"You disgusting, vile, leeching piece of shit!" the howler screamed. "You make me sick to my stomach. I hope you are crucio'd into insanity and then murdered. Fuck you, you pureblood hypocrite."
I couldn't help the tears dripping down my face. "S-silencio!" I tried, but the immunity to the charm seemed to be catching on with each howler that arrived. "Silencio!"
All the unopened ones exploded, creating a chorus of insults and threats. I sank to the floor, sobbing, as the harsh words filled the office.
Filthypurebloodbloodtraitorhypocritestupidbitchgotohell
"Finite incantatem."
My relief at the end to the torment was short lived. Two pudgy hands grasped my shoulders, and my stomach lurched.
"There, there," Marcus said. "Only silly words. They can't really hurt you, you know!"
"Thanks," I said shakily, standing to my feet.
"I daresay, you ought to get used to them."
I stared blankly.
"You've been promoted!" Marcus grinned. "Or rather, Ernie has been, and we've awarded you his position. Welcome to your first day as the official political correspondent for the Daily Prophet!"
Draco's voice rang through my mind, seemingly from a lifetime ago. Politician. Correspondent.
"That's amazing," I said, smiling gratefully. "I'll be busy again, that's for sure."
"Not as busy as me!" Ernie puffed, striding into the office. "Senior editor for the national news. And congratulations, Astoria. I can't imagine anybody else stepping into my old shoes."
I shook Ernie's hand, fighting the urge to giggle. It was a high feeling, knowing I'd be restored to my former glory. My head span. It was all on me, now.
"Of course, you'll be able to hire your own assistant," Marcus said. "Take some off the workload from your shoulders."
"Maybe," I said. "I think what I really need is a photographer."
"Consider it done," Marcus winked. "Now, we really must go for a drink to celebrate."
I glanced at Ernie, praying he would invite himself in his usual pompous way. Sadly not.
"Afraid I shan't be able to make it," he said. "I'll be working most evenings now, I expect, ensuring everything is in order for the morning's print."
"As it should be," Marcus nodded. "Well, Astoria, just you and I, then!"
"Ought we to invite some of the other departments?" I asked nervously. "Maybe Mecking in Quidditch?"
"Mecking hasn't been to a bar since nineteen-forty-five," Marcus laughed. "No, no, just you and me, I think. I'll book the Leaky Cauldron for five. Don't keep me waiting!"
I held my smile until Marcus left the room, then turned to Ernie.
"You need to help me get out of this," I urged. "I'll help you proofread all night. Anything."
"I don't want to appear incompetent on my first day," he frowned. "Besides, Marcus is alright. Perhaps a little full of himself, but he's a good egg."
I stared with incredulity, until even Ernie seemed to realise the irony in his assessment. He left the room with a small cough.
I groaned and hammered my head against my desk. Just go for one drink, I reasoned with myself. You can handle Marcus. The Leaky Cauldron's a public enough place.
I spent most of the day refining a meaty article on the new laws for the statute of secrecy. Most had already come into place, but there'd been some confusion over the differentiation between a 'muggle assigned item' and a 'muggle owned item.' The clock seemed to be ticking closer to five at lightning speed, and I found myself wishing for a skiving snack box in ways I hadn't since my Hogwarts days.
Just as I'd retired my quills and tapped the printers to sleep with my wand, Marcus poked his head around the doorframe.
"Let's be off, shall we?" he asked merrily.
I skulked along the street beside him, managing to dodge clasping his extended arm by fussing with the parchment in my bag. Unperturbed, he hummed merrily as we walked, and held the door to the bar open for me while I entered. My eyes wide like saucers, surely screaming save me! I entered and sat at the table he had booked. It was too small, too cosy. Too out of the way in a dark corner.
"What'll it be, firewhiskey? Butterbeer? I hear Tom's even imported a barrel of giggle water!"
"Just a butterbeer, thanks," I murmured, prickles forming on the back of my neck.
