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Story Stats:
Chapter title -- Thought
Word Count -- 3,583
Rating: PG
What I really want to do right now -- go back to sleep

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I hope you approve! And sorry if there are any typos, it gets kind of difficult to check everything in what little time I have this month. ^.^

Thought
by Shu of the Wind

***

Astoria had never been quite so grateful for Easter break from Hogwarts. The fact that there were dozens of underage witches and wizards coming home for the holidays meant that nobody noticed her amidst the crowds, nobody realized that she was the one person the Carrows were searching for. They probably wouldn't have been able to recognize her now, anyway; she studied her reflection in the rain-streaked window, fingering her newly black hair. It had been necessary, and now, she looked completely different; even paler than before, and her eyes were enormous behind the clear, fake lenses of her tortoiseshell glasses. She looked like Daphne.

"Quit staring at yourself, you look like an idiot."

Astoria turned back to her coffee, attempting to hide her scowl as Angelina Johnson leaned forward, collecting her own drink. They looked like Muggles, dressed in jeans and hooded sweatshirts – completely invisible in this artsy café in London.

Johnson looked just the same as Astoria remembered her from a few years before – a black woman of medium height, a little bit shorter than Astoria herself, with dark crimped hair currently pulled into corn rows. Her wand was hidden up her sleeve, easy to reach if she needed it, and she had a scarf around her neck.

"Don't get cocky." Johnson said quietly, pulling up the hood of her Muggle sweatshirt to hide her corn-row braids as Astoria leaned back in her chair again. The mug full of the coffee she'd ordered from the counter was warm against her fingertips. "Just because we've made it this far doesn't mean that we couldn't get caught at any moment."

"I know that." Astoria snapped back, before sipping her coffee. It was deliciously hot, and warmed her insides. "It's still odd to look like this."

"Deal with it. I didn't agree to keep an eye on you if you were just going to be a problem."

Astoria waited until Johnson had turned back to watch the door before making a face. Yeah – still the same old uptight Gryffindor Johnson.

She fingered the coffee mug carefully, feeling the reassuring heat of her wand in her kangaroo pocket. Muggle clothes were comfortable, something she'd never considered thinking as a pureblood witch. Her trainers and jeans let her run as fast as she wanted, without worrying if her robes were going to get in the way. As a refugee, it was the best thing she could have asked for.

Angelina Johnson was part of the Chain – that group of half- and pureblood witches and wizards who hid blood traitors and smuggled Muggle-borns out of the country – and a high level one at that. She usually had direct contact with Muggle-borns fleeing Britain, as a talented witch and duelist, and had hidden them before; she was good at it. Of course, Astoria hadn't expected to be sent to her, of all people, but the Patils had made the choice, not her.

The same day she had written her final letter to Malfoy and Rosalie King – simply a missive to reassure her as to Astoria's health – Astoria had cast her Patronus, in the same shape as an Alsatian, and sent it to the Patil twins, asking them to meet her in the dungeons that night. It had been hell trying to get back into the castle, especially considering that every black-robe and professor seemed to have come within inches of discovering her, but she made it, and the Patils had fulfilled their debt to her from the incident in the dungeons and then some. They had written a letter to an old member of the D.A., and given it to Astoria to hand over when she made it down to London, before sending a letter to the woman on those coins they all still had.

Of course, neither of them had told her that the person they were sending her to was Angelina Johnson, one of the best Chasers she had ever seen – and a complete Gryffindor.

Cressel had escorted her down past the border of the Hogwarts grounds. Centaurs were allowed past the magic that the Death Eaters had put up around the school, and he'd consented to carry her past them, slipping her out without breaking any enchantments. After making a promise to Taybur and Elmer to keep their involvement in her escape secret from everyone, Astoria had made her way down to London on foot and by Confounding Muggles to drive her part of the way. Ursa had been an enormous help in getting food – when Astoria had been unable to find anything, Ursa had been able to catch a rabbit, or fly down a few partridges or some kind of bird. Despite the fact that she had lost a great deal of weight, making her way down to London, she would have been a lot thinner without Ursa.

