a/n: Content warning: sexual content at end of the chapter. Also, thank you so much to everyone who has favourited, followed and/or reviewed! Appreciate every one of you 3

Ginny hissed and flew to her feet, sending her new kitten fleeing with a hiss of his own. Embarrassed, I could only look down at my mug. I knew the questions would come sooner than later, asking why I had been fired from the Prophet. I knew what Marcus was telling people — only because Ernie had been decent enough to let me know when he'd dropped my things to me. Even he had kept a wide berth, eyeing me cautiously as though I would crucio him at any given moment.

But I couldn't bear to keep the truth from Ginny. I couldn't bear to have her think I truly had become a death eater, or that I'd been passing on information from the Prophet to Voldemort. Yes, a man who had died more than two years ago. You'd think anyone with half a brain could use an ounce of reasoning to realise Marcus's tales were false.

"Astoria, you have to report him."

"For what?" I laughed sadly. "Nothing happened, Ginny. Dra-… somebody intervened quickly."

"He fired you because you wouldn't sleep with him. That's disgusting! And illegal, too."
"The damage has already been done. Everyone already believes what he is saying. People wouldn't want me back, even if Marcus would have me."

Ginny took a deep breath. "We're not letting him do this to you. I'll have a word with Harry this evening, he'll know who we can talk to."

"Ginny, I really don't-

"No, Astoria! He can't get away with this!" She trembled, her hands balled into fists. "How many other women do you think he's done this to? The staff list at the Prophet is huge! And he's been there, what, thirty years?"

"Thirty two."

"And I bet he'll do it again." She gulped. "I won't force you into doing anything you're uncomfortable with. But you owe this to yourself, Astoria. You can't let him win. Not that slime-ball."

I knew there was truth to her words. "Okay. Ask Harry. In the meantime, I'll think about it."

One thing I liked about Ginny was that she wasn't one to mince situations. With a small smile and an affectionate pat on my hand, she conveyed that she wouldn't press it further.

"When's your first Quidditch game?"

"Saturday." I bit my lip. "I'm meant to be seeing Wood play this evening, too. I don't know if I can do either, to be honest."

"Screw what anyone thinks or says. Fuck them. You're not there for them."

I smiled sadly. "Oliver might want to wash his hands of me."

"Then it's his loss. Besides," Ginny feigned a casual expression, "I wouldn't have thought you'd be worried, considering how much time you spend with Malfoy."

A twinge of pain seared at mention of Draco. I tried not to show it. "Believe me, it's a lot less than you would think."

She eyed me skeptically, but something in my tone suggested the matter wasn't worth pursuing. "Anyway, Wood's nice. A really decent guy."

Perhaps too decent for me, I thought.

"Besides, the winner will play us Harpies in a few weeks time." She waggled her eyebrows. "So don't cheer too loudly for either team!"

I laughed and promised I wouldn't. The kitten clawed at my heels, with big round eyes gazing up and begging for attention. I picked him up for a cuddle, admiring the silky softness to his fur beneath my fingers.

"Have you named him yet?" I asked.

"No. Harry doesn't even know we got him."

I almost choked on my tea. "What?"

Ginny frowned, a crease appearing in her forehead. "I brought him home yesterday. Harry had to work through the night, and I wanted the cat to be a surprise. I was hoping Harry would name him, but at this rate, I don't think he'll even get to bloody meet him."

The kitten snuggled into my chest, warming me and soothing me with rumbling purs. "Are things really that busy at work?"

"Apparently. He won't talk to me about any of it, claiming it's confidential or he wants to protect me or any other lame excuse. But honestly… I'm worried."

The air seemed to drop a few degrees cooler, the silence spreading like a deadly ripple as the unspoken horrors roamed free in our minds. Neither of us would say the words, would dare to ask. But the notion remained… Had Voldemort returned? Was somebody taking his place?

"I'm sure it'll quiet soon," I said.

"It better. We're meant to be planning a wedding, and I haven't picked a single thing."

Ginny held an enormous amount of gratitude in my heart, but in moments like those I couldn't help the stabs of envy. While she and Harry clearly had their own dilemmas, at least they were together. In love. Planning a wedding, rescuing a kitten. They had a home together. Add to this, the comments my mother made when we last spoke about my 'ticking biological clock,' and I decided I had to scarper.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you," Ginny said, loading my arms with fresh baking to take home, "Luna asked me to pop round this evening, but I've got practice. Why don't you ask her to the game with you?"

"That's a great idea," I said, half-truthfully.

I didn't know Luna all that well, and I was worried things might be awkward. But I needn't have worried, as she greeted me in the stands that evening with what might have been the best ice breaker of all time.

