Chapter Fifty Six
Merry-Go-Round
0o0
Astoria stared at her reflection in the full length bathroom mirror, adjusting the straps of her dress with steady but numb fingers. Outside, the first trickle of voices could be heard; every wail and shriek of laugher reaching the tower windows in a state of shockingly unaltered clarity.
It was almost noon already and Astoria's morning exam was long over. She had been lingering in the tower ever since, obsessing over the details of her outfit with eagle-eyed cynicism, unwilling to pull herself away from the drippy, porcelain-lined safety of the bathroom.
Heaving a deep breath, Astoria studied her mirror-image closely, trying to understand if she looked as nauseous as she felt. If the terrible churning sensation her belly was anything to go by however, this did not even seem possible.
For months, but most particularly over the last few weeks, Astoria had been doing her absolute best to avoid thinking about the Third Task at all. The only way to curb her fear, she had reasoned, was to resist obsessing over it. On the rare occasions that she had contemplated what was coming, she had only permitted herself loose flashes of terrifying insight. There was no point in panicking over the inevitable, she had decided. Why torture herself?
Now that the day had finally arrived, Astoria was beginning to question her choice of coping mechanism. Instead of feeling confident, she felt unprepared. The sudden inability to depend on mental detachment was jarring and as a result, she found herself flirting with the edge of a dizzying panic.
Nothing felt right. Even the most mundane details seemed determined to reach her brain upside down and backwards. The white dress she had chosen was one that she had worn many times before, but today, she saw it in a new light; its brightness reminding her of nudity and its lack of sleeves making her feel very vulnerable.
Astoria fixed her shoulder straps for the hundredth time, pleading with herself to sharpen up. Panic was by far the worst side-effect of allowing the moment she had been dreading to sneak up on her. Physical discomfort she could have lived with, but fear was a hungry thing and she had been starving it for too long. Even now, she could feel her terror working hard to swallow up her wits.
You don't want to be here, Astoria's eyes confessed to their reflected twins, this mental loop is draining you. Just go downstairs.
Her real eyes were right, of course; the suspended state of boredom and agony was not making her feel any better. In fact, she was close to to ripping out all of her hair in clumps.
Finally convinced that the bathroom was worse than the lawn, Astoria gave herself a spritz of perfume and moved toward the door. She paused in the dormitory just long enough to collect her pearls, shivering a little at the whisper of wind stirring the crimson bed curtains.
It was a fine day outside but the weather did not seem to be able to touch her mood. Groomed, adorned and shaking, Astoria dropped to her knees and dug about in her trunk until she located a long-buried victorian hand fan between a few pairs of old socks.
The ivory handle was more yellow than white after so many years in storage, but the allure of having a screen to hide her face behind appealed to her immensely. Thankful for the divine inspiration that had reminded her of it, Astoria flicked it open and shook off the dust, pleased to find that the pastel silk was still lustrous and soft.
0o0
All of the doors to the empty Entrance Hall were thrown open to the blustery afternoon when Astoria reached the first floor, filling the room with a hint of far away freshness.
Relieved that crowd had not yet begun to form, Astoria moved toward the long hall windows. The lack of chaos seemed promising. Perhaps she was not running as late as she had feared?
There were only about a dozen people visible in the courtyard beyond—most of them students. Between the arched pillars that supported the walkway, however, Astoria thought she could make out the daunting form of Augusta Longbottom.
"Astoria, Astoria, ASTORIA!" sang Tracey excitedly, bounding up out of the dungeon passageway.
Astoria turned just in time to brace herself for the impact of Tracey's manic grasp.
"What's going on out there?" demanded Tracey, running a hand down the length of her own dress. Astoria's eyes followed this gesture dully, noticing as she did so that Tracey was wearing the same outfit she had borrowed from Astoria for the MacLaggen Christmas party over a year ago and never returned.
"No idea," Astoria breathed. "I just came down."
This was perfectly true. Although her father and Roland had both expressed a desire to come to the castle early, neither of them had given her any indication of where she might be able to find them. Astoria did not even have the smallest idea of where to start looking.
"Look, that's Neville's gran!" insisted Tracey, taking her turn at the window. "That means people are here, lets go find them!"
Unable to think of a better plan, Astoria followed Tracey out into the dazzling sunshine, privately thankful to be trailing in the wake of someone else's enthusiasm.
The courtyard was bright and pleasant but not nearly active enough to hold Tracey's interest. Guessing that the altered quidditch pitch might be the most intriguing fixture on the grounds, they set off across the sloping lawn in the general direction of the maze.
"This is so scattered!" lamented Tracey after a moment's walk, spotting Pansy and her parents standing in the shade of a tree by the lake and scowling.
"The Task doesn't start until dusk," Astoria reminded her absently, keeping her eyes peeled for Fred and George or—she couldn't stop herself from picturing them—Ragnuk's pack of slippery goblins.
"Where are your parents?" asked Tracey at last, tired of wandering aimlessly. "Are they here yet?"
Astoria shrugged and continued to fan her clammy face in silence.
"Are you alright?" snickered Tracey, finally catching a glimpse of Astoria's green, lifeless pallor. "Only you look like you might be sick..."
"We'll see," Astoria panted, gesturing with her fan toward Maudlin and Luc, who were both sitting outside the Beuxbatons carriage. "Come on, this way."
Astoria did not know what had made her choose to seek out Maudlin and Luc's company, but as she drew closer and noticed Cassandra and Emilie lounging on the grass between them, she began to regret her choice.
"Ria!" called Maudlin warmly. "I thought you would be with Draco and Alec!"
Astoria transferred her fan into her opposite hand and allowed Maudlin to pull her into a one-armed hug.
"No. We haven't seen anyone," complained Tracey. "Do you think Blaise is with them? Are you two drinking in broad daylight?"
This last question was in direct reference to the very obvious cocktail glass nesting in the grass at Luc's feet.
"Of course they are," answered Cassandra scornfully. "Luc would probably cherish an actual death in his family if he thought that it meant no one would take him to task for cracking into a bottle of scotch before lunch."
"This is an international sporting event!" argued Luc, visibly affronted.
"Not to mention the end of my academic career!" added Maudlin passionately, paying no mind to Cassandra. "As of this morning, I'm officially finished with my tests. I can't even be expelled anymore. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"
"No," Astoria breathed, so envious of his freedom that she could feel herself choking on it.
"Come in and I'll pour you something," Maudlin insisted, his arm still around Astoria's shoulders. "The teachers are too busy with guests to pay us any attention."
Astoria did not even allow herself to contemplate this offer. She had too much left to do to risk drunkenness, no matter how tempting an escape into hazy fantasy might be. There was no getting around the fact that she would not be able to relax until long after the sun had set and a champion had been named.
But Maudlin was in almost impossibly good spirits, and Astoria could not remember a time when she had felt less in control of her her own voice. Sensing that it would be easier to just let him put a glass in her hand than it would be to come come up with an excuse for resisting, Astoria followed Maudlin into the carriage.
