TRIGGER WARNING- This chapter contains themes of suicide ideation that may be upsetting to some readers.

This is a big one, folks. Biggest chapter yet. I tend to write each chapter as it comes, only occasionally writing bits for future chapters, and so as I worked my way through this one, it went places I never knew it would go. A couple things: I didn't expect Draco to open up so deeply so quickly. But it felt right. Secondly, the classical piece Astoria plays for Draco is Chopin's "L'adieu" waltz and, like Astoria, I did NOT know the story of it when I first heard it and decided to use it for this chapter. It was only after trying to find it again that I discovered its back story, making it an absolute that I would use it. I highly recommend looking it up.

Now without further ado, I hope you like it! Please please please continue leaving comments; it really does encourage me to carry on with the carrying on.

Chapter 8

Astoria stayed up until the grey light of dawn crept through her windows, but the paper stayed blank. Admitting defeat, she finally succumbed to sleep and didn't get up until called for lunch.

She was in a terrible mood when she got back to her room. Her mother hadn't just been wearing her worried face, she'd thrown question after question at her as they ate. How did she feel? Should she maybe see Lyra today? Should they reconsider moving The Hounds? Was there anything she could get her? Astoria had used up her entire store of patience by the end of it and could barely keep from slamming her bedroom door upon reentry.

Without hesitation, she stormed straight towards her copy of the parchment sitting on her writing table by the bed. To keep from losing her mind during her meal of squab pie and potted cheese, she had started to craft a multitude of messages for Draco - some pithy, some borderline desperate. But before she could grab her quill angrily, she saw the parchment was anything but blank. Her outstretched hand snatched up the paper instead.

Astoria,

I'm impressed - only four points. It's important to have a baseline so we can measure progress.

If I wasn't clear before: I want you here, in London, with me, whenever you can be here. I'm sentenced to Purgatory (read: St. Mungo's) during the day, but my nights are empty.

You were right when you said we both have baggage. I'm used to dealing with mine on my own, so I can't promise I won't hurt you. I've hurt a lot of people and not cared about the consequences. But I think I might care if I hurt you. So no mind games. Besides Question or Command, of course. You're amusing when you think you're winning.

Come tonight. Save room for dessert.

- D

Still gripping the parchment, she sank onto the bed. He wanted her with him, and he cared if she got hurt. Her finger stroked his words mindlessly.

'Might' care, she corrected herself. Stop working yourself up about this. She forced herself to let go of the parchment. It wasn't as though she was any more sure of what she thought of him. She still wasn't able to reconcile the former Death Eater-in-Training who had, in his own words, "hurt a lot of people and not cared about the consequences" with someone who teasingly promised dessert.

But she had to admit she felt something. Maybe she'd just been cooped up with a family she barely tolerated for too long; maybe boredom, isolation, and well-repressed loneliness were finally starting to break her, if a single letter from a person like Draco Malfoy was making her gut twist and clench in anticipation. She read it again as if it were as mundane as the Daily Prophet, taking each word in carefully, impassionately. They're only words. They likely mean absolutely nothing.

She stood up and took the page over to her writing desk.

I'll see you just after midnight.

- A

There. That was all she was going to write. Tonight was the first time she had the chance to prepare properly, and she was going to take advantage of it. Draco Malfoy was not going to know what hit him.

It was a few minutes past twelve when Astoria apparated into Berkeley Square. The night breezes were chilly; autumn had come with a vengeance. She pulled up the collar of her coat to keep the wind from her ears and started to move briskly. Before she knew it, she was gripping the heavy iron door knocker of 4 Charles St. After two quick raps, the door opened on its own volition. She entered the vestibule expectantly, but there was no sign of Draco. Something told her that it was all part of a plan, that he wanted her off-balance and at a disadvantage. Bring it on, Malfoy. I'm as ready to play as you are.

Hanging her coat up in the hall, she followed the lit corridor to the back of the townhouse. It took great concentration for her not to start fussing with the sleeves of her dark wine-coloured sweater or to bite her stained lips. She turned the corner towards the dining room, and saw that Draco had also prepared for a battle of wits.

