"An hour sitting on a park bench with a pretty girl seems like a minute, but a minute sitting on a hot stove seems like an hour."

Astoria had never been a fan of the rain.

There was a heavy drizzle pouring on the London streets, steaming against the asphalt, and Astoria was quite done with the whole idea of weather. What was the point in having magical abilities if she couldn't even make the sun shine on a rainy day?

The small cafe she sat in was empty but for the man behind the counter, a sleepy old man whose nose had remained permanently fixed in a book from the moment she entered the store, except as she paid. Her scone had been reduced to flaky crumbs on a small porcelain dish, and her teacup had only a vague brown stain at its base, with a handful of tea-grounds that had strayed into the liquid. A book rested next to her vacanted plate, open to a page she had read and reread a hundred times, a page whose words still eluded her.

The door to the cafe swung open and in swept someone Astoria had not seen in two years, not since her horrific fifth year at Hogwarts. Someone she had thought never to see again, unless she acquired that Ministry job her parents desired for her. Someone who made her heart quicken and her palms get clammy, against her better judgment.

Someone whose crystalline blue eyes completely missed her in their glance around the cafe.

She turned quickly back to her book, but the motion tickled her nose. Oh, no- no-! A sneeze shook her, a rapturous achoo! sounding in the small cafe. Her eyes shot up in hopes he hadn't noticed, but, sure enough, he had, and he was now staring at her with a painfully contemplative expression. A thought struck her then that she hadn't yet thought of: Perhaps he doesn't remember me.

Hope entered her heart that she could simply read her book and he wouldn't say a word to her. She trained her eyes to the words; again, though, they eluded her. Instead of the usual magical array of images and symbolism her mind drew up upon reading, she was simply staring at small, abstract black marks on a faded white page. At the edge of her vision and the front of her attention, she realized he was making his way to her table. He paused next to it, and she braced herself, slowly raising her eyes to his. Walnut brown irises, flecked with gold, out of place in the rainy world, stared into eyes blue as ice, veined with silver as rich as their owner's bloodline.

"Do I know you?"

She felt her jaw clench at the words and forced herself to swallow. "I- I'm not sure. Is there a reason you would?"

"I just- your face…" He trailed off, and then let out a nervous chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone I knew. I'll be going, then."

His name was on the tip of her tongue and she nearly corrected him that yes, he did know her; but Astoria had never been one known for her boldness, and then he was walking away. Seeing him again had sprung forth a million questions in her mind: why had he condescended to enter such a dinky little joint? What had happened after the Battle of Hogwarts two years ago?

She had always thought there was something deeper to him, some inward consciousness, and that he wasn't just his family's pawn; but then she had witnessed his actions for five years at Hogwarts, and that hope had died. Now, though… He hadn't had the same sniveling disdain as before, didn't strike her as the same my-father-will-hear-about-this wimp he had been. After all, it was possible for people to change, especially after such a terrible war, and such a terrible battle. They had watched their friends and family fall around them; it couldn't truly be a shock to her that there was something different in his eyes. She wanted to think it was a new awareness of the world, but she also thought it might just be guilt. Whatever it was, when he had looked at her, she had seen a changed man staring back.

She had been staring at the same page in her book for perhaps five minutes as her mind wandered, reflecting on events and happenings and people that she had left long behind, or so she'd thought. She had just finally graduated from Hogwarts; she had a future to look ahead to, and no business looking back. She had no business-

"Astoria Greengrass."

He had returned.

She had been so lost in thought she hadn't heard his approach. Her eyes snapped up to his, the same crystalline irises she had dreamed of for her first two years at Hogwarts, until his personality had killed any dreaminess offered by his handsome face.

"Yes, that- that's me," she said. Her throat was dry; she could tell there was no chance of the words in her book seeping in now. Her heart thudded distantly in her chest, but her head felt a mile away from it. Is this arrhythmia? Am I dying?

"Draco Malfoy," he said. "We were both Slytherins in Hogwarts- I-." But then he cut off, as though remembering, and his eyes grew wide. "I'm so sorry. You probably saw me do horrible things."

