Title: Dance with the Devil
Author Name: Shy Unicorn
Rating:M
Genre: Romance/Friendship
Main Character(s): Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy
Ship(s): Astoria/Draco, Lucius/Narcissa, Narcissa/OC, Lucius/OC
Summary: Four years after Voldemort is vanquished Astoria Greengrass starts working for 'Witch Weekly' magazine as a feature writer. Her very first job is to interview Draco Malfoy who has just made his first million galleons without the aid of his rich parents. What happens when they meet?
Author's Note (A/N):Things are starting to get murkier and murkier for Astoria. What else did you expect from me?
Dance with the Devil
Chapter Four: Pansy's Warning
I was keen to get to work on Monday morning. I'd spent the previous night puzzling over the events section of the magazine. It was seriously neglected and I had some ideas about how it could be improved. Bernice had encouraged me to find opportunities to write and I thought this was a simple one that I could easily fix.
"It certainly has been neglected," Bernice agreed, when I pitched her my idea over our morning cup of tea.
"I was thinking that we could re-brand it as 'High Lives/Low Lives.' The magazine covers a lot of high culture stuff like ballet, opera and exclusive parties but not many gigs or out of the way restaurants where most of the readership actually spends time."
"I see your point, but the magazine is aspirational. That's why we cover what we do and it sells copies just fine."
"I know and that's why I'd keep covering the high end stuff," I placate, but continue to push my idea. "I just wondered how many Hogwarts aged girls subscribe to the magazine these days or young professionals? I mean, if we're looking at an aging readership then maybe the events section is a small way to get new readers."
Bernice purses her lips and looks down at my sketch of how the page would look if we re-vamped it. She absently twiddles her quill as she mulls over my proposal.
"I'm not sure, Astoria," she says at last.
Bernice looks at me over the top of her glasses and my disappointment is obvious to her because she gives me a sympathetic smile. She shuffles her papers and says in a gentle tone, "I admire your enthusiasm. How about you do a mock up for me this week? Talk to Raj, our printer about the page design, cover some events for me. Give me a real taste of what you'd like to do and we can talk about it again next week."
"Thanks. I'll do that," I say grinning appreciatively.
"You know, Pansy is helping with the private viewing Madam Malkin is having tonight. She might like an extra pair of hands if you'd be interested in putting in some extra time?"
"That sounds perfect," I say at once without thinking things through at all.
"Brill. Now, let's get down to business. How are your features coming along?"
I take a breath and pull out my drafts for her to look over.
The morning slowly gets into motion. After the morning meeting I settle down to work. I write a list of things I have to get done in order of importance. My desk crowds up with old volumes of Witch Weekly, resource books, letters, amended drafts of my work and empty cups of tea.
I like the background noise of my colleagues. The scratching of quills, the chatter, the sound of the radio, the jokes and surprises – a delivery of sample beauty products from Selwyn's Salves causes much oohing and ahhing. Mostly I'm bent over my parchment working hard with ink and quill, maneuvering words into position.
At lunchtime Pansy comes past my desk, heading out to pick up something to eat and I stop her to ask about helping out tonight.
"I suppose it wouldn't be a huge inconvenience," she says somewhat grudgingly. "Do you even know what's happening?"
"Bernice told me it's some kind of fashion thing."
"Fashion thing!?" Pansy shrieks looking deeply offended. "Come with me. If you're going to come tonight I'm going to need to educate you and I really don't have the time."
She sticks her snub nose in the air and walks purposefully towards the doors. I have to leap up in order to follow her.
"Tonight's viewing is for fashion's most important people," Pansy tells me sternly as we make our way out to Diagon Alley. "Every September and March all the robes designers hold parties showcasing their newest patterns and designs. It's a very big deal. Ottoline Higgs goes to the parties and she decides what the tone will be for the entire fashion calendar."
"Ottoline Higgs is going to be there tonight?" A thrill of terror goes through me.
"Yes, she is," Pansy snaps. "So you'll wear the most fashionable dress robes you own and you'll be at Madam Malkin's shop at 6.30 sharp. Fabiola will be there helping the caterers set up. You can help her hand out gift bags on the door. I will be Ottoline's assistant. You will not speak to Ottoline or anyone there unless you are spoken to first, is that understood?"