She had been wary of casting too many spells; despite the fact that there was so much underage spellwork going on that she was usually gone by the time the Death Eaters showed up where she had been, she had had to fight off Snatchers once or twice on her trip down from Scotland. Most of them from the backwash of the wizarding world; none of the ones she had encountered were intelligent enough to put their boots on straight. Despite that, it had been a bloody miracle that she hadn't been caught, and a blessing to wake up in the morning and not have to check that her wards had been broken during the few hours of sleep she'd managed to grab.

Johnson had at first absolutely refused to let Astoria into her flat, despite the fact that she held the golden D.A. Galleon in her hand when she opened the door for her – it was clear that she had been waiting for Astoria, and had known that a refugee was coming down from Hogwarts. But the sight of the Slytherin crest on Astoria's robes had brought her up short. Apparently, it hadn't only been Astoria the Patil twins had neglected to inform of the situation.

It had taken half an hour for Astoria to convince Johnson to let her into the flat, to at least let her get out of the pouring rain, and another hour and a half to prove that she was who she had said she was. And even now, it was clear that Johnson didn't trust her. The only reason she'd consented to let Astoria tag along to this meeting was because she didn't want her alone, in the flat, with unrestricted access to the feletone or whatever it was they called it.

But Johnson had done far better than Astoria had ever expected in terms of hiding her. The first thing she had done once Astoria had finally convinced her of her identity was to find a pair of scissors and trim her hair neatly to the base of her neck. Astoria hadn't protested, knowing that a complete image change was necessary for her to survive; in fact, she was a little glad that her hair was no longer going to get into her eyes. After that, she had used Transfiguration to change the color of her hair, and subtly alter the planes of Astoria's face so that she looked older, more sophisticated – like an adult. Then, she had spread the story amongst the Muggles in her apartment building that both she and Astoria were attending classes at the School of Oriental and African Studies here in London, and had decided to live here, near Hyde Park, in order to get away from the university a bit. Johnson, or 'Angie' to the Muggles here, was supposedly seeking a degree in medical anthropology; Astoria, now 'Melissa', was looking into language studies, specifically Hindi.

"Stop it." Johnson said again, as Astoria drummed her fingers against the table impatiently. "You know as well as I do that they're usually late."

Astoria grimaced. She did know this for a fact, as she'd been dragged on multiple expeditions like this, and all of them had ended up with the person Johnson was meeting being at least a half-an-hour late. She decided to bring a book next time.

"We might as well take advantage of that." Johnson said suddenly, turning to Astoria with a frown. She had shaken her wand out of her sleeve, and she pointed it at the Muggles nearest them, casting a spell with a flick; Astoria assumed it was an anti-eavesdropping charm. "There are a lot of questions you haven't answered yet, Greengrass."

"I told you, I can't answer some of them." Astoria said. "I can't tell you how I slipped past the wards because I promised the people who helped me that I would keep their names out of it."

Johnson's eyes narrowed. "Not the house-elves?"

Astoria scowled at the implication, and shook her head. "No. I don't particularly like making friends with those little helots." Close though, she added absently. The people who had helped her escape certainly hadn't been human in the least.

"Why would a Slytherin want to help us?" Johnson asked curtly. "I was under the impression that you were all content to stay out of the way, keep your skins out of it."

Astoria wanted to draw her wand, tap it warningly against the table, but she didn't. As interesting as it would have been to see the expression on Johnson's face change, it would have been too confrontational and strange a move, especially in a Muggle café.

"Not all of us are Lestranges." She said finally, trying to think of a way to answer the question without betraying her House – or herself. "The pureblood regime has never benefited me. It's cruel and distasteful, and has mistreated people –" and centaurs "—that I hold in high esteem. Dumbledore, for instance."

"Dumbledore?" Johnson said, with a mocking laugh. "Don't tell me you actually gave a damn about Dumbledore!"

Anger pounded in her temples. Astoria took a deep breath, studying her coffee mug instead. "I valued his views on society. They were – are – very important to me, and I read through all of his work when I first came to Hogwarts. I'm not the only Slytherin who's read Dumbledore's articles, either. A lot of us have turned to Rita Skeeter's book, true – it backs up Death Eater propaganda about how he most certainly wasn't the saint everyone seemed to think he was, and none of us are stupid enough to go against that in the current climate – but I know that there are several sympathizers still in Slytherin. Unlike with you Gryffindors, we have enough sense of self-preservation – to keep living, I suppose, in your language – to keep quiet about them."

