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Astoria lifts her teacup and studies the woman sitting across from her. There’s a flush to her cheeks—stray snowflakes on the shoulders of her coat—her hair has frizzed out of its bun in a way that looks both bedraggled and artfully beautiful.
“I didn’t think you’d want to meet me,” Hermione says as she tucks her scarf into a pocket and shrugs out of her coat.
“I didn’t,” Astoria says before Hermione can continue. “But you come up so often in conversation that I was curious what you’d have to say.”
Hermione’s cheeks redden prettily. Astoria sighs softly and sets down her teacup.
“Well,” Hermione says, clearly uncomfortable. “Thank you for taking the time to sate your curiosity.”
Astoria smiles faintly. “I should be thanking you. Planning a wedding takes a lot of time. Or so I hear.”
Hermione flinches and Astoria keeps her expression politely neutral.
“I didn’t know he was engaged,” she says as she stares down at her own empty teacup. “Until it was too late.”
Astoria enjoys Hermione's obvious discomfort for another few seconds. Hermione shifts and tucks her hair behind her ears only for it to spring free and brush across her cheek. The elderly ladies sitting nearby are giving them both curious looks and whispering to each other.
Hermione follows Astoria’s gaze and frowns. Frees her wand and flicks it sharply with a murmured, “Muffliato.”
“That will only make them more curious, you know,” Astoria says pleasantly. The light is glittering off the ring on Hermione’s hand, scattering rainbow drops across the table.
“That’s their problem,” Hermione mutters as she pours her tea. “Unless you’d prefer to hear about this conversation from Rita Skeeter?” She says the reporter’s name like a curse.
Astoria shakes her head slightly. Lifts a finger and brushes it across the delicate snowdrop hanging over the edge of the vase. “It’s better we’re seen together,” she murmurs. “Better still if you invite my family to the wedding.”
Hermione grimaces. “I didn’t think you’d want one.” She stirs a spoonful of honey into her tea.
“I don’t.” Astoria’s voice is flat as she plucks one of the petals from the flower and lets it drop to the table. “But appearances, you know?”
Hermione sets the teaspoon down on her saucer and fiddles with it for a moment. “I’ll make sure you get an invitation,” she says slowly, “but don’t feel—I don’t know—obligated.”
“I won’t,” Astoria says as she lifts her own teacup. The tea is getting cold, and she purses her lips as she sets it back down. “You won’t be getting a gift.”
Hermione smiles slightly and then glances away. “I wouldn’t expect one.”
For a few minutes they sip at their respective teas—Astoria pours herself a fresh steaming cup—and continue to size each other up. Astoria plucks another petal free and grinds it to shreds between her fingernails.
“I really am sorry,” Hermione says softly as she fidgets with her ring. “I should’ve tried to have this conversation sooner.”
“Well,” Astoria mutters, “you’ve been busy.” She rips the last petal free from the snowdrop and lets it drop into her teacup.
“If it helps,” Hermione says lightly, “I could fetch Draco, and you could slap him again.”
Astoria smiles despite herself and then quickly smooths her expression. “We could have a cheek each,” she says as she looks up and meets Hermione’s gaze. “He’d end up redder than a Weasley.”
Hermione’s smile falters for a moment. “I suppose, yes.”
Another awkward moment of silence. Astoria eyes the next snowdrop and folds her hands in her lap. “Has someone been teaching you about the pureblood rituals?”
Hermione shakes her head. “I—I thought of asking Ginny but…” She takes a hasty and undignified gulp of tea. “I don’t think she’d appreciate it,” she finishes as she sets down her cup with a rattle.
Astoria leans forward slightly. “I presume most other purebloods you know are related to Draco.”
Hermione nods and for a moment misery flashes across her face. “Or the Weasleys.”
Astoria lifts her hand and runs a fingertip along the rim of her teacup. “I’ve heard you’re acquainted with Theodore Nott.”
Hermione frowns slightly. “Yes?” Her brows furrow in confusion. “What’s that got to do with—”
“My sister would kill you if my parents didn’t see you first,” Astoria says calmly, pleased with the way Hermione’s face pales. “And I’m not stepping foot into Malfoy Manor.”
“I don’t—”
“If you’re going to marry him,” Astoria says as she reaches for the snowdrop and snaps its stem cleanly with a fingernail, “then you should at least have the decency to do it properly.”
Hermione stares at her for a long minute, her brows furrowing further before eventually smoothing back out. “What’s in it for you?”
Astoria shrugs lightly. “None of your business.” She plucks a petal from the torn flower.
Hermione stares for another few seconds and smiles tentatively. “Thank you, Astoria.”
Astoria’s fingers twitch against the soft petals. She gets to her feet so quickly that her chair almost topples back over. “I’ll owl you the details.” She waits a half-second for Hermione’s bewildered nod before turning on her heel.
Outside, the snow has turned to rain, and Astoria tips her face to the grey clouds and lets the drops trickle down her cheeks like tears.
Astoria stands in front of the imposing gates of Malfoy Manor and watches the other guests slowly make their way up the gravel drive.
She doesn’t turn at the Apparition pop behind her—just glances out of the corner of her eyes and allows herself a frown.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Theodore Nott says as he stumbles and catches his balance. “I—”
“I’m not interested in your excuses,” Astoria snaps.
He gives her a considering look and then offers his arm. “Are you ready?”
Astoria slips her fingers into the crook of his elbow. “No,” she admits in a soft whisper.
“We’ll sit in the back,” Theodore says reassuringly as he takes a half-step forward. Astoria hesitates before falling into step beside him. “And if you want to hex anyone—”
“I’ll give you my wand.” She holds her breath as Theodore pushes the gate open—it swings easily—and they step into the manor grounds.