"That's completely fine with me," I say hastily.
I don't have any plans on spending any more time with Ottoline Higgs than I have to. She gives me the creeps. If someone told me she was a vampire and ate babies for breakfast I wouldn't be surprised.
Since my first day I haven't seen her at all. She mostly writes in to the magazine several times a day. I know this because she uses pale lilac stationary with a blush pink wax seal which stands out next to the regular parchment letters we get. Apparently she comes in a couple of times a month to oversee our work but most things get ferried out to her country house by Mafalda Vane, a witch in a constant state of anxiety, who I think is Ottoline's personal assistant.
"We have an understanding then," Pansy says.
As she pushes into the café which was once Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlor her hard eyes flick over me from head to toe and she adds, "Don't you dare up-stage me, Astoria. I'm doing you a favor, remember?"
She lets the door swing shut in my face and leaves me standing outside on the pavement. I don't know if I've been insulted or given a back-handed compliment.
"Thank you, Pansy. You are so gracious," I mutter sarcastically and head back to the office.
I return to Diagon Alley at 6.30pm sharp just as Pansy demanded. I'm wearing my favorite dark purple dress robes and a dainty silver tiara because I finally have an event smart enough to justify wearing it.
Madam Malkin's shop has been completely transformed and it's breathtaking. I stand in the doorway blinking for a few moments, my mouth hanging open. The little shop has been magically extended somehow. It now looks like a beautiful, romantic grotto.
Devil's Snare, which resembles ivy, has been allowed to grow wild against one wall to provide a back-drop for a series of beautiful gowns that shine like beetles eyes. The usual racks of clothes have been moved aside to make way for a handful of magnificent silk upholstered seats artistically arranged in the center of the room. Cranberry scented candles cluster around miniature trees with bare branches. Robins flit overhead or hop from tree to tree. I smell hot apple cider and see a vat of it on the counter, steaming slightly. On small, low tables Fabiola is laying out bite-sized pumpkin and pecan pies.
"Is there anything I can help with?" I ask her.
"Oh, Astoria!" she sighs in relief. "If you could put together that last couple of gift bags that would be amazing."
I get to work filling velvet tote bags with free gifts. The stuff that's being given away for free makes me green with envy! There's water-repelling woolen mittens, jewelry by Yaxley's, perfumes, potions, chocolate from Honeyduke's and gift certificates for Madam Malkin's totaling 100 galleons. The most ridiculous thing about giving out all this expensive free stuff is the witches and wizards who are going to get it are more than capable of paying for it themselves.
To get the last couple of gift bags finished in time for the 7pm opening Fabiola comes over and helps me.
"Did you do all of this?" I ask her, looking around once more in disbelief.
"Most of it, yeah," Fabiola admits modestly. "Mafalda Vane gave me and Pansy the design plan but all the spellwork is mine."
I am deeply impressed by her spellcraft. She also looks phenomenal in bright yellow robes which contrast dramatically with her dark skin. The coolest part of her outfit is her hat. It's shaped out of cloth and is so complicatedly constructed it reminds me of origami.
"This place looks incredible and you do too," I compliment her. "Where are Pansy and that Vane woman?"
"I don't know about Pansy but Mafalda got called away to a last minute emergency. Something to do with a carriage not being gold enough."
Fabiola and I exchange significant looks. Who in their right mind complains that a carriage isn't gold enough? Who even has carriages anymore!?
At seven o'clock I get my answer as people start arriving and carriages block up the narrow cobbled street outside. Fabiola and I stand either side of the door inside the shop and hand out gift bags.
The shop/grotto begins to fill with the wealthiest collection of witches and wizards I've ever seen in one place. One wizard comes in wearing robes made entirely out of alligator skin, another with a white mink cloak and jewels the size of eggs. The witches are all crazy skinny and wear glossy pointed hats and diamonds. They look peculiarly ageless as they gossip like Hogwarts students as they crowd around Madam Malkin and her creations.
I see an ornate ebony carriage pull up outside the shop just as the rush is subsiding and watch as two people with white-blond hair step out.
