a spur-of-the-moment idea, hopefully a good one. hope you enjoy :)

I.

She had been lying on the cold floor in a remote corner of the bathroom for a while now and her back was becoming considerably stiff from not only sitting in the same position for more than an hour, but also from hauling the giant Potions encyclopaedia over her shoulder in order to peruse the table of contents.

The first sessions of exams was upon her and she had found no better place to study intensively than in the Second Floor girls' bathroom. Yes, that very bathroom. It might seem extreme to go to such lengths to be alone, but Astoria had freely chosen the location after several failed attempts to find solace in the Slytherin common room, the library and the outdoors. She had not been able to focus much anywhere, but she had sat through noise, distraction and eerie silence in the hopes that she would manage to get something in her head. And perhaps it had not been in vain. She was quite sure she'd get passing marks no matter what. But every year, she reserved a special place for Potions. It's not that she was overwhelmingly passionate about the subject, but ever since Professor Snape, back when he was still teaching the class, had indirectly made it known that she was the best Slytherin in her year at Potions, she had been all the more motivated not to disappoint him and to prove to others that those were not just empty words.

She had been successful so far, inasmuch she never got anything lower than E and Os were quite a rarity with Snape. However, with this year's arrival of Professor Slughorn, the bar had been considerably lowered and Astoria felt more than confident that she would ace the class quite easily. Not so. Slughorn had made it his duty to officially invite her into the Slug Club. Daphne Greengrass had already accepted, of course. Not wishing to follow her elder sister's example, she had politely declined, insisting that she had to focus on her studies which was not altogether untrue. This was her Fifth Year after all. She had no time to spare. It was unfortunate that Slughorn took these sorts of things to heart. And however polite Astoria may have been there was always something slightly ironic in her gaze that made one think she meant the opposite. The Potions Master had felt it so, deeming it to be a personal insult, and had thus decided to judge her class work somewhat subjectively. As a result, she had received her first "Indulgent A", as he had put it.

The old Astoria, who had not been constantly pushed by Snape to do better, who had not been convinced by the same man that she had talent, would have scoffed unimpressed. But this Astoria nearly had a small heart attack.

That is why this evening she was going to keep Moaning Myrtle company. She was quite certain no one would bother her there and she could pour over her book to her heart's content. From time to time she muttered to herself unconsciously. An external observer would have heard something along the lines: "Old bat, what does he know...I'll show him how it's done...I knew it, what a hack."

As she once again turned the encyclopaedia upside down, her back protested in pain and her spine cracked ominously.

"Maybe I should change position, after all," she mumbled to herself and made to get up.

She was dragging her listless self across the bathroom when she heard rapid footsteps echoing on the tiles, coming from the entrance.

She panicked instantly.

It was not fear exactly, but more like anxiety lest she should be discovered. She had no desire to start explaining why she was out of doors after curfew or why she had stolen a book from the library. She could give the argument that Madam Pince was unreasonable, but she doubted it would hold water.

Not knowing exactly where to go or what to do, she hid into the nearest stall she could find.

Shutting the door quickly she sat down on the toilet seat, lifting her legs to her chin, hoping whoever it was might go away quickly.

The person stopped at a short distance and she heard their breathing from afar. It was erratic.

Then a voice she was certain she had heard before came out in a ragged whisper.

"Myrtle. Myrtle, please come out. I'm sorry. I know I...I know I treated you badly. I am sorry. I need to speak to someone. Please."

Astoria wracked her brains, trying to remember why it sounded so familiar. But why on Earth would he demand to speak to Myrtle?

The boy pleaded again, a bit louder. "Myrtle, don't make me beg. You know I won't. Just please come out."

Still, no one replied.

"You should be lucky I'm asking you nicely. Or that I'm talking to you at all. Don't be unreasonable. Come out already. I know you're in here somewhere."

She heard him move towards the stalls and she froze in fear. What if he got the smart idea to check every one of them?

"Myrtle, I am warning you, I will turn this bathroom upside down. Don't act like a child."

He took one step closer to the stalls.

"I know how you hate it when students jinx you. Trust me, I am far worse than they are."

And then it hit her like a ton of bricks. The voice, the tone, the hidden malice, the strut, the words.

Slytherin Prefect, Draco Malfoy.