"Seven years. Can you believe it?" called Maudlin as he rifled through cabinets. "Do you know, I don't have a clue what I'm doing in the fall?"
"Must be nice," murmured Astoria absently, playing with a tassel on one of his velvet throw-pillows.
"I mean, yeah," agreed Maudlin somewhat falsely. "Of course, everyone keeps saying that I ought to look into internships. But really, what's the point? I'm already rich, right?"
"I suppose," Astoria allowed, taking the glass he was handing her and making a mental note not to sip from it by accident. "I'm sure Aston can set you up with a great stock portfolio."
"No!" scoffed Maudlin quickly, tellingly anxious to negate this suggestion. "I mean, I'll do something—I just haven't figured what yet. Its all a matter of timing, you know..."
He was talking to himself now. Maudlin broke off and allowed his eyes to stray toward the lone dormitory window. Cassandra and Emilie were both clearly visible on the lawn outside, picking blades of grass between their fingers.
Astoria studied Maudlin out of the corner of her eye, suddenly very afraid that he might be in a secret state of burgeoning self-crisis. If there had ever been a time when she was less suited to the task of helping him down from an existential ledge, it was now. Astoria tried to shift the topic.
"You could travel," she suggested half-heartedly.
"That's what Emilie wants to do," Maudlin admitted in a rush, but even in a low voice, Astoria could not help but notice the bitter inflection he had given his girlfriend's name. "Christ. Can you imagine?"
"It doesn't sound so bad to me," Astoria pressed optimistically. "You love Italy. Go there."
"You've never had to sit through a whole meal alone with her, have you?" demanded Maudlin tremulously, his eyes still boring a hole into Emilie's cheerful, unknowing face.
"She's boring, Astoria," he admitted lowly. "There's no way around it. I've been dating her for three years and I feel like I'm slowly becoming stupefied. And now what? I'm an adult? Does it have to last forever?"
Astoria slowly turned toward him. Despite Maudlin's suggestive name, it was quite unlike him to become confessional. His typical habit, as Astoria understood it, was to either repress all things unsettling and unseemly, or else to studiously rework them with a corrective spin. Because of this, for as long as Astoria had known the Mendels, Maudlin's mother had never been referred to as 'absent', but as a great lover of travel. In the same way, Aston was never described as being 'disappointed in his son'; he was simply stern.
"You're being too hard on yourself," said Astoria carefully, afraid of saying something that might directly prompt him to break up with his girlfriend—a mistake that Cassandra would surely force her to pay for later.
"Am I?" muttered Maudlin quietly, repeating the question to himself as he downed the last of his drink. "Yeah, I probably am. Do you need another?"
"Mine's still fresh," Astoria reminded him softly, a little concerned by both his sense of distraction and his rapid consumption of liquor. "Be careful, you have hours to go until sunset."
"Yes, yes," Maudlin sighed, regaining some of his usual carelessness as he waved away her warning.
"Ria!" Tracey exclaimed, pouncing the moment Astoria made her return into the sunlight. "Where did you get that?"
"Inside, but here—take mine," Astoria pressed, passing over her cup. "I might walk back up to the castle to search for my aunt."
"But we've finally found people!" exclaimed Tracey in surprise. "Do you want me to come with you? I was thinking Blaise might turn up here."
"No, you stay," Astoria insisted, edging toward the incline of the hill. "I'll be back."
Astoria had barely made it up the first slope before she heard Maudlin demand to know where she was going. Instead of slowing down to tell him, she sped up.
The courtyard was only a little busier than it had been but somehow much livelier, populated by many colors other than the standard Hogwarts black. Here and there, clusters of people stood about chatting, congesting the pathway in their obliviousness.
Astoria hesitated at the end of the walkway to search for Belladonna but a flicker of recognizable blonde hair in the sunlight distracted her. Afraid Mr. Malfoy was about to sneak up on her once again, it took a moment for Astoria to realize that the flare of recognition had been caused by Draco's mother and not Lucius at all. Narcissa was standing near the fountain with Pansy and Mrs. Parkinson, freshly back from the lake.
Astoria slowed down to spy on them between the stone arches, unable to resist her own curiosity.
While it was not uncommon for Narcissa to be out in public, she had long remained something of an enigma to Astoria. Unlike her husband, who frequently went out of his way to either impose his will upon the school-board or—failing this—strike up a verbal feud with her aunt every few months, Narcissa had never provided Astoria with any reason to speak to her.
Intrigued but mortified by the idea of being caught staring by Pansy, Astoria's eyelashes fluttered rapidly, trying to soak up as much detail as she could before she would have to look away.
The differences between Pansy's mother and Mrs. Malfoy were striking. One was short and solidly built; the other tall, slim and just a little distant. Even as Astoria watched, Pansy's mother was obligated to push back the brim of her garden hat (which matched her ample rose-colored robes) in order to gaze up into Narcissa's flaxen face.
Astoria subconsciously leaned forward. Her cheek gently grazed against the cool stone of the archway.
She had always assumed that Draco looked a little too much like his father to bear any real resemblance to his mother. And he typically did, especially in the moody candlelight of the evening parties where she had been most likely to spot mother and son together. But here, in the full brilliance of daylight, Astoria thought she could trace quite a bit of her son's less-guarded expression in the softness of Narcissa's chin.
At that moment, a pack of Ravenclaws went by, jostling Astoria's shoulder.
Shaken awake to the awkwardness of what she was doing, Astoria quickly set off along the stone walk again, continuing to glance into the yard for signs of her aunt. It was an effort not to look back. The sight of Mrs. Parkinson's squareness had done something strange and unkind to her mood.
Up ahead, a large table had been dragged outside and situated near the end of the yard. Piles of pamphlets and newsletters fluttered in baskets, one or two escaping on the draft to flutter across the pathway like ground-birds.
Suspecting the Sisters of the Eastern Star were responsible, Astoria stopped to dither over the handouts. A subscription ledger laid open under the wind-swept tablecloth, bearing the names of at least twenty people requesting that regular newsletters be delivered to their door. Astoria hastily read down the list, hoping to spot her aunt's signature and thereby confirm her arrival. The sound of someone speaking her name out loud caused her to pause and look about in surprise before she could finish.
Standing in a small circle on the mossy grass below the eaves, Draco and Alec appeared to be in conversation with Blaise and his mother, Seraphina.
Certain that her name had come from other side of the open stone wall but conscious of the fact that she wasn't in their direct line of sight, Astoria came to the awkward realization that they must be talking about her—not to her.
"Astoria Greengrass? She's almost hilarious," Blaise could be heard saying smoothly, safe in his mother's company. "Really mother, she's one of those girls that think looks count for everything. If you knew her any better, you'd loathe her."
"And you would know that how?" challenged Draco haughtily, his profile obscured by the archway. "Everyone knows she hates you, Blaise. It's no surprise that she doesn't talk to you."
