A/N: This is the Chudley Cannons Keeper checking in for Round 7 of Season 6 of the QLFC.

Prompt: Gain inspiration from the movie-that-shall-not-be-named… er, Spider-Man 3. I pulled inspiration from the jazz club scene where Peter decided to do that awful, awful dance to make MJ jealous. Clips are on Youtube for reference.

Words before A/N: 2397 words

I am not JK. This is her world. I just dabble.

Draco paced around his childhood bedroom, its green walls and grey furniture flickered with shadows cast from the roaring fire alight on the hearth. From his one hand dangled a silver tie; the other hand tightly grasped a light purple one. He just couldn't decide.

Tonight was the first real date he would be taking Astoria on, and he was damned sure to get it right. Their flirtations so far had been dampened by his family's trials with the Wizangamot, and while he knew that every day Astoria returned to him was a miracle, Draco had to keep winning her over if he'd ever get to keep this chance at happiness.

"What about the red one?" his enchanted mirror said. "It pairs well with your whiter-than-snow skin."

"As if you've ever been in the snow," Draco mumbled, stopping in front of the mirror to hold up each tie to his face. Green was supposed to be his color, being a Slytherin and all, but Astoria liked purple.

Draco nodded. Purple it would be. He tossed the green aside and started lacing the purple one around his neck, over and under, until the knot rested just below his Adam's apple. His parents, Merlin curse them, taught him many terrible things during his younger days. But he could always appreciate their insistence on learning how to dress himself.

"I still think red would be best," the mirror said.

"Yes, well, I don't have you here to think," Draco snapped back, turning away from the magicked wall ornament. He really should replace it, but money wasn't something an ex-Death Eater with few job prospects should spare.

Unless, of course, his girlfriend wanted to go out on the town. Then that ex-Death Eater should spend a pretty sickle to really amaze her.

Draco puffed up his chest and went to leave his bedroom. If he could Apparate from inside the manor, he would. If he never had to see his father again, he'd do that, too. Quickly, but quietly, Draco made his way down the stairs and passed the drawing room where his parents were sure to be spending another silent, awkward evening staring at each other tight-lipped and weary-eyed. His father should be in Azkaban. But somehow the Ministry settled on house arrest.

"Draco?"

His mother's voice cut through the air like a sharpened knife. Draco could feel the weight of her sadness as she called to him, but he couldn't do it. Not tonight. Not when Astoria was waiting and his heart felt light just thinking about dancing with her under the enchanted ceiling at the hottest jazz club in all of wizarding England.

So, he ignored her and rushed out the front door, past his father's pretentious peacocks, and through the wards. He pulled his wand free of his robes and soon felt the all too familiar pull right behind his navel as he was whisked away.

When he landed, Draco spotted Astoria immediately. She was standing by the entrance to the Wanderful World of Jazz, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. She was wearing shoes that made her taller and a knee-length gold dress. When her eyes finally landed on him, they sparkled in the moonlight.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. Her shoes may have made her taller, but she was still a good head shorter than him.

Astoria beamed. "You're not late, darling. I'm early. I didn't want to get lost on my way over. I've never been to a jazz club before, and I didn't want to miss a moment."

Tentatively, she raised herself onto the balls of her feet. Draco took the hint and leaned in to kiss her lightly. This was a new development, the kissing. Her lips made his whole body feel warm and tingly. He liked it.

While on trial, he had spotted Astoria sitting in the hall of the Ministry, looking like she was in a lot of pain. He sat beside her, unsure of what he should do. He knew who she was from school, and he knew her sister Daphne had been in his year, so he felt obligated to help. But before that they had never spoken.

As it turned out, Astoria wasn't closing her eyes in pain; she was trying to listen to the ruling going on behind closed doors in front of her. Her father's hearing. Draco and Astoria ended up talking then, for nearly three hours, as his father gained house arrest and her's a light slap on the wrist.

Of course, the Greengrasses didn't actually do anything during the Dark Lord's brief reign of terror. They did, however, use that small time to triple rent rates on their Diagon Alley tenants without fair notice and little warning.

