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): Hi guys, here's the new chapter as promised. I hope you enjoy it!

Dance with the Devil

Chapter Six: A Perfect Day

At 11am on Saturday morning I'm sat at the rickety dining room table with its mismatched chairs nursing a cup of tea and a quasi-hangover. I'm in my dressing gown and I trying not to look at the kitchen which looks like a bomb has exploded in there. A very delicious bomb, I should add, because there's cake batter, chocolate sprinkles and icing sugar everywhere.

"Holy cupcakes, Barny!" Xenia grumbles when she pads into the room and sees the mess we created last night.

"My thoughts exactly," I concur. "You want tea? I just made a pot."

Xenia makes a grateful sound in the back of her throat and flops down opposite me. She scrubs her face and blinks hard a couple times. There's make-up smeared across her face and her eyes are blood-shot and tired. That makes two of us.

I summon a cup from the wreckage of the kitchen and fill it for her.

As I pass it to her she holds up a plate of cookies, "Snickerdoodle?"

"Please, no! I don't think I've digested the Battenburg cake I ate last night," I sob, only half in jest. "I don't think I slept so much as fell into a diabetic coma."

Xenia laughs and together we take stock of the obscene amount of baked goods on the table in front of us. There's a mountain of cupcakes, two heaping platters of cookies and several Bakewell Tarts. The Batternburg cake is completely gone, only a few yellow and pink crumbs remain on a plate to attest its existence.

"I guess we baked all your feelings last night," Xenia deadpans.

I think she's right. I'm feeling pretty good this morning.

I didn't walk away from my lunch with Draco completely unscathed. I had a pity party for the rest of the week. It wasn't about Draco per se or my decision not to sign the Secrecy Agreement. It was more about things never being straightforward in my life. I was angry and sad about the Zach situation, and then the Draco debacle happened. I was also mad at myself for somehow being unable to get into a relationship with a boy. Other girls seem to manage just fine.

A sharp, demanding knock on the front door has me and Xenia looking at each other in surprise. Xenia slides out of her seat and goes to answer the door in her pajama shorts and over-sized t-shirt.

"Oh, hello. Is Astoria in?"

I recognize that honey drawl in an instant.

"Uh, yeah," Xenia says awkwardly.

My blood runs cold and I look down at myself in horror. I'm wearing my blue towel bath robe and my hair is scraped back in a messy ponytail. I don't have time to dive into my bedroom to hide.

Draco Malfoy appears and he looks squeaky clean and starched to perfection amid the chaos of our apartment. He's wearing neat black robes and shiny black dragon-hide shoes. His blond hair is parted on the side, his parting ruler straight. His grey eyes travel slowly over the scene before settling on me. I want the ground to swallow me up.

"Hi, I err hope I'm not intruding on anything," he says and has the decency to look embarrassed for me. "I waited until I thought you'd be up."

Xenia, who's been hovering behind him, sneaks forward and snatches up her cup of tea. She points to her room in an exaggerated way and tip-toes in that direction leaving me alone with Draco. I don't know whether to be grateful or whether to summon her back.

"Do you want tea?" I ask hesitantly, not knowing what else to do.

"Uh, sure," Draco says and cautiously lowers himself into Xenia's vacated seat.

I doubt he's ever been anywhere as messy as this in his life. We are certainly not at The Heliotrope Hotel now.

As I pour him tea I can't help but notice his eyes flitting around the room like two birds brought in by a cat.

We don't have much furniture yet and what we do have is all second hand and jumbled. The sofa in the corner has a hideous floral pattern and is covered in cat hair from Pace's cat, Gaston, who sheds everywhere. My old Hogwarts trunk is doubling as a coffee table. In lieu of artwork we've propped up our favorite vinyl record sleeves along the picture rail that encircles the open-plan, all-purpose living area. The low bookcase showcases an array of books from baking to necromancy as well as Xenia's good-luck ceramic frog (a moving-out gift from one of her brothers) and a biscuit tin the shape of a wireless box.

"All we need now is the Diagon Alley street sign and a muggle traffic cone and we'll have the stereotypical newly graduated Hogwarts décor perfected," I joke self-consciously.

