Astoria Malfoy

zachariashsmith​:

Disgusting. Gaudy. Tacky. Absolutely over-the-top and pointless. Zacharias was going through an entire dictionary’s worth of adjectives as he and Aaron strolled down the streets of Hogsmeade and the little brat rambled on about school. Not that he wasn’t listening too, of course; he was perfectly capable of multitasking and balancing his distaste for that stupid holiday and his affection for his boy.

He hummed and nodded as Aaron proceeded to tell him all about his latest Quidditch match play-by-play, scowled and huffed as he complained about grades, and, naturally, put his best teasing grin on when budding crushes were mentioned. It was fun, and it was relaxing, and not for the first time, he was incredibly grateful Aaron made things so easy for him; parenting was tough, even more so on your own, and Zacharias thanked his lucky stars he’d ended up with a kid like his.

But he was getting emotional and even in the privacy of his own mind, he bristled at those thoughts. He was here to have a good time, not to mope around and get lost in his head – the irony of that statement wasn’t lost to him, either, as he couldn’t say he’d ever been accused of thinking too much. To make up for his moment of weakness, though, he slowed down to examine a particularly ugly pumpkin and was in the middle of frowning at it when he heard his name being called.

His initial reaction was to roll his eyes; there really was no escaping, was there? But then he followed the voice to Astoria, a person he genuinely didn’t mind, and the corner of his lips twitched. “Astoria Malfoy in the flesh,” he returned the greeting and shook her hand. “I’d say the pleasure is all mine, but, well, my company is pretty delightful. And hello to you too, little Malfoy.”

Aaron rolled his eyes, used to his antics, but even then, the gesture didn’t seem hostile or annoyed as it did whenever Zacharias did it. The kid definitely took after his mom. “Oy,” Zacharias nodded his head at Astoria and Scorpius. “Say hi, punk.”

“Hi, Mrs Malfoy, my name’s Aaron, lovely to meet you! How do you do?“ He was much better at the whole charming and nice thing, smiling at them like he was genuinely enjoying the whole exchange, and Zacharias shook his head, amused. “And hi, Scorpius. I saw your last game, you did great! Slytherin’s got a real good shot at the Cup this year! Not that we’ll make it easy for you guys, of course.“

“Okay,” Zacharias decided to step in. “Why don’t you two let the adults chat for a bit? Talk about Quidditch or buy some shit, I don’t care,” he said as he handed some money to Aaron, nodding at one of the stalls nearby. “Just don’t go off too far, stay–”

“–within sight and don’t talk to shady bastards, yes, tati, I know,“ Aaron finished dutifully though did a piss-poor job of hiding his amusement. What a brat.

“Anyway,“ Zacharias turned back to Astoria. “I’d bet you’re enjoying this made-up holiday about as much as I am, huh?“

.

Astoria didn’t need to be looking to see her son’s eyebrows shoot up in outrage at being called little Malfoy -- she had a perfectly functioning imagination, thank you very much, and beyond that she knew her son -- but for once she didn’t take offense on his behalf; indeed it was refreshing to hear someone needling her precious boy without snarling about Death Eaters or traitors of one sort or another, and the smile she had directed at Zacharias and his own son widened in gratitude at the normalcy of it all. Scorpius didn’t get nearly enough of that in his life...although from the look on his face when she did turn to glance at him as the charming Smith the Younger introduced himself, Scorpius very much thought that he did get more than enough of Aaron Smith, and then some.

Astoria, on the other hand, thought the other boy was darling, and said as much: “Well aren’t you just darling. It’s lovely to meet you as well, Aaron, thank you.”

“Mother,” Scorpius hissed, no doubt meant to remind her that no adolescent wizard enjoyed being called darling, not even by a schoolmate’s mother.

Astoria pretended not to notice. Scorpius might have continued to press but when Aaron turned to speak to him, he promptly forgot his concerns with his mother in favor of staring incredulously at the Hufflepuff boy. Did he find the other too saccharine to be bearable, or did he think Aaron was putting on a façade for the parents? Astoria couldn’t tell.

