“You will see her,” said his father. “You cannot run away from this forever.”
Years of resentment hadn’t enabled him to defend himself against his father’s imperiousness. His knuckles were turning white, yet his lips wouldn’t move to form the answer “No”. Minutes after his father had left, he was still seething in silence.
“Let’s just get this done with,” he muttered to himself at last, walking out of his bedroom. He heard the voices of the Greengrass couple as he reached the living room. A wave of nausea hit him and he stalled.
“Draco?” called his mother.
With a heavy sigh, he straightened his collar and walked in, nodding at the Greengrasses. His eyes scanned the room for their daughter, Daphne’s sister, but she wasn’t there.
Looks like she has left, he thought hopefully.
The introduction passed painfully. Although he didn’t show it, he couldn’t bear shaking people’s hands while wondering what they must think his family’s fallen grace. He couldn’t help the paranoia, the feeling of shame which accompanied him every time he had to talk to someone other than his own parents. He was surprised by the fact that they kept coming, though. His father must have spent far too much gold in his heyday to still have some semblance of a social clout after all that had happened.
“Astoria’s gone out to see our garden,” said his mother. “Why don’t you go see her?”
He noticed Mr Greengrass frowning and his wife giving an uneasy smile; perhaps, the daughter had left against their permission. Suddenly feeling happier, he made a little bow and said, “It will be my pleasure.”
If the daughter didn’t like this, he might be able to get out of a marriage he didn’t want. But when he reached the garden and saw her, something happened.
She was standing by a tree, her plain white robes disappearing into the bright orange flowers that grew in a circle round her. She was looking at something in the distance, unmindful of the fact that she cut quite a striking figure as her hair blew loose in the breeze and her silver hoops dazzled, caught in the afternoon sunlight. After staring at her for a few seconds, he thought he should make his presence known, but he seemed to forget her name and ended up coughing instead.
She turned to look at him.
He couldn’t say anything.
“They are forcing us to marry,” she said bluntly. “I don’t want to. Do you?”
Taken aback, he said, “I “ er “ no.”
“We’ll tell them, won’t we?”
All of a sudden, he wanted to declare “no”, but he still said, “Yes, we will.”
She laughed in relief and walked towards him. “You’re not as bad as I thought, then,” she remarked, her green eyes piercing into his.
He couldn’t break the contact. Before he could stop himself, he spluttered, “Could - could- we have a drink sometimes?”
“Maybe,” she answered, smiling. “But let’s go and break the news first.”
It was a month after the botched match-making session of his parents that Draco found himself standing outside Twilfit & Tattings. He was chewing his lips and wondering if he had enough courage to walk in.
“C’mon, you sodding coward,” he muttered to himself, but even self-chiding wouldn’t work. His forehead was getting sweaty, and he had almost decided to Disapparate when she came out of the shop. He gulped and looked away, pretending not to have seen her.
“Draco?” she called.
“Oh … Astoria,” he said mechanically. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” she said, smiling as she approached him. “What brings you here?”
“I was waiting for a friend.”
“Ah …” she said. “Are they late then?”
“Yeah.” Draco made a show of checking his watch. “Looks like they won’t turn up.”
“That’s too bad.”
Say something, nagged a voice in his head. “So … uh … did you come here to get your robes fitted?” he asked.
“I work here,” she replied. “Didn’t you hear my parents moaning that day? Or maybe, they did it when you weren’t around.”
Draco’s mother had indeed mentioned that Astoria was working as a new designer for the high-end store. He remembered that she had sounded somewhat impressed, while his father wore a frown on his face. He personally didn’t give a Knut whether Astoria designed clothes or washed dishes at the Leaky Cauldron … No, he said to himself. The latter was a bit unbecoming, but Twilfit & Tattings was a respectable and reputed place, and really, making expensive wizardwear (or was it witchingwear?) wasn’t half-bad when compared to the fact that he was currently jobless, and had the tag of ‘Former Death Eater’ following him everywhere he went.
“No,” he said. “They must have talked about it when I was in my room.”
“Mmm.” Shrugging, she said, “I’m going to Muggle London to order a few things. I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah … sure …”
The moment was slipping by, he knew that, yet he couldn’t do anything except pretend to check the time on his watch again. She left, and he stood there for a while, thrilled with the knowledge that he had at least managed to make some sort of a contact, and frustrated that he was so inexperienced at this. Dating Pansy had been easy; he’d never had to even try to impress her. Now that he had to start from scratch, he found that he didn’t understand a thing about courtship.