He will find me out and he'll be angry because I witnessed him at his weakest and he'll hex me into oblivion after which he'll give me detention for the rest of the year, was her thought process.

And she wasn't too far from the truth.

Bang!

She almost jumped out of her skin when the doors in her vicinity were pushed against the walls. He meant serious business. But why was he so angry? So desperate?

Then there was a swoosh and a small explosion that nearly made her fall.

She heard him yell several nasty curses at the water-closets and then a heap of water started up from the damaged pipes.

Her heart started beating faster and faster as the noise intensified.

Calm down, Astoria. He's not insane. Just a bit unhinged. And very violent.

She could understand, partially. His father was still under Ministry arrest. Everyone knew and he was reminded constantly. Her parents had never been on any terms with the Malfoys but her father had told her that Narcissa did not deserve to be put through this. And that was all he would comment on it. Nothing about the young Malfoy or the father's involvement with the Death Eaters.

Daphne hadn't explained much either. She rather kept to herself because she was on the fringes of his inner circle and she wanted to remain that way. She sometimes sat with him and Pansy, his pretend-girlfriend, when there was no one else around. Most of the times, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott would complete the trio and they all formed a compact little group of nihilistic Pure Bloods with skewered aims and aspirations, although Daphne could not profess to really adhere to their beliefs or understand what was truly happening.

Draco always seemed detached from everyone, standing alone with his thoughts. In earlier years he had been nothing but arrogance and airs, but as time and events had left their mark on him, he had been slowly reduced to an unhappy, somewhat suspicious young man, wary of everyone and everything.

She couldn't exactly blame him.

But this was no excuse for his tearing down the bathroom.

A loud splash startled her. Another curse which had split the wet tiles. Then a crack and the rumble of small stones.

Her only hope now was that, in this chaotic turmoil, he would give up damaging the stalls and he would move to the sinks.

When the sole of his shoe appeared in clear sight under her stall, she felt her heart in her throat. She could barely breathe.

Why had she not stayed in that stupid common room? Why had she required solitude?

She was really mad at herself for getting into such a horrible situation, but complaining about it wouldn't get her out of it.

A loud bang hit her door. She shut her eyes in terror.

Then she remembered she had locked it magically.

Oh, no. Now he'll know.

She imagined he would be a bit baffled at it being locked from the inside. He tried again with the same result. The door remained unresponsive.

His fist gripped the handle and she felt the pressure applied to it. She could almost hear his wand getting ready again.

She had hers prepared to hit him square in the chest if it came to that, but she would rather not duel while holding a gigantic dusty tome.

"I know you're in there, Myrtle! You've played this trick before! And I'm tired of it!" he suddenly shouted in aggravation.

Astoria widened her eyes. Why would Myrtle lock herself up away from him? Didn't she love attention from students? What had Malfoy done to cause such a reaction?

A ludicrous impulse took over her. Maybe it was her mischievous Slytherin mind, maybe a mysterious intuition. In any case, she felt she shouldn't reveal herself. Not as Astoria Greengrass, in any case.

If someone could hear her now she was certain she'd sound perfectly stupid.

Clearing her throat slightly, she tried her best to speak without trembling. She had to be convincing.

"Myrtle is not here, she's...upset again. I'm not the ghost you seek," she said, through bated breaths, wincing at her ridiculous words.

She was met with astonished silence. She imagined he would stare at the door wildly and try in vain to form a reaction after his inexplicable outburst.

She heard his arms drop like dead weight.

"I'm...another ghost, I'm afraid," she mumbled idiotically, praying and praying he'd accept her explanation.

At first there was still no response. Just his shallow breathing.

"Another ghost?" he finally echoed emptily.

"Yes. I tried calling Myrtle for you, but she doesn't want to come out," she continued eagerly, gaining more courage.

It was a good thing she had that tome to cover her red face. She couldn't believe she was going to play this game.

He is going to shout or laugh or call out my name any minute now, she thought in dread.

"Why the hell not?" he suddenly asked, louder than intended.

She breathed a sigh in relief. His precarious state was luckily clouding his judgement.

"Well...you know how sensitive she is," she answered lamely.

"Oh, no, I have absolutely no idea," he drawled sarcastically. "But where is she exactly?"

Quick, quick, think, think!

"Third Floor pipes, she's...um, she's sort of crying, wishes to be left alone," she ranted incoherently.