When Zacharias shooed the boys off together, Astoria almost protested -- she had come here to see her son, and she wasn’t sure he wanted to talk with Aaron Smith anyway -- but she reminded herself that Scorpius was fourteen now and too old for her to smother...at least not all the time. So she swallowed her protests, smiled, and waved him away. The dubious look on Scorpius’s face was unmistakable -- as was the suspicious glare he shot at Mister Smith before he turned and slunk after Aaron, radiating offended dignity like a drenched cat.

Astoria smiled indulgently, the expression slipping sideways into a smirk as her attention was drawn back to Zacharias. “’Shady bastards’?” she repeated. “I do hope you’re not counting any of my relatives in that moratorium, Mister Smith. Not that I expect Lucius to put in an appearance today -- but I hate to think of your lovely son being torn between disobeying your edict and being rude to Scorpius’s grandfather.”

She was teasing, of course -- neither of her in-laws nor her husband would have dreamed of setting foot anywhere near something called “Harry Potter Day,” and it was only the lure of Scorpius that had pulled her there against her better judgement -- but if their previous conversation was anything to go by, Zacharias was not adverse to banter...as his own words proved soon enough, drawing a tinkling little laugh out of her.

Diagon Alley is by far the most famous shopping street of magical Britain, a small sliver of a hidden world tucked away in the center of Muggle London – but that sliver is not a single street, for all that most people refer to it that way. Diagon Alley is the main road, both in terms of title and commerce: the best shops, the biggest shops, the most well-known shops, all crowd themselves onto the main alley. But there are other streets – Knockturn being the most famous (or infamous) of the lot, but it’s hardly the only road to branch away from Diagon.

One of the least famous is Spindrift Lane, a cramped and shabby little side street full of cramped and shabby shops. It is no Knockturn; if there is any Dark Magic there, it is a cheap and petty darkness that exists more to filch a few extra knuts to fill the gaps between paydays than for any grand ambitions of wild wickedness. If any corpses wash-up in their corners, they are ones who died of want rather than from murderous wands.

Spindrift Lane is host to shops of second- and third-hand robes, dented cauldrons, and outdated brooms; it is riddled with tiny eateries selling thin sandwiches and yesterday’s bread and hot cheap tea; it is defined by broken cobbles and missing shingles and windowpanes that have been repaired so many times they’ve lost all trace of shine. The stores themselves are no finer: Jugson’s Junk Shoppe is the largest on the street, a narrow building stacked seven stories high above a teetering brick arch. Halfway down the lane lies Greengrass Growths, a cheap apothecary with a wizened greenhouse crammed between its chimneys; on the corner of Diagon, edging towards a better life by inches, sits Galahad & Dukes; and tucked just behind the rubbish bins lies dusty old Tedric’s Tomes, which sells used books so worn that their spines have split their second bindings and their texts tend to be three versions out of date.

The people who live there are as thin and worn and tight-faced as the shops; their pockets are light and their shoulders are heavy; their hands are quick and clutching and they waste nothing not because they are more responsible than other wix, but because they cannot afford to be anything but frugal if they want to make it through to the next month without a stern visit from Gringotts’ goblins.

You can find happiness there too, of course; you can find happiness anywhere that there are people, for people can be trusted to conjure happiness from thin air when they have nothing else left. There are loving marriages on Spindrift Lane (although they wear thin, sometimes, under the strain of missed rent and overdue grocer’s bills) and there are doting parents on Spindrift Lane (although they must squeeze their cherishing in between customers and lunch breaks) and there are laughing, carefree siblings…although the cares come young to Spindrift Lane, and they rarely leave.

The children of Spindrift Lane have holes in their shoes and patches on their robes and sharp, darting eyes that miss nothing; they are hungry, always hungry, even when they are freshly fed; hungry not for food – although some days, yes, for that too – but rather for more. More than shabby shops and cracked cobbles and hand-me-down robes; more than rattling windows and dripping eaves and cold drafts under the door; more than a narrow, hardscrabble, hand-to-mouth life; more than just getting by.

They are Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, the children of Spindrift: children who know the value of hard work and the intoxicating taste of ambition. There are few brash Gryffindors to be found among those who know that daring too much can leave one destitute; few Ravenclaws there who can afford to dream for the sake of dreaming alone. These are children who were weaned on their parents’ fear of rent notices and desperate work ethic; children who cut their teeth on their parents’ sour dreams and broken ambitions. Children who leave Spindrift Lane do not come back – not unless they have to; not unless they fail.