The dining room's massive chandelier bathed the whole regal space in glimmering light and set the gilded ceiling aglow. Two places were set in front of a table laden with a massive platter of desserts: crystal bowls of creamy chocolate mousse, pastel-coloured macarons, decadent millefeuilles, a towering croquembouche in a caramel cage, a glossy-surfaced tarte Tatin, and her favourite - small porcelain cups of crème brûlée with burnt sugar tops.

She couldn't help it; she started laughing.

"That's not exactly the reaction I was expecting," a voice drawled from behind her. She turned to see Draco standing on the bottom stair of the parlour leaning on a pillar. "You are a strange girl, Astoria Greengrass." He came towards her, and she wasn't sure what appealed to her more - the table of French desserts behind her, or the boy with the white-gold hair in front of her. He was dressed all in black, and he looked bloody regal.

"Thank you. It comes naturally." She turned back around and walked towards the table. Draco helped her into a chair and then walked to the sideboard where she hadn't noticed a bottle of champagne chilling. He poured two coupe glasses full and brought them over.

"I figured that if you liked French pastries, you probably liked French desserts and champagne as well. Tell me I'm right."

"Of course you're right." She selected one of the crème brûlée cups and wasted no time cracking the top with her spoon. "I haven't met anyone worth knowing who doesn't like French desserts and champagne." She returned his piercing gaze as she rose the spoon to her lips. This is delicious, she thought and moaned in pleasure. "The burnt sugar is the best part," she added, "especially if you suck on it slowly until it dissolves." She delighted to see his nostrils flare as he returned her half-smile. "Aren't you going to eat something?"

He took a sip of his champagne. "Eventually."

"Ah, I see." She savoured another spoonful. "You have to revel in your success first. Go on, then. Drink it in. Round one to Draco Malfoy."

A proper smile spread over his face, and he looked like a cat that had got the cream. Setting his glass down, he reached over for the millefeuille.

"Is that why you were laughing?" He picked up a fork and speared the edge of the pastry.

"I was laughing because we both came prepared for a battle. You might have scored first, but that doesn't mean the game is yours."

"I look forward to seeing your countermove." He looked more than just his usual smirky self, he looked… lighter. Happier. Is that weird to think?

"So," she started after another bite of dessert, "this ostentatious dining room. Have you ever actually eaten in here before?" She looked around at the imposing marble pillars, the gold patterned ceiling, and the tall glass doors that led to the courtyard. It looked as though it had been frozen in time three quarters of a century past. And Draco Malfoy in all black, sitting at the head of table looking as though he did it every night.

"Like I said before, this was my grandfather's place. Of course I've eaten here."

"Does living in this museum of a house fascinate you or frustrate you?"

Draco set his millefeuille down. "Are we playing, then? Because you just asked me a question, so it's your turn.

Astoria had been hoping he'd slip. She set her own dish down and perched her chin on her hand, her elbow resting scandalously on the table. "I thought you'd never ask. Yes, we're playing, which means my turn is finished and I can ask my second question. Does living in this weird frozen-in-time Art Deco relic fascinate you or frustrate you?"

Draco was quiet for a moment; she wondered if he was annoyed that she'd outmanoeuvred him, or whether he was just thinking. She kept looking for a tell, something to betray him as he hid his emotions, but it was like reading a marble wall.

"Some of each, I think. My grandfather, Abraxas, told me that his father, Antares Malfoy, was the toast of London back in the '20s and '30s. A plethora of Ministers of Magic, international Quidditch stars, and foreign dignitaries - including royalty - have eaten in this room."

Astoria's eyes widened and she looked around the room with fresh eyes. It was easy to picture: women in slinky robes and hair in waves, men with impressive moustaches and slick suits. Maybe even a Polynesian princess or a Yoruban shaman-chief.

Draco had gone silent again. She watched him for a brief moment. "You haven't said if that's frustrating or fascinating," she pressed.

He only carved out another bite from his plate. Finally, he looked back up at her. "Being a Malfoy is a lot to live up to sometimes."

Draco didn't need to say anything else. How many times had Astoria heard her mother worry about the Greengrass legacy? Why her father had insisted she and Daphne both understand the politics of the Wizarding World, and what families were worth connecting themselves with?

"I understand. Legacy, Dignity, and Duty, remember?" She unconsciously pulled herself back up straight, as her mother had drilled into her. Old habits die hard, she thought.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a cruel grimace. "I don't think you've destroyed your future quite as thoroughly as I have, Astoria."

