19 Years (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 37: Wallflower

Saturday, November 18, 2017

It was most definitely not OK.

Oh, it had been fine, until now. The walk had been pleasant enough, and Astoria had traded stories with him - about ridiculous clients and models and equally ridiculous students - and he'd discovered, to his surprise, that he'd actually enjoyed it. The house was indeed lovely, and he could find no fault with the workmanship or condition of the building or the furnishings. It resembled a gallery, more than a house, and his misgivings about this "muggle arts" class were put to rest. Between the five of them, the girls actually seemed to have a solid background in the arts, and Neville's idea no longer seemed quite so ridiculous. Even he could admit that his own Hogwarts education had been sorely lacking in instruction in the arts.

Even Astoria's new flatmates had impressed him.

No, the walk was fine, the house was fine, the girls were fine - he found them surprisingly pleasant company, and had thoroughly enjoyed making dinner with them. But this party - this was absolutely not fine.

Draco glared across the room at Astoria, chatting with Harry, the traitor. He hoped she wasn't telling him anything incriminating. He would prefer, of course, that she not tell him anything at all - but his preferences were clearly not going to be taken into account.

He shifted against the mantel, trying to find a spot that didn't have knobs that dug into his shoulder blades. He wasn't comfortable, particularly, but he certainly wasn't going to actually go and join the rest of the party. Harry - more animated than Draco had seen him since the duel, not that he'd seen much of him - seemed to be telling some story that had his audience captivated. Draco snorted. Then Astoria laughed, touching Harry's arm and somehow managing to draw a smile from him.

Draco growled and raised his teacup to his lips, sipping angrily. The hot liquid inside scalded his tongue, and he welcomed the distraction. Astoria glanced at him, and he quickly looked away, avoiding her gaze by turning and pretending to admire the series of photographs propped on the mantel. They were quite good, and with the infernal party no longer assaulting his eyes, he let himself sink into a contemplative half-trance as he studied them, reflecting on the pleasant - albeit strange- day.

Astoria was happier with Ginny. She was lighter, laughed more. She'd always been too cheerful and carefree to be shackled to him, his sullied reputation, and the hulking Manor. Draco hated their parents, sometimes, for doing that to her. She deserved more, and he was glad she was finally getting it. Even if it was with Ginny Potter nee Weasley.

Though, if he was honest, Ginny wasn't all that bad. He wondered how such a mischievous firecracker of a woman had survived nearly twenty years of marriage to gloomy, needy, damaged Harry Potter. Not that he was much better, but he was at least better at hiding it.

He found, as the afternoon wore on, that he genuinely liked Ginny. She was impossible not to like, really, and he could see why Astoria was so taken with her. They were the perfect match.

Draco resolved to have the locks changed on the Manor at the first opportunity, and stronger wards put up, lest they be tempted to leave him a house full of pranks and booby traps.

It was good to re-connect with Pansy - he'd missed her terribly, after the war, but hadn't wanted to saddle her with his gloomy presence or taint her burgeoning law practice with the Death Eater stigma that haunted him, and that she'd just barely escaped. Of course, Granger would most likely have been insurance enough against that.

Granger.

Of all of them, she was the one he'd been most hesitant about. But, either he'd sorely misjudged her, during their years at Hogwarts (entirely possible, given the company she'd kept), or else Pansy had effected an astonishing transformation.