The worst part, he mused, was that he had no one to turn to for advice. The only friend he had was Gregory Goyle, who Draco wasn’t even sure was interested in girls. In all his years at Hogwarts, Goyle had never approached a single female. Nothing had changed as he was still resolutely single. Not that he would be a lady’s man even if he did have a girlfriend; Goyle was as subtle, attractive and charming as a rampaging cockatrice.
Yet, it was something to have someone of his age who didn’t despise or laugh at him. Draco would pay the price of being Draco Malfoy forever, or so it seemed.
All the buoyancy that Astoria’s brief presence had brought evaporated as he thought of his past. Cursing under his breath, he finally moved from the spot and made his way towards Knockturn Alley, where Goyle worked at a cauldron dealer’s store. At least Goyle has a job, he thought bitterly. I’m the bigger failure.
“What?” cried Draco, jumping up from the cauldron he had been sitting on.
“I have a date,” said Goyle.
Draco stared at his friend, who was currently dressed in the dirtiest coveralls, having hauled Merlin knew how many cauldrons around the warehouse. Huge, bulking, menacing, blundering, thick-headed “ such were the adjectives which chased each other through Draco’s brain as he furiously tried to process what he had just heard.
“You … you have a date.”
“Yeah,” said Goyle softly, blushing under the grime and sweat on his face.
“Holy Salazar …”
Goyle didn’t seem to be affected by Draco’s rather telling disbelief. “She’s nice,” he said as he shuffled uncomfortably, no doubt embarrassed by what he was saying, “and … I like her.”
“Do I know her?” demanded Draco.
“I dunno,” said Goyle. “She’s four years older than me.”
“Was she at Slytherin?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s her name?”
“Chlo-wee.”
“Chloe?”
“Yeah.”
“Chloe what?” snapped Draco.
“Chlo-wee Pucey.”
Draco racked his brain for a mental picture of Chloe Pucey and got zero result. He supposed, a little unkindly but legitimately, that she must have been average in every department to not have been noticed by him. But then he remembered that he couldn’t even recall what Astoria had looked like at school, so he decided not to comment on that.
His curiosity, however, wouldn’t leave him. “When are you introducing me to her?” he asked.
“I dunno.” Goyle shifted yet again, and Draco wondered whether his friend was ashamed of him. “We just started.”
“Well, what does she look like? Where did you meet? How did you ask her out?”
Goyle’s mouth hung open as Draco bombarded him with his questions, but just as he started answering them, his supervisor rapped the door sharply. “Get back to work now,” he growled.
With an apologetic look, Goyle went back inside, but before he had shut the door, Draco stopped him with one last question. “Where are you meeting her?”
“Feeny’s Inn at eight,” said Goyle, smiling in spite of himself. “Down Diagon Alley.”
Draco felt pathetic, but he would have done this a million times over.
He was, of course, at Feeny’s Inn, “down Diagon Alley”, as Goyle had put it. It wasn’t really an inn, just a small restaurant frequented by those who worked late into the evening at Diagon Alley. Draco hadn’t known this place existed until that afternoon when he had decided to spy on his friend.
If there was one thing which Draco was good at, it was being sneaky. He had used a few Disfigurement Charms on himself to change his appearance, understanding that even Goyle’s unwavering loyalty to him would sway if he found out Draco had turned up to observe his dating skills. Spells and curses Draco could dodge, especially if it was Goyle casting them, but he suspected the other boy would be quicker with his fist. He didn’t fancy getting his nose broken at the moment.
Now sporting dark wavy hair and a goatee, Draco sipped his mead and waited for the couple to walk in. One of Goyle’s few redeeming qualities was his punctuality, and sure enough, he entered a few seconds to eight, followed by a short figure hiding under the hood of a rather large, purple cloak.
The first thing Draco was amazed by was the fact that Goyle looked clean and properly groomed. His hair had been cut short, he had shaved, and most incredible of all, he was wearing properly washed dark navy robes. Draco’s eyebrows went further and further up his forehead as he watched Goyle take the girl’s cloak, revealing a plumpy, brown-haired witch who didn’t look as unpleasant as he had hoped she would. He might have even exclaimed “Good God!” or something of that sort, when Goyle pulled up a chair for her.
“What are you having?” barked an irritated voice right next to his ear.
Draco looked up to see the waitress who had provided him the menu a few minutes back. “I haven’t decided yet,” he told her.
She glared at him. “I’ve been standing here for more than a minute now,” she said irritably. “Let me know when you deign to order.”
Normally, Draco would have said something scathing, but he had far more important things to pay attention to than his pride. He quickly returned to Goyle and his girl, who was now talking animatedly, while Goyle just sat and nodded, grinning like he had been hit with far too many Cheering Charms.