I didn't like being sat like this, facing the corner with the entire bar at my back where I couldn't see. I took a deep, steadying breath, and began to scribble notes on a piece of parchment. Tobias Pratt interview - 12. Muggle Reformation Act. Reminder: Develop photographs of Hopkirk interview.
"Put it away," Marcus waved, setting our drinks on the table. "You work far too much, Astoria. You ought to play once in a while."
I sipped my butterbeer. "How much do I owe you for the drink?"
"Nothing in knuts, and nothing in galleons," Marcus winked.
Ew. "Sickles, then?"
"Don't be foolish, this one's on me. Drink up, drink up."
I sipped again, wondering if I could reduce my drink without him noticing, and be out of here sooner.
"I really can't stay for long," I said. "I have a family… thing."
"So, you're still living with your parents?" Marcus asked.
"Yes," I lied. "Lots of us in the house, actually. Big family."
"That's a shame. Young lady like you, ought to have more space. Perhaps to entertain the occasional wizard!"
I didn't like it. I didn't like it one bit. But I felt foolish, because he hadn't really said or done anything wrong. He was just being friendly. Even Ernie had said Marcus was fine. It must be me, I thought. Stupid, sensitive Astoria. Again.
"So, is there anything upcoming for me to focus on?" I asked, trying to be polite.
"Let's not talk about work, my dear."
I blinked. "But then, what do we talk about?"
"Whatever we like!" he said, clinking his glass against my own. "I don't want you to think of me as some old work hogey." He placed a chubby hand atop mine on the table. "Think of me as a friend."
I pulled my hand away quickly. Marcus's gaze darkened.
"No need to be a tease," he said curtly. "It's not attractive."
I tried not to gape in response. The fact he could be so brazen, so rude, so entirely misguided… It was ridiculous. And I'd had enough.
"I'm leaving," I said, standing.
"Sit down," he hissed. "Who do you think promoted Ernie, knowing it would leave your career path clear? Who do you think encouraged him to go away in the first place, giving you a taste of the heights you can reach? You should be thanking me, Astoria. You should be thanking me on your knees."
Instinctively, reflexively, I pulled my wand and sparks shot from the edge as I pointed it at Marcus's face. He'd opened his own mouth, forming some awful spell, when he was suddenly shot back and smacked against the wall.
"What the fuck are you doing?" a voice hissed from behind me.
Draco strode over, his face contorted in anger and his wand high. I'd never seen him in such a rage. Marcus scrambled for his wand, but Draco flicked his again, and had Marcus pinned to the wall. The entire pub had fallen quiet, all watching the altercation.
"Draco?" I asked in amazement. "What are you-
"If a lady tells you she is leaving," he growled, his eyes darker than storm and not leaving Marcus, "you let her fucking leave."
Marcus cowered, whimpering. "You don't understand, you weren't here! She was giving me signs, she was-
Draco sliced his wand through the air and Marcus fell silent, his eyes wide in shock. Draco turned to me then, his chest heaving with anger.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
I could only nod in reply.
He turned back to Marcus, now a deep shade of purple. "If you lay a finger on Astoria again, you're dead. If you speak to her inappropriately again, you are dead. If I see your disgusting, toad face so much as sniffing around her again, you're fucking dead. Do you understand?"
When Marcus stayed silent, Draco waved his wand once more, and the man groaned.
"Nod if you understand," Draco growled.
Marcus nodded feebly. Satisfied, Draco released him, and he slumped to the floor.
"Are you ready to leave?" Draco asked.
I nodded, and he motioned for me to go first. He stayed right at my side during the whole mortifying walk through the bar. He tapped three galleons on the bar surface, satisfying the barman.
"Show's over," Draco said. "Go back to drinking."
I blinked as rays of sun washed over me outside, on the bustling street. Draco pulled a face of disgust.
"I hate muggle London," he muttered.
I turned to him, still struggling to process all that had happened. "What… Um, where, how, why were you there?"
