A new chapter at last! Thank you, my most patient readers, I am beyond grateful that any of you stick around for my slower-than-treacle writing habits. As always, comments remind me that people (and not bots) are actually reading this. Also please ask questions if you have them! I love when people ask questions. Anyway, carry on: you have new content to read.

Chapter 12

Astoria didn't even have a day to process things before it all went to shit. Sitting on the breakfast room table the next morning was a copy of the Daily Prophet. On the cover was a picture of her and Draco entering Melimato.

"Malfoy's Mystery Muggle Mistress: Who is Draco's Non-Magical Inamorata?" by Lindy Bobbin.

"Oh no," she moaned. "No, no, no…"

"At least they didn't recognise you." Daphne gave her an insincerely sweet smile as she plucked a grape from the bunch on her plate.

Her parents, blessedly, were not in the room. "Have Mum and Dad seen this?"

"Yes," Daphne replied shortly. "Mum was also glad you weren't recognised - she really doesn't like that blue hair. Dad just… grunted disapprovingly, as he does. You know how he hates any close attention." She was looking at Astoria searchingly. "And Draco practically summons it."

"That isn't fair. He didn't ask for this." Merlin, Daphne knew how to stoke her anger.

"I did warn you." Daphne smirked and popped the last grape in her mouth. Before she got to the dining room doors, she turned back. "Oh, and it might be best to stop sneaking out at night. I'd bet my best pair of shoes that Mum and Dad are going to be on high alert now."

Astoria buried her face in her hands. How had this happened? This… this is why I plan things so carefully. With back-ups and contingencies. She had been hesitant of Draco's plan to bring things out in the open from the start. And now she wouldn't be able to see him… not without risking the wrath and worry of her parents.

She finished her breakfast as quickly as she could, then went back up to her room. The parchment was sitting on her desk, clean of any message. Draco is not an early riser, she reminded herself. But what could she write that would make things any better?

Nothing came to her. She needed a moment to think on how to fix this. She probably needed a good decade. But she also didn't want to write nothing, knowing Draco would stew and fume over Lindy Bobbin's provocative speculations.

She began scrawling. I saw the Daily Prophet. She tapped her lips with the end of her quill. What else?

We're in this together now. I'm not going to let you deal with it without me. That should buy her enough time to think, anyway. But first, she needed to get out of her room.

The library? No, too distracting. The Sitting Room between her room and Daphne's was out; the last person she wanted to see (or hear, or tolerate) right now was Daphne. Her mother was most likely in the morning room or the back salon, which meant the workroom was also out; her father was assuredly in his private study. It was too frigid to think of anything but the cold outdoors. Which left…

The Family Room was a misnomer for the space; such a name seemed to imply a place to congregate, to come together. Nothing could be further from the truth. Astoria didn't think she'd ever been in that room with more than one of her family members at a time. The room was up on the rarely-used second floor, directly above her bedroom in fact.

It was called the 'Family Room' because of its portraits. Really, the space was more a gallery than anything else. Half a dozen portraits of previous Greengrass luminaries hung on the walls amidst less lively depictions of country landscapes… and those dreaded hounds. She usually avoided it like Dragon Pox. But today it felt like the right place for her to be.

"Is that young Astoria? What on earth has happened to your hair?" Ah, yes. That would be her great, great grandmother - Ada Greengrass. Her portrait was the closest to the door, and she took her look-out post very seriously.

"Hello Lady Ada," she sighed. Her ancestress was harmless, really, but she did like to chat. And she wanted very much to call her out on HER excuse for a hairstyle - it looked like an Occamy's nest perched upon her head. But that seemed to have been the style for 1902. "Are you the only one here?" She glanced down the wall at the other frames, all empty save one.

"Sidney's napping as usual, but everyone else went to their other portraits." Ada sniffed enviously; Astoria knew she was slightly bitter about not having any other portraits to visit. "It can be monstrously boring here sometimes."

This wasn't the first time Astoria had found Ada alone in the gallery, and she knew just how to manage the situation. "Would you like to listen to some music?"