"There's no point in keeping quiet about it now." Johnson said, clearly struggling to keep her temper. Astoria wondered if she'd ever spoken to a Slytherin like an equal before. "If keeping quiet means people die."

Astoria said nothing. She simply spread her arms, presenting herself to the Gryffindor with a sarcastic rise of a newly dyed eyebrow, and Johnson snorted derisively.

"Remind me again how you managed to get involved with the D.A."

"Merlin's beard, haven't you heard the bloody story enough by now?" Astoria snapped. When Johnson simply raised her eyebrows, she scowled. "Abbott helped me. I returned the favor. It grew from there. I was the person they went to if they wanted something dirty done, or some spying that they couldn't get done on their own. Information. News." Astoria remembered all of those long nights spent listening to conversations in the Slytherin common room, of eavesdropping on the Carrows. "Sometimes if I was good enough I was given missions of my own. But I was never seen as a member, and no one treated me like it. And I kept their secrets," she added with a grimace.

An image of Malfoy in the library, slamming books to the ground, furious and torn, popped into her mind. Astoria lowered her eyes, her voice suddenly far quieter.

"I kept a lot of secrets."

Johnson gave her a measuring look, but asked nothing more. Astoria stirred her coffee for a moment, and didn't expound on the matter, thinking too hard to even consider it… It was Easter break at Hogwarts by now. She knew that. So did that mean Malfoy was home? That he'd left Hogwarts for those precious few days away from the Carrows, and walked right into the Dark Lord's arms?

She'd been trying not to think about him, for the month and a half since she'd written the letter. She'd written a lot like it, but never posted any; most of them she'd set aflame as soon as they were finished, too dangerous to keep, far too dangerous to send. But when she'd been able to, she'd wondered about him, just a bit – about what he was doing, who he was talking to at the moment of her thought. Whether he cared about whether or not she lived or died. She hadn't heard anything from Hogwarts since she'd come to stay with Johnson, and she doubted she would for a while; they had practically stopped putting up graffiti by the time she had left, and Longbottom had had detention almost every night that week. She knew that much.

I doubt he gives a damn about me. Astoria thought, and for some reason, that hurt.

Her eyes fixed on someone over Johnson's shoulder, and narrowed. Three men had just shouldered their way into the café, one after the other, all of them dressed rather badly. One of them seemed vaguely familiar, though she couldn't place it, but the hair prickled on the back of her neck anyway; any sort of familiarity with strangers, considering who she was with and where she had just escaped, was downright dangerous.

Then she remembered. Those men were Snatchers, the same ones who had nearly caught her four miles out of London – and one of them was smiling, staring right at her.

"Johnson." She said, making sure her lips barely moved. She pretended to be studying the menu above the counter. "I think we might have company."

Johnson, to her credit, didn't turn around. She picked up her coffee, sipping at it, as though she hadn't heard Astoria at all; out of the corner of her mouth, she hissed, "Head for the door on three. Get out of here as fast as possible."

Astoria bristled. "There is no way –"

"One –"

"—That I'm heading –"

"Two –"

"—For the bloody –"

"Three!" Johnson bellowed, and shot a spell at the window, smashing the glass. Muggles all around them screamed; a fingerlength of glass sliced into Astoria's cheek as she dove, fumbling her wand out of her pocket, and pointed it at the Snatchers, shouting, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Johnson threw the table over onto its side as shrieking Muggles dove for the exits, creating a temporary barrier between themselves and the Snatchers, and pointed her wand over the top of it. "Protego!"

The magical shield blossomed between them and the three wizards, and Johnson whipped around, snarling, "I told you to run!"

"If you think –" Astoria began, ready to tear Johnson's head off for ordering her to do anything, but the back door flew open, and a violently orange spell flew so close to Johnson's scalp that her hair floated in the jet stream behind it. Without stopping to think, Astoria pointed her wand.

"Confringo!"

The spell hit the Snatcher, and he flew back through the door, shattering it into smaller bits of wood before hitting the alley wall. He didn't get up. Astoria didn't dare look at him, surprised and scared by the amount of power in the Blasting Curse, before meeting Johnson's eyes. Johnson nodded, and at the same time, they shot up from behind the table, shouting spells.