My heart leaps painfully into my throat as I recognize the tall, slender figure of Draco Malfoy. He looks more chic and well-dressed than the last time I saw him – which I didn't think was possible. The woman he's with has a distinctive sheet of platinum hair, and even though she's older than she was in the photograph it's unmistakably Narcissa Malfoy.
I don't have time to get self-conscious and wonder how to act because right behind them is Ottoline Higgs, who looks flawless and merciless like a warrior queen. She's flanked by Mafalda Vane and Pansy Parkinson who couldn't possibly look any more self-satisfied if she tried.
Ottoline strides towards the shop door as if she's facing her destiny. There's an awkward moment as her and her entourage encounter the Malfoys. For the briefest of seconds Ottoline and Narcissa stare each other down to see who gets to enter first. With a vicious toothy smile Ottoline steps back a fraction and the Malfoys cross the threshold.
Narcissa's face is a mask of cold indifference as she sweeps in and collects her gift from Fabiola. Draco on the other hand casts a hateful look at the other witch and I wonder what she did to deserve his displeasure.
My curiosity is still piqued when he notices me. Recognition dashes over his angular face and I just have time to smile shyly before Ottoline Higgs blocks my view of him.
I want to say it's the icy chill from the open door that prickles my skin but I know that's only half true. Ottoline holds out her thin, claw-like hand expectantly and I rush to fill it with swag. She barely looks at me but for some reason I feel like I've been turned to stone by Medusa.
As Pansy passes me she's not gloating as much as I would have expected. I catch her looking warily at Draco Malfoy and something stirs in my memory. I can foggily recall Daphne at fourteen being jealous that Pansy had a boyfriend and she didn't. I join two and two together and figure that boy was probably Draco Malfoy.
Ottoline Higgs sits down front and center like a queen opening court. Pansy and Mafalda settle either side of her. Other guests follow their lead and take their seats. Fabiola and I hang back, slouching against the back wall where we have a good view of everyone. Apart from Higgs, the Malfoys and the famous photographer Adrian Leon Tallis I don't recognize anyone. Fabiola brings me up to speed. She seems to know everyone.
"That's Dora Yaxley, the jeweler. Then, next to her is Barnabus Blishwick, the industrialist. Herbert Fleet is Malkin's pattern designer, and with him is Tamsin Applebee she's the journeyman tailor here at Malkin's– she's really one to watch. Her shoulder and sleeve designs are amazing. Indira Choudry the famous beater…"
Fabiola goes on and on. I try to remember as many names as I possibly can but it's hard to keep track. Draco Malfoy keeps glancing in our direction, which I find very distracting.
Madam Malkin and a model in a shimmering set of robes the kaleidoscopic color of a petrol spill are the center of everyone's attention. Malkin, a squat, friendly witch approaching late middle age is animated and entertaining as she talks her captive audience through the nuances of her designs. Fabiola is attentively taking notes with a self-inking quill.
It is sort of interesting to hear the inspiration behind the collection and a little of how the clothes are made and where the materials are sourced from. I like clothes as much as the next girl but I didn't realize that so many people and industries went into one garment.
I look at the back of Draco Malfoy's sleek head and wonder if his job of coordinating potions ingredients and businesses is similar to what Malkin is describing. It sounds very time consuming trying to get everyone to come together. It also sounds like you have to be single-minded, a little controlling even. I can easily see that being true about him. He's very self-contained, even now when he's sat beside his mother.
He shifts in his seat and cranes his neck around further than before. He catches my eye. He doesn't acknowledge me in any way but I know that he was looking for me. He thinks I can't see the secretive smile that quirks his mouth when he's facing forward again, but from this angle I see it perfectly.
The fact that he was just checking around for me makes my heart bob like a cork with renewed hope. Of what, I'm not exactly sure. I think it proves that my interview with him wasn't a total disaster though it definitely wasn't my finest achievement.
When Madam Malkin finishes her talk she invites everyone to eat, drink and get a closer look at all her designs. The night shifts into a kind of drinks soiree where all the guests mingle and rub wands with one another. It's like some exclusive club or fabulous clique of friends.
