Chapter One
I kept my gaze forward, chin high, as I entered the Ministry of Magic. I forced a smile, despite the stares and whispers of ministry workers, and the way my shoes clicked too loudly on the polished tiles. I knew what they'd be thinking. It didn't matter that I was Ravenclaw, not Slytherin, or that I'd been only sixteen during the Battle of Hogwarts. I was a Greengrass, a pureblood. A bad egg.
The grooves of the binder dug imprints into my fingers as I clutched it for dear life, carrying it in front of my chest as though it were a shield protecting my vital organs. I smiled meekly at the others in the lift, my hair swinging as I shuffled in. A brief pause followed.
"Floor?" asked a dark-haired man, not unkindly.
"Five."
Breathe, Astoria, I reminded myself, as the doors opened and I click-clacked through the Department of Magical Cooperation. I had been warned of this reaction, by many people, when I took the job as the Daily Prophet's political correspondent. Well, I wasn't quite the correspondent. Not yet. I was assistant to Ernie Macmillan, but as he was currently holidaying in Spain with his wife, I had assumed the position. And, though my portrait had always appeared in miniature beneath our articles, the upgrade to full-size had earned me more attention than usual. Howlers, threats of cursing, and just plain hate-mail rose in piles across my desk most mornings.
But I shook off the worry, and the lingering sensation of the stares, as I rapped on the door of Julius Podmore.
"Ms Greengrass," the small man greeted, his eyes hardening slightly. "Do come in."
The room was free of dust or dirt, but laden with thick books and rolls of parchment. A slightly musty smell came from the bookshelves, and particles flickered in the stream of sunlight coming through the large window. It wasn't real sunlight, of course. But from here, you would never have known.
"I trust you'll be setting up a quick-quotes quill?" he asked, taking his seat behind the grand desk.
I smirked slightly as I pulled parchment from my binder. "No, Mr Podmore. I prefer to take my notes by hand."
He exhaled a short puff of relief, before organising the papers with a flick of his wand to make more room. I scanned over my written questions, and opened my mouth to ask the first one, when we were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Forgive me," Podmore mumbled. "Yes?"
I turned to see Draco Malfoy enter the room, closing the door swiftly behind him. A blush rose to my cheeks. Age suited him, with the markings of stubble across his jaw and not an ounce of baby fat covering his cheekbones. He had dressed in all black, as though he knew exactly the effect it would have against his ivory skin and pale hair. He caught my eye and raised his eyebrows, and my cheeks flushed an even deeper crimson. I'd been enamoured with him back at Hogwarts, for a few months during my third year. Eventually Daphne found out, and she'd hissed at me to grow up and stop embarrassing her. I had no idea if word had ever reached his ears or not. It felt like a lifetime ago now, anyway.
"I have the most recent reports from the Centre for Alchemical Studies in Egypt, that you requested," he said. Draco strolled to the desk and let the parchment fall from his fingers, while Podmore held a monocle to his eye and began to read. I stared fixedly at the desk until Draco spoke again, unmistakably addressing me.
"Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself, holding out a hand.
I took it with hesitation, noticing a tingling sensation as our grasps met. I wondered if he felt it, too.
"Astoria Greengrass."
"You're Daphne's sister," he noted, and I tried not to sigh.
"That is how I'm often introduced."
His eyes almost glittered as they caught mine. "How would you like to be introduced?"
I risked a glance at Podmore, who was deeply engrossed in the papers before him. "I'm standing in as Political Correspondent for the Daily Prophet," I said. "That would be a start."
Draco smirked. "Careful, Tori. You'll bore people to death with that."
Fuck. Tori was a nickname only my sister used. She must have spoken of me, then, and enough for him to remember. Knowing Daphne, she definitely would not have been singing my praises.
I floundered for something to say, but Podmore seemed satisfied and cleared his throat.
"Thank you, Mr Malfoy, I'll keep you informed of any adjustments we make."
Draco nodded. "I made some notes of my own on page seven."
"Excellent. Good lad."
"Pleasure to meet you," he bid me, before exiting the room, leaving only the faint scent of his musk behind. Like bergamot, and sandalwood.
"Sorry about that, Ms Greengrass. Where were we?" Podmore asked, blowing on his monocle lense before replacing it on the desk.
"We, um, had not really begun," I said, sifting through my parchment again. In all honesty, seeing Draco again had frazzled me. It brought back dangerous memories of my earlier infatuation, and my sister's face rose up again in my mind. I shook my head, wishing for a penseive or mild memory charm.