"It's not so bad," Draco says mildly, his eyes trailing over the mound of baked goods. "Goyle and Nott's place was so incredibly noxious even mould refused to live there."

"We're not there yet, though you can see we're trying."

"What was the special occasion?" he waves to the kitchen and the baked goods.

"You've never gotten drunk and had a bake-off with your housemates before?" I ask in tones suggestive of this being a normal phenomenon.

"Can't say I have, but then I live alone."

"Help yourself to a cupcake or a cookie. Xenia's Snickerdoodles are very good," I say because Draco is looking at my cupcakes in a morbidly fascinated way.

They're topped with rainbow icing, chocolate sprinkles and gummy bats. They look like something a four-year-old would have made but they taste amazing. He tentatively takes one that's light on icing but heavy on gummy bats.

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon," I say frankly. "Come to think of it, how did you find out where I live?"

"I wrote to your office. They gave me your address without any fuss, which you might want to have a word with them about," he says, clearly aware that his behavior is very sneaky. "I needed to speak to you in person."

"I thought you couldn't see me again," I say satirically.

"Yes, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Draco says delicately, wiping a blob of icing from the corner of his lip. There's a little sugary halo where it's been. "Perhaps I was a little hasty."

"There are more romantic ways to ask a girl to be your girlfriend than getting her to sign legal documents," I say gently.

"I know," he says and fiddles with cupcake case, stalling for what he's going to say next.

He pulls a crumpled crisp packet out of his pocket and holds it out to me in cupped hands like it's a flower or a pygmy puff. I raise my eyebrow in question. It's an empty crisp packet.

"It's a Portkey," he explains, watching me very closely. "After you said your piece I went away and I – I want to take you to Paris if you want to go."

"You do!?" I squeal, unable to keep the excitement from my voice.

"Yes, I do. I kept thinking about it all week," he says, looking down and talking more to the crisp packet than to me. "I got up this morning and thought 'what the hell' and bought the Portkey. It's due to bring us back this evening. I didn't want to keep you from your work."

He's uncomfortably humble when he looks at me but it quickly turns to pleasure when he sees how I'm beaming at him. I am beyond delighted that he's changed his mind about not seeing me again. I'm also really touched that he respects how seriously I take my work.

I realize in this moment that I've sort of missed him in the brief few days it's been since we last met. Okay, so in that time I was trying to come to terms with never seeing him again, which probably made them seem much longer.

"When do we leave?"

He checks his watch and grimaces.

"Now," he says apologetically. "You've got about seven minutes."

I leap up and rush from the room. I hear Draco chuckle as I slam my bedroom door. It's a nice sound I just wish it wasn't at my expense.

I make it back into the living room with half a minute to spare.

I quite like taking Portkeys. The sensation is a little odd, like being harnessed internally and dragged through the air at a thousand miles an hour. The rush when you hit your destination and your brain is still doing spirals in your skull is what I like best.

Draco and I appear behind a dustbin in a narrow alleyway crowded with cars and bikes. Either side of us huge, elegant cream buildings topped with blue slate roofs stretch skyward. A gentle rain is falling and all around us the city hums.

I grin across at Draco, who is looking a little grey from traveling. He straightens up and returns my smile with an impish one of his own. He takes me by the hand and sets off running.

I quickly discover the Latin Quarter of Paris is bisected by the Boulevard St. Germain and the Boulevard St. Michel. The broad, tree-lined streets are thronged with quaint bistros and shops with different colored awnings. These two streets are the arteries running through the area, with the hundreds of crooked streets leading off them like capillaries.

Draco navigates with ease. He bobs and weaves through the muggle city dwellers and the labyrinth of streets. As he tugs me along I feel like a balloon that belongs to a happy little boy. We bend again and our feet echo on the cobbled stones as we run, laughing breathlessly. Draco only slows down when we come to a small square facing an old, yellow stone building that looks like a church.

It's very peaceful here. There's a tinkling square fountain and several muggles are sat outside a bistro, smoking cigarettes and having brunch. The delicious aroma of coffee and fresh bread is thick in the air. This part of the city feels very old and even though we're still in muggle Paris I can sense magic close by. Draco leads the way up the steps to the church's ornate black doors. He holds one open for me. I step through it expecting to find myself indoors but I don't.