LOCATION: Hogsmeade Village DATE: October 31, 2020 @zachariashsmith​

Astoria was delighted that the annual celebration of “Harry Potter Day” took place in Hogsmeade now -- not because she had a particular fondness for the place, nor for the holiday, but because the students of Hogwarts were permitted to join the festivities as well and Astoria missed her son desperately while he was away at school. Getting to see him, even only for a few hours, between his September departure and December holidays was a balm to her soul -- even if she did have to remember to share him with his friends.

Fortunately for her, Scorpius has always been a sweet boy and adolescence had not taken that from him, so he was willing to indulge his mother and was currently walking down the street whose decorations they were eyeing with mutual uncertainty over their steaming mugs of hot butterbeer. The aesthetics of combining a celebration of Hallowe’en with that of the erstwhile Chosen One who had defeated the Dark Lord not once but twice was often questionable and this year’s décor, in Astoria’s opinion anyway, was no exception.

Scorpius clearly agreed. “Who do you think decided carving lightning bolts over the eyes of all the jack-o-lanterns was a good idea?” he drawled, smirking as they passed another plump orange pumpkin. “Because whomever they are, they ought to be sent to grandfather for fashion lessons.”

Astoria laughed mid-sip of her warm butterbeer and giggled harder as the bubbles went up her nose. “Scorpius!” she protested, not meaning her outrage at all. “That’s not very nice!”

Scorpius shrugged, unabashed. “Honest, though,” he pointed-out, and Astoria couldn’t argue -- not that she often tried. Her precious son was practically perfect, after all, so what would be the point in arguing about him on almost anything? He continued, warming to the topic: “You can’t deny that it’s tacky at best and -- look,” Scorpius interrupted himself to point to the next row of pumpkins, where a blonde wizard stood staring down at them. “Somebody else looks less than impressed, too.”

“It’s not polite to point,” Astoria said without censure, “nor to assume.” Although she had to agree that the unknown wizard did seem less than impressed -- but he wasn’t unknown at all, she realized belatedly, and found herself smiling at him as they approached. “Zacharias Smith,” Astoria said, extending her free hand in greeting. “What a pleasure to see you again. And this is my son, Scorpius. Say hello, darling.”

ministerhgranger​:

Hermione had a few guilty pleasures– a square of dark chocolate before bed, a cheesy romance hidden among her stack of more serious books– but her biggest guilty pleasure of all had to be her meetings with Astoria.

It had started off as simply a way to keep tabs on her daughter, her darling Rose. Rose and Scorpius had hit it off in a way their parents had never even come close to. And like most parents, Hermione was eager for any scrap of news about her child’s life– and equally as left in the dark as said child grew older. But together, she and Astoria could piece together the facts of their lives– or at the very least an outline more solid than they vague one they received in letters.

Plus, if Hermione was being truly honest with herself, it felt good to just do something so lighthearted, so almost frivolous, every once in awhile. Not that Hermione didn’t take these conversations completely seriously, of course.

Her grin met Astoria’s as she entered their usual tea shop, amazed at how quickly she had come to like this woman. It was far from perfect– too many bad memories lurking in the shadows– but there was a warmth there that Hermione never would’ve expected. Some days, she felt rather sad that they hadn’t found a way to be friends at school.

“Astoria,” she returned warmly, giving her hand a squeeze. “It’s good to see you, and even better to be out of the rain.” She shed her coat, and settled into the seat opposite Astoria. “Not to mention I needed an excuse to get away from the office for a minute. I’ve spent half my nights there this week, I’m sure of it.” She shook her head ruefully. “How are you? Have you had a letter? Rose hasn’t written in over three weeks, but I don’t want to nag.”

“You work too hard,” Astoria said -- an automatic response, one that fell off her lips with far too much ease after the many, many times she’d scolded her husband for pushing himself too hard in his teaching duties. (Did first years really care if their beetle eyes were separate by species? Yes, it made a difference in some brews -- but not the sort of basic things they were going to be fumbling their way through in their earliest lessons! There was absolutely no reason to stay up half the night sorting through the jumbled contents of the school’s store of supplies.) It was undoubtedly true of Hermione as well, though -- perhaps even more so than of Draco. After all, he only had a few hundred students to look after. She had the entirety of magical Britain.