A light flush rose to his cheeks. "I was having a drink. That's all."
"Alone?" I pushed. "I didn't see you."
"I'd gone into Gringotts," he said. "I was just on my way home." I kept my gaze hard on him, journalist's trick, and finally his walls broke. "Okay, fine. I saw him leading you in there, and something felt off. Who was he, anyway?"
I sighed. "That's my boss."
"He's disgusting." Draco's face soured. "The way he was speaking to you."
I grew suddenly embarrassed. "Thanks," I said. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
I tried to respond, tried to even decide for myself, but the words hitched in my throat. Tears stung at my eyes and I felt foolish, so foolish. The seconds passed and still I had not answered.
"Come on," Draco said softly. "I'll take you home."
He wrapped his arms around me and, not caring that we were in the middle of a pavement full of muggles, he spun us round until we apparated at the door of my house. Daphne's house.
"Alohomora," I murmured, unlocking the door.
I turned to ask Draco if he wouldn't mind staying with me, just for a little while, but he'd already followed me inside and closed the door. I walked to the sofa in a haze, in shock, and snuggled myself in beneath the fur blanket. Draco made himself at home instantly, tapping the fire to life and disappearing into the kitchen, then emerging moments later with cups of tea.
"Have you eaten?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I didn't have time for lunch."
"Lunch? Tori, it's past time for dinner."
I shrugged. "I'll put a potato in the oven soon."
Draco shook his head. "That's not enough."
He turned back to the kitchen, muttering all the while. Part of me wondered if this wasn't some bizarre dream. Draco Malfoy, appearing out of nowhere like my guardian angel. Draco Malfoy, cooking me dinner.
"You're getting groceries," he called out. "First thing tomorrow. This is ridiculous."
Before I could retort, a drop of liquid splashed onto my hand. Puzzled, I glanced. Dark red. Fuck.
"Draco?" I called out, the sound nasal and muffled.
He came back to the room, and blanched at the sight of me. "Fuck Tori, are you okay?"
My nose was pouring. Thick streams of dark blood ran down my face, soaking my neck and chest.
"I just need a towel," I tried to explain, spitting it clean from my mouth.
He drew his wand out. "I'm no good at healing spells. Hold still."
"No," I tried to explain. "It won't work. I need a towel. It's how the muggles do it."
Draco still didn't move, staring at me in shock. It must have been bad.
"A towel, Draco!" I repeated. "Bottom drawer!" I sighed. "Accio towel."
I pressed it to my nose, pinching just above the bridge. Each time it soaked through, I used magic to clean it again. Draco was deathly pale, even more so than usual, and frozen in place.
"Hold on," I said. "It'll be over soon."
Sure enough, just as usual, I had bled dry within twenty minutes. When finally only tiny drops marked the towel, I discarded it, sniffing slightly.
"What the fuck was that," Draco said, his voice hollow.
"I get nosebleeds sometimes. Usually when I'm stressed." My head started to spin, and I grew dizzy. "That was a bad one."
"And it's not something… I mean, he didn't do this to you?"
"Marcus?" I lay my head back, closing my eyes. "No."
"We need to get you to St. Mungo's."
"There's no point," I answered feebly, growing tired. "It's done now."
"Tori, that's… That's not normal."
"It is for me," I tried to insist. "Forget it happened. I'm sorry you had to see it."
I took deep breaths, willing my body to recover quickly. I couldn't fall asleep, not right now, with Draco worried something was seriously wrong. They were only nosebleeds. I'd had them all my life.
"How many times are you going to do this to me in one night?" he asked, his voice shaking.
It was enough to lift my head, open my eyes. He was crouched down, head in his hands.
"Hey," I said. "What is it?"
I tried to stand, to walk to him and comfort him, but my legs shook and gave out beneath me. I landed on my butt, right on the grey tile. Draco jerked upright at the sound.
"Ouch."
He looked absolutely incredulous. You've done it now, I thought. You've broken him.
