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Chapter Text

The wedding of Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini was altogether much too grandiose, in Astoria’s opinion.

She’d not said as much to her sister, of course, and she wouldn’t. It suited them, anyway. Daphne had always been one for extravagance, and Blaise, too, had quite a keen eye. There were also far too many people in attendance Astoria wondered briefly when Daphne had reconnected with half of the people she saw milling about the ballroom of the Zabini estate. The end of the War just over two years prior saw to the burning of many bridges, no matter that both the Zabini and Greengrass families had managed to keep themselves neutral. It heartened her, at least, that her sister had managed to mend so many bonds.

Then again, she thought, spotting Pansy Parkinson some ways away, perhaps some people were here simply to fill the vast space.

Pansy was, perhaps predictably, standing inappropriately close to one Draco Malfoy, who sported a look if disinterest more intense and precise than Astoria had ever seen. Impressive, considering the people she’d grown up with.

Astoria had never properly met the Malfoy heir, though everyone of course knew who he was. She’d seen him; he’d been in the same year as Blaise and Daphne, and he made such a spectacle of himself, besides. But she could not claim to know him. Still, when Pansy took another half step closer, reaching out to stroke his arm, and Malfoy’s jaw tightened in restrained discomfort—or perhaps simply annoyance—Astoria found herself walking up to the two of them.

“Forgive my interruption,” Astoria said sweetly, with a cool smile. The two of them looked to her, Pansy with a raised brow and a slight puckered nose, and Malfoy with a practiced mask of absolutely nothing. “I simply had to say hello, Pansy! So good to see you. It’s been far too long.”

Pansy, perhaps softening at the personal attention, flashed a brilliant white smile. “Astoria, dear! It has been quite a while, hasn’t it? You’ve graduated, haven’t you?”

“Yes, just last spring, actually.” Astoria saw in her periphery as Malfoy adjusted his grip on his champagne flute. “I’d of course love to catch up with you, but our lady of the evening would just love to see you.”

Pansy straightened and fixed her already impeccable hair, straight and intense black and just brushing her shoulders. “You’re all too right, of course. I wouldn’t dare ignore a request from the bride on her wedding day. Astoria,” she nodded, and looking over her shoulder with a hint of a smirk, “Draco.” And she sauntered away.

Astoria watched her go, glancing around the room for Daphne.

“She’s harmless.”

Turning back around at the lordly voice over her shoulder, she was met with Draco Malfoy watching Pansy depart just as Astoria had, dispassionately swirling the last of his champagne in his flute.

“Pardon?”

“Pansy. She’s harmless, really. If a bit tactless.” Draco turned his gaze upon her, and his gaze was one of the coldest she’d ever beheld. “Still, I should thank you. I’m a bit…out of sorts at the moment, and the last thing I wish to deal with is a put-out Pansy Parkinson.” He passed his near-empty glass off to a passing house elf.

Astoria huffed what might have been a laugh, remembering a much younger Pansy coming over for tea and a chat with Daphne quite regularly, and some of the worse days that came with it. She then offered her hand for a proper introduction. “Astoria Greengrass.”

He took it, and bent to place a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “Draco Malfoy. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Greengrass.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir.” While Draco had been courteous, Astoria had the growing sense that he was just a bit overwhelmed with the evening. “I hope I’m not overstepping, Mister Malfoy, but I’m afraid I’ve become rather flushed. Would you care to join me in getting some fresh air?”

He inclined his chin just the slightest bit, considering her for a brief moment before nodding. “Of course,” he said, offering her his arm.

They exited into the courtyard. People were outside too, but there were fewer and the noticeable decrease in noise calmed Astoria. The Zabini family, in something of an odd tangent from the norm, lived in an Italian style villa, albeit one that was significantly larger than perhaps a villa is supposed to be. Astoria had not come to the Zabini household before Blaise had started seriously courting Daphne, and the architecture had enchanted her. Admiring the masonry as she was wont to do, she was, embarrassingly, a tad startled when Draco spoke again.

“You’re smiling.”

It wasn’t accusing or mocking, though Astoria had to fight a blush all the same. A simple observation, without obligation to elaborate. So she didn’t.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

That got his lips to twitch in the tiniest suggestion of a smile.

She considered that a success.

Chapter Text

She and Draco had taken to writing to one another quite frequently after her sister’s wedding. In this way, they became close; they shared the same interests, liked discussing the same things. As it went on, their letters became deeper. More trusting. Perhaps surprisingly, Astoria found that Draco was opening up to her—not completely, but more than she suspected he did with anyone else.