She shrugged. "Things change. People change. I imagine you aren't the same person you were then." Perhaps he never was that person, was only pretending.

"No," he said quickly. "I've- I've changed a lot since then." He was quite for a minute, seemingly as nervous as she was, and then, in a rush, "Do-ya-mind-if-I-sit-with-you?"

His words didn't quite process. I must've heard that wrong. "Sorry, what?"

He straightened the ends of his black pea-coat, keeping his eyes on that. "Um, I- may I sit with you?"

She blinked at him. Draco Malfoy wants to sit with me in a cafe? Have I gone bonkers? "If you truly desire to do so."

"I do."

He had set his plate, holding a flaky golden almond croissant, and his cup which, by smell, Astoria guessed held rosehip tea. He now sat across from her, and slid the plate and cup over to him. His eyes fell on her empty teacup.

"Oh- were you about to leave?"

She let her gaze also fall to the empty cup, and flit back to his. "Oh, no; I'm just- I'm in here to waste time, until my sister gets here. We don't live far away and I promised her tea."

"I'd hate to intrude-"

"Draco," she interrupted, "It's fine."

He fell silent, giving her a nervous smile, and then took a small sip of his tea. Astoria let the silence simmer for a moment as the cashier walked up with a pot and refilled her empty cup before disappearing into a backroom of the cafe.

"So, do you live in London these days?"

She looked up at him, her eyes landing on his face, and stared just a heartbeat too long before remembering how to respond. "Oh, um- yes. At the edge of London, actually, on the west side."

"I thought you said you lived nearby?"

She shrugged, staring at the steam rising from her tea. "It's really not that far. Our parents live a few blocks from here, but I live farther out."

His brow creased. "You're only fresh out of Hogwarts, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but-" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "But my parents don't much like my way of thinking because they weren't there at the Battle of Hogwarts and didn't see firsthand the results of their prejudice so I live poor with a friend."

The words had all whisked out of her before she had been able to stop them; they tumbled onto the table, sitting between the two very different people, the two Slytherins from pureblood families who had been in the Battle, the two who, she thought, had little else in common. Her heart was quickening in her throat now and she was tempted to pay and leave, but she had already said she would be meeting her sister there, so she had no way to make a quick escape.

"I understand."

Her gaze shot up to his. "What?"

"I understand," he repeated, sincerity glistening in those silver-veined eyes. "I don't talk much with my parents anymore either. My mother loves me, perhaps too much, but she and my father both have such backward ideas. We generally try to avoid conversing about it; we keep conversation light- the Ministry happenings, my career, etc. I don't have many friends left anymore either, due to my change of heart at the end of the war."

She couldn't believe her ears. Draco Malfoy, the most prejudiced person she knew, had just disavowed the ideals he'd stood by for years? Had actually agreed to understanding why she gave up privilege for poverty because of prejudice? The old thump-thump-thump was happening in her chest again now, the old hope stirring once more that there was more to him than the pompous arrogant nob he'd been. She was somewhat miffed knowing he had the capacity to be this person before and hadn't been, but simultaneously she was pleased that he was this person now.

"You've really changed, then?"

He nodded once, not looking. "I imagine it must be unbelievable to someone who only knew me then."

"I always knew there was more to you, though."

Again, the words tumbled out without her meaning for them to. When she dared another glance at Draco's face, she saw confusion there, but his voice was intrigued as it formed the question, "How so?"

Her jaw clenched again. Damn it, Astoria. Why can't you just keep your mouth shut? But there was no going back now, and the only options she had were to rudely refuse to answer, possibly leave, or tell him the truth. And so, for one of very few times in her life, Astoria Greengrass was bold.

