Chapter 4
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It all went very fast, though Astoria hadn't really expected anything different. She knew she had been courted for a reason, knew it was probably because of Michael and was ever careful for it.
Still, it was a little shocking to find herself in her new suite of rooms in a white gown, blinking at herself in the mirror and the heavy ring that weighed on her hand. She was a Malfoy now.
She was a Malfoy now.
Less than two weeks after Draco had shown up at her uncle's estate, Astoria was married to him. It was more startling for the fact that she had only seen him once between the initial meeting and when she'd been brought to him for the magical binding ceremony.
It was nothing as she'd dreamed as a girl.
Once upon a time before Voldemort had ruined everything, she'd had a family, one that loved each other. When she'd been a young girl, she and Michael's mother, her mother, had planned out her wedding to the last detail. It would have happened out of doors in the late summer, a stringed quartet filling the air. There would have been floating candles overhead as she and her husband shared their first dance. Her Papa would have given her away, and Michael would have played his guitar. Her Mother would have soothed all her fears and held her hand, dabbed her eyes just before it was time.
That had been once upon a time.
The reality had afforded the luxury of choosing her own gown, but instead of Lilian assuring her that the world would be right, that the man to take her hand would love her and care for her, and if not, she and her Papa would take care of him, it was Daphne's icy, assessing gaze and impersonal touch flicking at a loose curl. Instead of her Papa's warm hand and laughing eyes giving her away, it had been his elder brother, all too quick to get rid of her however best benefited himself.
No, it had been nothing like what she'd dreamed of as a girl.
She wondered if Draco had seen himself the pawn of a mad man, if it had been his dream to be married with the Dark Lord looming as the ancient magic was wrought to bind them 'til death. It was the way a true binding was done and Astoria wasn't fool enough to think it wouldn't be her death that came first. It wasn't a matter of if, but when.
She sighed. She had only traded one prison for another. Draco didn't strike her as a man who would assault her for making him angry, though, which was something. Still, is this what he wanted? Did she even really care? She must to an extent, if only because he was her husband and her keeper, though one that was just another extension of the Dark Lord's icy reach into her life.
Movement caught her eye and her distant gaze lifted. In the vanity's mirror she could see Draco leaning against the frame in the doorway. Despite that she knew these were the rooms they would share, it still made her skin prickle in wariness to have him in her space, by themselves, watching her like he was.
"Are you in need of something, Master Malfoy?" she asked, features calm but for the emotion swirling in her eyes, something she'd never been able to hide.
"Draco." He didn't move from his lean in the doorway. "It is my first name. You should use it," he said, mercury eyes watching her carefully, assessing and weighing.
She had the manners all of them had been bred to, and if not for her devout attachment to her half-blood brother, Astoria would have been highly sought for marriage; pretty, unobtrusive and pure. It was what most of his peers aspired to in a wife, what was desired for the bearer of the heirs of the nobility.
It was the opposite of what he sought for in a woman. Ginny was pretty and pure, but she would never be unobtrusive. She was fire embodied; when in a room, she drew everyone's eyes. She felt everything with the whole of her being, or did everything with the whole of her being, in any case. Draco sometimes wished he knew more of what thoughts passed behind her light brown eyes, but she was ever an enigma and he'd be fool to think he had figured her out.
Astoria, however, was easy enough to place. She was the daughter of the youngest in a noble line, and her brother was a suspected criminal in this new world. The loyal attachment she held for the half-blood – something which a part of him noted and appreciated - and her refusal to renounce his name had brought her here. A sacrificial lamb to his machinations for the Dark Lord.
Again, his mother's voice sounded in his mind, but he pushed it away.
"We are married," he added when she didn't say anything. "You may call me by my given name, Astoria."
It was truly the first time her own name had fallen from his lips and Astoria wasn't entirely sure she was comfortable with the familiarity. He hadn't earned it, hadn't earned anything. She knew better than to indulge in her pique, however; this world didn't allow for such luxuries.
Her face barely moved, but Draco still saw her dark eyes spark and his own focus narrowed. She wasn't quite meek, this woman he'd been bid to marry. Observing her face reflected in the mirror, Draco found that he couldn't quite read the dark pools of her eyes now; they were expressive, but with so many things one could not be pricked from the rest – not without provocation, at least.