"And you can't convince her to come?" he persisted.

"I tried, but she's very stubborn. You know...well, I don't know her as well as you do. I'm n-new around here," she blabbed on senselessly.

"New? What is that supposed to mean? What kind of ghost are you?" he asked with a sneer.

Come on, Astoria! Quick thinking!

Her eyes fell on the Potions encyclopaedia.

"There's a new Professor this year, Mr. Slughorn, the Potions Master. I...I was dragged along with him. It seems I have to follow him. I'm – I'm the ghost of his mother's youngest sister. I died young, as I recall."

She had said all this in one breath and by the end she almost choked on her own words.

Come on, Malfoy, take the bait, it's a reasonable explanation!

"Slughorn? Slughorn has a ghost following him around? That bumbling idiot? He's practically afraid of his own shadow," he commented in disbelief.

"Yes, well, you can imagine why I like to stay away from him, he's always trying to banish me, the miserable fool, as if he could ever, the way he handles a wand," she replied just as acidly, feeling an absurd feeling of satisfaction at having properly insulted the biased old man.

At first she couldn't believe it, but when she listened more carefully, she realized Malfoy was chuckling.

What a strange boy. To be almost laughing after madness.

Clearly unhinged.

"Miserable indeed. You should try to get rid of him then. He's useless," he told her.

Astoria had no idea why he'd be so talkative to an unknown ghost, but it was becoming obvious Draco yearned to bare his soul to someone. Or that, at least he came here with that purpose.

She had never thought Myrtle would be the recipient, though.

"I can't. I'm stuck with him. And with this strange castle for the time being," she replied. "It's not so bad, but the ghosts here are anything but friendly."

"You've probably met the Bloody Baron."

"Met him? He practically told me to die twice."

Another low chuckle from Malfoy.

"And that lady that keeps crying at every corner. She's quite tiresome."

"The Grey Lady," he confirmed.

"Oh, how fitful. I couldn't think of a better adjective after Boring. There's also a rabid knight who likes to play cricket with his own head."

"He's the Gryffindor ghost, no wonder," he commented.

"Gryffindor? Are they the stupid, cheerful lot who never shuts up during breakfast?"

"That's one way of putting it," he replied, smiling wryly.

"It must be them, all they ever wear is red and they care for no other colour, apparently. The boys only talk about Quidditch, while the girls keep their heads stuck in Witch Weekly as if it were their Bible. You'd think they were born Gryffindors the way they treat everyone else," she continued, feeling more at ease. She was not very fond of Gryffindors, mostly because of the girls in her year, and she was happy to air her frustrations.

Malfoy leant slightly against the stall, laughing quietly.

"An accurate description, if there ever was one."

"You're not a Gryffindor, are you?" she asked, feigning concern.

"Oh, Merlin no. I am not that despicable. No, I'm in Slytherin, the only House with any real value around here. And backbone."

Astoria smiled to herself.

"Hmmm, Slytherin. Yes, you're a lot more civilized. I've seen your common room too. Very elegant."

"I should think so. It's the best in the castle."

"Is it?" she asked.

"Have you seen the rest? There's no point of comparison."

"Have you?"

Malfoy paused. "Well, no, we're not allowed to see other common rooms, but I know I wouldn't be surprised. I'd find mediocrity as expected. You can usually tell from the Houses."

"Oh. Well, I'll – I'll inform you if I find anything," she said clumsily.

He paused. "Do you usually sit around here?"

"Well, only recently. I was trying to escape the noise," she replied in earnest.

"Tell me about it..." he muttered darkly.

"Maybe I should go, maybe you should go too, it's quite late," she began warily. Her legs were already quite numb.

"Oh...is it? I wouldn't know. Or care. I'm a Prefect. And plus, no one would dare tell me anything. This place is a joke sometimes, really. Despite the beauty and the lavish...it's..."

Astoria waited patiently for him to finish, but he never did.

"What's your name anyway?" he suddenly asked.

For a split-second her mind was a complete blank, but upon staring down at her book, she saw a name scribbled under a passage. And nothing else came to mind.

"Wren," she blurted out.

Ugh, stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Wren...?"

"Wren. Uh, they call me Wren. Well, Slughorn calls me Wren. I'm not sure what my old name used to be. I've forgotten it...I've...I'll remember it someday, I hope."

"How could you possibly forget your own name?" he asked, puzzled.