Still, they weren’t courting. They weren’t exactly not courting, but tradition required an official announcement made to their family and closest friends, following a public outing. Their consistent letters, while increasingly lover-like in tone, didn’t quite qualify.

It was improper for a young lady to initiate a courting. However, as her mother’s Christmas Ball was approaching and Draco—in all their owl correspondence—had not taken it upon himself to do so, Astoria only felt the tiniest amount of hesitation as she wrote. In deep violet ink, she wrote:

Dearest Draco,

I am writing boldly, and I hope you can excuse me for doing so, but I feel as though we have become familiar enough with one another that this does not come entirely unprecedented.

My mother and father are finalizing the preparations for the Holiday Ball at the end of this month. I know that you are not overfond of such events, but I hope the pleasure of good company would ease your burden.

It is with this in mind that I, Ms. Greengrass, invite you, Mr. Malfoy, to invite me, the aforementioned Ms. Greengrass, to accompany you to my own mother’s party.

I trust you are aware of the appropriate way to do so. I shall expect your visit to be no later than the end of this week.

Determinedly yours,

Astoria

She folded her letter, opting to seal it with dusty blue wax—the color most appropriate to express one’s interest, just to be sure that Draco did, after all, understand her intentions—and using her own seal which bore a filigreed swallow instead of her family’s coat of arms. She spritzed it once with her lavender and bergamot perfume and left her room. Since her sister’s marriage, and because her parents were busy in the ballroom planning (and, truthfully, because the house was so bloody large) she made it to the greenhouse without facing anybody.

The greenhouse was an addition her grandmother had made to the East Wing, and one of Astoria’s favorite parts of the estate. With it came an owlery. Her personal barn owl, Persephone, was perched as though she’d been waiting for Astoria to arrive.

“Hello there, lovely,” Astoria greeted her. She stroked her plumage as she said, “Take this to Draco for me? I know you’ve been seeing him quite a bit, but this letter is of the utmost importance and I simply must trust you to deliver it to him personally. No house elves. And definitely not his parents.”

Persephone hooted, and Astoria took that as an affirmation.

“Off you go, then,” she said, handing the letter to the owl and watching her dart through the arched window.

Astoria strolled back through her greenhouse and contemplated whether she should also owl Daphne. A new dress was in order, she thought. Daphne’s second opinion would surely be helpful.

Persephone returned later that night, directly to Astoria’s bedroom window instead of to the owlery (mail was usually taken in the owlery and presented to the intended recipient by a house elf). Astoria unhitched her window and swung it outwards, letting Persephone swoop in and land on the back of her vanity chair. Astoria picked up the letter the creature had dropped onto her bed. It was crisp, and sealed with a dark blue stamp of a crow.

My Darling Astoria,

I’ve long grown out of being surprised by your boldness, and if ever I’d found it off-putting, I promise I would have said something.

As it is, such forwardness on you part was unnecessary on this occasion; had you only held you patience until this weekend, I’d have asked you on my own. But of course, you wouldn’t quite be you otherwise, and I must admit that I’m heartened by your insistence.

At present, I am attending to some rather delicate business with the French Ministry, and will be here for a few more days. Otherwise I’d visit you this moment.

Expect me Thursday evening. I shall owl your parents tomorrow, to alert them. Also, please inform me when you decide on the color of your robes. I’d hate for us to clash.

Resolutely yours,

Draco

Astoria smiled brightly. Turning, she addressed the bird awaiting an answer.

“You may rest now, Persephone. Well done.” She gave her a treat from the dish on the windowsill and Persephone flew out again, circling around towards the owlery.

Closing her window, Astoria sat at her vanity and went about brushing her hair before bed. She could not have stopped smiling if she’d tied.

The next Thursday found the three Greengrasses in residence waiting by the grand fireplace. Draco had owled her parents, as he told her he would, requesting to speak with the three of them. He was set to arrive in three minutes. Astoria, sat in a plush armchair, smoothed her skirt over her lap again.

Jocasta and Augustus Greengrass, her parents, were beginning to show their anxiousness. Her mother was wringing biting her lip and her father constantly readjusted his pocket watch in his hand.

Astoria, though she was loathe to admit it even to herself, was nervous as well. Not of seeing Draco; no, she was rather excited about that. But He was coming to ask her formally to the ball, and her parents would come to the conclusion (correctly) that it would lead to a formal courtship.

Astoria had no issue with Draco’s family name or history. However, she knew that her parents did. They hadn’t mentioned it to her, but Jocasta wasn’t having regular tea with Narcissa like she used to, and both her parents had withdrawn themselves from all their former friends and allies who had openly backed the Dark Lord. Draco was something of a pariah, even now, and Astoria hoped her parents would not hold that against him.