Astoria's eyes flickered toward Seraphina, who alone was fully visible, trying to understand if this counted as support in her corner or an invitation to even crueler gossip.
"And why do you think that is?" returned Blaise condescendingly. "She knows I see her for what she really is—a stuck up control freak. You've just never been able to look past her face long enough to notice the stone-cold psychopath hiding behind it."
"Darling, really!" murmured Seraphina indulgently, placing her hand on Blaise's arm. "You're so instigating!"
It could not have been more clear that Seraphina was entirely unbothered by her son's behavior. It was only for the sake of correctness in general that she was endeavoring to check his attitude and Astoria loathed her for it.
"What does that even mean, Zabini?" demanded Draco roughly, swapping his passive-aggression for outright annoyance. If he had been capable of overlooking the implication of Astoria's madness in relative silence, the charge of being fixated on her face seemed to have crossed the line.
Alec chuckled, doing his best to remain neutral.
"I'm not saying you're the only one," Blaise went on vindictively, surprising even Astoria with his need to tear her to pieces. "The real trouble is, she's pretty and she knows it—that's why she thinks she gets a free pass to act like a little bitch to everyone."
"Blaise!" chided Mrs. Zabini delightedly, swatting her son's arm with the same finesse of a lion flicking its tail.
"Seriously, though," Blaise sneered. "People are supposed to think that she's interesting? Give me a break! The poor girl is so insecure it hurts. I can hardly listen to her talk without sobbing."
"Ria!" panted Maudlin loudly, huffing and puffing as he came jogging up the hill. Astoria went cold as a pair of hands seized her shoulders from behind. "Where did you run off to? Oh look—there's Alec!"
Without giving her so much as a chance for her to dig in her heels, Maudlin pushed them both forward into the light and onto the moss-coated cobblestones. Every head present snapped in their direction and, with the possible exception of Seraphina, Astoria thought she might have known that they had been talking about her simply by their startled expressions.
"You've found me," murmured Alec, tickled pink by Maudlin's awkward timing.
If Astoria's day had been heinous before, it was now officially painful enough to make her break into an unnatural sweat.
"About time!" Maudlin pressed impatiently. "I thought we were meeting at the carriage an hour ago. Astoria's had time to run off on me, already."
"I'm supposed to be finding my aunt," Astoria stuttered, trying very hard to fixate on Maudlin in order to avoid having to look at Draco or the Zabinis.
"Oh God!" burst Maudlin unexpectedly, suddenly seized by tipsy dread. "Your aunt is here?"
Mrs. Zabini smirked delightedly.
"You've got moss in your hair, Greengrass," leered Blaise, indicating the side of Astoria's face that had touched the stone arch earlier. He reached forward, perhaps intending to put a cap on his disdain by giving a lock of her offending hair a smug tug.
Astoria's nerves were too shot for this sort of thing, however. Her fight or flight instincts raced to respond to the threat of his touch with the same intensity that they might have reacted to a hovering wasp.
Without thinking, Astoria raised her hand and violently snapped open her fan. The ivory webbing between the silk was shorter than a ruler, but punishingly solid; Blaise's fingers collided with a savage, bone-deep crunch next to her ear.
A flush of something shaky and rejuvenating flooded Astoria's body upon impact. Hitting Blaise in front of his mother was probably the stupidest thing that Astoria could have possibly done, but it felt so good to take a swing at something that she could not immediately regret doing it.
Blaise let out an undignified yelp and recoiled. Astoria chased him down with the full force of her blazing glare, daring him to try again. Clutching his hand and attempting to look amused by her antics, there was no doubt that Blaise had learned his lesson. Beside him, however, his mother's lovely face had gone as cold as ice.
"I haven't seen Belladonna in years," mumbled Maudlin darkly, overlooking Astoria's passion for assault in favor of searching the grounds for Belladonna. "Does she look different? Will I recognize her while she's still far, far away?"
"You'll find her largely the same, even if she has aged a bit around the eyes," remarked Seraphina cooly. "Will you step away with me, Blaise? I've just spotted the Rowles."
Blaise shot Astoria a look that promised violent retaliation before following his mother across the lawn. The moment they had cleared the fountain, Alec let out a gust of breath that whistled like steam.
"What?" Astoria snapped, fanning herself irritably.
"Me-ow!" leered Alec suggestively, flexing his fingers to imitate a set of cat claws. "A saucer of milk for Astoria!"
This was too ridiculous to be ignored but Astoria could not seem to summon any sense of shame. Even now, she could feel courage returning to her limbs and unsticking her tongue. If this was going to be her last day on Earth, she vowed, she wasn't going to spend it as a pale-faced mute. Blaise be damed.
"Who even carries a fan anymore?" drawled Draco, pink-faced with elation. "The sound that thing made!"
"Is your aunt taller than you, Astoria?" asked Maudlin, pursuing his paranoia over their conversation. "She likes to dress like a witch no matter what the occasion, right? Black and red and menacing all over..."
"She is a witch, Maudlin," answered Astoria calmly, spotting Belladonna in the flesh near the castle steps. "She dresses like herself."
"Yeah," agreed Maudlin darkly, "the biggest witch of them all..." Satisfied that he would not be snuck up on, however, he finally seemed to remember himself. "Did you just hit that boy?"
"In front of his mother nonetheless!" leered Draco mistily. "What a sap!"
"You're uncommonly fond of hitting people," observed Maudlin with a frown. "Even when we were children. Whenever we played boardgames, you always became frustrated and tired to smack me—"
"What?" scoffed Astoria sharply, unable to recall a single instance in which she had ever laid hands on Maudlin.
"He shouldn't have touched her," scoffed Malfoy, oblivious to Belladonna's shadow bearing down on them. "It's his own fault, the loudmouth!"
The whisper of possessiveness in Draco's tone was far too slight for Maudlin to notice, but Astoria was not so sure about Alec.
"Auntie!" called Astoria stoutly, thankful for the interruption. "You're here!"
Maudlin, who had clearly done a poor job of swooping the vicinity, pivoted and let out a strange, shivery sound somewhere between a gasp and a hiss.
"Astoria, darling!" Belladonna trilled. "Is that Seraphina making such a hasty escape?"
"Haasss!" exclaimed Maudlin, shooting halfway out of his skin.
"Goodness," remarked Belladonna, switching targets, somehow unfazed by this dramatic reaction to the sight of her face. "If it isn't little Maudlin Mendel! Five years and you haven't grown an inch!"
Maudlin made an indignant face and spluttered, undone by his morning-long fascination with a liquor bottle.
In a move that expressed far more confidence than she actually felt, Astoria took her aunt by the arm and urged her into a stroll.
"You wanted a word in private," Astoria reminded her pointedly, seeking a leisurely pace.
"I suppose I did," Belladonna drawled, giving up Maudlin as easy prey. "Have you seen to your father yet?"
"No," answered Astoria, turning their steps toward the castle, guessing that its halls would be emptier than the grounds. "Have you?"