"Draco then," she tried, the name unfamiliar to her tongue. She'd known of him in school, of course, several years her senior, but had not been wont to socialize with him or with his circle.
When she didn't say anything else, Draco pushed off the frame of the door and moved further into the room. Focused as he was on this woman - his wife now - he did not miss the slight tensing in her back, the spark of something in her eyes. She was watching him approach in the vanity mirror, had never turned around to face him properly in the first place, but as he came near, his eyes narrowed slightly.
Bending over her, he was aware that she was uncomfortable with his proximity, but he lifted his hand to brush her skin.
Astoria held still, breath caught. She knew they were married, knew she would be expected to fulfill her duties as wife - even if she was half sure she wasn't going to live long enough to truly see them through - but she'd not expected him to come for her this night. Why, she wasn't sure. Why wouldn't any of them claim what they'd won unfairly?
"Who did this to you?" Draco's brow was furrowed as his fingers brushed lightly just at the height of her cheek, around the curve of her eye.
As focused as she'd been on him, of his presence weighing over her, the light touch, and the expectations she'd not let herself think on prior, Astoria was a caught unaware by the odd question.
Her dark eyes flew to her reflection and her lips parted. "It's nothing," she murmured.
He'd not been sure, but her reaction confirmed it. His sureness in what he'd caught a glimpse of counteracted the presumption of the disillusionment charm and what was underneath became more clear for his knowledge of it. A fading bruise.
Draco couldn't say he was entirely surprised, though at the same time, he couldn't say he had been expecting it. Pansy's father had been anything but gentle with her, but she'd fought back. Ruthlessly. Astoria might have more bite than he thought at first glance, but she was a delicate blossom.
There was no reason to beat anything out of her. "Your uncle?"
"It's nothing," she insisted. Astoria had foregone renewing the cosmetic charm for she hadn't expected to see anyone so soon. There was no use covering it up now, however, and her chin tipped up slightly, defiantly. She'd lost much, and her uncle had literally tried to beat more out of her, or to just plain punish her for perceived slights and disrespect, but she had her pride yet.
Draco literally watched something slide through her, something sizzlingly warm. Just a peek as her back straightened, her chin tipped, her dark eyes met his defiantly in the mirror as her skin heated beneath his light touch. Perhaps her uncle had found reasons then; he'd watched his aunt, others, and the Dark Lord beat upon strength like she was showing now until there was nothing left. A game. A challenge.
There'd been a particular reason he had been called upon to marry her and seduce her in other ways, and it was quickly becoming clear why.
Her uncle had obviously tried the back of his hand. Torture and other, darker things would be next if he failed in the subtler arts, and regardless, if the Dark Lord got what he sought, she would be dead for the proof of affiliation, aiding and abetting.
He brushed his fingers over the old bruise, the yellows and greens out of place on her china doll features with sparking dark eyes. "You're fortunate nothing broke."
Though if his aunt had her way, this tiny little woman would break in many, many ways. He'd known this, but for the first time, really and truly faced with her as a person more than a meek and obedient mouse, Draco found himself conflicted. It was terrible that it hadn't occurred to him before, he knew - Narcissa would be disappointed - but he'd only ever considered his own survival for so long that truly caring what happened to others was often a luxury.
"He was free with his 'lessons', but it would never do to ruin the goods permanently, especially where such fence-sitting eyes might see." It was ever her downfall, the way she wasn't quite able to hide her emotions in her eyes, and they were warm and angry as she met Draco's in the mirror. The more he dwelt on the fading bruise, the more irritated and agitated she became about how she'd obtained it. "I'm sure you've been told I have friends in many places, that many of them have a certain amount of wealth and power. Perhaps that many look to me for reassurance, for my papa was always neutral and kind, and should his daughter be well in this new order, perhaps they might find themselves well too."
Astoria's chin tipped away from his touch then, and the anger at everything – the way she'd been treated, the death of her family, her brother hunted, her own state since everything of any importance had been stripped away – weighed on her and brought her frustration and seething distress to the surface.
"I am not unaware of the precariousness of my life, husband," she nearly spat. If not for her rearing, it would have been vulgar, but she was ever poised. "The annals will say my father and mother were casualties of war, but no battle came to our warded estate. My family was murdered, my brother is hunted and I can only imagine the reasons I have been spared. Politics, to be sure. My uncle was always more than passingly interested if I had ever heard word form Michael as well. You have seen how my denials of contact have displeased him."