"I suppose I'm not very bright," she joked. "Maybe my ability to think vanished along with my pulse."

Draco seemed unconvinced, but he chuckled either way. He had been doing that for a while.

He also had apparently forgotten that nearly five minutes ago he was trashing the place.

"How did you die anyway?"

Oh, God, I am not that creative, not right now, not this late!

"Um, it's a really painful memory. This one I actually remember. I'd rather not talk about it," she lied, hoping he wouldn't press her. But he didn't.

"Odd. Every ghost I've encountered loves to tell it."

"Well, they're morons," she retorted placidly.

Another small chuckle.

"I suppose. You're quite...vocal for a ghost."

"Vocal?"

"Opinionated then."

"As I should be. I see and hear what no one else does. If I had no opinion I'd implode from too much nonsense around me," she explained casually. She was perversely enjoying herself.

"And what is it that you see and hear? Capital secrets?" he asked amused.

"I wish. As I've mentioned before, I have to follow Slughorn around. He gets very creative in his bathroom at night."

"Oh, Merlin, I did not need that imagery in my head," Draco said, bursting into quiet laughter.

"Neither did I, but I had to sit and watch him twirl in his flimsy bathrobe while he pretended to flirt with Celestina Warbeck."

Draco shook his head, sniggering.

"I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

"I would, but that would be Slughorn himself, ergo..."

"I see. You're very opinionated," he reiterated.

"I suppose."

She saw his feet shifting slightly. His hand was pressed against the stall.

"Listen," he began, "I must've seemed a bit mad to you back there. I didn't mean to be that...explosive. I wanted to destroy something, it didn't matter where I was or what I was doing. I'm not like this usually...Slytherins would never act this way. I don't want you to think we're all mental."

"I..I wouldn't dream of it," she replied unsure.

"I was only angry. You're free to mention it to Myrtle since no one believes her anyway but you'd better keep quiet to others. At least I hope you will."

How considerate of you Malfoy, to add that.

"Were you scared?" he asked suddenly.

"Why do you ask?"

"Were you?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Well, maybe a little."

Malfoy seemed satisfied with her answer. "Then I must've really done it, if I scared a ghost."

She chuckled reluctantly, but stayed quiet.

"I suppose Myrtle is not coming back," he added after a pause.

"I don't think so. I should go. It's getting very late and Slughorn will be wondering, if he ever does wonder –"

"Yes, of course. You can go. I have no business with you anymore," he muttered absently.

"All right then. It was...interesting speaking to you. Goodbye. Yes, bye," she mumbled hastily.

"Yes, I suppose it was...enlightening. Bye then...Wren," he said, turning away from the stalls.

She heard his steps across the tiles and she counted them in her head, trying to figure out how far he'd gone.

When he suddenly turned back.

"Wait, Wren?"

"Yes?"

"You won't tell anybody about our talk...or the incident, will you?"

She sighed. "No. Of course not."

"Make sure you don't."

Astoria rolled her eyes. How much more incredibly commanding could he get? He'd practically ordered her to comply.

"Anything else?" she asked, slightly on edge.

"I...I don't know. I guess, are you going to be here tomorrow? Or next week?"

"What?" she asked disconcerted.

"Are you going to still be here...later? If I ever...happen to be here again, that is. And if I want to speak to you. I would rather not have to...ask about a ghost called Wren. The other ghosts are no help either way. And I am not approaching Slughorn."

Once again Astoria saw red before her eyes. She wondered how she'd managed to keep so calm this far.

"I'll be here. Don't ask the others, they – they think I'm a bit off. A bit different. Even Myrtle doesn't like me and she's the oddest of the bunch. Actually don't ask her about me, she hates me, because I – I mentioned the Chamber of Secrets to her. I was really curious and she got very sensitive. And I told her she's a coward. She didn't take it well," Astoria rambled on.

"Off to a bad start with Myrtle? Well, this is her territory..." he trailed off.

"I couldn't care less," she replied haughtily, getting rather tired of Malfoy's obsession with the wailing ghost. "I know she had a tragic demise but that does not excuse her being constantly obnoxious."

"I suppose she's a bit of a pain in the ass."

"A bit?"

"So then, you'll be here?"

"Um –well – I don't know for sure, generally yes, but mostly in the evenings, when I escape from Slughorn. After eight, after dinner, his dinner that is."