"You know, this is home to the only British sighting of the crumple-horned snorkack. It's a real shame they turned it into a Quidditch pitch."

I sipped my gin and tonic through a straw, slightly too loudly. "Where will it go now, then?"

"Oh, it hasn't set foot in the country since," she said calmly. "But it would have made for a nice monument. Perhaps a feature."

We made the way to our seats in the top box, with a stellar view of the entire pitch and grounds beyond. Luna nestled in, making herself perfectly at home, while I stayed rigid on the edge of my chair.

"I think Oliver must like you," she said, taking in the view.

My stomach churned. "Yeah, maybe."

"That must make things complicated," she continued, "between you and Malfoy."

Despite the words, her tone wasn't probing. She could have been commenting on the weather, or the deep green robes of the wizard marching into the box.

"I don't think things can get any more complicated." I clenched my jaw, determined not to let tears sting my eyes.

"Ginny told me you left the Prophet," Luna continued, tactfully pretending not to notice my expression. "If you're interested, daddy's always looking for new talent to join the Quibbler. He's been wanting a political column for ages. There's so much being covered up that people just plain don't believe in, with nobody else willing to print the truth."

I blanched. "Thanks, Luna. That's very kind."

"I'll have him get in touch," she said. "The pay might not be quite as high as the Prophet, though."

"I don't need galleons," I said. "It's just… what I love. What passes the time. You know?"

She smiled at me, but didn't have time to do much more as the green-robed wizard began commentating and the match began.

I had to admit Wood looked handsome in his uniform, the navy blue set against his skin. Though, all I saw of him was flashes on the big screen and a blue figure circling the goal posts. He made some spectacular saves, and when my eyes weren't fixed on him, they were following the Puddlemere seeker intensely. I watched the ways she rolled, turned, dove to the ground. I made mental notes of diversions I wanted to try, and how she handled the opposing seeker's moves. It was the first time in days Draco Malfoy left my mind, and colours started to return to the faded world.

"She's going to get it," I breathed, as the seeker shot across the pitch towards the glimmer of gold.

When she did, I found myself jumping up and down in my seat, hugging Luna and cheering like a mad woman. Puddlemere had won by a landslide, and Oliver wore a massive grin as he shook hands with the members of the other team.

"They're through to the finals with the Harpies," Luna said, as they came into the top box to claim their trophy.

Wood raised his eyebrows in a quick hello, then held up the trophy for all the stands to see. People went wild — screaming, shouting, crying. I realised in that moment that most of the women in the stands would have killed to even speak to Oliver. And yet I'd been brought here as his personal guest, and still my mind was on somebody else.

"Come down to the rooms," he leaned in and said before leaving. "We're all going out for a drink."

He didn't notice the flash of a camera, the snigger, as he left with his team. I did.

"Melling," I said, eyeing the Quidditch correspondent with distaste.

"Greengrass." He stood and packed up his things, grinning wickedly. "How are you taking the fall from grace?"

I sighed. "Please don't print that photo."

"Why would I? Doesn't have much to do with the match, does it?"

"You know what I mean." I tried to level with the man, known for being notoriously arrogant and self-centred. "Don't make that look like something it wasn't."

"Is that what it's like, being on the other side of the quill? Come on, Astoria. You know how this works."

I could do no more than tremble in anger as he packed up his things and left. Luna wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"It's okay. We don't have to go, we can go home."

I allowed tears to fall as the people around us began to leave. I was still incredibly fragile, breakable as though made of glass since last seeing Draco. I wanted nothing more than to run to him, to take him in my arms, to spend another night with his fingers tracing delicate patterns in my skin. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. It was as though every insult and imperfection Daphne had hurled at me had been a warning. I wasn't enough for Draco. Not tough enough or hardened enough. Not Slytherin enough.

"No," I decided, shaking my head firmly. "Let's go, Luna. We deserve a nice evening."


"Come on, Malfoy, you've got to get out of bed."

"Fuck off, Zabini," Draco grunted into his pillow.

"It's been three days, man!" Blaise marched into the room, throwing open the curtains and unleashing white sunlight. "You want to lie around and waste your life, go back to your parents. Speaking of, they sent an owl. They want to have dinner with you tonight, so you better get up and sort yourself out."

Draco sighed, still half-clutched by the throes of sleep. It had been such a lovely dream, too, with Astoria's face so close to his, smeared with glitter…

"Malfoy!"

"Alright!" he bellowed, throwing the pillow at Zabini. "Fuck off and let me get dressed, at least!"