But he only helped me back onto the sofa, siphoned the dried blood away with his wand and tucked the blanket around me once more.
"What's for dinner?" I asked, closing my eyes again.
"Lamb. It's all you've got."
"Sounds good," I murmured.
I dozed off for about half an hour, and when I awoke again Draco had lit all the lamps in the room. He gently roused me, and I found myself feeling refreshed after the sleep. I stumbled on my way to the table, and he made to catch me instantly, but I kept my footing.
"I'm worried about you," I told him, trying to make jovial conversation.
He frowned. "Why?"
"You haven't said one rude thing to me yet," I said, taking my seat. "It's not like you."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Eat your food, Tori."
The plate was exquisite. He'd arranged a neat scoop of mashed potatoes, two racks of lamb, and seared broccoli and carrot with a red wine sauce. The flavours burst heavenly in my mouth, and I audibly groaned. I reached for my drink, then frowned.
"Why don't I have wine?" I asked, nodding to his glass of deep red and then mine of water.
"I'm not giving you alcohol after the night you've had."
"Why not? It could help take the edge off," I joked. "Maybe even some Euphoria."
"No," he ordered. "Eat your food."
I devoured almost the entire plate, until it came to the last few bites. These, I pushed around my plate, mushing into nothing with my fork.
"What are you doing?" Draco asked.
I blushed. "Would you like me to be honest?" I asked.
He met my gaze. "Always."
"I don't want to finish it," I said. "When I've finished, you'll leave."
His face was indecipherable. I pushed on, leaving my dignity somewhere on the sofa.
"Why are you here, Draco?" I asked. "Why are you cooking me dinner and… and making me think you care about me?"
"I do care about you," he said.
"You know what I mean," I said. "Why?"
Draco sighed. "We're not having this discussion tonight."
"Why not?" I asked. "Tomorrow night won't be any better timing."
"You can barely stand up, Tori. Not tonight."
I bit my lip. "I'll get it out of you. You're only delaying the inevitable."
"Believe me, I know." He regarded me across the table. I held my breath, hypnotised by his eyes. "Finish your plate. I won't leave."
"It's gross now," I mumbled.
Draco cleared the table, and I heard the clink of dishes being washed and put away in the kitchen. I finished my water, my eyes growing heavy again. It couldn't be past eight, but my body seemed intent on sleeping.
"Bed," Draco said, coming to my side. "Can you make it up the stairs, or should I apparate you?"
"No apparating," I said, my nose scrunching. "I can walk."
I tried to wave away his arm at first, but before we'd even reached the staircase I found myself gripping it. Each step was agony, and with each step I wanted to give in, to collapse where I was and just sleep there for the night. I would have, too, if not for Draco and the anxious way he kept glancing. Such behaviour might just have been the final straw for his psyche.
"I made it," I murmured happily, as he tucked me into bed.
His fingers were so gentle on the sheets, on my shoulder, then pushing my hair off my face. We stayed like that for a while, him gently stroking my hair and me almost asleep, until I felt his weight leave the bed. Something close to fear gripped me — vulnerability, maybe. Sadness. Shock.
"Draco?" I whispered loudly.
"What?"
"Can you stay?" I asked. "I don't want to be alone."
'I'm not climbing into your bed," he said. "Not after… Not tonight."
"You know I don't mean like that."
He sighed. He muttered something, and I heard a pop on the floor beside me. I mustered the strength to lift my head, to look down, and saw he'd transfigured an extra mattress.
"You're no good to me down there," I grumbled.
"Don't push it," he warned.
But he came back to my bed anyway, lying behind me and tracing patterns into my bare arm. The weight of him against me was soothing, the smell of his cologne and a tang like apples and the way his breath tickled the back of my neck.
"I'm on the floor the second you fall asleep," he said.
"Fine by me," I murmured.
I slept on whispered lullabies and the charms of a hawthorn wand, interrupted only by periodic awakenings to feel his hand linked tenderly into mine.