"Stupefy!"

"Bombarda!"

Johnson's Stunning Spell hit the first Snatcher on the other side of the shield, knocking him out of the front window of the café and onto the street. At the same time, splinters and wood flew through the air as the part of the bar Astoria had been aiming at exploded, and the remaining Snatcher shrieked as he was struck by the majority of the shrapnel. Astoria grabbed Johnson's wrist, the first time she'd touched the other witch, and ran, darting through the overturned chairs the Muggles had left behind to dive through the kitchen.

"What the hell did you think you're doing, Greengrass?" Johnson snapped, jerking her wrist from Astoria's grip as they dove out into the back alley behind the café, and began legging it up the street. "If I tell you to do something –"

"If you tell me to do something so ridiculous I'm damn well going to disobey!" Astoria snarled back. They were halfway to Hyde Park; it was the safest place she could think of that wasn't the flat. If they went to the flat, they would lead the Snatchers straight to it. "So shut up right now, Johnson!"

To her surprise, Johnson shut up.

Hyde Park was blissfully quiet compared to the café they had just left. Astoria dropped heavily onto the closest bench, stuffing her wand back into her pocket as she did and dropping her sweatshirt over it; she was covered in dust, and her fake glasses were askew, but the important thing was that neither of them had been injured. Johnson sat down beside her, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths of air through her nose; she looked pale.

"Who were they?"

"Snatchers." Astoria said, trying to breathe without feeling like there was a knife stabbing into her side. She yanked her handkerchief from her pocket, pressing it against the cut on her cheek. It was still bleeding. "They work around here, nearly caught me the night I showed up in London. One of them recognized me."

"Ah."

A minute or two passed.

"Remind me to never," Johnson said, "go anywhere with you, ever again."

"Point taken." Astoria muttered, stung.

After a long moment, Johnson opened her eyes and looked at Astoria. She looked as though she was struggling with herself; for a moment, she said nothing. Then:

"Thanks."

Astoria didn't speak for a moment, struggling with the different emotions that simple world had managed to elicit – pride, irritation, pleasure, sadness.

"Yeah." Astoria struggled with the words; they tasted strange on her tongue. A Gryffindor thanking a Slytherin; she'd never heard of such a thing, and none of the Gryffindors in the D.A. had even thought about it. "Of course."

They waited a few hours before returning to the flat, making sure to take a completely obscure route that they didn't usually walk down; people avoided them, trying not to openly stare at the sharp cut on Astoria's cheek, which helped. Johnson led the way into the flat, her wand raised, and they poked through every room before casting the same warding spells that Astoria had used around her camps during her journey down to London.

"Do you want some tea, Astoria?" Johnson asked, running a hand down her face. Astoria, startled by the question – she'd never been asked that by Johnson before, never been referred to by her fist name – nodded.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

Johnson – Angelina – nodded, tired and worn looking, and went into the kitchen to prepare the tea. Astoria wondered if she was considering putting Veritaserum into the tea, but she doubted Angelina would ask anything that would put her into danger – most specifically, how she felt about Malfoy – so she didn't particularly care. Besides, the honest answer to that was she didn't know. So there she was.

Astoria moved through the rooms again, pulling the curtains over the windows, relaxing for the first time that day. They had the spells up, spells she had helped create; the flat was safe, for the moment. The Fidelius Charm still held strong. They were safe here.

Something dark caught her eye under a street lamp at the end of the block. Astoria hesitated, staring at the figure in the cloak, her heart pounding in her throat. She knew that whoever it was wouldn't be able to get in, but the fact that there was someone staring at the flat from the street.

A prickle ran up her spine as the cloaked figure lifted its head, stared right into the window she was looking out of, and pulled back its hood. A pale, pointed face looked back at her, familiar to her as her own; it sent a knife piercing into her chest.

She yanked the curtain over the window and took several deep, rattling breaths. Behind her, Ursa fluttered her wings, surprised at the sudden clatter of the curtain rings. Then, summoning up all the stubbornness she possessed, Astoria tore the curtain back again, staring at the spot where he'd been.

No one was there.