Guilt was an emotion that plagued me almost constantly. Seemingly since the day I was born, I woke in the morning with something already niggling at the back of my mind, something inextricably my fault. The situation with Daphne had been no different, and so I found myself standing on her doorstep with prickles in the base of my gut, ready to apologise. We had not spoken in weeks. With shaking hands, I knocked the brass serpent against the door three times. To no answer.

After frowning and knocking twice more, I alohomora'd myself in.

"Daph?" I called.

My words echoed through the house, but earned no reply. After a quick homenum revelio to check I really was alone, I settled in to wait. A quick tap of my wand, and the fireplace crackled to life, with embers licking the dark brick and devouring a meaty log. Growing courageous, I made myself a mug of tea. I sat at the kitchen table for a few moments, drumming my fingers across the wood. What would I say to her? That I was sorry, of course. I didn't quite understand myself what for, but it would open the conversation at least.

A knock at the door jolted me from my daydreams.

I settled the nerves enough to roll my eyes. "You don't have to knock on your own door," I called out, but still she didn't enter.

"Is this some sick revenge," I grumbled quietly as I paced back to the hallway. "I don't understa-

My stomach dropped like lead. I blinked once, twice, my grip on the door handle slack. It was as though a ghost of that night had returned to haunt me. But Draco couldn't be dead.

He stood before me, tapping the edge of a thick, leathery book against his thigh, clad in black. "Hello."

I sniffed, wrapping my arms around myself as though for protection. "Hello."

His eyes darted from me to the hallway. "Mind if I come in?"

I didn't move aside. Not yet. "I suppose you're here to see Daphne?"

He held up the book. "Just to return this. I borrowed it the, uh, other weekend."

Mention of that night brought a fresh wave of anger. Part of me longed to punch him in the face, the absolute dickhead. I couldn't help a small smile at the thought.

Wordlessly, I turned on my heel, leaving him to close the door himself. My parents would have been appalled at my manners, or lack thereof, but I hardly felt the need to waste them in that moment. I needed to bite my tongue, to quell my anger, and so I stayed in the doorway to the sitting room while his footsteps tapped through the other side of the house. I kept my back turned. Hopefully he would take the hint and see himself out. I needed no more pain. Not from Draco.

No such luck.

"How are you?"

I flinched as the voice broke out behind me. I turned instinctively to see his face dulled in the shadows. This part of the house was dark, this section of hallway with no lamps or looming windows. Not a crease appeared on his blazer, even pushed back with both hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. Annoyed as I was, he still managed to be breathtaking. And I despised him for it.

"Fine," I said. "You?"

He nodded. "Fine."

Something in his gaze was different. I studied him for a moment, trying to piece together what it was. "You haven't been sleeping."

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"Your eyes are dark," I explained. "Mine look the same when I can't sleep."

"It's not a problem." He ran a hand along his jaw, as though self-conscious. "I don't have much to wake for."

My eyes flickered as I took in the words, deciphered their possible meaning. Could he really be so anguished? I drew dangerously close to voicing concern before faltering. I could tell such actions would disgust him. Still, my chest panged a little. As it would for anybody, I reasoned.

"I'd better go," he said, breaking the silence and shifting on his heels.

"Wait. Draco." He turned, eyebrows raised, while I swallowed the last of my pride. "Can-can we just be friends? Please? It seems needless to have this animosity between us. Particularly with our circles so closely linked."

He contemplated for a moment, then smirked. "You want to be my friend?"

"I didn't exactly say that." A blush rose to my cheeks.

He laughed, glancing to the floor and then back to me. Softly he said, "We're not going to be friends, Tori."

I frowned. He wasn't going to blow me off again. Not pertaining to such a small act of kindness.

"Why?" I pushed.

He sighed. "Why do you care? What exactly is your life lacking without me?"

I didn't answer the question. I barely knew, myself. "What exactly is yours lacking with me?"

"I should have known better than to get a straight answer from a politician."

"Correspondent," I corrected, but he had visibly released the tension from his shoulders.

He bit his lip for a moment, as though lost in thought. "I'm meeting Nott and a few others in Diagon Alley. Some secret meeting, he reckons. Slytherins only."

"Okay," I said. "Well, I'm a Ravenclaw."