Blaise sighed but left, and the room became a hollow vacuum of silence once more. Malfoy glared at the plain, patchy walls and the glossy floors. He'd have to speak with his parents at dinner, suggest they build an additional home somewhere in the country. He'd disgrace the family name if he purchased a place like this, striking out on his own. But new real estate for the Malfoy's would only be a proper thing to do.

He showered, turning the water slightly cool to jolt him awake. There was a hollowness to his stomach, and while he put it down to three days without food, it seemed to claw deeper than that. This theory was proven when he poured a coffee and grabbed a green apple, and Blaise snatched the Prophet out of sight before Malfoy could continue his morning ritual.

"What are you doing?" he frowned, sitting at the table and reaching a hand out for the paper.

Blaise hesitated. "Just don't think this edition's very interesting, that's all."

"Don't be a twat, Zabini." Malfoy silently accio'd the paper.

He unfolded it and began to read, a scowl forming as pain seared through his head. Blaise waited anxiously a few moments more, then left for work. Draco muttered something into the silent house, his mind wondering what the hell he was supposed to do to occupy himself for a full day. He considered going back to bed, getting a few hours more sleep, when he turned the page and a series of photos caught his eye.

Puddlemere bags more than a semi-final win: fraternising with death eaters on this Quidditch team's agenda?

Bile rose to Draco's mouth. There she was, so vivid in black-and-white he wondered if this might all be just another dream. And there he was — Wood. Leaning into her, placing an arm around her waist, cosying up to her at some pub he didn't recognise.

Former political correspondent Astoria Greengrass was sacked just last week for proven affiliation with Voldemort's remaining death eaters. Now, it seems she is trying her luck with none other than Puddlemere United Keeper, Oliver Wood, who seems far too pleased about the woman's advances.

"She must have him under some sort of love spell," sniffed Wood's mother, Deirdre. "Our son would never involve himself in anything of the sort. Frankly, we're concerned. My sister's a healer at St. Mungo's, and she'll be performing a full examination to check he hasn't been placed under the imperius curse. His own father's muggleborn, you know!"

Draco threw the newspaper to the floor in disgust. He wanted to kick something, hurt something. Maybe himself.

He went back to bed after all, blood boiling. If Zabini came home to check on him, he'd curse him into oblivion. Fuck Blaise. Fuck everyone and everything. And fuck Tori for moving on so quickly, as though he was nothing, while he could do no more than stew in his own pain and regret.

The only solace he found was a tiny affirmation that perhaps he had done the right thing after all. If that was the headline when she was with some boring man like Wood, he dreaded to think what it would have been had she been seen with him. Two death eaters band together, avoid at all costs…

When six chimes of the grandfather clock echoed through the flat, Draco dragged himself out of bed for the second time and got dressed. He was still numb in the fingertips but blazing in the chest, and fighting to keep his emotions in check. He needed to appear utterly bored in front of his parents. But try as he might, his stomach lurched with nerves as he disapparated, and he turned positively queasy as he knocked on the door of his own, old, home.

"Draco." Narcissa wrapped him in a hug, while Draco patted her stiffly on the back. "Come through. We're serving food now."

Lucius was already sat at the grand dining table, glossy black and long enough to seat twenty. Silver serpents were everywhere around the room; atop the mantle of the fireplace burning green flames, woven into the stokes of the chairs. Draco only nodded to his father, suddenly anxious and fearful once more. He could not bring words to rise to his throat and, seemingly, nor could Lucius.

"Are you eating enough?" Narcissa asked worriedly, setting plates down with her wand. "You look very thin."

"I eat fine," Draco brushed her off.

He picked up his cutlery and looked down. Slow roasted cuts of lamb were layered on the plate, with steamed vegetables and thick gravy. A lump formed in his throat. It was so similar to the meal he had shared with Tori. Flashes of her came unbidden to his mind, and the same need to protect her flashed red hot, as though she were still sat drained of blood or trembling in shock. Or pressing a wand to her own neck.

"Wine?" his mother asked.

Draco shook his head. He suddenly realised he had no appetite, and could do no more than chew the meat until it turned to mush, dreading the moment he would need to swallow. He saw his parents exchange a meaningful glance.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," his mother said quickly.

"Narcissa…"

"Lucius, let the boy eat," she whispered.

Draco set his cutlery down. "Well, I can't eat now."

Lucius gulped. His hair was beginning to grease at the roots, and his face had grown even more lined. Draco hadn't seen his father looking so worse for wear since the days of Voldemort's reign. The days of horror.

"He might be back."

Lucius's words came out in such a hurried, hushed whisper, Draco wasn't sure he'd heard at first. Then they clicked into place in his mind. No. No…

"What?"