In joy, Ada clapped her hands together. "Oh, that would be MOST marvellous! Put on some Elgar or some Tchaikovsky, won't you?" It wasn't long before the gramophone was spinning and Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 crackled through the air. Ada was completely absorbed by it, following the sweeping piano with her hand. Sidney continued to sleep.

The room echoed with music, making it feel closed off from the rest of the world. Perfect. Astoria made her way past the gilt frames and the marble and bronze busts to a window overlooking the back garden. It was the same familiar view as her own room, though slightly higher up. From it, Astoria could easily see over the wall hiding her favourite chestnut tree by the brook.

It feels like forever ago that I was out there pondering my future. And what to do about Draco Malfoy. Everything and nothing has changed, it seems.

With a sigh, she dropped down onto a bench positioned perfectly to take in the view. She'd made her choice, hadn't she? She'd gone after Draco Malfoy. She'd GOT Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy had bloody met her parents, taken her out for dinner, and fallen asleep in her arms, in her bed.

It suddenly seemed clearer than it ever had. There was really only one way forward.

"Do I want to go to a fucking Quidditch game? That's your plan?"

"Hear me out." Draco had reacted exactly how she'd expected he would, which - despite the harsh words - made it easier to be patient with him. "The Prophet story is complete and utter bunk; you don't need to read far into it to realise that all Lindy Bobbin had to go on was the content of that picture. So she knows nothing. Has nothing. And until we give her something, she is just going to keep making things up."

"What exactly is going to stop her from continuing to write utter dung?" He kept fisting his hand in his hair, and she wondered if he were trying not to punch something.

"The more open and out there we are as a couple, the less she can make up. So if a blue-haired Astoria Greengrass shows up at the Falcons' match today and sits cosily next to Draco Malfoy in the Malfoy box seats… I guarantee that there will be a post tomorrow and it will NOT be about Draco Malfoy and a mysterious Muggle."

He was staring at her like she'd grown Jackalope antlers. "No, it will be about Astoria Greengrass and the 'complete and utter bunk' she's going to make up about you! How can you be okay with that? How are your parents going to be okay with that?!" His words echoed through the front hall of the London townhouse.

She didn't have an answer to that, even though she had expected the question. She knew as well as Draco did that the last thing her parents would want was her showing up in the Daily Prophet again - and this time by name. They didn't even know she was currently in London - they thought she'd gone out for a walk (despite the weather). But she couldn't just sit at home and watch Draco become the target of derision and gossip yet again.

Frustrated with her silence, he growled as he turned away from her. "You don't know what it's like," he rasped. "To be constantly judged, constantly watched and whispered about. Sometimes not even whispered." He whipped back around to face her. "I don't want that for you too."

"It isn't fair..." She could barely get the words out.

"Yeah well, life isn't fucking fair, is it." He spat the words out like a bad taste.

"...for you to face that alone," she finished and watched him carefully. "Draco, I'm not looking forward to it. I've spent most of my life trying to keep things hidden from the rest of the world. But what do we gain in putting it off? You were the one who wanted to make this real, remember? To bring it out into the bright light of day. Well this was going to happen eventually. And if we're doing this, we do this together." He didn't seem convinced. "And as for my parents… well, they seem to like you, inexplicably, and they seemed surprisingly fine with the idea of you taking me out. They'll… come around eventually." They had to.

"They're going to want to murder me."

"Well, then, that's nothing you haven't dealt with before, is it?" Draco seemed at least a little amused at her attempt at a joke.

She reached out to grip his arm and squeezed. He met her eyes at last. "Draco, I love Quidditch. You love Quidditch. There is absolutely no reason why we shouldn't be seen together both enjoying a game. The only thing I'm worried about Lindy Bobbin reporting is that she thinks I'm a Falcons fan."

He bent down to touch her forehead with his. She could tell he wasn't entirely mollified, but he seemed to have stopped fighting her.

"The match is at one o'clock. I'll come by at around half past noon, all right?"

She smiled and nodded. "All right."

The next morning, Astoria found her parents waiting for her in the Breakfast Room. The Daily Prophet sat on the table between them.

"Well, what does it say?" she asked in a strategically carefree tone.

"Darling, why didn't you tell us Draco was taking you out to a public event?" Her mother's eyebrows were nearly touching in the middle, her brow was drawn so tightly.