I'm now standing in the corner of a vaulted arcade looking out onto a vast square enclosed by exquisite French Renaissance buildings all with long, narrow windows and tall white chimneys. In the center of the square is a gated park with square topiary trees and neat geometric lawns. Picnicking families are crowding under the trees to escape the sudden shower of rain. White gravel promenades are lined by musicians and artists and converge at a round fountain with jets of water that skip and bounce.

"This is beautiful," I gasp, as Draco comes to stand beside me.

"You don't have a cloak. You're all wet," he observes and he's right.

I hardly noticed I was having so much fun looking at everything. My thin cotton dress is sopping wet and see-through all along my shoulders.

"I'm fine," I say brightly. "Where should we go first?"

"We'll to start by getting you a cloak and then getting something hot to drink so you don't catch cold," he says firmly. "Then I want to show you the toy shop, the perfumery and we have to go to Clymence's."

All I can do is nod.

Draco takes me passed Gladrags (the only place I recognize) to another robe maker's which is much grander and chicer than anything I've ever come across. The manikin in the window is wearing a silk cape that reminds me of the Triwizard Tournament and the Beauxbatons uniform. It transports me back to being twelve years old and how those French witches seemed so exotic and grown-up to us. With a gentle hand at the base of my spine Draco urges me into the shop.

It's light and spacious and the clothes are arranged by color and style. It's empty apart from us, until a heavy curtain is pushed back and a short, slim witch comes forward. She's incredibly old and has dark grey hair but perfect posture and is wearing impeccably tailored robes. She talks at us in rapid French and I have to look askance at Draco because I don't have a clue what she's saying. He explains to her in broken French what we're looking for.

"I really don't think I can afford anything in here," I mutter to Draco while looking through the selection of cloaks we've been shown. They're all gorgeous.

"I know it costs an arm and a leg but it's high quality stuff. Have whatever you like, it can be my treat. I did drag you out here with only a moment's notice." Unlike me he's not bothering to keep his voice down.

"I couldn't do that," I say at once.

"You're going to have to, aren't you? Unless you want to wear my cloak all day?"

"It's too generous to buy me something from here!" I protest.

Draco folds his arms and gives me an unimpressed look.

"Are you going to pick something or do I have to choose?" he says.

I can see that he's made up his mind and is going to be totally stubborn about this.

"I will pay you back some day," I tell him severely.

"Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that," he mutters and waves me to get back to picking something out.

I choose a pale grey knit cloak the same color as his eyes. I do plan on paying him back. He's got to be crazily into me to pay that much for a cloak. The thought makes my heart flutter in my chest.

Once out of the clothes shop Draco keeps his promise and shows me everywhere. We get cups of coffee and hot, savory crepes from a steamy bistro packed with intellectual looking witches and wizards. We go to the famous toyshop and spend half an hour trying to find the ugliest stuffed toy (it ends up being a slightly manic looking owl). Auteuil's Perfumery is a little shop lined from floor to ceiling with thousands of bottles of unique perfumes and is run by a wizened old man in a violet top hat. The bottles are almost as interesting as what's inside them and we take our time sniffing and sneezing to find our favorites. We go to the apothecary, the book store, a shop dedicated entirely to Astronomy that I think Daphne would like a lot.

We each pay a galleon to go to the Musee de la Magie and look at the ancient magical artifacts. In rooms of marble and stone Draco shows me tribal masks from Mesopotamian wizards. Together we pour over the stone tablets of Indian Sanskrit writings on ancient magic. I point out the grand headdresses and jewelry from Russia, which Draco somehow knows all about. He tells me tales of two warring magical factions and how they employed giants to smash each other to pieces to try and gain power over the great Neva River.

Draco takes me to a dramatically painted room which houses all kinds of weapons, wands and wonders left over from the early magical settlement of Paris. There are restless stone gargoyles in glass cases, relics from lost buildings and rather weirdly Pierre Bonaccord, the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards' death mask. We laugh at how big and jowly his face was.

