Chapter two
"Excellent work, Astoria." Marcus placed his hands on my shoulders from behind, squeezing them. "You've done me proud."
I squirmed beneath his touch, his breath too hot on my ear. I tried to shake off the unnerving sensation I always felt around Marcus, the prickle on the back of my neck and screamed warnings in my mind. Ernie had never had a problem with Marcus, nor had anyone else at the Prophet. I must be imagining things. Still, I ducked to retrieve my bag as an excuse to escape from his hands.
"We must go to dinner, to celebrate," he said. "I think we'll have you interviewing Shacklebolt himself next!"
I hesitated as I stood from my desk. Shacklebolt was something of a hero to me, as he was to most witches and wizards, and I definitely didn't want to piss off Marcus when he was making such promises. But…
"I have to help my sister move in," I explained. "It's her first time, and there's a lot of stuff."
Marcus wagged a finger, a lolling grin slapped onto his face. "Ah, another time then! Keep writing like this, Astoria, and you'll be in my shoes before you know it."
"Really?" It was hard to imagine being Assistant Editor of the Daily Prophet. Marcus proofread most articles, and had the final say in what would be submitted and what would not.
"It's all about who you know, in this business," he said. "Connections. Networking. A lovely dinner at the Leaky Cauldron!"
I made all the assurances I could bear, before bidding Marcus goodnight and stepping into the chill outside to disapparate. I arrived home to an empty house, haunting in its vast silence. The dark wooden frames and colossal pieces of furniture had scared me as a little girl, left me cowering beneath my bed with my toy wand, in case dementors lurked in the shadows. Being here alone still gave me the same chill, the same shiver of apprehension.
"Homenum revelio," I muttered.
Empty. Safe.
I ran a hot shower, scrubbing my skin pink and running my wand along my legs to keep them completely hairless. Daphne had been hesitant to tell me exactly who else would be going to help her move in, but I knew my sister well enough to expect at least a handful of her pack. Refusing to feel frumpy while they would no doubt jeer and giggle, I dressed in a lace bodysuit and fitted jeans. Using my wand, I teased my hair to fall in soft waves, and snuggled into a big fur coat. It still felt like robes, familiar enough to be comforting.
I took a bottle of Pinot Noir from the liquor cabinet, and luckily, at the last minute, remembered Daphne's present. My hands full, I walked to the foyer, and took a deep breath, struggling to remember the house I had not visited in years. Crack.
I emerged at the base of the driveway, and immediately winced at a stinging in my hand. Two long gashes marked the back; I had splinched myself. Fuck.
Blinking back tears, I scaled the driveway as quickly as I could without running. The neat hedges ran along either side of me, leading to the old brick building and all its gardens. It wasn't a manor, or an estate. Compared to home, it was miniscule. But, at over two thousand square feet, it was still a decent home for Daphne. I tried to stifle the pangs of envy, the familiar sensation in being the younger sibling. This should be mine.
I knocked on the door, and heard the unmistakeable thump of loud music. That didn't surprise me, as far as Daphne was concerned. What did surprise me, however, was the crowds of people visible at either sides of the house when she opened the door.
"Tori!" she exclaimed, wrapping me in a hug. "I'm so glad you came!"
I frowned at the wall behind her, concealing all manor of sins. "How many people are here?"
"Just a few," she waved a hand. "They wanted to see the place, that's all. Oh, and you brought wine, excellent! Come on, come in."
Small dots of light levitated beneath the ceiling, changing colours from silver to gold to purple to blue. The Weird Sisters's latest song blared from the very walls themselves, and at least fifty witches and wizards had to be packed into the home, all clutching a glass of wine or something stronger. A few sat in a corner, burning some strange herb that smelled sickly and made my head spin if I stood too close. Daphne chattered away the whole time, introducing me to everyone, despite me knowing most of the people. We went on through into the kitchen, where the immaculate marble counters were covered with glasses and goblets and plates of food.
"Don't know where that bloody house-elf's gone to," Daphne grumbled, "I hired her for the full night."
I fidgeted uncomfortably. "She's probably very busy cleaning up the party—"
"Don't start, Tori," Daphne rolled her eyes. "I've already had some Hufflepuff tell me I ought to be tipping three galleons extra as so much of the wage goes to the agency. Three galleons!"
I had seen Daphne's vault at Gringotts, crammed to the brim with gold. But she had that glint in her eye, the one that meant Slytherin's snake could rise within her at any moment, and so I only made a face of sympathy and stayed quiet.
"Have a drink," she said, pushing a goblet into my hand.
I sipped, examining her face under the changing lights. Her blonde hair was slightly frizzed, her pupils wide. The lights served some purpose of flattery; the film of sweat on her skin seemed to glitter and shine.
"Daphne, are you okay?" I asked.
"Fine, fine," she waved a hand, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. "You know, Nott's got Euphoria. A whole potion's worth."
"Did you have some?" I asked, anxious.
"Do you think I'd still be such a grumpy bitch if I had?" Daphne laughed. "No, not yet. I wanted to wait until everyone was here, then I could stop worrying about hosting and just chill out."
"You mean, wait until I was here. Then I could be responsible for it all instead."
She pretended not to hear me, downing her drink and pouring another. "Come on, there's more people for you to meet."
"I know almost everyone—"
"I worry about you, Tori. Holed up in that dark office all day, scribbling quotes about the ministry. It can't be good for you. You need to relax, make some friends."
I blinked. "I have friends."
"That's the spirit."