"You're a Greengrass. You're half a Slytherin just by existing."

I raised my eyebrows. "Are you asking me to come along?"

"Don't flatter yourself, it's practically open invitation."

But I could tell we'd drawn a line in the sand. "When?"

"About an hour."

Shit. "I'll have to be quick at Ginny's," I murmured aloud.

Draco pulled a face in disgust. "Weasley? You're going to Weasley's?"

"It's a work thing," I said, my cheeks reddening.

"You already published her interview. What more could she have to say?"

My lips twitched. "Have you been following my career, Draco?"

He floundered for just a moment, the sight a welcome change of pace. It was a contrast from his usual sleek, collected demeanour; though he quickly fell back into the latter.

"I'll meet you in the Leaky Cauldron at two," he said. "Don't be late."

Irrational though I knew it was, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of triumph after Draco had left. I only wished Daphne had been present to see it, but the house remained stubbornly devoid of her presence for the ten minutes I could bear to stay waiting. Knowing Ginny would already be expecting me, I scribbled a quick note on a scrap of parchment for Daphne.

Came by to see you. I'm sorry. —T

I apparated to the end of Godric's Hollow, and while getting my bearings, almost toppled over in surprise. Luna Lovegood was not three feet away, standing beside me and staring dreamily into the distance.

"Luna!" I said, bringing a hand to my chest in fright. "You startled me."

"Hello, Astoria," she said, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Ginny told me to wait for you, in case you didn't remember the house number."

I did a quick scan through my brain. "Thirty-two?"

"Correct." Luna smiled and we began to walk. "Your head must be very clear of wrackspurts."

We came to the street of houses and cottages, all quaint and cosy in design. Ivy trestles ran along the outside walls, and wrapped around the wrought-iron fences. A Nimbus Three Thousand leaned against a doorframe, presumably to be mistaken for a sweeping object by muggles. The sight brought a longing to my chest. I missed the pitch, the wind whistling through my hair.

"You were quite good, you know," Luna said, catching my glance. "You probably could have made one of the national teams."

"No way," I laughed. "I was okay as a seeker. Then I started filling out, and got shunted to chaser."

"I never knew that was the reason," Luna commented politely.

"It's not something I advertised," I said.
"This is it here."

Luna led me to the door, where Ginny arrived before we even needed to knock. She wrapped Luna in a hug while I waited awkwardly, my hands feeling empty.

"I should have brought something," I began to say.

"No, don't be silly," she insisted, giving me a quick hug too. "We have everything I need. Come inside."

The house smelled of cinnamon and vanilla, and something with citrus. I ran a hand along the cream walls, while a Celestina Warbeck song played faintly from the kitchen. I longed for a place like this. No looming furniture, no oversized bookcases. No serpents anywhere.

"Your house is beautiful," I said honestly.

"Thank you, Astoria. It took some time to rebuild, but dad helped." Ginny tapped her wand to the kettle, then used it to open the oven door from across the kitchen. "The biscuits are almost ready."

I sat on a barstool and, within minutes, an oversized ginger cat came bounding into my lap. He purred and mewed as I scratched his ears, running my hands through his long fur.

"He likes you," Ginny commented. "We're looking after Crookshanks while Ron and Hermione are in Ireland."

"Is Harry home?" Luna asked, biting into a fresh plum.

Ginny's forehead creased in concern. "No. He's been busy with work. Something's going on, I can tell, but he's not telling me anything. I don't suppose you'd have any idea?" she asked, her eyes narrowing at me.

I quickly gulped back my tea, still too hot and scalding my throat. "Why-why would I?" I blinked away the tears stinging my eyes.

"I imagine you're always popping in and out of the ministry, for work. Have you seen him at all?"

I shook my head. "It's only been while Ernie's away, really. I haven't had anything in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

I recalled Shacklebolt's words from the confederation meeting. A new chapter of death eaters… Is that what had Harry so worried? Before I could decide if I should say anything, Ginny and Luna had already begun chatting about the next Quidditch season. Probably for the best, I reasoned. I had always been too trusting, as Daphne had no qualms in pointing out. It was worth more than my job to tell anybody.

"…Would you be interested, Astoria?"

My attention snapped back to the present. "Sorry, Luna?"