"Mum, besides the fact that I am nearly nineteen years old and can make my own determinations as to what kind of event I can or should attend, what should I have said to Draco? That I don't attend public events?" Before she left London, they had planned it out. At her insistence. Soon after arriving home from her covert visit, Draco had shown up to ask Astoria - in full presence of her parents - if she were free that afternoon. She'd known her parents would not want to have any kind of confrontation in front of a visitor, and sure enough they agreed to the request. Checkmate, really. Astoria had known there would be an aftermath this morning - the only thing she couldn't be sure of was the intensity.

"Having your name splashed about in the press is not the sort attention that will make things easier for you." Her father picked up the paper and passed it over to her to read. "And that Bobbin witch certainly likes blowing things out of proportion."

She skimmed it quickly, looking for anything exceptionally insulting or worrisome.

The Blue-Braided Beauty Revealed! Accompanying Draco Malfoy to yesterday's Falmouth Falcons match was none other than the marine-maned maiden herself - but Muggle she is not! Draco's date is none other than Astoria Greengrass, the youngest daughter of Leon and Hemera Greengrass. Sources tell me that the couple met at St. Mungo's where Malfoy is currently carrying out his Wisengamot-ordered community service. The garish-haired Greengrass is apparently a great patron and pupil of the Healing Arts, having taken private lessons at Hogwarts alongside the illustrious Wardmistress Madam Pomfrey.

The rest was a rather nauseating account of how close and romantic she and Draco had been during the game, but shared nothing else of consequence.

"It isn't actually that bad, really. Other than the writing, obviously; that's atrocious."

"They mention the Hospital, Astoria." Lord, her mother could cut diamonds with her tone.

"They do. And the lessons at Hogwarts. But it doesn't seem to me to portray me as anything other than a former student now interested in the Healing Arts."

"It still draws very unnecessary attention towards you," her father said firmly. He didn't sound angry per se, but she could tell he wasn't pleased. "This will require some management."

"I agree." Astoria put the paper down. "I think I should begin volunteering at St. Mungo's officially. I also believe I should continue to be seen at public events with Draco. Anything else would raise suspicion."

She sat down across from her mother and took a scone from the centre of the table. "Thank you Fletcher," she said politely as the coffee carafe hovered over to her cup and began to pour.

There was a moment of silence. Astoria swore her parents had learned to communicate telepathically. Maybe they were both Legilimens and she'd never thought to ask. Finally, her mother rose to her feet, pushing her chair out with a mouselike squeak.

"Fine. But for all that is magical, darling Astoria, I do wish you would do something about that hair."

It wasn't their last Quidditch game. Astoria and Draco became a familiar sight at matches across the country. Astoria was enjoying the freedom immensely; she hadn't been to so many matches since Hogwarts, and she'd forgotten how much she missed it. Frustratingly, it took at least a couple of matches before Draco believed she was enjoying herself.

"But you can't possibly understand the nuances!"

They watched Chaser Valmai Morgan execute a perfect reverse pass and cheered loudly.

"I don't need to know how to fly to know that that pass was textbook."

"Maybe not, but you can't fully appreciate the technique she has without having tried to do it yourself." The air was cold enough that their words were making small clouds in front of them. November was almost over, she realised.

"Do you play the cello, Draco?" She said it playfully, and he responded by pulling her closer and nipping at her ear.

"You know I don't," he whispered. She shivered, and not from the cold. It had been a full two weeks since he'd stayed the night and they had had little opportunity to do more than clutch at each other in an appropriate-for-public-affection sort of way.

"Are you telling me that you wouldn't thoroughly enjoy a live performance of Elgar's Cello Concerto, even though you don't play the instrument?"

"I'm saying that if I did play the cello, I could appreciate the skill to a level otherwise impossible."

"But you would still enjoy the performance."

"Of course I would." He was stroking her waist with his thumb, hard enough to penetrate through the layers of wool she had on. She tried to imagine the same touch on her bare skin and shivered again.

"I swear, I am going to rip this off of you," he whispered. Hot, languid lust pulled through her gut.

"I wish you would," she whispered back.

"That's it, we're leaving."