“I’ll hex him for you, if you want.” His voice is cheerful.
Astoria exhales slowly. “I don’t want to ruin the wedding after spending weeks getting her prepared for it,” she lies. “But afterwards, maybe.”
Theodore grins at her and Astoria’s heart flutters slightly. “Just say the word, Miss Greengrass.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s my sister.”
“Not to me,” Theodore murmurs as they pass into the manor itself. “Are you sure you don’t want to check on Hermione?”
“She’ll be fine,” Astoria mutters. “And I taught her a signal if she forgets anything.”
“You won’t see it if we’re sitting at the back,” Theodore points out.
“Then we’ll sit at the front.” Astoria nods to a passing Weasley who grimaces at her.
He reaches over with his other hand to pat hers. “Whatever you want, Astoria.”
She’s close enough to see the flex of Draco’s jaw as he paces back and forth. Close enough to faintly smell his cologne—mint and bergamot—with each sweep he takes past her.
Her fingers ache from the grip she has on Theodore’s wrist. He hasn’t complained—didn’t even wince when her fingernails dug between his tendons and she recoiled for a moment before grabbing at him again.
Draco turns to look at something past them and freezes.
The music starts—one violin squeaking faintly before falling into tune with the others—and Astoria takes a deep breath before turning slightly.
Harry Potter is escorting Hermione down the flower-strewn aisle, his lips set in a grim line as his gaze sweeps across the crowd. Hermione is almost luminous in her white dress—far too muggle for most of the purebloods, but she looks achingly beautiful in it—her curls swept away from her face to hang loose down her back.
Her fingernails dig into Theodore’s skin again and he puts his hand over hers. Gives her fingers an awkward but reassuring squeeze.
Astoria blinks, and Hermione is walking past her. Her gaze is fixed on Draco—her eyes are already glistening with tears—and Astoria feels sick as she turns back to see Draco’s face so full of love and adoration for someone else.
Her fingers twitch. One wandless curse—a hex—Hermione’s hair could go up in flames—the long train of her dress could fly away as if carried by Peeves—Draco’s face could be covered in bursting sores.
Astoria takes a deep breath and puts her other hand over Theodore’s. Licks her lips as Harry passes Hermione off to Draco—feels light-headed as Narcissa Malfoy holds out her hand for Hermione’s.
A tickle of air against her ear. “You don’t have to watch,” Theodore whispers.
Astoria shakes her head minutely. She does. Like scouring the infection from a wound so that it can heal cleanly. She bites her lip and blinks back tears as Draco clasps Hermione’s hand in his own.
For a few seconds, she considers keeping her face in the water. Letting the life bubble out of her lungs while her body slumps against the basin.
For a few more seconds, Astoria opens her eyes and stares at the black marble. Her heart wouldn’t feel split in two if she drowned in a guest bathroom.
A knock on the door, muffled by the water.
Astoria closes her eyes and almost breathes.
Rough hands shoving her away from the basin—she gasps down a breath and shakes her head like a wet dog—opens her eyes to Theodore’s frantic expression.
“What are you doing?” He shakes her by the shoulders. “You said you were okay—”
“At first,” Astoria whispers, focusing on the faint freckles dusting across Theodore’s nose, “I didn’t even want to marry him. The ring was so heavy and kept pinching my skin and it just felt—” She shakes her head. “Like something I had to do and not something I wanted to do.”
His fingers loosen around her shoulders.
“By the time I’d changed my mind,” Astoria continues, “it was too late, wasn’t it?”
She tips her head forward into his chest and tries to smother the sobs. Theodore’s arms curl around her as he tucks his chin against the top of her head.
“It’s his loss,” he murmurs. “There’s still time to put frogs in his bed.”
Astoria makes an ugly noise that’s mostly a sob and partly a laugh.
Theodore holds her tighter. “Or we could escape.”
She nods against his shoulder. “Please,” she chokes out.
The owl arrives the day after the wedding. Astoria stares out at the sprawling gardens as she taps the envelope against the windowpane. It’s too thick to be a perfunctory thank you and she isn’t sure she wants to read what Hermione has to say.
Theodore would tell her to toss it into the fireplace. But Astoria breaks the wax seal—the M making her heart ache—and unfolds the letter.
The golden afternoon has faded to twilight by the time Astoria is done reading. She sets the letter down with a long sigh and presses her forehead to the cool glass.
Astoria wouldn’t have bothered to find the time to write something so long the morning after being married. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly and lets the bitterness flow out alongside the air. Inhale. Exhale.
“Astoria?” Daphne’s gentle voice. “Are you coming down for dinner?”
“In a minute.” Astoria wipes at her eyes.
Daphne crosses the room in quick steps and throws her arms around Astoria’s shoulders. “He doesn’t deserve you anyway,” she whispers fiercely. “You know that, right?”
“You’ve been telling me every day for months,” Astoria mutters in a thick voice. She glances at their reflections in the glass and offers her sister a lopsided, tear-splotched smile. “I’ll be alright, Daph.”
Daphne presses a kiss to her hair. “Come on,” she says as she pulls Astoria away from the window-seat. “We can sneak a bottle of wine before dinner’s served.”
Astoria smiles and feels a weight shift on her shoulders. “Alright,” she says as she lets Daphne tug her across the room. “Race you downstairs—” She twists free and darts through the door.
Daphne shrieks as Astoria skids down the hallway. “Cheater!”
Astoria laughs as she races down the stairs, almost tripping, tipsy on the feeling that maybe—just maybe—her heart might eventually heal.