Fabiola leaves me under the pretence of manning the apple cider cauldron but I know it's because Tamsin Applebee, her idol, has just gone that way. I don't mind being ditched. I'd do the same thing if it was someone I was really into. The thing with being a gigantic literature nerd is most of your heroes are either fictional or dead.
I look around to see who's schmoozing who when I catch Draco Malfoy coming my way. He's holding two glasses of apple cider and looks good enough to eat. My stomach does an actual somersault in my belly. That's never happened to me over a guy before.
"Fancy seeing you here," he says smoothly, holding out one of the glasses for me to take.
Technically I'm not breaking any of Pansy's rules because he approached me, so I accept the drink and murmur, "I was about to say the same thing to you."
"I'm here accompanying my mother, what's your excuse?"
I know he's joking about me needing an excuse but he's looking at me so seriously I feel a bit like he's caught me spying on him. His eyes are so silvery-grey I'd forgotten they were so piercing.
We're standing close together and I can feel an unusual stand-offish vibe radiating from him. It's not directed at me specifically, more like the entire world telling them to keep a distance. It makes me wonder what would happen if I touched him. Would he flip out or combust or something?
"I'm working, but it's nice that you came with your mum."
"Really?"
"Yeah," I say, although I find myself hoping he's not a mummy's boy. They're always weirdos.
He looks at me intently for a long moment. I watch his intelligent eyes whisper over every feature of my face. It makes me self conscious. I wonder if I've got something on my face. I scout around for any robins that might have had a chance to crap on me.
"Look, I'm glad you're here," Draco says taking half a step closer, his honey voice melting my insides with every word. "I want to talk to you about the article."
"Didn't you like it?" I blurt, dismayed.
"I did like it," he assures me. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. I want to take you out for a proper lunch. I was going to come by the office tomorrow but as you're here now."
I look up at him trying not to gawp like an idiot. I can't believe what he's just said. Is he – is he asking me out on a date - a proper old-fashioned date?
"As long as we don't go back to the Heliotrope Hotel," I say ruefully when I manage to find my voice.
"I was thinking somewhere like Madam Puddifoot's in Hogsmeade."
I know what taking someone to Madam Puddifoot's meant back at Hogwarts but I'm not sure it means the same thing once you graduate. I look at him for clues of his intent but he's looking at me again in that way of his that makes me self-conscious.
My mouth is bone dry and my voice has deserted me so I have to nod my consent.
"How's micro-financing?" I ask after digging in my brain for something to say.
"It's going extraordinarily well, thanks. How's the novel?"
"A little neglected. I don't think its feelings are too badly hurt though," I joke, deeply pleased that he's remembered my throwaway comment about my writing.
"You never did tell me what it's about."
He takes a sip of his drink, all the while keeping his eyes trained on me. The effect is mesmerizing.
"Do you - err - read much fiction?" I falter.
"Doesn't everyone with half a brain? If you have any good recommendations I'd be happy to hear them - unless they're sappy romance novels. I once had a girlfriend who didn't read anything else, but I don't think she had two brain cells to rub together."
I choke out an unexpected laugh. I can't believe he's just been so casually cruel!
Before I can stop myself I inadvertently scan the room for Pansy, even though I'm not sure he's talking about her.
"I prefer white-knuckle-bawl-your-eyes-out drama, the kind that makes you see the world differently," I assure Draco.
"And that's the sort of thing you're writing?"
"I'm trying to," I say, thinking of the mountain of work I have to do for the magazine and how I've ended up at this event rather than holed up in my bedroom writing.
There's a momentary pause and I realize we've run out of safe topics of conversation.
"Is fashion something you're interested in?" I venture.
"God no, I've been bored to tears," he crows and I laugh, amused by his candor and his audacity to admit it right here with Madam Malkin just feet away!
"Why are you here then?" I ask him, still open mouthed and smiling.
For a beat he seems disarmed by my smile. I realize that we've been chatting for a while now and I've actually been enjoying his company. I think he has a similar thought, so I'm a bit put-out when he seems to shut down on me.
"My mother… and self-flagellation."
There's a hint of some dark turbulent emotion underscoring his words and I can't bring myself to believe he's joking or being dramatic just for the sake of it.