"I was just saying we're setting up a Quidditch team," she repeated in her dreamy voice. "Strictly recreational, of course. I'm commentating. You should come along and play again."

"I'm too busy to join," Ginny added, "but I think Harry might give it a go. Maybe even Ron, if we can convince him."

"Oh… I don't know."

"Well, we're meeting Wednesday evening. Come along, even if only to watch," Luna said. "Bring some friends if you like."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "I don't have many."

"Of course you do," Ginny said sharply. "We're your friends."

A rush of gratitude came over me. I couldn't think of a thing to say in response — everything seemed inadequate, or simpering. They seemed to understand, however, and even Crookshanks nuzzled me affectionately.

"I need to be off," I said when I had finished my tea, checking the time.

"So soon?" Ginny said.

"Yes. I'm, uh, meeting a friend in Diagon Alley." I swung my back across my shoulder.

"I need to go down and see George," Ginny said, getting to her feet and clearing the table. "I'll come in with you."

"Oh no, you don't need to," I tried to say, but she fixed me with another suspicious glance.

After an awkward pause, Luna spoke. "Who's the friend you're meeting?"

I didn't answer straight away, but there seemed to be no point in lying. "Draco."

"Malfoy?" Ginny asked.

I gave her a look that said see, I did warn you about this.

"Oh, are you two an item?" Luna asked, quite oblivious. "I always thought you'd look lovely together."

"What are you doing with him?" Ginny asked, ignoring Luna completely.

"Just meeting for a drink." I gulped. I hardly wanted to tell her I was really attending a 'secret meeting for Slytherins only'. Lovely as she may be, Harry was head of the auror office. It sounded suspicious enough to my own ears, let alone to his if she let something slip.

"I'll think about the Quidditch," I promised.

There was another round of hugs as I said goodbye — I'd never thought of Ginny Weasley as a hugger. But something about her suggested that perhaps she was lonely, too. Perhaps it was just as hard to be noticed for all the right reasons as for all the wrong ones.

"Astoria?" She bit on her lip, leaning against the doorframe as I readied myself to disapparate from the pathway. "Just… Be careful. Okay?"

I nodded, then tapped my wand pocket, trying to inject a note of levity to the situation. "Always am!"

She grinned and shook her head, and I disappeared with a crack.

She better not be late, Draco thought, his eyes jerking continually to the door of the Leaky Cauldron. London was dark and drizzly, no surprise, and the bar was cloaked in an even thicker shadow than usual. Tom crept around lighting more candles, muttering to himself all the while.

Draco still wasn't sure exactly why he'd invited Astoria. Admittedly, that small, niggly part of his brain had wondered if he might run into her at Daphne's — perhaps even hoped — and whooped with glee when she had answered the door. But he shut that part down, as any good Occlumens and prior death eater knew how, and rationalised his motivations. He felt uneasy at the mystery surrounding this gathering of Nott's, even in a place so prominent. And something about Astoria seemed to balance the duality within him. Perhaps it was her being a Ravenclaw in a house of Slytherins, or the politician — correspondent, he recalled with a smirk — side of her remaining unbiased. Either way, it had been risky. And if she came through those doors late, drawing more attention to her presence, Draco knew he'd be regarded with suspicion for asking her in the first place.

With just two minutes to go, and the gnawing in his stomach growing stronger, he finally caught a glimpse of her dark hair weaving through the crowd around the bar. With a sigh and a mutter, he downed the last of his firewhiskey, and gestured her over.

She arrived at his table, with a breathless hello, and not a moment too soon. Before she'd even scraped back a chair to sit, Nott and Zabini had arrived, along with Pucey and Flint.

"Malfoy," Flint nodded. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Draco nodded in return, but remained silent while Nott ordered drinks and refilled his own.

"And who's this?" Pucey asked, jerking his head in Astoria's direction.

"Greengrass," Malfoy said, feeling a protective urge. Only because it was my idea to bring her, he reminded himself.

"No, I recognise her," Flint said, running his tongue across his uneven teeth. "Can't read two pages of the Prophet without her name sticking out. Took time out of your busy schedule singing the Ministry's praises, did you? Her head's so far up Potter's ass, she could write what he had for breakfast."