"Well, I was hard-pressed at first to find something to convince me that you weren't the-" she paused, trying to find the word, "The self-important nob you made yourself out to be." Surprise and slight indignation flashed in his eyes, and she hurried on. "You looked down on everyone who wasn't pureblood as if they weren't but dirt under your shoe, and I hated that. Nonetheless, there was something underneath all the layers of imposed-superiority, something that showed up in your eyes when no one was looking. I noticed you do little things now and then; in your third year, my first, I was the only one who accidentally glimpsed the writing of the letter you sent your father, asking him to drop the case against Hagrid. Everyone thought you hated Hagrid, and the hyppogriff; I knew different. In your fourth year, you knew about the first task involving dragons, and when you thought no one could hear or notice, you made sure each champion's robes were flame-proof, using a charm I had never even heard of. The list goes on; your sixth year, you didn't want to kill Dumbledore, but you didn't see another way not to die- and at the same time you thought trying to kill the greatest wizard of that time would kill you just as assuredly as the Dark Lord would upon your refusal. You didn't think anyone could help you, so I never tried. But I saw your struggle, and I saw your fear and your desperation; you put on a good front, acting unaffected, but a person's eyes tell a great deal. And I saw the way you cowered from fighting during the Battle of Hogwarts; you didn't want to fight your classmates, but you also didn't want the repercussions that would come from turning against the Death Eaters. You had much more at stake than anyone considered- should you turn away, the punishment might be your parents' deaths. I saw that, and I understood why you didn't have such an easy time accepting the immediate ethical solution, which would have been to detach yourself from the Death Eaters and die the death of a hero. But you also would have sacrificed your parents to do so, and you couldn't forfeit their lives as easily as your own."

He was quiet for a long moment, and she thought he would leave. Part of her instantly regretted speaking up, and wished she hadn't told him any of that. She had always quietly observed the events of those around her, never speaking up, always an opinionated shadow; becoming anything more than that filled her with such discomfort as to make her wish for an invisibility cloak. Or that she were an animagus- something small that could escape easily. I can always apparate. The cashier still had yet to return; she had kept her voice down during her monologue, but she was still afraid a confundus charm would be due.

"You're right."

She froze. She was terrified already; she had rarely bared her soul like that to her sister, who she was closer to than anyone else, and she didn't make a habit of pouring her heart out to strange boys in tea shops- but there was a first time for everything. She looked up, reluctantly meeting his eyes, to see his expressions as raw and bare as her monologue: grief, guilt, pain, acceptance. There was something else there, too- something behind all of the surface emotions, something that flared as their eyes met, adding a spark to the ice blue. Something her scholarly mind couldn't put a name to, despite wishing it were so easy to identify.

"I'm not as terrible as I give myself credit for," he said softly, adding that same nervous chuckle from before. "I was assigned to a horrible task when I was still too young to even think for myself, and I was so torn between all of the regurgitated ideals and thoughts around me. You should know that after I left Hogwarts I spent a couple of years with my aunt Andromeda, whose husband had been a muggle, resulting in her name being blackened from the family tree by my grandmother. She taught me a lot, both about the way a child's mind works and about the way the world works. She corrected a lot of the pain and lack of purpose I had frothing in me at the time, and it's only just now that I've returned to my parents that I've truly seen how horrible I was. That you- that anyone- cared enough to look for good in me back then is a wonder. Most of my friends were only interested in the power and money that came with befriending a Malfoy; they weren't truly 'friends' so much as allies. I was just… I was a lost kid in a bad place who only knew what his parents had taught him. It took seeing wide-scale death and pain as a result of those ideals to show me my parents were wrong, and then I had to find someone who was right. Aunt Andromeda corrected a lot of wrongs in my head, and now I'm just left with the guilt. I don't even know where to start."

Astoria stared at this fractured shell of the proud boy she had known, and considered what potential he might have had under different circumstances. His confidence had never lacked, only his courage; perhaps if he had been raised with backbone and modesty, he and Harry would have been more alike than he wanted to think. He'd excelled at his classes without trying, and he would have gotten along with that Granger girl he despised so much rather easily. If one removed Draco Malfoy's pride and prejudice, he was actually decent- just scared, and smart. Intelligent, she corrected; smart implied something else entirely. As she stared at him, she realized his powerful position and all of his family wrongs could be turned in favor of the world she preferred, the world paved by Harry Potter two years ago- long before that, actually, if you got technical about when he first defeated the Dark Lord- where muggle-born wizards and witches were equal to purebloods.