“I’m glad to offer you an excuse for a break, at least,” Astoria continued, and meant it. She had had little to nothing to do with Hermione Granger when they’d been in school -- had known of the other witch mainly through hearing her name bandied-about in complaint, usually by Draco or Thedore Nott whinging that she’d outscored them in some class yet again, or with increasing regularity in conjunction with whatever nonsense Harry Potter had gotten up to that year which had derailed their usual schedule of exams and education... None of what Astoria had known had endeared Hermione to her then, and certainly hadn’t provided her with so much as an inkling that they’d ever even associate in future, let alone be -- perhaps -- friends, or something like it...

But Astoria had come to like spending time with her. She hesitated to call Hermione “friend” more for fear that the other witch would protest such a label coming from anyone with the surname of Malfoy, let alone one who’d chosen to marry the man who’d caused her such grief when they were both children than because she felt it was inaccurate -- but Astoria didn’t mind the distance. She’d never learned how to have close friends, anyway, so what she and Hermione had now, whatever you called it, was more or less perfect in her eyes.

He raised his hands at her ‘scolding’ though even then, he couldn’t keep the amusement off his face. “My sincerest apologies, ma’am. Indeed I’ve accused you of great crimes and so thoughtlessly at that. I am truly ashamed of myself and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” He paused for a moment, letting his facade drop, and threw her a grin. ”So. How’d I do? I slept through most of my pretentious asshole classes but I do like to think I’m adaptable.”

It was definitely a first of anyone suggesting he might be meeting any sort of standards and he huffed another laugh. “Well, you’re not wrong, are you? I’m a delight. And you’re okay, at least, so shallow or not, I suppose I can continue gracing you with my presence.”

His laugh only got louder at her offence at his supposed favourite colour. “Merry fucking Christmas, then – I was messing with you. I’m pretty sure all those years of putting up with those horrendous Puff robes have put me off of yellow forever. Nah, I like more neutral colours. Black. Grey. That sorta shit.“

Astoria laughed. “It’s a start at least,” she said, “but then again, do consider who I share a home with. My standards for pretension are exceedingly high. I’m not sure anyone of our generation can quite measure-up honestly, but you’ve made an admirable effort. I suppose even if you’ve a preference for dull, drab colors, you’ve proven yourself interesting enough company in other areas that I can overlook it. We’ll have to make an effort to see more of one another after this, Mister Smith -- but if you’ll excuse me,” she interrupted herself politely, “I see someone who looks remarkably like my husband standing a little too close to the dance floor for comfort. I’d best run to the rescue...or prod him into doing something entertaining for all of us.” Astoria grinned wickedly. “I haven’t decided yet.

LOCATION: Rosemary House Tea Shoppe, Diagon Alley @ministerhgranger

Astoria ought to have been more conscious of her privileged position; it wasn’t just anyone who could secure a last-minute meeting over tea with the Minister of Magic, after all! But Astoria didn’t think about it that way; she wasn’t vying for political influence, after all -- she was just here to talk about their children. And since there was nothing more important in Astoria’s life than her precious Scorpius, it simply never occurred to her that a witch who had the entire British magical community to run might not have as easy as time as she did of dropping everything to gossip about their offspring.

Besides, they’d started these little chats before Hermione ascended to the highest office in the land. The fact that things were different for the other witch now was an idea that had yet to cross Astoria’s mind.

So when the Minister of Magic walked in to join Astoria at their usual table in the quiet corner of the Rosemary House, Astoria greeted her with a warm and guileless smile. Yes, things could still sometimes get a bit awkward between the two of them -- there was a lot of bad blood under their shared bridges, most of it on the side of Astoria’s in-laws -- but the three years in which their children had been friends had tempered some of the harsher edges between them, and while Astoria wasn’t yet sure if Hermione counted her as a friend, she was happy to consider the other witch...well, something like a friend, certainly.

They had mutual interests, after all.

Pansy breathed out a sigh of relief as she stepped out from the floo onto the solid and familiar floors of Malfoy Manor. She knew it should strike her as strange how much more at home she felt here than at her own family’s manor - or rather her own manor now that her father had slipped the mortal coil and left it behind in her somewhat reluctant hands - but it did not. Malfoy Manor had been more a home to her than almost any other place. She’d spent days and days traipsing through its halls with Draco during their youth and even during her infrequent visits back to England over the years, she tended to spend twice as long here than she did back ‘home’ in York. There was another layer to it as well though she refused to think on it here and now with the present Mrs. Malfoy awaiting her with open arms of friendship despite the fact that the lack of notice Pansy had provided for this visit fell well outside of the bounds of proper manners even between close friends… or close friends of the family at least. 