"So what, you don't get to have a future now? That's stupid logic. I think you have more in common with your great-grandfather than your grandfather."

Draco looked genuinely puzzled. "What?"

"This townhouse has been stuck in time for almost eighty years. Your grandfather told you stories of its glory days, but it looks like he never changed so much as a thread. Which of them took risks to get where they got? I've read enough about Abraxas Malfoy to know that he was as rigid and conservative as they come. And I don't think that's you."

Draco sat blinking. Astoria swallowed hard, wondering if she'd overstepped. Is it strange that I've read up on his grandfather? He's going to think I'm some obsessed little stalker. Nice going, Astoria.

The room glinted silently for a full minute. Finally, Draco pushed back his chair and rose.

"Let's get out of here." He walked over to the sideboard, grabbed the bottle of champagne, and left the dining room. Obviously he expects you to follow, she told herself. Plenty of time to mull on his moodiness later.

She followed him up and up and up, past the level his bedroom was on, until they got to a paneled wall. Draco leaned on it and out sprung a hidden door.

And then they were on the roof, with all of London at their feet. Astoria saw they were walking towards one of the chimneys, where a flat grey cushion lay on the ground. They sat beside one another on the cushion, their backs up against the warm brick column.

Draco took a swig of the champagne straight from the bottle and asked "Question or Command?"

Before she answered, Astoria held her hand out expectantly. Draco gave her the bottle and she took a swig. "Question. It only seems fair."

"Who was your best friend at Hogwarts?"

All of her blood vanished. "What?"

"There was a girl you used to hang out with at school. What was her name?"

She couldn't breathe. She was not ready to bring this up, to deal with this. To talk about her with Draco. "No."

"What?"

"No, Draco. I can't talk about it."

He turned his head to look at her. His eyes were piercing and unnaturally calm. "I just want to know her name."

"No. No, I can't, I'm sorry. Challenge, or Command, or whatever the other one is." She was so flustered, she nearly dropped the champagne bottle trying to hand it back.

"You can't even say her name?"

Humiliatingly, a tear spilled out of one eye.

"No." It was as though the fresh air was collapsing her lungs. Why did it hurt to breathe?

Obviously repulsed by her uncontrollable display of emotions, he looked away again. "Command then. I think it's time for our broom ride."

"What?!"

"I'm done talking, you're done talking. It's a good thing you wore trousers and not a skirt." He looked down at her wide-leg slacks.

"Wait, Draco, we need to discuss this rationally…"

"See, that's a mistake. Neither of us are feeling rational right now, so bollocks to that. Accio broom!" He suddenly was standing with his wand out and before she could shut her gaping mouth, a Nimbus 2001 was flying into his outstretched hand. He turned and offered the other one to help her up.

"Draco, please…" she protested.

"Astoria, stop protesting. You need to focus now. The trick to flying with another person is that they can't be trying to steer in different directions. All you need to do is hold on to me and let me fly. Can you do that?"

She was on her feet and her heart was having a meltdown; it was beating through her body like it wanted to escape. Which was exactly what Astoria wished she could do. "You're mad, Draco. We can't go flying in London. Someone will see us."

His wand tapped on her head and a cool sensation trickled over her. "Disillusionment charm," he explained. "Really, Astoria, this isn't my first ride." He stepped over the hovering broom. "Now get on behind me and hold on."

I'm not doing this. I'm not. This is so stupid. This is petrifying. What if I fall? But she couldn't give him the satisfaction. She had come there that night to win, and she wasn't quite cowardly enough to admit defeat.

Her legs were shaky as she threw one over the broom. She heard herself whimper as she locked her fingers around Draco's waist. His centre started to ripple, and she realised he was laughing.

"Ready?" he asked. He cast another disillusionment charm on himself and the broom. They were now barely a shimmer in the air to anyone who might have seen them.

"Not really," she complained. "But don't let that stop you."

And then they were blasting off the ground at full speed. Astoria wanted to scream but found that her voice had apparently stayed on the roof. Her arms tightened around Draco's hard body as the wind rushed by them furiously. She kept her eyes open, worried that if she shut them she'd simply lose all consciousness and tumble into the void. Below her, the lights of London blurred together like a pointillistic masterpiece, like a glowing tapestry of gemstones.