"You could start by using your privilege for good," she said, and as the words tumbled out, she accepted that her mouth simply acted of its own accord around him, for whatever reason. "There's still a lot of bad in the world, and a lot to fix. Voldemort's downfall didn't end the prejudice, or the pain. Some were orphaned by the war; others were left without friends, lovers, siblings, and so on. I- I have a friend, Neville Longbottom, whose parents were tortured to insanity not long after the first downfall of Voldemort. Dangerous wizards are still out there, and there are aurors trying to catch them but in the meantime there is still a lot to fix here. As a Malfoy, your reputation and money allows you to do something about that."

He was staring at her with wonder. "For the past two years, I've been wondering if I'm brave enough to say aloud exactly what you just said. My father would go bonkers if he heard his precious pureblood son talk like that, but- the way you say it, it sounds bloody brilliant."

"Because it is," she said, staring at him with earnest eyes. The ambition that initially placed her in Slytherin stirred in her once more; Astoria had always been steadfast in her opinions, if in nothing else, but had known her cursed family frailty would stop her from ever taking a position of true power, because the stress would kill her. But suddenly she realized that her power could be in being a fantastic and influential friend. Or more, her heart whispered, but she did her best to stifle such impractical yearnings.

"Could you help me tell my parents that?"

Her eyes bulged out. An image she'd always held popped into mind: tall, lean, pompous Lucius Malfoy, standing with angular features and arm around his wife, Narcissa, whose calico hair is pulled into an irrationally stiff bun, both with cold eyes staring ahead from slight scowls. They were one of the most powerful couples in England, even if that power had been reduced somewhat by the end of the Second Wizarding War; their fame and wealth was known to nearly all wizards and witches in the country.

"I- I don't quite think that's appropriate."

His brow twitched. "Why not?"

She cleared her throat. "Perhaps because I've never spoken to them before in my life and telling them that over tea I encouraged their son, who I haven't seen in two years, to use their money for the opposite of what they believe does not seem like a good way to introduce myself?"

"But it could help!" He protested. "You said it yourself, my folly is that I lack the courage to stand up to these people. Perhaps you can help me."

"Don't you think you ought to invite her to dinner before she meets the parents?"

Both looked up, startled by the unannounced presence of someone else. They had been so involved in their conversation, without any attention to the world around them, that they hadn't noticed the approach of Daphne Greengrass. Astoria met her sister's quizzical green gaze and felt herself shrink inward. Bold Astoria may not be, but it was her sister's main virtue.

"Daphne," Draco greeted her, swallowing quickly. "Pleasure."

"And to you, Malfoy," Daphne replied sharply. "If you're quite done compromising my sister's attention, I'd like to borrow it for a time."

"Of course." He stood quickly. "I was just finishing."

"You haven't even touched your tea," Astoria noted as he lifted the full cup.

"It'll be fine. I- I think this trip has enriched me far more than rosehip could." He made a slight bow to Daphne, all of his previous nervousness returning to his features. "Daphne, pleasure to see you again. I apologize for stealing your sister's time." He turned to Astoria and half-bowed again. "Astoria. I'll see you Saturday, at the Sailor's Tumult. Seven o'clock."

With that, he swept out of the bar. Astoria recognized the name of the bar (tavern, more like); she had been there once the past summer, when Daphne had dragged her along. It was a wizarding bar, a more expensive version of the Leaky Cauldron, and, of course, it was only two blocks from her flat on the far side of London. Why did I tell him where I live?

"So, what just happened?" Daphne asked, sitting where Draco had been. Astoria's attention snapped away from the closing door, through which the boy's pale form had just vanished, and she forced her eyes to meet her sister's. Daphne cocked an eyebrow. "Why were you sitting here with Draco Malfoy? I was under the impression you hated him."

"I do," Astoria said quickly, but instantly she regretted lying. "Or- or I did. I'm really not sure what just happened." And I don't remember agreeing to meet with him Saturday; if anything, I remember adamantly refusing to do such a thing.

But as she looked out at the rainy streets, and reflected that she wasn't so upset the rain had forced her to wait inside the cafe, she found she didn't dislike the rain half so much as she'd thought- or the boy now walking through it, somewhere out of sight, still holding all of her attention.

"I really haven't a clue what just happened."