“Let’s wait till she sees you eat, you slick git,” Draco muttered, not at all perturbed by his own immaturity. He snapped his fingers and beckoned the waitress who was sulking near the bar.
“I’ll have today’s special,” he said.
Draco drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for Goyle’s order to arrive. Surely, no amount of Scouring Charms could cure one’s rather off-putting table manners. But, once again, he was proven wrong; Goyle was using his knife and fork quite well, although not as well as Draco would have, because the girl helped him cut his steak.
She didn’t seem to mind. Of course, Goyle wasn’t stuffing his face any longer as he used to at school, but she really seemed not to be bothered by the fact that her boyfriend needed her help to eat properly. As far as Draco could deduce, they were heartily enjoying their dinner.
His own order arrived, but Draco hardly glanced at it.
“You pay even if you don’t touch it,” reminded the waitress before leaving him.
The day’s special turned out to be escargots, which Draco enjoyed in general, but somehow he couldn’t work up an appetite that night. If he was really honest with himself, he was jealous of his friend. He wouldn’t have bet “ not in a million years “ that Goyle would score with the ladies before he did. Yet there he was, alone and mulling over a plate of delicious food that was going cold at the speed of light, while Goyle had nearly finished his successful dinner.
Sullenly, he took out a few Galleons from his pocket to leave on the table, wanting to leave before Goyle did. He had almost reached the door when he heard Goyle call him.
“Shit!”
He had forgotten about his appearance; the charms must have worn off.
Wishing to be anywhere but there, he slowly turned around, and faced a frowning Goyle.
“Hello, Greg!” he said cheerily, hoping that Goyle wouldn’t make a scene in front of the girl, who was looking at him curiously.
“How come you’re here?” asked Goyle.
“I “ I was supposed to meet someone,” he lied for the second time that day.
“Funny.”
That was all Goyle said, but Draco could hear the anger, hurt and disappointment which were packed into that one word. He was immediately ashamed of himself, and couldn’t think of anything he could do to make the situation any better.
“Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?” asked the girl, who slipped her arm into Goyle’s. “Even though I already know you quite well, Mr Malfoy.”
Goyle relaxed a little. “Draco,” he mumbled. “Meet Chlo-wee.”
Draco extended a hand, relieved. “Pleased to meet you finally,” he said. “Goyle has “ uh “ told me so much about you.”
The girl didn’t seem convinced, but she gave a small smile as she shook his hand. “He has told me so much about you, too, Mr Malfoy,” she said.
Did she mean something by that? Draco asked himself, but he decided that the thing he wanted the most at that moment was to leave them alone. “I suppose you had a great time,” he said to her, unable to look at Goyle, “and … Well, I need to go. It was nice meeting you.”
He didn’t wait for their reply, Disapparating as soon as he had exited the restaurant.
Sleep refused to come that night.
Draco felt once more in the grips of his inner demons as he tossed and turned on his bed. He couldn’t get rid of the image of Goyle’s disgruntled expression, couldn’t help thinking over what the girl had said. What good things could Goyle have to say about him? He tried to find one favour he had done for his friend; there was none.
And then, he had gone and made things worse. He had lost the only semblance of friendship he had left. He was utterly alone.
Unbidden, a scene began to play out in his mind. Goyle was probably shagging the girl now. He felt like a twat for even entertaining the idea, but it failed to give him whatever perverse pleasure he could have hoped for. His own bed was cold, and it would remain that way, unless his parents forced him to marry some rich pure-blood.
He didn’t just want to marry anyone! Apart from the fact that he was tired of his parents trying to make his decisions from him, he craved something which they couldn’t buy with their money. Something that Goyle had. And if Goyle could have that, why couldn’t he? Didn’t Goyle have a similar past?
Besides, Goyle had been worse than him, willingly using the Cruciatus Curse on hapless students. At least, Draco hadn’t done that. He had merely tried to kill his old Headmaster … and done nothing but cower in the shadows as he watched people being tortured and killed in his own house.
When sleep did claim him, it brought the old nightmares with it. The exquisite chandelier was shattering into a thousand pieces … but reforming into the figure of a body hanging above the dining table … then falling over a parapet and into the cavernous jaws of a fiery dragon …
It wasn’t that which woke him up, though. It was the silhouette of someone draped in a purple cloak. When Draco lowered the hood, he saw a familiar face, and his fingers were caught in golden hair that blew in the breeze.
“Astoria,” he mumbled absently when his eyes flew open. Not finding her next to him, he returned to his fitful sleep.
Because You Came by hestiajones
Chapter Endnotes: Hope you liked it. Heehee.