For all that Pansy found herself growing fond of the other woman over the years, despite the unusual circumstances under which their relationship had sprouted in the first place, she had not managed to spend much time with her directly. Certainly, they had not spent enough together to call their relationship truly close. Though Pansy had visited the family and the Manor over the years the witches’ mutual attention had naturally centered more on the loved ones they had in common rather than on each other during those visits. However, now that she was facing a considerable stay in England Pansy had decided it was high time for that to change. 

Pansy gathered up her gifts carefully under one arm before reaching out and squeezing one of Astoria’s hands with the one she had just freed. “Astoria, I can’t begin to tell you how lovely it is to see you.” Pansy met the other witch’s smile with one of her own colored with equal parts gratitude and reticence- regardless of the circumstances and her own good intentions it was still quite rude to show up like this with such little notice. 

How are you holding up? Such questions were to be expected of course but that didn’t make them any easier to answer. In truth, Pansy had hardly had time to consider her own feelings in the wake of her father’s death. There was simply too much to do, what with having had to uproot her life overnight only to come home to a Manor tainted by the Ministry and besieged by the press. Then, of course, there was the funeral to think of and missives she had to send back home to France to keep on top of her own business. With all of that on her mind, there was little room for the rather muddled river of grief, regret, and guilty relief that was hovering somewhere in the back of her mind to flow to the forefront.  None of that was Astoria’s fault or problem however so Pansy carefully maintained a smile as she shrugged off the question.

“Oh darling you’re so sweet to worry, you know me… I’ll be alright. Tea does sound absolutely wonderful and you’re already doing so much, truly, I can’t thank you enough for having me at such short notice I feel just dreadful for putting you on the spot like this but…” Even after all these years, it was hard for her to admit the merest hint of weakness even among friends but she had tried to learn to be more open with those that deserved it and she decided in this case that a lie would serve little purpose. “It was getting a little overwhelming back at the manor. It’s a relief to be able to step away and to see a friendly face. Which speaking of, how are you doing lately? I feel as though it has been woefully long since I’ve written, I do hope you will forgive me.” 

“Of course you’ll be all right,” Astoria said -- perhaps a bit too blunt of a statement to be spoken between witches whose relationship, while positive, was more vicarious than anything else, but it was true and Astoria knew her too well to doubt it: Pansy Parkinson was a survivor. She was strong in ways that Astoria herself could only admire; ways that she knew her own husband had often envied. Perhaps she didn’t have the right to say that she knew Pansy well since most of what she knew had come secondhand through first sister and later husband...but she knew her, nonetheless. Pansy would always be all right.

That didn’t mean she always had to be.

“But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been hard,” Astoria continued, tucking Pansy’s free arm in with her own and leading the other witch forward toward the table. “Please don’t apologize,” she went on sincerely, “a spot of tea and some relaxation is the least I can do. And you know you’re as good as family; you should feel free to drop in anytime. I’m only sorry Draco can’t get away from Hogwarts so easily as to join us...”

Astoria hesitated; would Pansy think she was overstepping, or acting petty? Well, if the stories she’d heard were anything to go by -- and Astoria could only assume they were; while both Daphne and Draco were skilled liars, they didn’t often lie to her -- then neither of those things were likely to outrage Pansy Parkinson. She screwed her courage to the sticking place and added: “Although to be honest, it is nice to have you to myself for once. We so rarely get to talk -- I feel like I know you so much better than I have the right to.” She laughed at her own silliness, truthful though it was.

“Ah yes, it was quite the scandal. It turns out he had used that tactic many times before, obliviating people and taking credit for their heroic deeds in order to write novels about it and become famous.” Hannah shrugged, thinking back with a smile to her own naive belief that Gilderoy Lockhart was a dreamboat and a hero for their world. “But he was once very well loved, especially by witches, so I suppose Morag must not have gotten over her schoolgirl crush.” Besides, Morag wasn’t known for her classy or subtle decoration style, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise to Hannah.