"I have. He's by the lake with Alistair Yaxley," admitted Belladonna. "I assume that little reunion wasn't your idea?"
"Father and the Yaxleys? Obviously not," returned Astoria, certain that this needed no further proof. "But dad did mention that Roland and Alistair would be coming in his letter." Astoria hesitated before adding, "Roland wrote to me as well."
"Oh?" quirked Belladonna, raising an eyebrow.
"Mhmm," Astoria confirmed, steering them both across the entrance hall and into the leather-bound silence of the Room of Portraits.
"Good lord," whispered Belladonna softly as she studied the familiar furniture, her eyes suddenly far away. "Nothing has changed here in hundred years! I hated school, you know. Even as a girl, I used to count down the days until summer..."
This came as something of a surprise to Astoria, who had almost never heard a student confess to loathing Hogwarts. But then again, Belladonna was the most contrary woman that Astoria knew; perhaps it was time to stop letting her aunt surprise her?
"Why did you want to talk to me, Auntie?" Astoria sighed, heaving herself onto the edge of the comfortable sofa.
The steady ticking of the clock and the suffocating essence of dust in here were almost intoxicating. For a moment, Astoria toyed with the fantasy of simply falling asleep and pretending the Third Task did not exist until it was already over.
"You look worn," observed Belladonna keenly.
"I haven't been sleeping well," Astoria admitted. "There's too much to think about."
"I hope that isn't on my account," Belladonna tested.
"Not really," Astoria sighed. "Did you manage to actually talk to Alistair and Father or did you just glower?"
"I spoke with them," said Belladonna, sucking on the inside of her cheek. "I've been here since breakfast."
Astoria raised both of her arms emphatically, wondering why it was that Belladonna always seemed to love making Astoria chase her about.
"Don't be cross," tutted Belladonna. "I've had a chance to see Roland, too. He certainly seems quite taken with Lady Rowle's oldest niece. Cassandra, is it?"
"Yes, just like I have mentioned in several of my letters," returned Astoria stubbornly.
"What a foolish pair they make!" laughed Belladonna unkindly. "He is so full of false pleasantness that everyone around him withers when he speaks, and the girl is so desperate to facilitate that they both become loathsome."
Astoria smirked quietly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you sound offended."
"Offended?" mused Belladonna. "No, not entirely. Perhaps I might be, if you had ever truly thrown your hat into the ring...but as it is, Miss. Rowle has got our Roland purely through her own convenience—a trait you would not have to work hard to overthrow."
Astoria snorted.
"What?" quirked Belladonna wryly. "You imagine she's enslaved him by means of a wicked sexual thrall instead, do you?"
"No," chuckled Astoria truthfully.
"I thought not," Belladonna continued, unable to entirely conceal how boring she found the idea of an affair without debauchery.
Astoria's lips twitched.
"In any case, I suppose we must forgive her," Belladonna mused. "She behaves far more sensibly than you do. In light of family fortune, he would make her a prudent match—particularly if he manages to rob you of your inheritance before he's thirty."
"Auntie!" Astoria objected, unwilling to follow Belladonna down this path yet again.
"I'm only arguing that her actions are genuinely understandable! Well, everything except this strange fascination she seems to have with baby-colors," Belladonna sneered, gesturing vaguely toward Astoria's white dress. "Half of your Sisterhood is roving about the grounds in matching pink headbands. Can you imagine?"
"That's her chief sin, is it?" Astoria croaked, no longer able to contain her amusement. "Her love of a subdued pink?"
Belladonna pursed her lips and turned her back on Astoria to study a photograph on the bookshelf. "You know what you plan to say to your father when you see him?" she asked, sobering slightly.
"Not really," Astoria admitted. "What do you suggest?"
Belladonna let out a long, slow breath before turning, self-doubt etched into her expression like fatigue.
"Assure him that everything is well," decided Belladonna at last, her tone no longer playful. "But, Astoria..." Belladonna hesitated, perhaps trying to decide on her exact choice of wording.
"What?" Astoria quivered.
"You'll need to defend me somewhat," managed Belladonna uncomfortably. "Once George believes that you take his view on things, he'll do his best to make me seem ridiculous."
"Why wouldn't I defend you?" returned Astoria, beginning to fully appreciate just how underhanded her task could become. "For that matter, how do you know that he'll say things that aren't true? Suppose he accuses you of cynicism and serial marriage? What am I supposed to say then?"
"There can be too much truth in any relationship, darling," argued Belladonna. "The point I am trying to make is that if you don't defend me at all, it's possible he will begin to question your authenticity. You're very likely to play the devil's advocate in conversation, you know. You frequently defend fools. Just put an end to his wit before it can run long."
Astoria mulled this over quietly.
"You've also spent the last four years living almost exclusively under my care!" continued Belladonna with unnecessary defensiveness. "It's more natural that you should defend my name than slander it, even if you do pretend to agree with him!"
"I don't know what makes you think I don't know how to act!" sniped Astoria resentfully. "There are plenty of things that I'm bad at. Manipulating a conversation has never been one of them..."
Belladonna tutted again and for the briefest moment, caught in that attitude, her lurching pauses and air of self-doubt seemed to take on a more visceral power. Was it possible that Belladonna's desire for Astoria to refrain from mocking her had more to do with her own peace of mind than it did with battle tactics? Was she afraid that Astoria would listen to everything her father had to say and slowly begin to agree with him?
"Were the Malfoys ever questioned after the Chamber of Secrets was opened?" asked Astoria, switching gears.
Up until now, Astoria had not been entirely certain whether she should mention this hunch, but the guilt suddenly clenching her insides proved to be a powerful motivator.
"Hmm?" murmured Belladonna, her brow knitting into frown. "Good Lord, I shouldn't think so. Why?"
"No real reason," Astoria admitted. "Just a feeling I had a few days ago..."
Belladonna had gone very still. While it was clear that she had never heard of anything to this effect, she did not seem inclined to dismiss the notion. "Go on."
"Draco was complaining after our last Care of Magical Creatures class," Astoria continued, trying very hard to suppress the feeling that she was committing a minor betrayal. "It was the smallest thing, really..."
Belladonna let out a impatient huff, waiting for her to come to the point.
"He was going on about how his father could have had Hagrid sacked years ago if it weren't for Dumbledore," Astoria let out in a rush. "That was the case he was trying to make, anyway, but then he said something else about how, under similar circumstances, he thought Ginny would have been expelled too."
Belladonna drummed her magenta-lacquered fingernails against the couch thoughtfully.
"When I asked him if that was because of the Chamber of Secrets, he clammed up and went the color of turned milk," Astoria finished.
"As opposed to what? His normal complexion?" Belladonna snorted.
"Draco sometimes pretends to know more than he does," Astoria rationalized, afraid of making something small seem meaningful without proof. "When he hesitates, it's usually because he's afraid of saying too much."
"How astute," remarked Belladonna curtly.