"I see..."

"If you call and I don't answer then it means the Bloody Baron's wish has come true and I've died a second time. It should be more interesting this time around."

"You're a very odd one, you know that?"

"I've been called worse."

"You know, you can come out, you don't have to stay locked up anymore," he added. "I think I've proven I'm not going to ...do anything else."

"Actually you haven't, but I can't...show myself," she answered, feeling her cheeks warm again.

"Why not?" he asked, frowning.

Should I go for the ugly card, or...

"I'm a bit...my face is – my death was gruesome, if not violent. Yes, violent would be a good word. As a result I am quite disfigured. I always try to hide my face. I am rarely seen around the castle because I'm afraid people will notice and comment."

Draco seemed to swallow this a lot harder than her other lies.

"But you're dead, what's it to you anymore what they think?"

"Oh...you never really lose it; the awareness, the self-consciousness. You may die but others still have an impact on you. Unfortunately."

Draco seemed to ponder over her statement.

"I think I understand."

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be –" he began, but he was suddenly interrupted by a dark figure coming towards him.

And then Astoria heard Professor Snape's booming voice.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing at this time of night in a godforsaken bathroom, Mr. Malfoy? I am eager to hear your very pertinent excuse. And don't tell me you were on Prefect duty."

"Sir, I thought I'd heard a noise so I considered it my duty to check the premise, or is that not reasonable to you?"

"You had better check yourself, Mr. Malfoy as I was not born yesterday."

"Then answer me this, Sir, is following a set of idiotic rules suddenly more important than the safety of this school?" he drawled.

Astoria heard Snape snort derisively.

"You, Mr. Malfoy have never cared for the safety of anyone but yourself."

"True and that entails this school. I need it to be safe to provide for my own safety," he retorted in seeming innocence.

It was at that point that Moaning Myrtle finally made her appearance.

Snape instantly groaned. And so did Astoria.

"Draaaakey, you're baaaack. Oh, you brought a teacher, you naughty boy! What will you think of neeeeext? Oh, oh, oh! It's Snape! Oh, no, no, I haaaate him! Hate!"

"Be quiet you half-witted banshee," Snape ordained her in disdain. "You'd do well to vanish before I make you regret your tone. Now, Mr. Malfoy, we had better settle your detention in my study. If you will follow me."

Astoria guessed Snape had quickly directed them towards the exit because he knew he could not really curse Myrtle into oblivion and that every time he would attempt it she would only be more shrill and uncontrollable. The best course of action was to leave her to her own.

He had luckily not stepped further into the bathroom or he would have inevitably noticed the extensive damage. Or if he had, he had chosen to ignore it for the time being.

Astoria waited for quite some time before she felt sure that only Myrtle would grace her with her presence.

After some hesitation, she opened the door and scurried out of the stall, her limbs aching, her book partially wet and breathing still slightly irregular.

"Wait a moment! You there! Girl with the heavy book! What are you doing here? Are you spying? Or hiding? Did you cause this mess? Weeeeell? Weeeeell?" Myrtle demanded.

"Oh, shut up. I was only waiting so I could leave unseen."

"How rude! You must be a naaasty Slytherin."

"How astute."

"So should I simply call you rude? Rude! Rude! Rude!"

"If anyone asks, I guess I'm Wren," she mumbled rolling her eyes, turning her back on the ghost.

She couldn't believe she had actually said her name was Wren. Why hadn't something else caught her eye? Why? Why couldn't she think of one reasonable female appellative? What kind of moron was she?

She sighed, shutting her eyes in annoyance.

And why on Earth had she said she would be there in the evenings? It couldn't be just the fear that he'd ask about her. Even if he did, he'd forget about it eventually and it couldn't be traced to her. He had never even really spoken to her before except for brief acknowledgement here and there as Daphne's younger sister.

It would be ludicrous to think he would find her out, or have the interest to.

So what was it? Was she simply taking pity on him? Did she not want to disappoint him?

Or had she enjoyed their little tête-à-tête because she had been able to play pretend and speak her mind without fearing the consequences? Playing a ghost was extremely tempting and stupid.

Whatever nonsensical reason she had had to assure him she would be there in the evening, it would have to be washed away with her mental exhaustion and given up as she was certain she would never try studying in the Second Floor Bathroom again.