Hannah appreciated Astoria’s apology, even though the other woman had nothing to do with the untenableness of the situation. Still, Hannah could tell that it was a genuine statement, and she appreciated that from the other woman. Maybe friendship with Astoria wasn’t so far off after all. Hannah brightened at the thought. 

Hannah laughed. It was quite the strange event, and Hannah couldn’t say it was one of the most enjoyable evenings for her, either. There was something about getting together with all of her old classmates that brought an awkwardness with it that didn’t seem to pop up when they interacted with each other in the outside world. She didn’t quite understand why everyone was so desperate to have these reunions. “Ah, well, I’m about ready to call it a night, so if that tells you anything,” she replied with a laugh. “Oh yes, Zacharias is great. He’s always good for a laugh.” With a smile, Hannah stood up. “Ready to head back?” She began to lead the way back through the maze to the party, hoping that the couples she had come across there were gone. 

Astoria wasn’t ready in the least, wasn’t looking forward to it in the least -- but what else could she do? Sit out here alone in the hedge maze all night? Admittedly that sounded like a slightly better way to spend her evening than going back in to the party, but it would make it hard for Draco to find her when they’d finally met their obligations and could go home. So instead she forced a smile and lied, “Absolutely,” and followed Hannah back through the maze and into the ugly tumult of society.

Daphne smiled at her sister’s response, closing the door behind her before turning to attend to the teapot that had begun to whistle on the stovetop. With a flick of her wrist, the lock turned and the two women were shut out from the muggle world. Her chosen lodgings was a discussion Daphne had swiftly shut down time and again. She was aware that there were many wixen communities to choose from, and yet they all came with the weariness of being observed. If there was one place to truly disappear it was among those who don’t even know your existence. Here she was merely the distant, and mysterious woman who lived on the third floor, she wasn’t Daphne Greengrass, and all that came with it. It was surprisingly relaxing. 

Taking the kettle off, Daphne glanced towards Astoria as she popped the bags into the pot and placed it on a tray alongside the cups and biscuits. “Oh please, you know I would never avoid you, I would have clung to you like a life raft,” she said, a chastising note in her tone as she made her way towards the sitting room. “No, it simply sounded like something out of a nightmare,” Daphne stated candidly. “All those people in one place again… We don’t need to pretend that one we’re one happy Hogwarts family. I didn’t wish to spend the evening with people who tried to kill one another once upon a time.” 

Daphne sat down, displacing her cat who walked away with a rapid swish of its tail and clearly peeved. “But do spill. How was it?” 

“It was a nightmare,” Astoria confessed, enough though she knew it hadn’t been that bad, really -- but if she couldn’t vent some hyperbole to her sister, what was the point of conversation at all? “Most of them didn’t recognize me,” she continued, which hadn’t been a surprise; Astoria had never been an outgoing witch even back at Hogwarts, and the intervening years had only enable her to become more reclusive. “That was nice...until I had to introduce myself, of course, and watch everyone struggle to decide whether to recoil or hide their revulsion long enough to make an excuse to leave.”

She rolled her eyes as she settled herself on Daphne’s couch, kicking off her shoes to tuck her feet up under the skirts of her robes and try to relax and laugh-off the memories of the bad night. “I suspect that Entwhistle threw his drink on me on purpose,” she added with a sigh, “although it could have been a natural lack of grace, who knows...” Astoria smiled after the retreating cat and was ignored. Too used to the moodiness of felines (and Malfoys) to take offense, she held the smile in place and added a wry eyebrow as she took her tea. “There were some highlights you might have enjoyed, though. I met a fellow named Zacharias Smith who turned out to be rather amusing...and Draco danced, of course.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Cho responded stiffly. Of course this would happen to her today of all days. Bad things happened in threes, right? First she had a shit day at work, next she dropped all her personal belongings including the ice cream she had just purchased in the middle of the street, and now, Astoria Malfoy was standing in front of her, smiling at her. Cho’s scowl grew at the other woman’s polite smile, as if she hadn’t practically ran away from her last time they talked. If she didn’t know any better, Cho wouldn’t have been to tell that the smile was fake. And now Cho couldn’t be outright rude without looking like the bad guy. 

