My ninth fic for littlerose13writes's 12 Days of Shipmas! The prompt for day 9 is "Ice skating" :)

"Remind me why we're here, Draco."

"The wine?"

Blaise shot a derisive look at the glass Draco was holding. Of course, only the finest Italian vintage would do for a Zabini, but Draco enjoyed elderflower just fine. And it wasn't as if the taste mattered, anyway, as long as the alcohol served its purpose.

Merlin, he hated parties.

Greengrass Manor was a great deal brighter than his own home, but this kind of Pureblood get-together was always the same. Snowflakes fluttered down from the ceiling, vanishing before they could land on the furniture or the assembled guests, who stood chattering about the same old dull, superficial topics. He was only here because it would make his mother happy, and that was about the only worthwhile thing he could do these days. He'd endure this for her sake.

He swirled the contents of his glass, lost in thought.

"I'm going back to Italy," Blaise said abruptly.

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Italy? For how long?"

Blaise shrugged, taking another sip of wine. "Possibly permanently. I've grown tired of Britain. There's nothing good or useful left for me here." He shot Draco a contemplative look. "Perhaps you should do the same. You have a manor in France, don't you?"

"French wizarding society is terribly boring," Draco said lightly. "And I'm rather fond of England."

Almost unwillingly, his gaze wandered along the crowded room until it came to rest on a group of young women. He recognised most of them from his Hogwarts days: the Nott sisters, Millicent, that Selwyn girl, Daphne, and of course–

"Another canapé, Astoria?" Cressida Nott was saying. "Darling, eating so many could make you seriously ill. And your figure–"

"In case you've forgotten, Cressida, dear," Astoria Greengrass replied breezily, her hazel eyes scanning the buffet table, "I already live in a constant state of 'seriously ill', and frankly, death by excess of canapés is a better way to go than whatever's in store for me." She plucked a tiny vol-au-vent from a tray and bit daintily into it, turning back to her acquaintances. Minutes later, apparently fed up with the awkward silence that had fallen after she'd spoken, she excused herself and walked away with her head held high. Draco's eyes did not stray from her until the flowing skirts of her azure dress had whipped out of sight.

"Ah," Blaise said lightly, smirking into his wine glass. "Are you sure it's England you're fond of, Draco?" He got the distinct impression that he was being laughed at, though it was always hard to tell with Blaise.

"You're far better company when you keep your mouth shut, you know."

He found her in the manor's gardens, sitting by a frozen pond with her knees hugged to her chest. The snow made a crunching sound as he walked over it, doubtlessly alerting her to his presence, but she didn't turn around, not even when he stopped.

"I'm afraid this particular brooding spot is already taken, Mr Malfoy, though I'm willing to share it."

He didn't bother asking how she knew it was him; she always did.

"Are you brooding, Miss Greengrass?"

"I'm trying to, but I don't think I'm any good at it." Astoria stood up, brushing away the snow from her dress. She shot him a sideways glance and her lips twitched as she mimicked his posture, squaring her shoulders and clasping her hands behind her back. "Is this better?"

"Passable."

She grinned, then went back to watching the pond. She would have asked him to leave if he'd been bothering her, so he stayed, trying not to let his gaze wander over to her too often. He was always careful to keep a certain distance between them in moments like this.

"I've got a job," she announced after a while. "At the new Wizard-Muggle Relations Office." Yes, he'd heard about that. Minister Shacklebolt was behind it, and his father loved to rage about it at dinner. "We're going to create a support program for Muggle-borns and their families," Astoria went on, looking down at her hands. "They're often forgotten or neglected, so it's about time we changed that."

"Congratulations," he said, and he meant it. "I'm sure you're well-suited for it."

Astoria gave him a little smile, uncharacteristically bashful. His heart skipped a beat. "You're the first person I've told," she admitted. "Mother will be furious, and I don't think Daphne will be too happy either. They'll think it's not worthy of me." She wrinkled her nose.

He tried not to focus too much on the fact that she'd confided in him. Out of everyone she knew, she'd chosen him. "Wanting to help others is always a worthy pursuit."

"Even if they're Muggles?" Astoria said lightly.

Draco shrugged. "Does it matter? Wizard, Muggle… We all have our problems. There's no harm in helping them solve theirs. What will your job entail, exactly?"

She sighed. "We're still working out the specifics. We'll be in touch with Minerva McGonagall, to know how many new Muggle-born students there will be at Hogwarts. We're thinking of contacting them and their families a little earlier, to give them more time to… assimilate the wizarding world. Teach them how everything works. Of course, we'll try do the same thing with wizards: if Muggle-borns have to learn about us, we should bother to learn about them."

"That seems fair," he said simply.

She scrutinised him, a faint line appearing between her brows. There was a curious kind of intensity in her hazel eyes, and he had to look away for fear of being burnt. He knew he would find no judgement there, but still…

"You approve, then?" Astoria asked eventually.

"My approval doesn't–"

"It matters to me." Not because she needed it or would let it influence anything she did, obviously, but because she was curious. Always so curious where he was concerned. Every conversation seemed to be a test.