I rolled my eyes, and plastered a smile as she made the rounds once more, re-introducing me more than once. We had almost finished when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of blonde hair, black clothes like a black hole against the lights. My stomach clenched.
"This is Zabini," Daphne said.
We nodded politely, remembering each other from Hogwarts. I kept my gaze on Zabini just a moment too long, nervous to peel it away and land it on…
"Draco."
Shit. I had no choice. I turned to him, breathless. I gave a wave.
A wave.
Fuck's sake.
The man was stood not four feet away, and I waved.
"Nice article," he commented, looking amused.
Was he amused by my article, or my wave?
"Didn't bore you to death, then?" I joked, gulping back as much wine as my mouth could hold.
His mouth twitched. "Almost. But I'm still here, aren't I?"
Daphne disappeared into the crowd, and I was left standing awkwardly before Draco and Zabini, who seemed totally uninterested in me. I racked my brain for something to say, anything.
"Is Pansy coming?" I asked.
Draco's face hardened. "We split up. About a year ago."
My jaw dropped. I felt mortified. Why had Daphne not told me? "I'm so sorry."
He knocked back his glass, shook his head. "Don't be. Things were weird."
More silence. Or rather, more blaring music and talking from everybody that wasn't us.
Zabini rolled his eyes. "God, you two are boring. Here, I got some vials from Nott. Head upstairs?"
Draco paused a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, why not. You coming, Tori?"
I didn't quite understand what they were doing, but anything beat being stood here alone. "Yeah. Sure."
We made our way upstairs where, sure enough, the music was dulled and the space wasn't packed with moving bodies. Zabini led us to the living area on the large landing, with two Chesterfield sofas. I sat nervously across from Zabini, and Draco sat beside me. He was so close I could smell the cologne, the same deep citrus from the last time we met. Butterflies danced in my stomach at the close proximity, and when he used his wand to refill my glass, heat flushed my face.
Zabini retrieved three vials from his jacket, and fussed with them for a moment. "You ever tried Euphoria?" he asked.
I tensed at the sight. I tried to stammer an excuse, too aware of Draco beside me, and my own fear in my gut.
Zabini's gaze narrowed. "You're not here undercover, are you?"
A nervous laugh escaped. "Sorry, what?"
"Undercover. You know, to report back to the Prophet. 'Slytherin House - where are they now?'"
I glanced to Draco, who was fighting a smile of his own. "She writes about the bloody ministry," he told Zabini. "Politics, Zabini."
"Hogwarts houses are political as shit." He sighed, and handed a vial to Draco. Before giving me mine, he paused. "I mean it, Greengrass. Any shady business, I'll curse you myself."
"Deal," I replied smoothly, smoother than I felt, taking the potion from his hand.
I tried not to shake as I glanced down at the milky liquid. I tried not to overthink, or let my racing mind ruin the moment. I knew the potion was harmless if correctly brewed, and this seemed to be, but the notion was… scary. Only Zabini's threat made me raise the vial to my lips and drink. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, waiting.
Euphoria. They didn't name the potion lightly.
Within a minute, every knot of tension left Draco's body, replaced by the soothing feeling of calm. The calm grew and grew and encompassed all of him, then it began to warm in the sweetest way. Each cell of his body turned giddy, turned fucking ecstatic. The Battle didn't exist, Voldemort never had. The nightmares never happened. The only thing that had ever been or would ever be was this present moment, on this sofa that felt so fucking good, and Draco's cheeks lifted into the first genuine grin he'd worn in months.
He opened his eyes to see Zabini grinning lazily back at him, his skin glittering in the light. The sight was so amusing, laughter bubbled in Draco's throat, and Zabini cracked up right along with him. Draco turned to Astoria, who still had her head tilted back, grinning and giggling with her eyes closed. Draco was overcome with the sudden, intense desire to pull her eyelid open, as he had done to his mother when he was a child. He leaned over, placing the pad of his thumb gently above her lashes and lifted, and they all collapsed into hysterics.
It could have been seconds or hours they spent laughing, with joy erupting throughout the entire room. Time jumped, and time had been lost, and suddenly Draco and Astoria were sat on the floor. He had his wand pressed gently against her face, and Zabini had gone from the room. Astoria was still giggling before him and he froze, realising just how beautiful the girl was. Not girl — woman.
"Well?" she said still laughing.
"What was I doing?" he asked.
"You were going to put glitter on my face!"
The thought was so funny that Draco was overcome again, but he managed to stay lucid enough to say the correct spell, so that trails of liquid glitter did indeed come from his wand. He brushed it gently across Astoria's face, beneath her eyes and on her forehead. She looked…ethereal.
"Your turn," she said.
Draco tried to protest, but it was a weak effort against the strength of the potion, and before he knew it, Astoria's face was inches from his own as she returned him the favour.
Her fingers left trails of stardust against his skin. He glanced into her eyes, so wide and framed with lashes so dark. He found her fingers with his own and brushed against them at first, before holding them and bringing them to his chest. For a moment, all that happened was their breathing, so close it tickled against his lips
"How do I look?" he asked.
"Beautiful," she whispered.
The world around them was still changing from blue to purple to silver to gold and somebody dropped a glass downstairs and ten people shouted 'Reparo!' at the same time. Lost in the highs of the potion, Draco leaned in. This was a world where bad choices did not exist, where consequences were irrelevant. This was a haze, a new reality formed, and Draco brushed his lips against Astoria's. Softly first, his bottom lip just grazing against hers. But when she tasted of honeysuckle and strawberries, and when the softest moan escaped her at the touch, he deepened the kiss.
Time itself seemed to end.