He followed the air currents as if he were a bird, rising and falling gradually with each wave of them. It was like… well, it was like what she'd always dreamed flying was like. Like swimming, but crisper somehow. Without resistance. Draco really is an excellent flyer, she thought.

They flew southwest over the city towards a big park, and Draco began weaving through the massive trees with practised grace. The city sounds had almost vanished, and the air felt fresher somehow as it rushed by her face. Large golden leaves from ashes and oaks waved at them as they passed by. She pressed her cheek against Draco's shoulder and started to relax.

Ten minutes later, they were back on the roof. She felt… exhilarated. Alive. So alive. She was rosy-cheeked and smiling like a lunatic, panting as if she'd been running.

"I get it," she said once Draco had taken the charm off of them. "I absolutely get why you love to fly. It's like sex." She laughed as she rubbed her hands together briskly. "Only colder."

He dropped the broom beside him and pulled her towards him, kissing her with a manic energy that she gave right back to him. His hands were clutching at her, grabbing and clutching her slim curves with each handful. She matched his fervour; a delicious hum was running through her.

"You make me feel so alive," she panted in his ear.

And then Draco stopped abruptly.

She knew instantly that she'd managed to say the exact wrong thing, and there was no way to take it back. She froze, as if she were prey that had been spotted by a predator. His entire being was tense, and she could practically feel him struggle to get his emotions under control.

This is it, she panicked. I've ruined it on the first day of taking it seriously. You're a bloody prodigy, Astoria.

"Let's get you inside before you freeze to death." Draco's voice was eerily low and measured. She nodded and let him lead her off the roof silently.

She expected him to take her back down to the entry hall, hand her her coat, and wish her a good night. Instead, he led her to his dim excuse for a bedroom. They sat beside each other on the edge of the bed without a word.

What was she supposed to say? Should she apologize? Did he want to bring it up or forget it had ever happened? Should she wait for him to make the next move?

"Are you warming up?" he asked finally, still not looking at her.

"I'm getting there incrementally."

The soft hum of London at night was the only sound for what felt like decades.

She couldn't stand it any more. "Draco, I know I've said the wrong thing…"

"It isn't that," he cut her off. "You weren't… it wasn't that..." He sighed in frustration. "It's just that you have a talent for choosing the exact words that… that get to me." In a surprising move, Draco laid his hand over hers and interlaced their fingers. She wanted to squeeze them, but waited. She felt somehow that he didn't want any show of pity or empathy right now.

"Flying is really the only thing that makes me happy anymore. Even then, sometimes it's not enough."

Right. The only thing that made him happy, and she'd ruined it with her stupid words.

He continued. "Sometimes I fly up as high as I dare, and I just… hover. And then I…" He tightened his grip on Astoria's hand. "I wonder what it would be like if I fell."

Oh, Merlin. She knew she'd sensed darkness in Draco - maybe that was even part of what had drawn her to him - but she hadn't fully realized just how lonely and broken he was.

"How do you find the courage not to do it?"

Draco exhaled in a humourless laugh. "Don't you mean 'why aren't you brave enough to do it'"?

She squeezed back now. "No, I don't. I think - no, I know that it takes more courage to live than to die." Oh, what a hypocrite you are, she thought. Giving advice that you can't follow yourself. Her eyes prickled with the shame, and she blinked forcefully. No. You will not cry. This is not about you.

"I just can't see a place in this world for me. You said earlier that you think I'm a risk-taker. But I'm not. I've been reckless and stupid, and I've never cared about consequences. I couldn't be bothered to look before I leapt. But now…" He inhaled noisily. "Now I can't even leap."

She glanced over at him now. His face wasn't the usual marble mask it always seemed to be. It was cracking, slowly, and the little pulls and wrinkles in it belied the deep emotion he was trying to control.

"Draco, I know a lot about being a coward, about finding it easier to want to die than to try and really live. I know..." Because I'm in the same place, she couldn't say. She wanted the words to spill out, but she was so afraid that they would be the wrong ones again. But she forced herself to keep going.

"The war ended more than two years ago. If life were fairer…" Her voice rose and threatened to break. She swallowed and tried again. "If it were fairer, I should have died then. In the place of someone else. Sometimes I wish I had."