She could not stop the choke of tears in the back of her throat. Astoria hadn't ever been good at dissembling, not completely. She could hide for a time, under the radar only, however. If anyone chose to study her, or cared to provoke something from her, she'd never been able to stop the play of emotions on her face, in her voice and manner.
"Yes, Draco," she said, eyes hot and angry behind the tears welling. "I am quite lucky nothing broke. Thank you ever so much for your concern."
Whatever he might have been expecting, the spill of words, the emotions heating the air and prickling across his skin was not it. Unlike the tears gleaming in her eyes, the angry glare she was aiming at him in the mirror and the sting of her feelings perfuming the space they both occupied, Draco's surprise did not show in his face nor any other aspect of his manner and bearing. He'd not been in the Dark Lord's court the last several years for losing himself when faced with something that astonished or disgusted him.
There was nothing he could say. Nothing that would be truth, or even a convincing lie. She was right, and it'd been so long since he'd heard such brazen truth that he was somewhat disarmed by it.
She reminded him of his mother.
Bold, bright, proud. How had he ever mistaken her for meek?
Such thoughts were pushed away, however. He was increasingly chafing at what this assignment entailed, but now was not the time to examine or pick at it.
"You're welcome, wife," he finally said, and despite himself, something close to her own sharpness slipped into his tones.
This was even more shocking to him, even moreso than a glimpse of the woman she truly was; he'd not indulged in his own temper in longer than he could remember. Not even with Ginny. But what was there truly to be angry at with Ginny? She'd just ignored him at first, then bit at him with words - how he was a fool, proud, blind and weak. Nevertheless, she'd still come alive under his body, had reached for him with greedy hands.
Perhaps it was that Ginny attacked his person. A straightforward game with no pretenses. Yet, here with Astoria and her bold words, there were layers of meaning, things she was not saying, things she had said to throw red herrings to and fro. He could see everything she said was true, and yet he could feel her misleading, mocking, lacing every word with something more than its initial meaning.
She was Slytherin, daughter of an old family, noble and proud.
He wanted to shake her until she just said what she meant, and he had the most ridiculous urge to glare sullenly at her.
"Perhaps you will let me recast your charm so that I might escort you down to the ball thrown in our honor," he said then, not really a question as he shifted slightly to her side and slid his fingers beneath her chin, forced her to look up at him. The tears in her eyes were dried now, gone, but the heat of her anger lingered and he could feel the warmth of it in her skin beneath his hand.
"Will you dance and smile?" he asked archly, wand in hand as he met her sparking gaze with his own. "Will you pretend, or could you? Perhaps you will demure and hide your acerbic tongue," he pondered aloud, thumb brushing over her bottom lip, the gatekeeper of her biting words. It pleased him in a contrary way that her glare darkened at the stolen touch. "Or," he said, something akin to her own darkness creeping into his mercury gaze, "perhaps I shall provoke you into a temper for all to see, hmm?"
Draco flicked his wand then, murmured the spell that had her bruise disappearing. Only flawless moonlight skin remained and after thoroughly examining his handiwork several moments, Draco shifted his gaze back to hers. "It did not take so long before your hand was revealed, Astoria." He released her chin, stepped back. "Though you've yet to play your ace."
"And you have yet to discern anything of great importance." She sniffed then and held her hand up, the gesture genteel and beautiful despite the surliness in the act. "Escort me to our wedding reception, and do refrain from stepping on the hem of my gown when we dance. I rather this one."
He had the most ridiculous urge to smile and out of everything, that nearly made him lose his composure completely.
Instead, he bowed and took her tiny hand in his, tucked it into his arm and led her out the door and to the grand staircase where they would be announced to their guests. He did not look at her, but his voice was even when he said, "I rather like that gown as well. I shall endeavor to heed all my training and leave it be."
Astoria had composed herself again, shields in place as they headed towards the viper's pit, but the surprising comment had her eyes darting up to him. Before she could say anything, however, they were announced.
Damn him, but he'd planned it that way. She wasn't sure about the twitch she could have sworn she saw at the corner of his mouth though. Likely a trick of the light, but there was no time to linger, not now.
There was genteel applause as he led her down the stairs, and it was more than a little unreal to hear her name echoing in her new home.
Master and Mistress Malfoy.