"He does it a lot," Astoria stressed, careful to mask any signs of the intimacy that had led her to this observation in the first place.
"Run along and find your father," replied Belladonna absently, her thoughts bent inward again. "I'll say goodbye before I leave."
"You're not staying?" asked Astoria in surprise.
"To watch four little boys get lost in a garden?" Belladonna snorted. "I fancy I have better things to do with my time."
0o0
After less than half an hour inside, the grounds had managed to change on her again. Gone was the blaze of noonday sun, replaced by golden aura that crowned the tree line. The smell of woodsmoke coming from Hagrid's cabin now overwhelmed the scent of the greenery.
Astoria had barely taken six steps toward the lake before she was intercepted yet again, this time by Marcus Flint.
"Greengrass!" bellowed Marcus.
Astoria turned and spotted him waving enthusiastically beside what appeared, rather confusingly, to be a tall coat rack. Curious as to why so much furniture seemed to have been dragged outside, Astoria did a swift double take and let out a horrified gasp.
"I don't believe you've met my girlfriend, Priscilla?" beamed Marcus, his eyes glittering knowingly as Astoria recoiled. He motioned toward the frail, impossibly thin human being that Astoria had just mistaken for an actual stick with arms. "Prissy, Astoria. Astoria, Prissy."
Astoria extended her hand, trying very hard to maintain a polite expression. Priscilla's chilly fingers touched Astoria's for less than a fraction of a second before she reeled them in again like baited fish hooks.
"Prissy, sweetheart, they're handing out cakes in the hall," murmured Marcus suggestively, turning his girlfriend by the shoulders. "Why don't you head in and revive yourself a bit?"
Certain that this was a losing battle, Astoria was very surprised when Priscilla willingly struck out across the grass in silence.
"Oh my actual God!" Astoria hissed, dropping all pretense of common decency.
"I know," leered Flint, raising his wary eyes heavenward and shaking his head. "Rich as fuck though, I'm telling you..."
"I thought she was a coat rack!" Astoria breathed in astonishment. "How do you keep track of her?"
"If I had a sickle for every time I've lost her, I wouldn't need to date her in the first place!" laughed Flint rather horribly. "She's always disappearing. Sometimes I wonder if she has another lover to race off to..."
"You'd probably be better off wondering whether she's gotten herself trapped in the revolving door behind you," muttered Astoria. "Are you sure she can lift a free cake?"
"Now, now!" warned Marcus smugly, shaking his finger in her face. "That is my girlfriend you're talking about."
Astoria raised the proverbial white flag, too overwhelmed to continue.
"But enough about me. Today is your big day, isn't it?" whispered Flint conspiratorially. "Confess. How are the prospects on the Task?"
"You know I can't tell you that," Astoria teased, turning her head away in a prim imitation of Cassandra.
"Oh, that's right. It's just you and the Weasley boys who are in on that secret," leered Marcus, pretending to recall what he already knew. "Speaking of the Weasleys, I hear yours are looking to expand into the joke-shop industry."
"Say they are," Astoria tested, privately marveling at Flint's impossible ability to know more than he should. "What's it to you?"
"Oh, nothing, I've just got a little something I've been cooking up," continued Marcus lightly. "I was hoping you might pass my idea along."
"Are you kidding?" laughed Astoria, sensing a foolish trap.
"Not at all. It's an idea for a candy. All the pieces come in one color, but the flavor is always different," explained Flint, his eyes sparkling wickedly. "I wrote the slogan out for you on my way up north. Want to see?"
Marcus produced a creased receipt upon which he had hastily scrawled a short paragraph in pencil. Astoria unfolded it and read:
'One hundred percent flavor. One hundred percent surprise. Just open your mouth and close your eyes! ! !'
"Yeah?" egged Flint, shooting her a very baited, half-cocked grin. "What do you think?"
"One exclamation point might sufficed," observed Astoria wryly, trying very hard not to grin in spite of herself.
Marcus cackled gleefully.
"Go find your girlfriend, Flint," Astoria admonished lightly, tucking the slogan back into his shirt pocket. "Use a compass if you have to."
Marcus's hooting laughter dissolved into a distant howl as Astoria continued down the hill, taking the most direct path toward the lake. She had no real way of knowing if her father would still be there but, for the first time all morning, Astoria seemed destined to find what she was looking for on the first try.
Dressed in a white day suit that only Alec could have envied, she soon spired George holding court on the pebbly beach. Near and around him, a storm of Astoria's least-favorite people seemed to be gathered, laughing and commiserating. Astoria had been expecting Cassandra and Roland, but the sight of Alistair Yaxley and Lucius Malfoy was nearly enough to make to turn around again.
"Father," Astoria murmured, sticking to her guns and wading in.
"Astoria, my love!" declared George, putting off Bertie Higgs to embrace her. "You look as prim as a cup of tea! What have these sorority girls done with you?"
Several feet away, Cassandra smiled flatly, perhaps resenting this verbal reminder of Astoria's inclusion in her Sisterhood.
"We always wear white for occasions, Mr. Greengrass," she interjected easily. "Although some of us wear stockings."
Astoria let out a tense breath, refusing to rise to Cassandra's bait.
"I thought we were supposed to have tea this morning," Astoria pressed, eager to keep her father engaged.
"And we would have, if you could have been found!" returned George merrily. "But no matter, I'll have dinner in the village and return with the rest. Have you picked a favorite champion yet?"
"Not really," Astoria lied, surprised by how easy it was to pretend that all was well and careless in the world when the reality was so decidedly the opposite. "Of course, I favor Hogwarts."
"Naturally!" George beamed. "Speaking of school, when do you finish?"
"In a week or so," Astoria shrugged, resisting the urge to berate George for not knowing when her holiday started. "I suppose I'll be staying with my aunt again?"
This was a bit of a foolish question as Astoria had stayed with her aunt for the bulk of every summer since she had started school, but now did not seem to be the time to point this out.
"Mm!" projected George, clearly inspired. "Not necessarily! I'm traveling through most of July, but I shouldn't be going much further than France. Perhaps, if you don't mind spending a bit time with the Mendels, we might manage to work something out with my schedule? I know Aston adores you—and I hate to think of you all cooped up in that haunted house with no one but your aunt for company!"
"I'd love to get away!" chirped Astoria, shooting her father an eager, conspiratorial glance over the top of her fan. "We travel so well together!"
While it was clearly not appropriate to discuss the details of their strange family dynamic in public, it was surprisingly easy to reassure her father simply by being agreeable. After all, Astoria already typically spent a week with the Mendels every August. She could see no reason—outside the obvious planning fiasco that George was bound to cause—not to rearrange her travel dates. All things considered, Astoria thought that this was getting off rather easy. From the way Belladonna had been talking, she had come prepared for much worse.
"If you're sure, it's settled!" declared George, plainly surprised but very pleased to find Astoria so willing. "I know your aunt will kick up a fuss, but I'll see to her."
"You always do," Astoria demurred, continuing to outdo herself.