After hours of browsing the silent splendor of the museum Draco and I are both glad to get outside in the fresh air. We share a sleeve of macaroons and head back into muggle Paris so we can walk to Nicholas Flamel's old house. By now the rain has stopped, the sky has cleared and the sun is setting, creating pale orange and pink tapers over the city like carnival streamers.

We stand on the pavement of the deserted muggle street and look at the renowned alchemists' old house. It's a simple medieval building of dark stone with ornately carved wooden doors and window frames on the ground floor. The street is quiet and a meditative silence falls over us.

"What would you like people to say about you once you're dead?" I ask quietly, breaking a raspberry macaroon in half.

Draco takes his half and chews thoughtfully.

"I'd want to be remembered as someone who made a difference somehow," he says with conviction. "What about you?"

I look at the old Flamel house and wonder about all of the past inhabitants of the place – who were they, what made them smile, what troubles did they experience, what joys?

"I don't know. I'd like to be a published author, so people could remember me through my words. But I guess it would be enough just to be remembered by someone, don't you think? By my children, I mean, or close friends."

"That doesn't last for long. It's much easier to remember someone for what they've done than for who they were."

There's a long, thoughtful silence as we both contemplate his words.

"You're right," I say, turning that thought over in my mind like a precious stone. "I've never thought of it like that before."

The setting sun is casting a bright glare across his cheek, making his pale skin shine moon bright. His profile is strong and sharp and looking at him like that I have the overwhelming urge to kiss the tip of his pointy, pinched nose.

He looks at me and there is such a sad longing in his eyes I reach out to comfort him. I smooth my hand down his arm and take his hand in mine, cementing the gesture with a tender squeeze. I don't know what makes him so heavyhearted but I hope he can let it go one day. Simply by looking at him I know that people shouldn't ever have to carry burdens like his.

"What now?" I ask hopefully, wanting to lighten the mood.

His eyes dance over my face.

"You want to see more?" His voice is rich with pleasant surprise.

"Yes, please," I say sweetly, looking at him with big entreating eyes.

"Our Portkey is almost due to take us back to England, which is a shame because we still haven't been to Clymence's or seen any of the other things I wanted to show you," he says with exaggerated wistfulness.

"Other things?" I ask bewildered.

"Other things," he says mysteriously. "Of course, we could miss the Portkey and get another one tomorrow…"

"We could?"

"We could," he informs me mischievously, "but I thought a certain person had work that needed to be done?"

He holds both of my hands, lacing his fingers through them and it feels so good to be touching him. I hang my head, trying to hide my smile as I shuffle my feet.

I don't need to be back home just yet. There'll always be tomorrow for anything I need to do for the magazine. Plus, I really want to keep spending time with him. Coupled with there being more of Paris to see, how can I take that Portkey?

"Where to next?" I ask eagerly, looking up into his handsome face.

"Got you," he murmurs jubilantly.

Our faces are so close together standing like this, hands entwined, our smiles mirroring each other's. I can smell his candy breath and the boyish scent of his laundry soap or cologne. His lips are the same color as the raspberry macaroons we've just eaten and when he kisses me they taste just as sweet.

When the fireworks have finished popping behind my eyes I see that Draco is smiling and I stretch up on tip-toes to kiss him again. His lips are warm and soft beneath mine. When I stand back his eyes are shining.

He takes me to Clymence's which turns out to be a patisserie. It is a dessert paradise. Each cake and tart and petit-four is a miniature work of art. I order a strawberry tartlet, while Draco has a scrumptious looking tart au citron. We sit at the bar in the window and watch people go by and talk about all of the cool things we saw in the Musee de la Magie.

From there we meander through the elegant, tree-lined boulevards of Paris, arm-in-arm. It's colder and the air smells like river water and traffic fumes. We end up at the Eiffel Tower. Night has fallen so the whole metal structure is lit up with electric lights. It's brighter than anything I'm used to and hurts my eyes if I look at it for too long, which is fine because it gives me an excuse to look at Draco some more.

I've never been the romantic type but looking over at him as we're sat on the grass beneath the Eiffel Tower I feel like the happiest, wobbliest jellyfish of a girl in the whole world.

"Thank you," I whisper, laying my head dreamily on his shoulder.