December swept in. Astoria watched the season's first snowflakes of the season fall outside the window of the Sitting Room, with the luxury of a crackling fireplace beside her. She'd felt colder than usual, which meant that part of her brain was now occupied with worrying over whether it was a new side effect of the curse or just due to the weather. She pushed her mind instead into a fantasy of her intertwined around Draco in bed, neither having to escape somewhere to avoid detection or be late for an appointment. And somewhere warm, she decided. Didn't the Malfoys have that villa in the south of France?

In addition to the Quidditch Matches, they'd been out to concerts, dinners, and post-Hospital lunches. In the hidden moments and dark corners of their scheduled dates, they had groped and fucked and snogged like bandits. But they hadn't slept together in weeks. Astoria missed it as much… possibly more so… than the feeling of Draco's tongue on her clit.

She missed her covert nights at the townhouse, how they had slept (or not slept) in a different room each night. They had lived in a beautiful bubble, one she had taken for granted. Now she spent too much time combing the Daily Prophet after each encounter, trying to manage how the Wizarding World saw her and Draco's relationship.

It wasn't as if he hadn't warned her - the attention had come as promised: the rampant speculation about her blue hair, her Quidditch loyalties (thankfully, they did NOT paint her a Falconer); and her new role at the hospital.

The hospital, her home away from home. Moreso now. True to her intent, Astoria had contacted Lyra about officially becoming a volunteer. The Healer had wasted no time introducing her to Mr. Rigel Dwerryhouse - a lanky middle-aged wizard with curly black hair and tired eyes behind rectangular black spectacles. Mr. Dwerryhouse managed volunteer Hospital helpers, to a degree which Astoria hadn't known was needed. Who knew that there were so many witches and wizards that gave their free time to help at St. Mungo's? She'd been a little concerned that Mr. Dwerryhouse would take one look at her and know she had ulterior motives for giving her time; but whether Lyra had had a separate word with him or he was the type of wizard not to ask questions, he'd greeted her with a polite smile and a brusque series of rather technical questions.

It was surprisingly old hat for her. Aside from the occasional reminder of her devastating final Hogwarts year, she found the questions easy and answered them confidently.

"Lyra was right about you," Mr. Dwerryhouse said as he scrawled something down on a clipboard. "Your general Healing knowledge is solid. Did you never desire to go further with the Healing Arts?"

She swallowed hard. She should have known the question would come up. Of course she'd considered it. It had been her cover story after all. And even though she had left school before testing for NEWTS, she'd done her best to continue her studies on her own. It probably wouldn't have been impossible to still go after a career as a Healer… if that was what she'd wanted. But she had worked beside Madame Pomfrey for years, and she'd heard many a story about how challenging the training was. Astoria wasn't sure she was interested enough in Healing to spend her entire (short) life dedicated to it, and it wasn't really a career you could do halfway. There were too many other things she had an interest in.

"Not really," she answered. "But I do wish to help where I can. Which is why I'm here."

Before she knew it, she'd been assigned to work alongside Mr. Dwerryhouse himself. He knew the workings of the facility to an astonishing degree. Whether it was Reception, the Alchemy Room, the Poisoning Department, or the Janus Thickey Ward, Mr. Dwerryhouse knew exactly who was supposed to be doing what, where, and at what time. It was any wonder that his eyes looked tired; Astoria couldn't quite fathom how he kept all of the details straight in his head. As involved as the work was, it satisfied her in a way that she hadn't really experienced since she'd been assisting Madame Pomfrey. It felt good, and it gave her a completely new part of her life to be distracted with that wasn't her curse or Draco.

But it was exhausting. A log popped and shifted in the hearth. Her mind circled back to how cosy and wonderful it would be to be in front of the fire, wrapped up in Draco.

"Darling, you look done in. I don't know what they have you doing at St. Mungo's but I've a mind to speak to that Mr. Derrywick."

Ah, her mother. Some things never changed. As tired as she felt, she'd be damned to let on that her new commitments were taking a toll on her.

"It's Mr. Dwerryhouse, Mum. And we've been busy getting ready for the Christmas Fundraiser Gala. It's only a couple weeks away, and then I'll have some weeks off."