"What good would that have done?" The futility in his voice didn't seem to expect an answer. That was good, because she didn't have one.

"What good has it done that I've lived? I'm useless, Draco. I did nothing during the War. I didn't take risks or sides. I kept as far away from everything as I could. Maybe if I'd spoken up, tried to stand for something… anything… maybe I wouldn't feel as worthless as I do now. But you…" She ran her thumb along the side of her hands, trying to somehow communicate things she couldn't find the right words for. "You took action, and risks, and you made hard decisions. Whether they were the right ones or not, at least you did something."

He pulled his hand away. "And that's better?" He looked at her, finally, his eyes blazing with hurt and rage. "Astoria, I've killed people. I've tortured people."

"So have I," she whispered.

He scoffed disbelievingly. "Sure you have."

"Didn't you hear about what was going on at Hogwarts? With the Carrows?" She was feeling very defensive now. It might not all be about her, but it wasn't all about Draco either.

"Amycus Carrow made us practice the Cruciatus Curse on rule-breakers in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Or rather, the Dark Arts. If we refused, we would be punished. And I didn't refuse."

Astoria was surprised to find that she wasn't crying. Instead, she felt colder than when she'd landed on the roof. It was as if her insides were frozen. The only emotion she felt was the familiar ache of guilt.

"I can only imagine how impossible it was for you to think and act without fear of repercussions for you or your family. You-Know-Who was living in your home, wasn't he? But me... I could have objected to what I was asked to do; so many other students did, the ones who knew it was wrong. But not me. No, I told myself that going along with things was the wisest and safest way to survive. But I never fully believed it, and I definitely don't believe it now.

"As for killing people... well, I'm the reason that certain people are dead. Maybe that's not the same as casting the Killing curse, but it still fucks you up inside."

He didn't say a word. They sat in heavy silence for an immeasurable amount of time before Astoria needed to get out. She got to her feet. Still holding on to Draco's hand, she tugged for him to stand too.

"This room is a black box of despair, and I refuse to let my plans to win tonight's duel go to waste." Her words, practically hitting the ceiling with forced levity, sounded shrill to her as they echoed in the near-empty room.

"Duel?" Before answering, she led him out of the room and down the hall. She really couldn't stand that room any longer.

"Yes, duel. That's what this is, isn't it? A duel of wits? I have to say, those desserts were a stroke of genius. Very well-played." She kept chattering, as if she were trying to chase away their confessions with bright, substance-less words. "I may not be as vindictive as my sister, but I'm sure I'm at least as creative."

The distraction seemed to work. If her family had taught her anything, it was how to successfully bury shows of emotion with meaningless small talk. They eventually arrived on the second floor at the room that Draco had introduced to her as the Parlour.

"Do you have a phonograph, or a gramophone? I vaguely recall seeing one the last time I was in this room." She walked to the centre of the room and looked around. Finally, she spotted it on a low walnut cabinet near the piano. She walked over to it, removed a ring from her pinky finger, and placed it beside the gramophone.

"Reparifarge," she commanded and pointed her wand at the ring. It stretched out into a large vinyl disk.

"This'll be interesting," she heard Draco remark from behind her.

Astoria hoped it worked. It had been a guess, albeit an informed one. With a flick of her wand, the record settled on the gramophone and crackled into life.

The delicate sounds of a piano started playing. She watched Draco carefully, waiting for some kind of reaction. She wasn't sure she'd be able to stand it if she managed to ruin the night twice in a row.

Draco didn't disappoint. First, his eyes widened. Then, was that a ghost of a smile?

"Did you know I would like this?"

Astoria let herself smile smugly. "I had a hunch. Daphne once mentioned how you'd gone mad about this concert of 'some stupid dead guy's music'. So I figured your taste in music ran classical. I looked through the record collection in our library, and, well, I liked this song the best." She walked slowly towards him. "It sounds like a good dream."

It was a smile. She sheathed her wand and extended her hand expectantly. "I hear you're light on your feet."

He looked at the extended hand, and then back at her with a sceptical look. "You heard that, did you?"

"Aren't you?"

With a gentle tug, Astoria was pulled towards him. They stood poised, in their formal embrace, in the centre of the room. The music of yesteryear coming from the gramophone and the old-fashioned furnishings of the room seemed to pull them out of time. It was too fast and freely played to really waltz to, but Draco somehow simplified it to something easier, smoother. She relaxed and let him lead, just as she'd let him fly. That already felt ages ago.