"I do, don't I?" agreed George jauntily before motioning toward Roland. "Oh! Your cousin has been asking after you, you know. It really is abominably rude to keep so many of your relations waiting!"
George flashed her a winning grin. Thankful to have been spared the worst, Astoria returned it.
"We were talking about work, Astoria," called Roland pompously, angling himself to include her. "It's no wonder you've been avoiding us."
George and Cassandra both chuckled indulgently but George was already backing away, ferreting over toward Bertie Higgs again.
"You'll be happy when the tournament is over?" Astoria tried almost cheerfully, determined to fake it until she made it.
"Quite," returned Roland. "Of course, the tournament only accounts for half my problems these days. There's always a new calamity around every corner."
"Your cousin has been promoted again," supplied Cassandra helpfully, employing the sisterly tone she occasionally used around Astoria in public. "Haven't you, Roland?"
"Are you important enough to have a secretary now?" Astoria laughed.
"Two, in fact," puffed Roland. "The better is a bloke named Terrence Hibbs—not much older than you are, maybe you remember him? He's a real up and comer."
Terrence was actually quite a bit older than Astoria was, but she knew better than to quibble. In any case, she had met him before, even if the entire basis of her knowledge about him with that he had once played seeker for Marcus Flint. Her thoughts flashed back to Terrence as she remembered him at the Quidditch World Cup, hanging about outside his father's tent with with Marcus and Draco. He had seemed likable enough. For a moment, Astoria allowed herself to grieve Terrence's bad luck in having Roland for a boss.
"There's a witch as well, but I hardly ever think about her," Roland went on. "I keep forgetting her name, to tell you the truth. Then again, her only purpose seems to be fetching coffee and answering letters."
"Because she's a girl?" asked Astoria, unable to entirely conceal her annoyance.
"Because she's not good at anything," returned Roland baldly. "I read their field notes every day before closing, you know. Hibbs can hardly contain himself—scrawling ideas and reminders on the front and pack of every page. The silly girl just makes lists and tucks them away the minute she can."
"Maybe that's because all you ever do is send her out to pick up your lunch," Astoria snapped, realizing that her father had wandered off and removed any obligation to remain pleasant.
"What a queer idea," mused Roland slowly, torn between thoughtful amusement and scorn.
Cassandra made a clicking noise, perhaps eager to break up the tension, but this was no longer necessary. The sunlight was becoming steadily more golden and slanted. The shadow of the dock was officially beginning to creep down the beach, announcing the promise of sunset. All around, people were making dinner plans, eager to strike out for Hogsmeade before they lost track of the time and missed the Task over a poorly timed meal.
Untroubled by hunger because her stomach was starting to hurt again and fairly certain that George had left for Hogsmeade without her anyway, Astoria bid a short goodbye to Roland and Cassandra.
She had now checked everything off of her list, had lived up to every outside expectation: Belladonna had been met with, George soothed and Roland sent away. It was time for her own battle to begin.
The clock in the entrance hall declared that it was six o'clock as Astoria remounted the steps. Two hours until the Task begins, Astoria reminded herself. It'll all be over soon.
"Ah-storrrr-eeeeia!" sang a loud voice on the other side of the hall.
Astoria turned away from the clock to look at Maudlin, lounging with his usual comrades and a few of the Slytherins near the staircase. Even from a distance, he gave every appearance of being even more intoxicated than he had been the last time she had seen him. Astoria hesitated, eager to ignore him but afraid of being pursued all the way into the Great Hall as a punishment.
"What?" she deadpanned, giving in at last.
"C'mere!" Maudlin insisted, shoving Luc out of the way so that she had a place to stand. "One of your classmates just solicited me!"
"Huh?" grunted Astoria before quickly changing her mind and thinking the better of asking questions. "You know what, I don't even want to know. I'm not in the mood..."
Maudlin was in the mood, however. Almost doubled up with laughter, he reached blindly for Astoria, trying to balance himself. Emilie, Flora and Pansy all hovered behind him in their white dresses, looking a bit like nervous fruit, flattening hems and scuffing their shoes. Alec, who could normally be counted upon as a voice of common sense, was nowhere to be seen.
Astoria shifted away from Maudlin's reach, uncomfortably aware of Emilie's silent but potent gaze.
"She wanted me to buy a pin for her house-elf liberation group!" Maudlin finally managed. "She's trying to set the bloody help free! What a riot! Draco says she's in your class!"
Astoria had not even noticed Draco, but there he was as well, quietly leaning against the wall and watching Maudlin sway with a strangely triumphant shimmer in his eyes.
"You mean Hermione?" Astoria guessed, thinking of the collection tin her housemate had taken to rattling about in the common room. "She's been doing that for months. Anarchy hasn't broken out yet, has it?"
"Wait!" wheezed Luc breathlessly. "Are you a member?"
"No," Astoria bristled, dropping her voice and searching the hall for signs of oncoming teachers. "Listen, you and Luc should eat something."
"Oh, please!" snorted Maudlin distractedly, still facing Luc. "Astoria, of all people, in an elf-help group? You have no idea, Luc!"
"What does that mean?" asked Pansy, her head snapping about sharply at the whiff of potential embarrassment in Maudlin's wording.
Emilie meanwhile continued to blink her somber eyes mutely, betraying nothing but an indulgent calm despite the way that Maudlin was actively trying to grab hold of Astoria's skirt.
"You need to have dinner before Maxime gets a look at you," Astoria snapped, cutting him off before he could answer. "Remember what she did to Luc at Christmas? Do you want to recite lines in the rain?"
"Maxime can't do anything to me now. I'm a bloody graduate!" countered Maudlin cockily, tipping his chin up in such a smug way that Astoria almost wished Maxime would catch wind of his antics and fry him on the spot. "I'd like to see her try!"
"Yeah," responded Draco drawlingly, obviously savoring the idea. "Wouldn't that be a treat."
Astoria shot Draco a swift scowl but he remained unmoved by it, apparently content to watch the scene play out. He took no initiative to help Astoria urge either boy toward the Great Hall.
"Come on," Astoria insisted, giving in and reaching for Maudlin's sleeve.
"Astoria!" burst Maudlin, struck by a memory and forgetting that she was already standing directly beside him. "Remember my father's old elf!"
"Yeah," Astoria muttered, hoping Maudlin would know better than to share this story out loud.
"Hah, hah!" wheezed Maudlin joyfully, pulling Astoria into an awkward, waltz-position inspired hug. "That game of Hide and Seek! You know the one! When the elf fell off the roof!—"
"Maudlin!" Astoria hissed, digging her fingers into his arm as her cheeks burned. "If you don't shut up right now, I'm going to drag you out to the lake and drown the ever-loving shit out of you!"
"You wouldn't," guessed Maudlin darlingly. He hesitated, hiccuped and squinted at her face. "Or maybe you would..."