"In that case, I do approve, Miss Greengrass."

She raised an eyebrow. "Please elaborate."

Draco weighed his words carefully. "It's a sensible idea. Worthwhile. It certainly won't make things worse than they've already been. I won't pretend I'm particularly interested in Muggles – they're utterly baffling. But certain aspects of their culture are… novel. Awareness of them could prove beneficial."

She seemed satisfied, as well as amused. "And what do you know of Muggle culture, Draco Malfoy?"

"I've wandered into Muggle London once or twice in recent months." Always on a whim, and always with the fear that his father would find out.

"How very scandalous of you."

His lips twitched. "I'm not the one who snuck into Covent Garden to watch a Muggle play when I was sixteen, Miss Greengrass," he drawled.

"It was a ballet, actually, and it was very enjoyable." She sounded proud. Of course she did.

"Yes, everyone certainly enjoyed the gossip it brought on. It might just make the top ten Pureblood scandals of the century."

"Come with me next time and we'll definitely take the top spot," she said casually.

He tensed.

It didn't get any easier, saying these things out loud. Despite their honesty, they felt like a betrayal. Had he become one of those Muggle-lovers his father despised, like Arthur Weasley? No. He couldn't say he liked Muggles, but he didn't mind them, the same way that he didn't mind Potter, Weasley or Granger. They were simply… there. People, like him. Not superior, and definitely not inferior. It was hardly a revolutionary opinion, and he expected no applause for something so unextraordinary, but Lucius would be livid if he ever found out what went through his mind these days. If he found out that his son was questioning everything he'd been taught.

However, it was one thing to say these things, but to actually walk the talk, to do something so defiantly bold even if it meant spending more time with her…

"Miss Greengrass, I–"

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked," she said quickly.

He couldn't think of what to say, so they fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts, staring at the pond. His reflection looked back at him, blurry and fragmented. He wondered if he would ever like what he saw when he looked into the mirror. He didn't recognise himself nowadays. Who was this pale stranger with haunted eyes? His hair brushed his shoulders, and there was a sharpness to him that hadn't been there before. In some ways, he resembled his father now more than ever. He would have been proud of that once, but now… He was too soft for Lucius, too cold for Astoria. He was caught somewhere in the middle, and that provided little comfort: he knew what paths he wanted to steer clear from, but didn't know how to take the right first step that would lead him to rebuild his life. He was lost, stumbling around in the dark.

But the world made sense when he was with Astoria. He couldn't stop himself from seeking her out every time he knew she was nearby, even though he knew it was selfish. For precious minutes or hours, he felt comfortable in his own skin, confident, as if a light revealed the path ahead. He could say these simple, forbidden things as though they were secrets, and feel like he was making amends for every foul, poisonous word he'd said and thought before the war. He could feel… not good, because he wasn't, but perhaps better. But then he would return to his home, to his parents, to the world he'd known his whole life, and it all became murky and complicated until he saw her again.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a shuffling sound. Astoria had settled back down onto the snow and was currently pulling off her heels. He could only stare, bewildered, as she produced a pair of ice skates and began to put them on, impatiently tearing off her gloves with her teeth so she could do up the laces. She didn't seem to care about the state of the clothes, or feel the cold despite the fact that only thin black tights protected her legs. He quickly looked away.

"What are you doing?" he asked eventually.

"Ice-skating."

"At night?"

"Everything looks twice as beautiful at night, don't you think?" she said brightly, standing up again and tossing back her long, dark brown hair.

Looking at her, he couldn't do anything but agree.

"It's dark," he pointed out.

"Is it?"

And suddenly, the air was full of bright little specks of light that danced around them like will-o'-the-wisps. Astoria stowed her wand back in a pocket of her short, black cloak, smiling at them. Her expression turned smug when she looked at him. "Satisfied?"

"Have you noticed how uneven the ice is?"

"You're never happy, are you?" she said, carefully sliding onto the frozen pond. She gathered the skirt of her dress in one hand to stop it from touching the ice. "Fret not. I'm a prodigious skater."

He snorted, unable to help himself.

"I am!" she said defensively, pulling her gloves back on. "I used to skate at Hogwarts when the lake froze over during the winter." She frowned slightly. "It was fun, but sad at the same time. The Merpeople couldn't come up to the surface for weeks. I missed talking to them, but at least they swam by the common room from time to time."

Talking to Merpeople was exactly the kind of strange, extraordinary thing Astoria Greengrass would do.

And she was, in fact, a talented skater.

She had once told him she hadn't been allowed to fly as a child; her parents had said it would be too taxing, too dangerous. But with both feet on the ground, gliding smoothly across the frozen water, she seemed as graceful as a bird, as if this were merely a different kind of flying. The lights she'd conjured lit the air around her, as if she'd plucked the stars from the sky and brought them down so they could dance with her.

