word was fine, but the part I typed out on Word Perfect came out looking like badly scrambled symbol patterns (imagine the plot of Beowulf being retold using nothing but emojis via text message and you'll be on the right track. AKA, illegible as F***.) After that, I spent about a week procrastinating and lamenting my stupidity for only saving to one zip drive, and that is really what caused the hang-up.
2. I'm heading out of the country for a day or two tomorrow (happy Thanksgiving, fellow Americans!) and I really, really wanted to get a post up before I went a'travelling. Full disclosure: I probably did a crappier than average job of editing this post in an attempt to finish it up with some time to sleep before I leave. At this point though, I just needed to purge myself of it (I've written this chapter two and a half times and the more I read it, the more I start to see it weirdly). I'll be sure to give it another polish when I get home to nip most of the weird irregularities and typo-stuffs, but hopefully it didn't cause any headaches.
I'm aiming to have the next post up on Monday, but lets say Wednesday at the latest. As always, reviews are such a treat and so nice to read!