"Why would you do that?"
He looks away and becomes evasive. I notice he rubs at the back his hand before slipping it into the pocket of his robes.
"How did you get stuck here?" he deflects.
"I wanted more opportunities to write," I say uncertainly, trying to work out where the conversation went amiss.
"Draco? Who is this?" a cold, clear voice asks.
Draco and I turn in unison.
Narcissa Malfoy is giving Draco a look that I can't fathom. She has this spectacular haughty beauty, the kind that demands to be worshipped and makes you question your entire existence just by being in its presence. She too gives off that quiet, cold energy that makes me keep my distance.
"Astoria, meet my mother, Narcissa Malfoy. Mother, this is Astoria Greengrass," Draco says stiffly, formally introducing us.
"Pleased to meet you," I say politely.
It's incredibly strange seeing her in person after all these years of knowing her from one picture. She's much more angular in person. Her nose is sharp and primly pointed in a way that's reminiscent of Draco's. When we shake hands she's glacially cold and the fine bones of her fingers feel as delicate as bird bones in my palm.
"Greengrass?" she muses and I notice her thaw a little. I catch the look in her eye and I know from that look and her tone she knows I'm a pureblood.
"You're the girl that interviewed Draco for Witch Weekly," she says shrewdly.
"That's right."
"It was very brief," Narcissa says accusingly, then adds, "but I appreciated that it wasn't florid. I do so hate it when interviewers ramble on and can't come to the point."
"I agree," I say and look to Draco for some kind of reassurance.
"How's your mother? Is she still doing research into brain abnormalities?" Narcissa persists.
"Yes, yes she is," I say rather stunned that she knows who my mum is and what she does.
"Good," she says faintly.
She looks at me objectively, like I'm one of the gowns on display. I can see her making all kinds of assumptions about me, filing them away into her neatly compartmentalized mind.
"Mother, Astoria's working," Draco says quietly, touching her arm gently. "We shouldn't distract her any longer. What was it you wanted me for?"
"I wondered if you and Barny Blishwick had spoken yet," Narcissa says, tearing her eyes away from me. "I thought the two of you would have a lot to say to one another."
The moment she's stopped looking at me I feel as if I stop existing, like I become as transparent as a ghost.
Draco gives me a lingering look as he leads Narcissa away. I watch mother and son part the crowd and puzzle over the kind of relationship they must have. After all these years of liking Narcissa Malfoy from afar I don't quite know how to feel now I've actually met her in person.
"I couldn't help noticing you and Draco had quite a lot to say to each other," Pansy Parkinson says territorially while sidling up to me.
"I interviewed him for the magazine last week," I say quickly, feeling like I have to justify myself to her to avoid some kind of conflict. "We were just talking about that."
Pansy sees straight through my half-truth and I wonder why I even bothered. She scowls at the Malfoys and pulls me away into a shadowed alcove. I can't help but notice her expression was tinged with something a lot like fear.
"I wouldn't tell just anyone this but I like you Astoria."
I'm surprised by this confession and heavily dubious about what she's going to say next.
"I want to give you a warning about Draco Malfoy, from one witch to another."
My eyes skid over her face. Is she serious? She certainly seems to be. Does she still hold a flame for him? Is she jealous of me? Is she going to hurt me? Why is she bothering to pull me aside? I don't understand her motive. I know she doesn't really like me. I can't dislodge the look of fear that laced her just a moment before.
"He's dangerous and he's trouble," she hisses and I can tell she's deadly serious. "He's not some damaged little boy that needs rescuing. He's seriously fucked up. I used to be his girlfriend, so I know."
"Messed up how?" I ask, frowning slightly. "I don't understand why you're telling me this. We were only talking."
"No you weren't. Or at least he wasn't," she says sharply. She's not making any sense to me. "I can't say any more than that, Astoria. You just have to trust me."
Pansy casts about nervously, checking that neither Draco nor Narcissa are looking our way. I don't get why she's so paranoid. I don't understand her need for secrecy or whatever's going on. My confusion shows on my face because Pansy gives me a hard, honest look and says emphatically:
"Stay away from Draco Malfoy."