Her mother sat down on the couch across from her, still peering at her daughter as if to catch her in an unguarded yawn or twitch. "And the Malfoy boy? You're still seeing him?"

She pulled herself up straight, reluctantly setting loose the peace she'd collected before her mother arrived. "I am still seeing Draco, yes. And before you say it, no, he is not tiring me out. Spending time with him is good for me."

"Hmm," was her mother's response. "Your father and I are both glad to see you are doing more than just shutting yourself up in the library, but if it's too much for you…"

"Mother. I am FINE." She was trying very hard not to raise her voice. That would only make things worse.

"Very well. But I want you to take it easy over Christmas." She rose from the couch and made to leave, but stopped and looked back. "You're looking rather gaunt, dear. Shall I have Fletcher send your afternoon tea up here?"

Looking gaunt, was she? "Yes please." Perhaps a custard cream or two would pep her up a bit.

He always looked perfect.

There he was, standing in the Main Hall, wearing a perfectly tailored black coat with a cashmere scarf the colour of a frozen lake that made his eyes and hair glimmer like white gold. Those eyes were looking here over with the same hunger she was sure was mirrored in hers.

"You are devastatingly beautiful, did you know that?" She gave him what she hoped was a seductive half-smile, full of feminine secrets and charm. She'd spent a long time choosing her outfit: a sky blue kimono-like blouse with wide silk trim embroidered with silver over a long, slim skirt the colour of an aubergine. She'd pulled her hair back in a low bun, smooth and away from her face. Her mother had yet to be appeased - it was still a deep inky blue - but she had been putting more effort into making sure it never looked out of place. Who knew when the Prophet would snap a picture?

"Says the man in a stitch-perfect tailored coat. What is this, Finnish design?" She ran her fingers over the clean lines of the lapel.

"Danish, actually. Mother has an old friend who's a tailor in Aarhus."

"Of course she does. It suits you."

"That is the general idea." He reached up to capture her fingers with his, and the moment changed from innocent to charged. Holy Hufflepuff, she wanted his thumb to stroke so much more than just her hand.

"Draco," she whispered huskily. But before she could say anything else, her father entered the hall. She jumped back a step. Draco hid his amusement badly.

"Ah, I'm glad I caught you before you left." Her father stood a comfortable distance away from them, a couple metres at least, but Astoria felt as if he were standing between them.

"Mr. Greengrass," Draco said easily, and extended a hand with a smile. His father returned the gesture.

"Astoria said something about dancers from Japan?"

"Yes, they're part of the Japanese delegation visiting the Ministry. It isn't a public event, but my father was able to get us a couple seats."

"He still has pull with the Department of International Magical Cooperation, then?"

Astoria was mortified. "Father, please!" But Draco didn't seem the least bit perturbed. In fact, he seemed to be incredibly comfortable making political smalltalk.

"We're distantly related to Remy Malivoire, the Foreign Representative for the Ministère des Affaires Magiques. Are you acquainted with him?"

It was terrifying, watching Draco Malfoy and her father find mutual acquaintances as though they were colleagues. She was getting a strange feeling, a pull in her gut that had absolutely nothing to do with the spark-filled touching of earlier. This felt deeper. More intimate.

"I'm sorry to cut in, but we really should be going Draco. Didn't you say it started at 6?" She shrugged on her coat and scarf. Whatever was going on inside her was too much to process right now. Leaving definitely seemed like the best option.

With another round of smiles and handshakes, they were off.

"That was different," she mused once they'd left the house.

"He was testing the waters, as it were." Draco was smiling, as if the entire encounter had been a success of some sort.

"Testing the waters?"

"Getting a sense of my familiarity with the Ministry - who my players are, et cetera."

Astoria frowned. "Players? Are you planning to get into the game of it?"

"That's exactly what he was trying to determine." Astoria was hoping he'd say more about it, but he didn't.

The performance was exquisite. The Kyomai dancing was graceful, elegant, and utterly absorbing. Astoria had never seen anything move quite so beautifully in her life. It was in these moments that she envied the travel Draco had done, the places and cultures he'd experienced around the world. He apparently even spoke some Japanese - another surprise. He'd claimed it was next to nothing, but it was enough to greet the performers and diplomats respectfully. She had bowed beside him, trying to copy his actions, but she couldn't match him for confidence.