Pucey laughed, but Malfoy grew stern. "And her blood's purer than anyone else's at this table, so shut the fuck up, Flint."

"Astoria's a good sort," Zabini nodded. "Now, will Nott hurry up and tell us what the fuck's so important he's got us gathered like a herd of hippogriffs?"

However, Astoria didn't seem able to let the subject go. Draco saw the tell-tale hardening of her jaw, squaring her shoulders.

"You're related to Josephina Flint, aren't you?"

Marcus grunted. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing personal," she shrugged. "Though, I wrote part of my dissertation on her time spent in office. She was quite divisive, you know. Openly opposed all of the muggle technology being developed at the time. According to some reports, she even threatened the muggle prime minister. The public demanded her resignation from office and backed Ottaline Gambol, wanting somebody more muggle-friendly."

"You sound like a Ravenclaw," Flint spat.

"That's because I am."

He glared for a moment, before almost tipping the table over as he got to his feet. "Fuck this. I'm out."

"Sit the fuck down," Draco hissed. "We don't need any more attention."

Flint hovered, still undecided. "How'd a Greengrass end up in Ravenclaw?"

Malfoy searched for Nott's head, desperate to put an end to this. He was placing galleons on the bar, counting them twice.

"Barely," Astoria answered. "The sorting took a while."

"Flint, sit down," Zabini commanded.

Even Pucey gave a side glance, and finally Marcus took his seat. Draco released a breath, glancing anxiously to see that Astoria was okay. She seemed unperturbed, happily accepting her firewhiskey as Nott floated them to the table. Draco watched her sip the straight liquor, perhaps more intently than he intended. She barely flinched, earning a new level of respect.

"Right. Nott, what the fuck's going on?" Zabini asked when Theodore had finally sat down.

Nott spun his glass on the table, fidgeting. He made only shifty eye contact, checking for eavesdroppers with every word. "I visited my father in Azkaban."

Nobody said a word. Draco shared a raised eyebrow with Zabini. Nott's heavy relationship with his father hadn't been a secret. Draco recalled the bruises Theo would bear after every set of holidays at Hogwarts.

"Why?" Pucey finally asked.

Nott shrugged. "Closure."

After another round of silence, Zabini rolled his eyes. "You brought us all here to tell us that?"

"No. It's what he told me." Nott eyed them all in turn. "The death eaters are reforming."

Draco's heart flopped. "For what?" he snorted, feigning nonchalance. "Voldemort's gone."

"Yeah, and look at this mess he left us in," Nott growled. "Every day, new laws pass that make us conform to muggle standards. We're being suppressed. Everyone's too afraid to say anything. But if enough of us band together, speak out against it… we could change things."

"Which death eaters?" Zabini asked. "They're all locked away like your dad, aren't they?"

"Not all of them," Nott said. "Some were too afraid to side with us last time. Some managed to dodge persecution at the last minute."

His eyes flickered to Draco. Draco chewed on his thumbnail, trying to process the news, decide how he felt. Fear, mostly. Trepidation. Mostly, he just wanted to stay out of it all. He hadn't yet shaken off the effects of the last war, let alone geared up for a new one. But these were his friends. And if they chose to join the new death eaters, he'd be branded by association regardless.

"What are their aims?" Astoria asked, pursing her lips.

The others stared as though she'd spoken in mermish.

"What are they trying to achieve?" she explained. "More killings, torture? Protests? Petitions?"

Pucey and Flint exchanged a glance. "This isn't some new ministry department," Flint said. "I doubt they've outlined their aims on parchment."

"We can find out," Nott said. "Look, think it over. Send me an owl if you're in. Actually, send me one if you're out, too. I'll speak to my dad some more, and let you know."

"Careful," Flint warned. "This one will go running straight to the ministry or the Prophet." He gestured to Astoria.

"Actually, the ministry already know," she said.

They all gaped, Draco included.

"How do you know?" Zabini frowned.

Astoria took a deep breath. "I attended a confederation meeting. Shacklebolt made the announcement, strictly off-record. I'm surprised I haven't broken out in hives or something, telling you. I thought he might have put a curse on the room to keep us quiet."

"Doesn't surprise me," Flint snorted. "These muggle lovers are too trusting."