But then Astoria’s face changed, her eyes widening at the sight of Cho’s belogings. Specifically, the pamphlet on muggle rights she had shoved into her bag a couple days ago without thinking much of it. “Just some light reading,” Cho said lightly as she took her things from Astoria and it was now her turn to plaster on a fake smile. But where Astoria’s had been polite, Cho’s was sickly sweet, waiting for the other woman to react. 

“Are you here with your husband?” Cho asked as she shoved everything back into her bag and realized Astoria was still standing there. She hadn’t seen Malfoy in decades and was more than happy to keep it that way. She was ready to make a run for it if he was anywhere near by, ice cream be damned. She really should have gone for alcohol today instead.

“Light reading,” Astoria repeated, staring white-faced and wide-eyed at the horrors detailed on Cho’s manifesto -- not that she had gotten more than a glimpse, but a glimpse was more than enough. How could anyone believe and support such horrible ideas?

“What?” she asked at Cho’s question, distracted, her mind whirling in knots over the other woman’s radical notions. “Oh, no,” she shook her head, “no, Draco is at Hogwarts. There’s a month and a bit yet before the winter holidays, you know,” Astoria added -- wondering if Cho had spent so much time and energy focused on Muggle barbarians that she had forgotten how education worked in civilized parts of the world. (Did Muggles even have schools? They were so ignorant; perhaps they didn’t know anything worth bothering to teach to their children...)

How could Cho possibly be so foolish, though? She seemed so intelligent -- and she was a Healer! Didn’t choosing to go into a career centered around mending other people imply a caring nature by default? How could she be so callous?

Well, look at that, Zacharias thought as he preened at Astoria’s giggles. He was practically a comedian. “Fertilizer, yeah, of course,” he nodded along, brow furrowed in mock-seriousness before he cracked a grin once again. “A damn shame you didn’t wear anything puce tonight if you ask me. Or have you just charmed your lovely ensemble not to look like… crap? See, I tried to avoid ‘shit’ there, but it all just goes right back ‘round.” He hadn’t expected he’d be having conversations about “puce” tonight (the air quotations were very present in his mind every time he thought about that damn colour because it was that ridiculous) and yet here he was. Zacharias spent a brief moment just marvelling at what a glorious trainwreck the night was before turning his full attention back to Mrs Malfoy.

“I definitely find your company very delightful,“ he said with a wink. He didn’t consider it flirting, not really, and he hoped Malfoy wouldn’t either because honestly, that guy could be damn scary. On the other hand, no one could deny it would be hilarious to see how he’d react to someone making a move on his wife – as long as said poor fuck wasn’t Zacharias, of course. “Don’t take it personally, Potter and co. have always had terrible taste.”

He didn’t mind talking about himself – hell, it was one of his favourite pastimes, usually – but at the moment, he was definitely more interested in finding out more about Astoria. Even if it was just a favourite colour. “So what you’re saying is you have something in common with Lockhart. Truly tragic. My thoughts and prayers are with you.” It could’ve been worse, he supposed. She could’ve said red (which in his mind equalled Gryffindor so, bad) or puce (which was just a damn ugly colour, apparently, so, also bad). “I guess now I gotta show you mine, huh? Would you believe me if I said yellow? Puff pride and all that?”

Astoria laughed again and shook her finger at Zacharias in mock-scold. “How rude, sir! How rude indeed. To suggest that I would ever wear puce by choice? And then to compound the insult by accusing me of falsifying my garments in order to avoid the embarrassment of being seen to have made such a mistake? I am offended, sir, for both myself and on behalf of the designer of my robes.” She tossed her head. “I fear that your attempts to moderate the coarseness of your language are made futile by the context of your speech, sir.”

She patted his arm and added, “But don’t worry, I don’t take any of it personally.” Not much, anyway; not any more than she could help. “Especially the offenses that come from such delightful a source as yourself. Those are easier to shrug off, I admit,” she chuckled. “Does that make me shallow? Or just possessed of standards?”

Angelina looks on with a weary sense of indifference. Somehow, she manages to make the effort to nod in all of the right places. It seems like Astoria’s a bit confused, to say the least. For Angelina to say that she’s a professional communicator would be a lie, but her career forces her to be better than average. For once, maybe due to her exhaustion and the fact that she’s not talking to a close friend but Astoria Malfoy, words seem to fail her. It’s not that Angelina intends to be mean–she had pushed away openly criticizing her former house rivals at the end of her Hogwarts days–but explaining herself in several different ways for the sake of her audience wears her out easier than it once used to. Even if, in this case, she has an audience of one. 