"We should all eat before the Task starts," decided Emilie, finally seeming to feel that enough was enough and lending her long over-due assistance. In one fluid and clearly practiced motion, Emilie placed a firm hand on Maudlin's back, encouraging his slumping posture away from the curve of Astoria's side. "Come with me Pansy?" she continued rationally. "We'll find Cassandra. She's always been the best at talking sense into him."
Astoria relinquished her grip on Maudlin's arm, relived and yet—perhaps irrationally—just a little annoyed.
While she did not much enjoy the job of being Maudlin's human crutch, Astoria couldn't help but feel the sudden shift in group dynamic. It was as though Emilie was determined to ignore Astoria's assistance completely, if at all possible
Maudlin pivoted to stare at his girlfriend, and his obvious surprise at finding her still present was almost insultingly obvious. "Astoria!" he cried hopefully, reminding her of an amnesia-struck child with a bottomless propensity to remain startled. "Were you trying to eat?"
"Not with you, I'd wager," murmured Draco, his voice too low to be of much notice.
"Oh, but Cassandra is with Roland," recalled Emilie worriedly. "Stay with Maudlin, Luc. We'll be back."
Considering the fact that Luc was nearly as intoxicated as Maudlin was, it was hard to see much logic in this plan but Astoria allowed the trio of girls to pass by without saying a word.
"You're the worst sort of ass, you know that?" Astoria seethed, rounding on Maudlin the moment Emilie was out of earshot. "This is a school and it's not even dark yet. I never see you this drunk!"
"Yeah?" mused Maudlin unkindly, swaying toward the windows. "First time for everything, I guess."
"Grow up!" Astoria snapped. "You just sent your girlfriend off to fetch Cassandra!"
"Think she'll break up with me for it?" Maudlin sneered back humorlessly.
"You're breaking up with Emilie?" shocked Luc, properly astonished by the idea. "You never said..."
"Of course I'm not!" scoffed Maudlin, catching himself at the last possible moment, perhaps remembering that Luc was not only an unreliable friend but also Emilie's cousin.
Luc's frown quickly dissolved. "Oh, who am I kidding? You two will end up married and you know it!"
"Yeah," agreed Maudlin flatly but his expression of distaste could not have been more clear. "I need to sit," he finally muttered, surprising Astoria somewhat by dipping out of English into his more native French. "I'm getting the spins."
"Not in the hallway," Astoria cautioned, taking pity on him and changing languages herself in order to minimize his confusion. "There are dozens of Ministry officials hanging around. Even if you can't be expelled, they can still fine you."
Draco let out a sound of deep-rooted irritation, no longer entirely capable of understanding them, but Astoria ignored him.
To Maudlin's credit, this was the very first time since the delegation from Beauxbatons had arrived that Astoria had ever felt obligated to carry on a conversation that any of her peers would not be able to follow. She supposed Draco could live with the inconvenience until Maudlin was at least capable of standing again.
"Oh, who gives a shit?" scoffed Maudlin, sagging down onto the flagstones. "I can afford a fine!"
"Emilie will come back with Cassandra if you don't move," Astoria managed, willing herself not to shout. "Is that what you want?"
"Such wet blankets!" Maudlin moaned, giving in and allowing Astoria to grab him by his wrists. "The both of them!"
This earned a chuckle from Luc, whose family loyalty did not seem to stretch much further than a reluctance to see his cousin be dumped.
Astoria pulled hard, but Maudlin was surprisingly heavy and her struggle to force him onto his feet did not make much headway.
"What are you doing, Maudlin?" Draco finally snapped, the force of his mercurial glower burning through the back of Astoria's head. "Trying to make her sit in your lap? Just get up."
"Huh? Oh—" Maudlin blinked in the direction of his own hands rather bashfully. He returned to English at once. "Was I already down here when Emilie left?"
"No," sneered Draco, somehow managing to regard Maudlin with less pleasure and more intensity at the same time.
"Good," Maudlin muttered, shifting clumsily upright.
"Why? She's not wild about watching you hang off of other girls?" suggested Draco cruelly, closing in for the kill.
"What? You mean Astoria?" jolted Maudlin. "Emilie wouldn't notice that. Not something to notice! Known Astoria forever..."
Astoria shot Draco a hard look, unable to entirely understand his motive. Maudlin was clearly too intoxicated to be taken seriously and all Draco was doing was baiting him into saying something foolish. Sure enough, his work was cut out for him.
"Hah!" Maudlin laughed hollowly, obviously looking for a way to backtrack. "Can you imagine if we did end up together, Astoria? What would my father's job at our wedding even be? Would he give you away or stand next to me?"
Why Maudlin had waited to say this in a language that Draco could understand, Astoria would never know. Draco fell back against the wall, positively shining with cold triumph.
"Look, Alec's back," observed Luc, pointing over Astoria's shoulder. "I think he's going in to dinner, let's catch him!"
Astoria stooped to pick up the fan she had dropped, happy to see them go before the idea of her and Maudlin's pseudo-incestuous wedding ceremony could become an object of discussion.
If she gave them all a moment, Astoria figured she might be able to double back to the Hall alone. Perhaps Fred and George would finally turn up at the Gryffindor table? She wanted a word with them badly...
A soft chuckle distracted her from her thoughts. Astoria nabbed the fan off the floor and turned. Maudlin and Luc were halfway toward the double doors, but Draco was still lingering against the wall, looking strangely pleased with himself.
"You know," drawled Draco thoughtfully, his pale eyes flickering toward Maudlin, "I really don't know why anyone would bother to date him. He's dead weight!"
"Go tell Emilie that," Astoria shot back, deeply resenting the way that Draco had stood by and watched as she struggled.
"Why bother?" returned Draco resentfully. "If he had said your name one more time he'd have broken the record—and what was that about you and his dad!"
"I don't know what you were expecting," Astoria snapped in return. "He's hammered. You practically put the words in his mouth for him!"
"No I didn't," Draco sneered, his eyes narrowing. "Even if I did, it was still a fucking weird thing to say."
This much was undeniable, but Astoria had reached her limit for needless anxiety. She was in no mood to humor Draco's petty jealousies. There were still bloodthirsty goblins to be attended to—bickering over Maudlin's queer choice of humor was the least of her concerns.
She opened her mouth to say just this when a curious thing happened: a warm gust of air snuck in through the window, carrying with it a whispering reminder of the balmy afternoon outside and just the softest note of Draco's cologne.
Astoria froze, oddly affected by this unexpected and soothing caress. An invisible wave of softness seemed to rise up and break gently over her head. Of their own accord, her thoughts flashed to the memory of what Draco's limbs felt like when they were heavy with sleep; the feeling of his shallow breathing against her hair.
Astoria blinked, trying to clear her head but it was almost too late. After so many hours of dread, even this second-long reprieve from terror was enough to make her want to weep. Despite the fact that Draco was clearly willing to watch her suffer to prove a point, Astoria wanted what that hint of scent had suggested so much—what even was it? Safety? Distraction?—that she was suddenly fighting a mad desire to cling to his shirt and bury her face against whatever exposed skin she could find.