"Where were you during the Yule Ball?" he murmured.

"What?" What a random thing to say, she thought.

"I went with Pansy, and she can't stand to let anyone else lead. It's like wrestling an Abraxan. But you just… follow."

She wasn't sure she liked the fact that he was comparing her dancing to Pansy's, but it didn't stop her from glowing at the praise. He led her into a turn.

"I wasn't at the Yule Ball. Too young, remember?"

"Right." He pulled her a little closer. His eyes didn't seem to leave hers. "Do you know the story behind this song?"

"I'd never even heard it before I found it in the library."

"Hmm," Draco hummed.

Oh no. Have I mucked it up again? "Why? Should I know it?"

"It's very sad and romantic. Probably made up, but that probably won't stop you from being a girl about it."

She very nearly stepped on his toes on purpose, but something about his face made her pause. He's saying it on purpose to provoke a reaction from you, she realized. So instead, she smiled sweetly. "Best ready your handkerchief then."

She was rewarded with a twitch of the lips. "Supposedly the composer wrote it as a gift to his fiancée… who ended up breaking the engagement because her father disapproved."

Astoria was underwhelmed. "Tale as old as time, really."

"Apparently, he had some childhood illness that never really went away. He ended up dying before he turned 40."

Astoria felt the blood drain from her. "Oh?" Her mouth was suddenly parched. "How... sad," was all she could come up with.

"So maybe it was better that she never married him."

"Yeah," she managed weakly. "Lucky escape for her."

"I can see you're really broken up about it." He turned her again, and dipped her just as the song ended. The gramophone started its loop of crackling silence.

Once Draco had pulled her back upright, Astoria broke away - a little too quickly - to retrieve her record. She lifted the needle and set it aside, reaching for her wand to transfigure the disk back into a ring.

"Leave it," Draco commanded from directly behind her. "I'd like to keep it for a while."

She felt instant relief. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear that song ever again. Logically, she knew that there was no way she'd have known the back story. How could she have known? But it felt like more than a coincidence for her to have chosen it out of all the other records.

Thinking fast of something, anything, to change the subject, she defaulted to her original plan. She forced a playful half-smile onto her face. "Mr. Malfoy, that sounded like a Command."

He was always ready to rise to her games, it seemed. The corners of his eyes crinkled just slightly, and she knew he was amused. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's my turn. Take me to one of those other opulent bedrooms with a fireplace."

"I don't remember choosing Command." He started playing with the neckline of her sweater, teasing the edge with his fingers.

"I chose for you. It's nice to have someone else lead sometimes, I'm sure you'd agree." He wasn't looking at her face; instead, he was looking at her collarbone as if it were a millefeuille. She knew what she wanted him to do with that mouth, but first things first.

"Draco. Fireplace, please."

With one last glance at her exposed skin, Draco heaved a heavy sigh and grabbed her hand. In a quick and disorienting tug, they had apparated into one of the bedrooms that Astoria vaguely remembered from their earlier tour. The room had walls wrapped in silk wallpaper, a sea of black with intricate gold constellations dotting it. The fireplace wasn't lit, but had kindling in place in its wide black marble expanse. She walked towards it and lit the pile. It was mesmerising to watch the licks of fire devour it. Speaking of mesmerising... Astoria turned to find Draco. He was watching her from his perch on the bed. The bed was another oversized, gilded monstrosity, with layers of white and black linens, a black velvet throw at its foot. Was there a room in this townhouse that didn't look like it expected royalty to drop in? Unlikely.

"This will have to do," she said, affecting an expression of tedium. "Though I do not understand why black bedrooms are so popular."

Draco gestured his wand at a few of the gold sconces, and they began to glow with a dim light. "Your command is my… command. That makes it my turn."

Time to go on the offensive, she thought. She tried to make a face she'd never done herself, but had seen countless times on her sister. Her eyes widened innocently and she pouted ever so slightly. "Oh?" Her eyelashes batted slightly, and she began to trace along her neckline exactly where Draco had been staring.

Draco was not a fool. "Come here," he commanded, "and show me what else you have planned."

Astoria sashayed towards him. "I thought you'd never ask."