At the mention of “elite”, Angelina gives Astoria a funny look. Does she really think Angelina wanted to stop underprivileged children from joining the league? Angelina Weasley, a halfblood from a lower-middle class family? Being kept in Malfoy Manor for two long obviously prevented Astoria from viewing the world they shared the way Angelina sees it. The league was created so wix of all backgrounds could fly, especially those who came from a disadvantage. Angelina figures that it’s not worth trying to figure out where Astoria’s way of thinking came from, as she has accepted that there are just some things in life she’ll never understand. This includes pureblood society. If there is one area she desires to remain ignorant, it is here. 

With several less than pleasant thoughts bouncing around Angelina’s brain, she smiles at Astoria tiredly. “Making an anonymous donation would be optimal. We might not be able to thank you in public, but I can tell you that we’re definitely grateful for your contribution to the cause.” She has to admit that she’s impressed by the woman’s flexibility, and, on a greater level, humility. Just because she may be pompous by some things doesn’t means she’s pompous about everything, and Angelina can appreciate that. 

“I’m sure I can get Albus and Scorpius to volunteer. It’d be a good bonding experience for the two of them,” Angelina remarks. With thoughts of home and silencing her mind for the day, she flags down a waiter with a small but friendly wave of her hand. As they start to make their way over, she looks over to Astoria and says, “With all that business done, it’s time for tea, isn’t it? We have to do what we came here for. And, I could really use a refill of pumpkin fizz. What a classic.” 

Astoria manages to keep her smile in place -- barely -- as the waiter steps to their table, but she holds up a hand to delay the man when he opens his mouth to ask for her order. Her eyes are still fixed on Angelina and her words are meant for the other witch, not for the tea shop wizard: “I’m afraid anonymous donations of more than a handful of galleons aren’t on the table for anyone in my family,” she says, her voice flat and tired. “We need to have a paper trail to prove where our money goes, should anyone from the Ministry be curious about what we’re spending.” Technically there was no law against them doing whatever they wanted with their money, short of actual illegal action -- but while technicalities of law might have kept generations of Malfoys out of Azkaban, these days the law was no longer on their side and technicalities were all the people who enforced it needed to justify bringing as much weight as they could down on Astoria’s family.

She was sure that her father-in-law, at least, still had enough back-channel connections to make money disappear whenever he wanted to -- and the goblins at Gringotts would always cooperate with gold more than with laws -- but Astoria wasn’t going to ask Lucius to launder money for her just so she could donate to a children’s Quidditch group. Nor was she about to admit to Angelina that that was something within their power. “So if you want the money, you’ll have to accept the fact that it’s me who’s giving it to you. There’s no reason that has to be public knowledge -- unless you think the Junior Quidditch League’s financials are going to be investigated and exposed by the Ministry -- but it won’t be anonymous. I can afford to give money to children who need it; I can’t afford anonymity.” That was life as a Malfoy in these times. “So you decide whether my gold is worth it, and let me know.”

Astoria stood, the waiter stepping back to get out of her way, his expression somewhere halfway between confused and annoyed -- doubtless wondering why he’d been summoned to this table, if one of the party was leaving -- but Astoria didn’t lift her gaze from Angelina to look at him. Her voice was bitter although she still held onto the edges of her smile as she added, “I don’t know how much luck you’ll have with the boys; Scorpius rather dislikes Quidditch. But you’re welcome to try.” She shrugged; her son had certainly been dragged to the school’s pitch more often than he’d ever wanted due to his friendship with Albus and Rose. Perhaps seeing how much other children liked the sport when they were young might kindle more interest in him than he’d mustered on his own; Astoria would like that. But it was clear that it wasn’t something in which she was going to be welcome.

“I don’t think I’ve got much appetite left for tea today, though. I appreciate the invitation, but I think I’ll head home. It’s been a long day.” Astoria gripped her disappointment tightly in hand and nodded a polite farewell. “I’ll look forward to the owl with your decision on the donation,” she said, and left the hapless waiter to fidget awkwardly by her empty chair for a few seconds before he turned to Angelina with an anxious smile.

“Ah...anything else with that fizz refill then, ma’am?”