The flames grew and sparked emerald, and Astoria stood to greet Draco as he entered their home.

He nodded to her just so before turning to her father.

Augustus shook his hand. “Mister Malfoy, it’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine, Sir,” he said as he kissed Jocasta’s hand. “I thank you for taking the time to see me.”

“Of course, of course.”

Draco turned to her after greeting her parents. “It is lovely to see you again, Miss Greengrass.”

Astoria curtsied. Even now, after talking mainly via letter, she could detect affection under the frosty exterior. The corners of her mouth twitched upward. “Likewise, Mister Malfoy.”

Jocasta, after the pleasantries, lead them into the small drawing room. They sat at a table, Augustus at the head, Draco on one side, and Astoria and her mother on the other.

“Sir, Madam,” Draco began, “I’m here to formally invite Astoria to accompany me to the Ball, at the end of this month.” His shoulders were squared and his hands clasped on top of the table. Astoria thought she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw.

Her parents exchanged a glance, and they were made to wait in silence. It was more than a little ridiculous that Draco had to ask her parents for something like a ball, but because they intended to take their relationship beyond that, she decided to not put up a fuss. So long as they allowed it.

Finally, Augustus leveled Draco with a hard look. “Our daughter means the world to us, Mister Malfoy.”

“I understand that, Sir.”

Her father hesitated. Which was a rare sight Astoria wasn’t completely prepared for. “You are a respectable young man, and of good breeding, but given everything that’s happened…You understand our hesitation.”

“I do.”

“Have you an argument?”

“Argument? No, Sir. I will not presume to match your daughter in worth, nor do I have anything to offer that she can’t get without me.” Draco, who had not dropped eye contact with Augustus since he’d stated his intentions, flicked his gaze to meet Astoria’s. “I understand that I have a volatile past. I wish to keep her company for selfish reasons. If I may speak as something of an authority on darkness, Sir, Astoria is refreshingly light.”

Astoria herself was quite breathless. She had to restrain herself from speaking out—not yet, they hadn’t said ‘no’ yet. Her father raised his eyebrows, looking mildly impressed. Her mother wore a mask of indifference, though Astoria knew that Jocasta had more reservations than her husband did. They had another silent conversation, briefer this time, and Augustus, at long last, turned to address his daughter. “Astoria, what have you to say?”

“I say that I’d like very much to accompany Mister Malfoy to the Christmas Ball, Father.” She kept her eyes on Draco and fought a smile. “And I mustn’t say any more than that, or we’d be here all night.”

Draco, she saw, bit back a smirk, but Augustus laughed openly. Her mother sighed but looked at her daughter and smiled just a bit—just enough to let Astoria know that she wasn’t pleased, but she wasn’t angry. that was good enough.

“Well I suppose that settles it,” Augustus said.

“Will you be staying for dinner, Mister Malfoy?” Jocasta asked. “We can inform the elves that we’re having company.”

Draco rose from his chair and Augustus did the same. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ve got prior dinner arrangements. If I could, however, I’d like to have a moment to speak with Astoria.”

“Of course, of course, go on.” Astoria was delighted that her father seemed supportive.

Draco circled the table and she joined him at his side. The two walked to the window at the far wall. “That went well, I thought,” Draco said, speaking low.

“Indeed it did. Much thanks to your waxing poetic. How long did you rehearse that, by the way?” She was teasing, but she was positive her cheeks were still tinged a bit pink. Best to ignore it.

Draco chuckled. “No rehearsal. I’m only naturally charming.”

“Ah, now it all makes sense.”

They both laughed at that. Glancing back to check that they weren’t being watched too closely, Astoria withdrew from her robes a handkerchief, a decorative “A” embroidered in silk at it’s corner, and gave it to Draco.

Draco smiled. She knew it smelt strongly of her perfume. He folded it delicately and placed it in his breast pocket. He then withdrew his wand and conjured a single, lovely light purple rose. “I meant it, Astoria,” he said at length, pondering the rose in his hand. “You’ve…become my light.”

He gave Astoria the rose, and she held it like it was made of crystal. Draco bade her and her parents a good evening, Augustus accompanied him back to the fireplace, her mother excused herself to the library. Astoria stood, quite dazed, in the drawing room.

The rose’s petals were silken to the touch. To her surprise, once she was alone, the rose was joined by a small vine of bindweed. Enchantment. Humility. Her heart ached with so many emotions at once.

She was definitely owling Daphne tomorrow.