Astoria bit her lip, deep in thought. Draco wanted to reach out to her, discern what she was thinking. He was confused. He needed some sort of anchor, moral compass, but she remained guarded.

"I don't have an owl," he finally said. "Send me your next one anyway, Nott, and I'll use it to reply."

Pucey stared. "Doesn't your family have one?"

"No." Malfoy hesitated. "He killed them. When he was at the manor. Said he couldn't have great big birds flying around, distracting him." It was unnerving to see sympathy mark the faces of the others, even Flint. "Father never bothered getting more," he continued, trying to smooth over the moment. "Says he can always apparate if things are that important."

"Well," Astoria broke the silence, downing the last dregs of firewhiskey. "Is that all for today?"

Nott nodded. "Though, your curse idea isn't a bad one. Didn't Potter do something similar for Dumbledore's Army?" he sneered.

Astoria giggled. "Sorry," she murmured. "I just remember that girl's face."

Draco couldn't help a smirk at the sight of her laughing. "If the ministry already know," he said, "I don't see the point. We haven't done anything but discuss what they already know. If things… progress, perhaps."

The others seemed satisfied with that.

"I'll be in touch," Nott said, gathering all the glasses into a group with his wand, and levitating them back to the bar. "And likewise, if you hear anything, let me know."

Amidst the bustle of leaving, Zabini leaned in to shake Draco's hand goodbye.

"Come by mine this evening," he murmured, barely audible. Draco nodded his acknowledgement.

They left, one by one, until only Draco and Astoria remained. She rummaged awkwardly through her bag, Draco presumed for something to do. He cleared his throat.

"Walk with me?" he asked, standing and turning in the direction of the alley.

They strolled through the narrow street, quieting now in the mid-afternoon. Astoria seemed reluctant to meet his eye, which frustrated Draco inextricably. When he could bear it no longer, he asked the question plaguing his mind.

"What did you make of that?"

"Why do you ask?" she quipped.

"Don't give me that political shit."

"Correspondent."

A grin erupted before he could wipe it from his face. "You're hard to read, you know that?"

Astoria met his gaze shyly, and he could tell he was wearing into her. "Honestly, I'm probably out. I couldn't exactly say so at the time, though. They might have killed me then and there."

"They wouldn't dare," Draco growled, earning a puzzled glance. "Not somewhere so public," he tried to recover. "They'd probably break into your home at night, instead."

"I'll be sleeping soundly, then."

Draco pretended to examine the Nimbus Three-Thousand in the shop window, though his Quidditch days were long over. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know what. Tell them about the ministry."

"They'd have found out eventually, anyway," Astoria reasoned. "Probably in an article of mine, no less. I needed to earn their trust, so it was a small risk to take."
Draco was impressed. "Are you sure you're not a Slytherin?"

"Just ask Flint if you have any doubts," she joked.

Fuck. He was losing control of himself, relaxing his boundaries. He felt the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her, the way his gaze would roam the curves of her sweater, the angle of her jaw. He needed to leave, to get out. And to detox. Preferably for a whole week.

"I have to go," he said, his voice clipped and curt once more.

She scarcely seemed to notice the change, her mind focused on something in the distance. "Okay. See you around, Draco."

As soon as he got home, Draco picked up the heavy Alchemy tome he had been meaning to read, and lost himself in its pages. Hours ticked by, and all that mattered were the words on the parchment, and the ideas they formed in his mind. The elements seemed to link together, weaving in a pattern like the branches of a willow tree. It made sense. There was no room for emotions, for fear, for nightmares. All that existed were the words of Dzou Yen, and the way they warmed his mind.

But as the time ticked past, Draco knew he had to ready himself to meet Zabini. He couldn't decide which option would be worse — Blaise wanting to discuss the meeting, or to request more help with the damn Carrow girl. He sighed, fastening his cuff links and readying to leave, when a tap on the window caught his attention.

A black owl perched before the glass, holding a letter not by the leg, but in its mouth. It was a regal creature, with glowing eyes and not a feather out of place. Draco crossed the room to let it in, wondering why it hadn't come through the small owlery at the side of the house. He ripped the parchment free, and the creature nipped him affectionately in response. Upon reading the words, Draco's heart warmed, and his mind reeled.

Something to wake for. —T