And then she was in front of him, smiling and pink-cheeked and lovely. She held out a hand. He hesitated to take it: pale, slender, and bathed in moonlight, it looked much too delicate to touch. Certainly too delicate for someone like him. Perhaps it would vanish if he dared reach for it, along with its strange, mystifying owner.

Astoria noticed his reluctance and smiled wryly. "I'm not made of glass, Draco. And neither are you. Or are you afraid you'll break if you fall?"

There was no 'if' here, Draco realised with a surge of exhilarated terror. He was already falling.

He didn't remember agreeing, but he suddenly found himself untying his shoes while Astoria cast a simple 'Geminio' on her ice skates. She looked at his sock-clad feet appraisingly, in a way that made him blush and feel like a fool for caring about what she thought of them. His heart seemed to stutter.

When he stood up, she held out her hand again.

"I can skate, Miss Greengrass." Malfoy Manor had its own ponds, and he'd spent the better part of his childhood skating during the winter.

"I know."

Her hand didn't move.

So he took it.

Her grip was stronger than he'd expected. He thought she'd let go once he was on the ice, but she didn't. And she didn't disappear, either. She held on, marvellously real as she stood in front of him. A small smile graced her lips as she began to tug him along, inviting him to skate with her.

It was like dancing, and he had more than enough experience with that. They skated in circles, the only sound being that of the blades against the ice. There wasn't much to look at, besides the night sky and the silhouettes of trees, hedges and the manor itself; not that he would have noticed if there was, as he was too distracted by the woman at his side. His body fell into a familiar pattern, learning how to react to Astoria's movements: when she moved, he did; when she turned, he followed. They skated as if they'd been doing it for years, as if this wasn't the first time he'd actually touched her. Every movement was clean, precise and graceful, and flowed like water. Naturally, she led the way.

But this was Astoria, and she obviously wouldn't be satisfied until she gave him a heart attack.

With a mischievous smile, she made a sharp turn, throwing him off balance; he instinctively pulled her close, intending to shield her if they fell. They stopped dead in the middle of the pond, the starlight fluttering around them like fairies. Thankfully, they didn't hit the ice; not physically, at least.

But there are other ways to fall.

He could have counted her eyelashes, they were so close. Her hazel eyes were bright with starlight, the tip of her nose pink with cold, and her lips… It would be so easy to lean down. There wasn't much of a distance to cross. He hadn't noticed how very tall she was, which came as a surprise, because he noticed everything about her. Every time she came into a room, every time she smiled, every time she said something clever or charming or both.

He had taken her hand, but that was nowhere near enough. He wanted to steal a kiss. He wanted her to smile for him, because of him. He wanted her, in so many different ways… But he would only take what she gave. A hand, a stolen moment, a dance on the ice beneath the stars.

But she didn't lean back, or move away, or move at all. She watched him, as curious as ever, as if waiting to see what he would do. Did she expect him to kiss her? Did she hope? No, she couldn't possibly. And even if she did, Draco felt that this wasn't the moment for it. Not yet.

A cold wind blew across the garden, and the moment was broken. A strand of white-blond hair came loose and tickled his nose. He lifted his hand, but Astoria was quicker: gently, she tucked it away behind his ear. Her fingertips were cold where they brushed his skin, but he barely noticed.

"You're growing out your hair," she murmured.

"Does it look terrible?" he said, trying to sound casual.

"No," Astoria said pensively. "No, it suits you. It's very… Malfoy-ish."

"A compliment I'll treasure always," he said dryly, as if that would hide the fact that his heart was galloping in his chest. Surely she could hear it. "Thank you for your kind, eloquent words, Miss Greengrass."

"It does suit you," said Astoria, rolling her eyes. "And I have a name, you know."

Oh, he knew. A name fit for a queen. "And?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Use it."

"And you'll use mine?"

"With your permission."

"You have it." Not that she needed it; she could call him whatever she pleased and he wouldn't mind.

"Very well, then." Astoria smiled at him, then swept into a curtsy, as if they'd just finished a proper dance. There was a playful gleam in her eye. "Draco."

He bowed deeply, not breaking eye contact. "Astoria."

There was no excuse to linger after that. The hour had grown late. His parents would be expecting him. He accompanied Astoria back to Greengrass Manor, only glancing back once to look at the swirling, identical marks they'd both left on the ice.

"My offer still stands, you know," she said as they stood by the garden entrance, bathed in the golden light from the lamps inside. "Covent Garden. Muggle ballet. Greatest Pureblood scandal of the century."

Part of him wanted to refuse, but… He was tempted. Not just by the prospect of spending time with her, but by everything. He had his own curiosity to satisfy. An evening in Muggle London, surrounded by Muggles… There was no harm in it. Well, it would harm his reputation, but that had already been dragged through the mud. Another scandal would hardly make things worse. But still, he hesitated.

She noticed his dilemma. "You don't have to answer now. You can owl me, if you want."

"Owl you?"

"I trust you know where I live, Draco," she said dryly.

And with that and a smile, she was gone, and he was left alone with his thoughts… and a choice.

He wrote to her the very next day.

Reviews are very much appreciated!