"Is everything okay?" he asked.
"Yes, Mr Podmore." I smiled and cleared my throat, cleansing my mind of any distractions. "Before we begin, I hoped to request permission to sit in at the next meeting for the International Confederation of Wizards. I know Ernie attended, but I felt it wrong to presume—"
"Of course," Podmore inclined his head. "We meet in a week's time. I'll have an owl sent to you with the details."
"Brilliant. Thank you." I dipped my quill in ink, and settled in. This was easier than breathing. "Now our first question, if you don't mind. People are growing concerned with the situation in Japan, and more precisely, the lowering costs of potions. Some are even turning to illegal import to take advantage of the price difference, and others are taking that a step further and setting up black market businesses to on-sell. What are your thoughts on the matter?"
Julius Podmore: 'Our Ministry will not have our successes defined by the failures of others.' By Astoria Greengrass.
Draco's attention peaked, just a fraction, as he sipped the coffee before him. This must have been why Podmore was speaking with her. He scanned the interview, not caring much for government policies on trade rates, but, dare he say… impressed with the girl's work. He had always pictured Astoria as a round faced girl, always being chastised by Daphne. He could scarcely count the number of times Daphne had stormed late into class, grumbling about 'Tori'. The woman smiling mysteriously from her photograph on the paper did not fit his mental description, or vague recollections of her at Hogwarts. Still, he lay down the Prophet and swept those hazel eyes and long lashes from his mind. Gulping back the last lukewarm dregs of the mug, he stood and adjusted his robes. He had no official title at the ministry, but he went in most days, if only to annoy Blaise Zabini by levitating various items around his office while he tried to work. His alchemy work kept him busy enough, and there was no shortage of other pure bloods with an inheritance too high to need jobs, but Draco knew he had better days when he followed his routine. The boredom days, the dark days… they played havoc on his mind. And by nightfall, the nightmares became worse.
He sneered as he strode into the ministry, offsetting the usual side glances and hurried footsteps. It prickled at his pride, burned at his tongue. Malfoy had once been a name to be respected. His galleons had paid for more of this ministry than these idiots all put together, yet things had clearly changed since the Battle.
Voldemort's defeat was too great to be regretted. Malfoy knew this better than anyone, particularly when the red eyes haunted his mind at night. When the mark on his arm refused to budge for remedy or curse, no matter how many tears his mother wept or spells she tried. But this new world… he wasn't so sure.
It was the little things. It was these dirty glances, the rumours, the way he had been ostracised. The fact new laws mandated wizards to wear muggle clothing, even in the workplace, so to better protect the statute of secrecy. Though Draco would forever owe Potter a debt he could not repay, as did everyone in the wizarding world, the fact also remained… Potter now walked around a hero. Draco walked dark and alone.
"If you stare any longer, Langford, I'll engorgio your eyes larger than your head," drawled a familiar voice.
Draco smirked as his gaze found Zabini, and the hurried trot of the ministry worker who had, in fact, been staring at Draco. Okay, perhaps he hammed it up a bit with the snake cuff-links and the black attire… but that was just him. He'd done his days of moping in sweatpants and t-shirts. The Malfoy name might mean nothing to these people anymore, but it still meant something to him.
"Are you going to actually give me a hand today, or just wind me up?" Zabini asked.
"Probably a bit of both," Malfoy admitted.
Zabini snorted. "You coming to the party this weekend?"
"Which one?" Draco asked, lounging against the wall and hoping he looked lazy enough to have been invited to even one.
"Greengrass." Zabini pointed his wand at the door, and it unlocked with a click. "Daphne's moving into her parents' home in Wiltshire."
This peaked Malfoy's interest. "Can't be far from my place."
Zabini rolled his eyes. "It hardly matters when you can apparate to bloody Scotland and back in less than a minute."
"Still interesting though," Malfoy shrugged. "Will her sister be there?"
"Her sister? I have no idea. Why?"
Malfoy picked up a remembrall, turned it over in his fingers. "I met her yesterday. She's a writer for the Prophet."
"In that case, I hope not. We don't need any reports of what we get up to," Zabini grinned.
Malfoy spent the rest of the day feeling slightly more cheerful, and even helped Zabini with the paperwork for a series of muggle fireplaces being connected to the Floo network as wizards moved in. He stayed at work late, stalling for the time he would have to return home, and retreat to his cold bed in solitude. But inevitably, the time arrived, and he closed his eyes in the darkness, already full of fear for what awaited him in sleep.