This was a mad whim, of course, but in the blink of an eye and without so much as a word being said, Astoria had switched from being on the verge of saying something rude to subconsciously plotting ways that she might be able to trick Draco into touching her.
Cut it out, the voice of reason in her head hissed. Carry the game, Greengrass. Go find Fred and George.
But she did't want to find Fred and George. She didn't want to talk about goblins at all. Draco was clean, unburdened by Maudlin's battle with approaching manhood and, in his own way, utterly fixated on her. Without thinking, Astoria acted on the first impulse that came to mind, channeling her inner frustrated eight year old as she did so—she pushed him.
It was not a hard shove. Considering their differences in height and strength, it should not have even been enough to move him, but Draco had not been expecting the nudge. He swung out of his half-cocked slouch and his back bumped against the wall.
Astoria waited for him to react, anticipating a nasty 'what the hell, Greengrass?' or at the very least an 'are you kidding?' Instead, Draco's eyelashes merely fluttered with perplexed annoyance.
"Okay," he muttered slowly, re-straightening his shirt. Astoria bit her lip and pushed him backwards again, this time more pointedly.
Draco's half-sneer vanished, his grey eyes turning bright and sharp as he correctly detected the hint of something sexual in her manhandling.
He looked like his father again, but for the first time ever, Astoria did not let this fact get in her way. If anything, she privately thrilled at the unfortunateness, perhaps because she was more comfortable with the idea of Draco being wrong than she was with allowing him to feel right.
Orange sunlight was flooding through her eyelashes, lending the moment a slightly unreal quality. Astoria pushed up and kissed the corner of Draco's mouth, her stomach responding with a breathless quiver that probably had at least something to do with the fact that she was acting like a lunatic.
There was a baited pause. A weird little noise on Draco's part as his shoulders twitched forward. Astoria tilted her head back, suddenly as boneless as gelatin, her fingers scrabbling against his shirt as he kissed her. The hand fan dug into her ribs between them. Draco snatched it out the way—the permission to dismiss an obstacle so recently used to hold another boy at bay provoking a surge of violently triumphant satisfaction on his part.
Voices were coming from the direction of the Great Hall but they did little more than reinforce her desperation. Astoria could not be caught in the hallway snogging Draco Malfoy like he was the last man on earth, after all. Time was limited. She pushed herself against him, wetly invasive and baffling, knowing the countdown had already begun.
For several long seconds, Astoria's ears thrummed with the sound of her own heartbeat and the curiously dense rustle-thunk of fabric and unsteady elbows against stone. It's fine, the thread of her consciousness reassured. It's already June. You won't have to see him again all summer.
But if Draco's brain was wise enough to know that Astoria kissing him might be her idea of a joke, the rest of his body was responding without fear of a punchline. A nervy greediness trembled in his limbs like a plucked string. Astoria arched her back, shamefully inclined to encourage that energy to a still-higher frequency.
Her fingers brushed against something cold in the fabric of Draco's dress coat. Realizing that she had nearly forced a small disk resembling a casino token out of his pocket, Astoria stopped the offending trinket from clattering toward the ground with her fingers.
"What're you doing?"
Astoria jumped as Draco's voice ghosted against her mouth, thick with distraction and a heady desire to reclaim her attention.
"Robbing you," Astoria smirked softly, flipping the coin over between her thumb and her index finger.
It was not money, that much was certain. For a moment, Astoria assumed that she had never seen anything like it before but then she spotted a familiar etching. It was an Andros the Invincible coin.
A relic of a bygone age, this particular form of currency had only ever been minted by the Ministry once, during the height of the Grindlewald crisis. Worth less than half of a knut at the time, it had never achieved any real popularity. Nowadays however, perhaps due to relative scarcity and the suggestive nature of their engravings (Andros was famous for producing a patronus the size of a giant, after all) the little tokens were sought after as protective talismans or good luck charms, worth more than their coppery weight in real gold.
"That thing doesn't matter," Draco breathed without even taking the time to recognize the coin in her hand. "Chuck it, I don't care."
But this was not exactly true. Once or twice, as a very small child, someone in Astoria's family might have been thoughtful enough to sneak a lucky coin into her luggage before a long journey, but that was a big might. It had been years since she had seen one in person. Surely it would be terrible luck to throw one out?
Astoria found herself considering Draco's jacket—a dark sports coat classic—struck by the realization that it was not something he could comfortably wear over his school uniform. In all likelihood, the coat hadn't been touched since his last visit home. The coin was probably the work of one of his parents.
Assuming that Lucius was not a fan of showy sentimentality, this left Narcissa as the most likely candidate. The more Astoria thought about it, the more it seemed like something a mother would do. But the fact that Narcissa was willing to resort to unreliable whimsy in order to safeguard her defensive and ungrateful son's well-being was not something Astoria wanted to think about.
Andros the Invincible's shiny, rounded profile glistened at her accusingly.
She was playing with Draco right now in the same way that Daphne's cat liked to play with trapped mice; somewhat cruelly and with great energy. Nothing in the world could have made her feel more guilty about this than the token in her hand, the sole purpose of which seemed to be offering tangible proof that someone in the world did not think of Draco as a chew toy. To his mother, he was an object of genuine adoration and no matter how willingly Draco seemed to line up for Astoria's mistreatment, her mounting discomfort could not be undone.
Goose-bumpy and filled with a suddenly unshakable self-loathing, Astoria could already feel herself leaning away from Draco when the sound of approaching feet gave her the sharp dose of reality she needed to jerk away completely.
0o0
Oh Astoria, please. When was the last time you made it through a whole summer without seeing Draco? The LIES we tell ourselves...
Well, this chapter is being posted way later than I had planned. I usually have a pretty good reason for delays, but the scenario this time was totally foolish. I'm kind of ashamed to admit it, but television happened. I finally got my own HBO-Go subscription and I've been dead to the world for a week. Seriously, I signed up thinking I would catch up on some Game of Thrones (I've read the book series but I've been fickle about keeping up with the show) and the next thing I know, I'm three seasons deep and battling an electronic device addiction. The signs were super chronic too; you've seen them before, I'm sure. I didn't go out. I stopped associating joy with sunshine. I began to eat Cup of Noodles in my bed without a trace of self-loathing. Phone calls from people I formally considered friends became little more than dangerous distractions posed to pull me away my singular purpose—journeying across the imaginary land of Westeros...
No, but in all seriousness, I'm sorry for sucking. It was a deep, dark hole that I'll try not to fall down again soon.
In other, more related news:
1. I might have actually lived up to the 'M' rating in this post with all the public drunkenness and swearing. My apologizes if this chapter was a 'clutch-your-Grandma's pearls' level of in love with dropping F bombs.
2. The next post will be given over to dealing with the actual return of Voldemort and the resolution of the goblin problem (I'm actually pretty fond of how this plays out), so stay tuned.
As always, reviews are the best!