"Let's go in," Draco smiled, linking his arm with Astoria's. She clutched onto him, smiling as he led her through the ornate wood doors and back in time. The swill of a saxophone filled their ears as busboys hustled by in 1920s American jazz attire. The bar itself was delicately carved out of sturdy wood. The bartender looked like he was plucked direct from the roaring 20s himself. A trumpet blared, a new song started, and the scent of whiskey and cigar smoke filled the room.

Draco smiled as Astoria's eyes grew wide at the sight of it all.

"This is amazing."

"We should grab a table by the stage," Draco has to lean down to speak with her. She smelled like vanilla this close. "I hear the band is great," he whispered.

Astoria smiled, leading the way now to an empty table just a few paces from the stage. It was a high-top table, with barstools for chairs. Draco gave Astoria a wry smile as she tried to climb up. He held out his hand and let her use him to anchor herself up onto the seat.

"Yes, yes," she gave him a playful smirk as he laughed under his breath. "I know how short I am."

"I like you just the way you are," he said. "How else would I know if low-flying owls were coming at me?"

"That was one time!"

"The owl didn't know what was coming."

"He was fine. I only pushed him," she said, trying not to smile. But she was failing, and Draco couldn't help laughing out loud. Astoria sighed, a huge grin spreading across her face. "Okay, fine. I nearly throttled the poor bird. But he came out of nowhere and was aimed right at your chest. What else should I have done?"

"Waited," he said. "Because all Ministry owls are highly trained, and I doubt he would have hit me."

"Either way," Astoria flagged down a waiter, "I saved your life."

"Sure, you keep telling yourself that, Greengrass. When the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures comes knocking, I'll be sure to tell them the owl had it coming."

She playfully kicked him under the table, ordered a round of firewhiskeys, and looked off toward the stage. Draco watched as she took in the band: trumpets and saxophones, drums and keyboard. Draco was a fan of how the bass clarinet gave the ensemble a deep, mellow sound, like a lone, sad note singing sweetly along with the rest of the instruments.

He didn't always like jazz; in fact, he hated it at first. His mother wanted to liven up one of the Malfoy parties and decided to bring in a live band. It was the summer before his sixth year, and Draco couldn't escape the swirling in his stomach. The music then sounded foreign and loud. He felt sick.

Then they played a slow, lilting melody, and Draco felt its sadness rattle his soul.

Nothing else compared to jazz since.

Beside him, Astoria was swaying along to the music. He placed a hand on her back, and when she looked at him with her glowing green eyes, he gently pulled her to her feet, silently asking her to dance.

When they got to the floor, Astoria let out a small gasp and ducked into his chest. Draco froze, unsure what she was doing.

"Don't look," she whispered, her eyes alight with mischief, "but I think that's your ex over there."

Draco glanced back over his shoulder and nearly collapsed. Sure enough, Pansy Parkinson was standing at the edge of the hustle, a waitressing tray dangling from her fingertips. Draco hunched down over Astoria, hoping the blonde hadn't spotted him.

"Should we leave?" Astoria asked, her face inches from his. He wanted to kiss her again, but his heart was beating hard against his chest. The last time he spoke with Pansy, vases were thrown. As were a few spells and Pansy's poor cat. Draco could still feel where its claws caught him on his hip.

It didn't help that when he broke up with her, it was because he had started falling for Astoria. In hindsight, he should have ditched Pansy ages ago, but their lives were a wreck, and she was familiar. Albeit awful.

Astoria was something special.

"N-no," he said, though still unsure. "We should be fine. Right?"

Astoria gave him an encouraging smile and placed her hands on his shoulders, ready to dance. Together, they moved away from where Pansy stood, avoiding eye contact and gliding across the floor.

"This is fun," Astoria said. "It beats hanging around the Ministry for hours and hours everyday."

"What? You didn't like sitting on trial and waiting for a group of old wizards to decide your future? Loads of fun, that was."