"What for?"

"For this. For being you," I shrug. "I think I just had the best day of my life."

Draco tilts his head to the side and looks at me meditatively. Then he kisses me again.

As I run my hands through his sleek hair my heart pounds so hard it actually hurts, the rest of my organs have melted and turned to fudge sauce. I can feel it pooling between my legs. His tongue peeks into my mouth, hot and satiny smooth against my own. My veins feel like they've been filled with melted wax as we continue the sweet, slow exploration of each other. I could sit and kiss him forever like this.

"Come on, it's getting late," Draco says at last. "It's dangerous to be out with so many crazy muggles around."

His eyes are sleepy with lust and his mouth is pink and plump from my kisses. He has never looked sexier.

"Where are we going to go?" I ask as he helps me to my feet. "I hadn't thought about where we'd sleep earlier on."

"We'll go to a hotel I know. I always use it when I'm in town," he says easily.

As we walk I have this internal tug of war going on because I'm worried that he expects me to sleep with him – isn't that what people do when they go to hotels after mind-blowing dates and hour long kisses?

I'm in a state of heightened tension because I think I do want to sleep with him and I've never felt like that about anyone before. The problem is the first date seems too soon and I'm scared that'll make me seem like a slut and that I won't be any good but I sort of don't care because the idea of having sex with Draco is incredibly appealing right now.

With every step I psych myself out more so that when Draco touches my back, ushering me into the hotel I'm trembling like a leaf.

The place is magnificent, it's clearly the French equivalent of the Heliotrope Hotel. Everything is marble, gilt and looks like it was painted by the grand masters of European art. There are leafy plants and chairs in the lobby and because the place isn't grand enough already a huge inky piano is playing a concerto all by itself.

"Allo Monsieur Malfoy," the concierge wizard says politely. "You are back again so soon!"

"Hello, Alphonse. Two rooms please, together and on the top floor if you've got them," Draco says as casually as he did when he ordered us drinks at the bistro this morning.

I quietly let out a sigh of relief when I realize he's asked for two rooms. Clearly the level of freak out I was experiencing proves I'm not ready to lose my v-card just yet.

Draco and I take the elevator up to the seventh floor. It's now that I notice he's become quiet and distant with me, rolling up like a snail and hiding in his shell.

"What's wrong?" I ask Draco softly as we reach our bedroom doors, which are side by side just like he asked.

Draco hesitates. He looks down at his room key for a long moment.

"I really like you, which is why you should know… I'm not – I'm not a good person."

When he looks up there's clay heaviness in every line of his face. His grey eyes are wearier than ever. He hangs his head so he doesn't have to look at me for long.

"You can't take me on the most perfect date in the world and the end the night with that," I say disbelievingly. "It's not fair and it's not true."

"Astoria… you don't know anything about me."

"I do. I mean, I don't know much but I know that you like savory pancakes, your favorite -"

"That's not what I mean and you know it," he says impatiently.

"I know how you've acted towards me," I say coaxingly.

I lift his chin up. I want to be able to look him in the eyes and tell him what I think of him.

"You've been nothing but generous and understanding. Draco, no one is perfect, but you come pretty close."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what I've seen… what I've done."

He frowns at me and gives me that same intent look, like a watchful wild animal, that first thrilled and intrigued me. I look steadily back at him. The anguish in his voice frightens me but I don't want him to know that so I try to keep my face impassive.

"Tell me and let me make up my own mind. Tell me when you're ready – I don't want to pressure you," I say compassionately and add, "I know it sounds lame and babyish but my mum always says it's only okay to keep happy secrets. Sad secrets need to be shared."

I give him a stern look and Draco smiles in spite of himself, which makes me smile too. I feel elated that I might have gotten him out of his spiral of self hatred or whatever that just was.

"You're the most incredible person I've ever met," he breathes, his eyes fixed on my face adoringly.

I feel like someone has filled me with hot water. I'm blushing so hard I can feel it stinging. To distract him from my red-faced embarrassment and because I've wanted to do it for the last half an hour I kiss him.

I kiss him harder than before and try to pour all of the sweet things I'm thinking about him into his head through my lips.