The atmosphere inside the Chelsea flat Astoria and her sister Daphne shared could seldom be described as warm or cozy, but this morning the slushy grey snowfall looked positively inviting in comparison. Daphne had woken Astoria up to let her know their mother wanted to speak to her over the Floo, and to be quick, and since then had not spoken a single word to her.
Astoria didn't have the energy to care about Daphne's frigid silence now, though. The conversation with her mother had taken far too much out of her. She had made Astoria aware in no uncertain terms that she disapproved at every level - in Astoria's timing, her manner of announcement (she felt the Prophet was a gauche choice), and above all her choice of partner. Since her mother refused to say Draco Malfoy's name, a stranger eavesdropping on their Floo conversation would have been forgiven for thinking Astoria planned to marry a pirate king with a vast harem who picked his teeth at dinner.
"He's not like that, Mamma! That's just what they print in the Prophet. He's been very good to me. You haven't even met him!"
"I've seen enough of him to know I don't find him to be a suitable husband for my daughter! I need to go talk with your father now, and answer the piles of owls that have come in. We'll be speaking about this."
The fire died and Astoria buried her head in her hands. Behind her, Daphne, who had been pretending to read the paper while their mother berated Astoria, gave a tiny, satisfied sigh, retiring to the bedroom to finish dressing.
After making Draco aware of the firecracker she had just dropped in his lap, she sat down at the table, smiling in thanks as the hired elf Rorie laid out some breakfast for her. Daphne, returning to the room in a subtly embroidered set of purple robes, settled down with a cup of tea.
"My congratulations," she murmured ironically, retrieving the Arts and Entertainment section from the neat stack of papers.
Astoria's relationship with Draco was the sorest point in her already deeply strained relationship with her sister. Daphne had always detested Draco, who had subjected her to several highly juvenile and embarrassing gags when they were at school, but the reputation he had gained after finishing Hogwarts as both a Death Eater and the black sheep of their well-tarred social circle had made him fully a persona non grata to her. To add to that, she was a close friend of Pansy Parkinson, who had dated Draco for years and whom he had cast aside for Astoria.
At first Daphne has registered her disapproval in her usual way - pointed silences, raised eyebrows, and sidelong remarks. When Astoria began to be seen out with him - when the papers and Daphne's friends took notice and began to gossip - she escalated. That Astoria was endangering her own reputation was one matter; that she was associating with someone from whom Daphne had pointedly disassociated, that people were beginning to whisper when Daphne entered the room, merely because of Astoria's relationship, was entirely another.
She would insist on arriving separately at parties; purposely stood across the room from her and made small cutting remarks when they did happen to cross paths. Daphne considered herself much too prudent to share in any of the gossip that was circulated, but her pointed shunning of Astoria told a story on its own.
"Oh, what does it matter," she had sighed when Astoria had asked her opinion of a hat while they were shopping with friends. "No one will notice what you're wearing in the company you'll be seen with."
The last straw had been Friday night. Astoria has been out at an art opening in SoHo with her friends Richard and Wesley, and as often happened, had gotten into an argument with Richard, overindulged in champagne and been brought home by Wesley.
"Don't ask," she had told Daphne as soon as she crossed the landing, throwing down her tiny bag onto the settee. Her sister had been curled up on the armchair with a book - waiting to go to bed until Astoria returned home, she thought sourly, because Daphne couldn't pass up the chance to look down her nose at her younger sister.
"I don't need to," Daphne had said, surveying her dispassionately. "It's the same story, night after night. Although you look even more of a disgrace than usual."
Perhaps Astoria had not looked her best self at that moment. One of her heels had broken, her dress had come unzipped down her side, and there were black trails of mascara down her cheeks.
"I'm not interested in your opinion," Astoria snapped.
"Are you interested in anyone's at this point, I wonder? You certainly don't act like it. Parties every night, being escorted home by different men -"
"Wesley is gay and you know that perfectly well."
"I don't pay that much attention to your comings and goings, Astoria. Would that no one else did, either - you might not have quite the reputation you have."
"You're being nasty because you were stuck at home while I was out having fun." Astoria threw off her heels, wincing as her ankle came free from one of the cutting straps. Underneath, her heels and toenails were blackened from the grime of the city streets.
"Oh, yes - what a lot of fun you're having! If only I could have been at your vapid little art opening, getting drunk and acting out, making a spectacle of myself with your degenerate friends. You simply must invite me next time."
"No one wants you there," Astoria spat at her. "You think you're spurning them, like you're making some kind of statement. But no one would have invited you even if you wanted to go."
"Of course they wouldn't," Daphne said, arching her eyebrow. "They recognize I'm not their kind."
"They recognize that you're an utter bore."
"Forgive me for not being as entertaining as you are," Daphne said, her voice growing silkier and more dangerous. "If only I were willing to embarrass myself, then people might want me to come to their parties so they could talk about me after I've gone."
Astoria had turned and was heading into her bedroom, realizing that the argument had gone too far and would only get worse.
"But what does it matter for you, really? You're already ruined."
There could only be one thing Daphne was referring to. They had never discussed the incident at the Goyles' wedding six months ago, when Astoria had been found with Draco Malfoy half-undressed in the vestry, but it had loomed large between them.
"You may as well have your fun while you can," Daphne went on, her pale face unusually flushed. "I'm afraid there won't be much else for you. No one could possibly take you seriously now. It's a bit sad, really, seeing you parade around with Draco Malfoy. He might be the best you can do right now, but he can still do far better, and I assure you he knows that."
"Does he?" Astoria bit out. "We were both in that vestry together. If I'm sunk, then so is he."
Daphne laughed, regarding her younger sister with her milky blue eyes. "Oh, Astoria," she sighed. "He was being wild. You were being foolish. Can't you see the difference? Mother and father certainly can. They think it would be very good for you to go abroad for a while."
"Mother said that because she wanted me to work at the magazine in New York with Aunt Sarah," Astoria snapped. Daphne rolled her eyes.
"Of course she told you that," she sneered. "But really she doesn't see a future here for you right now. It's rather hard for any of us to."
As Astoria turned to go into her room, she added, "I'm so pleased you had a fun night."
And so Astoria had dashed off the announcement to the Prophet, flung herself into her bed, and cried herself to sleep.
As Rorie cleared the breakfast things, she could feel Daphne's eyes on her. Whatever Daphne might feel about Draco's suitability or Astoria's reputation, Astoria knew that her meanness came from a hateful jealousy. Since Astoria had come of age and begun to smarten herself up, Daphne may as well have been wallpaper for all the attention men paid her when she was out with Astoria.
The resentment had built up over the years and grown into something poisonous, a bubbling cauldron of bitterness. Daphne might reassure herself however she liked with polishing her sterling reputation, but the nights were long and virtue was a cold comfort.