He glanced between his father's anguished stare, the tears in his mother's eyes.

"You promised me." His voice shook as every ounce of rage built up, and he unleashed it all on her. "You promised me he was gone! He was dead!"

"And he is!" his mother insisted, the tears falling now. "He is, but Draco… he may be coming back again. Like last time."

Draco shook with rage. "How?"

"There was another horcrux," Lucius whispered. "Or so we think. It may be nothing."

"But it may be him."

"My darling, we're in a safer position than anybody," Narcissa breathed. "We have close contacts, both with the death eaters and within the ministry. If they even set out to find this horcrux, we'll-

"As if they'd tell you! Both sides know you can't be trusted!"

"We will leave," Narcissa promised. "We will move abroad well before he could actually return. And the aurors would be ready to seize the horcrux before any death eater could."

Now, Draco truly did question if this might be another dream of his slumber. He couldn't be coming back. It couldn't even be a cause for concern. It couldn't. If Voldemort came back, they'd be on the hit list, right beneath Potter. If he even deigned to kill them himself. More likely, he'd have somebody else do it. Probably even Bellatrix herself, and Draco knew firsthand how twisted that woman could be. Family blood wouldn't mean a thing to her, not compared to Voldemort's orders. She'd have no more hesitation with him than she did with the mudblood, in the very drawing room of this house.

He winced, standing. "I have to go."

"Draco, please." His mother's eyes were wide. "Don't distance yourself from us. We need each other, now more than ever. If anything were to happen…"

"You know where I am," he said.

It suddenly seemed stupid and foolish to ask about a new family home. What was brick and mortar, next to what they were now facing? All the worldly matters that had been plaguing him suddenly seemed so minute, so trivial. His mind was reeling and his emotions keeling over. He felt lost and unstable, like he'd been trapped in the vanishing cabinet or lost his way mid-apparition. There was only one thing he wanted in this moment. Only one thing that could anchor him to this very earth, and calm the hysteria threatening to take him over.

Astoria answered the door with just one knock.

Malfoy took her face in his hands and kissed her like he never had before. He didn't give a fuck who else was in the home — Daphne, Wood, Weasley, it didn't matter one bit anymore. He'd happily send them all packing, but the house stayed silent as he closed the door and pressed her against the wall.

"Draco," she murmured against his lips.

"No," he said, his eyes soaking in every inch of her face. "Don't talk. Don't think."

Her lips stayed plump and soft against his own as his tongue entered, pausing only to bite her lower lip. He didn't want to take the stairs, to fumble and break contact. With his arms still wrapped around her waist, pressing her firmly against him, and still kissing her as though his life depended on it, Draco turned on the spot and apparated them to her bedroom.

He pushed her back onto the bed, kneeling between her legs. She was wearing only a pair of satin shorts and a matching robe, which he pulled from her, revealing a lace bralette. His breath hitched as he took her in, every perfect curve and dip.


"Fair's only fair, right?" I breathed, unbuttoning Draco's shirt.

He could have been carved from marble, lean and veering on the skinny side with ribs starting to show. I frowned, but didn't have much time to contemplate the matter further, as his lips found mine again with no less intensity than before.

Everything about him intoxicated me. I knew I should pull away, should wrap myself in my robe again, and demand we have an honest conversation about all this. But it just felt so good to have him in my arms, to have him kissing my neck, and I couldn't help the soft moans that escaped.

"You're fucking beautiful," he whispered, his fingers slowly tugging at the waistband of my shorts.

Every graze of his fingertips sent shivers down my spine, pooling below my abdomen. He pulled the shorts smoothly down my legs and then tugged them free, and I became self-conscious once more. It was hard being so vulnerable in front of Draco. Emotionally, I had been hurt each time I dared.

"Is this okay?" he asked, noticing the change.

"Yes," I said truthfully, pulling him in for another deep kiss.

As his tongue brushed mine, my need grew, and I fumbled at his waistband until I pulled him free. He checked I was ready with a finger, and my body responded with a resounding yes.

When he entered me, I felt it in every cell of my being, and all I could do was gasp. He was thick and hard, but gentle, brushing his thumb across my cheek as he moved slowly. I wanted to tell him that I needed him in my life, that I adored everything from the pale hair stuck to his forehead to his feet brushing against mine, that I loved his mind as much as the way he kissed. But all I could do was whimper against him, biting softly beneath his jawline and getting high on the way he moaned each time. And when he finally pounded me into nirvana, I sent a silent vow that nothing could keep us apart again. Because this was the only thing in the world that quieted my mind or made sense.