"Mmm, indeed," she said, stepping closer to him. Draco felt her presence all around him, felt her heart beating through their linked fingers, every curve of her body moving in time with the beat.

"Of course," she said, "without all that, we wouldn't have met."

They're movements were slowing as they gazed into each other's eyes.

"Sometimes I think you saved me," Draco barely whispered.

"I feel the same way," she whispered back.

To hell with formalities. He grabbed her then, kissing her deeply as the music swilled and the crowd disappeared. Astoria didn't hesitate to kiss back and nothing else seemed to matter, nothing compared to this.

"Oh, fantastic."

Draco pulled from Astoria. Of bloody course. Pansy.

Her waitressing tray was filled with drinks now, and she had it rested on her shoulder precariously. She was a few feet away, her blue eyes boring into Draco's skull.

"If looks could kill," he muttered to Astoria. To Pansy, he tried to pull out his old attitude, the one where he acted like he was on top the world. The one where he felt on top of the world. Prideful. A Malfoy. Important.

"Can I help you?" he drawled.

She was going to kill him. He could see it in her eyes.

"Help me? What are you doing here? Did you think it would be fun to rub this little twit in my face while I'm at work? Was that your plan?"

"No," Draco said, the bravado already fading. "Of course not. I didn't even know-"

"You think you can do whatever you want, don't you?" People were starting to look. Beside Draco, Astoria was pulling his wand out of his pocket. "You think you get to live a happy life like nothing changed while the rest of us scrounge around?"

"Pansy, my family—"

"Should be rotting behind bars, fearing the Dementor's kiss!"

Those words should have stung, but how could they when he thought that very thing every day? He wanted to shout that out loud, but the music had stopped and everyone—the patrons, the busboys, the waiters, the band—everyone was staring.

"We were just leaving," he said instead.

"Oh, like hell."

He felt the liquid before the glasses even clattered to the floor, smashing into thousands of tiny pieces. Pansy had thrown her tray, drinks and all, at Draco. Astoria gasped as the crowd took a collective step back, as if they too would be coated in sticky liquor.

"Stupify."

Pansy flew backward, crashing into the tables and knocking over chairs. Her white waitress shirt was stained from the drinks that toppled onto her.

Draco slowly turned to the girl beside him, his eyes wide.

"We run now, yes?" she said. "Before she gets up?"

Astoria grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the exit. Once outside, Draco felt that all too familiar pull behind his navel. He closed his eyes, gripped Astoria's hand, and focused on the light feel of their last kiss still imprinted on his lips.

When they landed, Draco opened his eyes.

"Diagon Alley?"

"I thought some ice cream might be a nice touch."

Then, they laughed, unable to contain themselves.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," he said.

"You couldn't," Astoria answered. "You're a mess, by the way."

She did her best to clear away the stains, but a few wine streaks remained on his tie, turning the fabric into a dark shade of Merlot.

"I should have worn the red one," he said, rolling his eyes just thinking about the comments his mirror would have for him when he got home. "I'm sorry our first real date was less than ideal."

"Are you kidding," Astoria handed him back his wand. "I'm still having fun. And the night's not over yet. I'm just happy I get to be with you, away from all the mess."

"Me too," he whispered, linking his fingers through hers. "Although, your skills are lacking in the low-flying objects department."

"What! That tray was medium-flying at best. Well beyond my abilities. You were on your own there, Mr. Malfoy."

"Look at me! All the stains are mid-chest and lower. An easily low-flying classification if I've ever seen one."

"Yeah, well, I'm off the clock," she bit her lip, holding in her laughter.

"Off the clock?" Draco wrapped his arms around her now, lightly tickling her sides. "That's no excuse."

Astoria pushed back lightly, her giggles filling up the night sky. Although people looked, Draco didn't care. This was bliss. This was what he wanted; not empty nights sitting with his parents as they stared blindly at each other. He wanted to be happy again.

Astoria grabbed his hands, and with as much fervor as he'd ever seen in her, pulled him to her. She kissed him sweetly, like a promise that she would always be there no matter what.