And it wasn't just with the delegation. He seemed to have met most of the Ministry members there, well enough to greet them by name anyhow. As she watched him flit from topic to topic, person to person, discussing International Wizarding affairs, Quidditch scores, and an upcoming magical portrait painter, she realised that he was in his element. Though he'd claimed disinterest in the social circles his parents esteemed, he certainly knew his way around a room.

She could see it, the future Draco Malfoy - polished, practised, knowing just what to say to who. Saying just the right thing to change the minds of decision-makers, and knowing his words carried value. That kind of self-assurance couldn't really be taught; she thought it must have been a daily diet of it his whole life. His parents knew exactly what they had been doing.

As if he'd overheard her thoughts, he came up beside her and offered her a glass of something sparkling. A spritzer, she thought it was.

"My parents would like to meet you."

"Oh," was all she could come up with. Perhaps it was time to sit down. The performance had been in a large glass conservatory, with beautiful plants at every turn. She located a bench and gestured to it with her head. Draco nodded, understanding, and they walked leisurely over to it.

"Not tonight or anything like that," he clarified. "I wouldn't spring that on you. But sometime after Christmas maybe?"

She found herself nodding. "That seems appropriate." It felt odd, suddenly. Overly formal. As if the words they were both choosing were mechanical.

"Good. Excellent. I'll let them know." They sat beside each other on the bench, upright and stiff. "They were supposed to be here tonight, that's how I got the invites."

Astoria felt a wave of embarrassment. "Draco, you didn't! Don't tell me you robbed them of coming for my sake."

"No, nothing like that. Honestly." He rolled his eyes in a dismissive way that made Astoria want to do it right back. "They weren't set on coming in the first place. I don't think Father has much interest in the Japanese delegation… or in Japan, for that matter." His tone shifted slightly, enough to make her wonder what exactly he'd expressed to his son. She thought of all the things she had a great interest in that her family just didn't understand, and her annoyance melted into empathy. As it always did.

"But you do?"

He glanced away, up at some delicate-looking orchid hanging from above. "We were only there for a couple weeks when I was 9. It was at the beginning of April, when the cherry blossoms were out. Father was in meetings for most of it, so Mother took me out with her to walk around the gardens. It was so… serene. That's it, that's the exact right word. It was beautiful no matter where we stopped to look. And the food was so different from here - Father hated it - but I liked that it was always so neat and tidy. We had these little sweet rice balls… dango, I think they're called. Even the food looked serene."

Astoria had closed her eyes, letting the story blossom in her mind. "I'd love to try that one day."

His hands clasped around hers. "I'd love to be there with you when you do."

Butterflies flitted through her gut again, and she lay her head down on his shoulder. It wasn't that she was feeling faint, exactly. But she felt shaky and overly aware of her body. Best to get some food in you, she told herself.

"Supper?" Draco asked. Seriously, how did he do it?

"Can we eat in? I need to be home before 9… I really do!" Draco had interrupted her with a groan, and she pushed him playfully on the thigh. "I have a Gala planning meeting early tomorrow with Mr. Dwerryhouse and the Patron volunteers."

"Ugh, I don't know how you survive it. I mean, why do you want to spend even MORE time at St. Mungo's than you have to?"

"You know, SOME people volunteer out of the goodness of their hearts, not because they've been Wizengamot-ordered to." As soon as the words exited her mouth, she regretted them.

Draco went very still. They didn't often talk about the fact he was still serving his sentence. Astoria wasn't entirely sure the depths of Draco's regrets for his actions in the service of You-Know-Who, but she was sure that he wasn't ready to joke about it yet. She was right.

"Let's get you home then. We'll do supper another time."

She probably should have apologised, or tried to defend herself, or something. Instead, she mumbled 'alright' and was back at home before she had even got her head around things.

Stupid, she chastised herself. So concerned about being witty, aren't you? How about being kind?

She spent the night going over the words she had said, the ones she should have said, and the ones he hadn't said. It took her and her guilt a while before she finally dozed off.