#potterstillstinks

She’s an adult. If she keeps telling herself this, at some point, it’ll sink in: she’s an adult, and this will be fine. This will all be fine. Not that she thinks there’s much of a chance that Draco will actually, really, truly freak out, like in earnest, not the way she’s freaking out — 

     — she had chalked it up to stress and called it a victory, pleased that the long hours spent on the Bellefleur case had ended up giving her a break from the cramping and the discomfort, and then it had occurred to her today as she was swinging out of the office to buy lunch next door, so she’d popped into a Duane Reade and squatted over the office toilet, and —

     — it’s in a little plastic baggie, stuffed in her purse, because she gets the feeling that they’re going to need proof. It’s beside the other three tests she’d taken, before the day came to a close, and she was grateful, for once, that Draco was working late, because it meant that she had an hour or two at home to sit with her hands over her face, taking very, very deep breaths. She’d lit a candle for ambiance and put on a documentary about penguins in the background until she’d calmed, and then she’d settled in to wait for him. 

     No coffee. No alcohol, either. She can switch to tea for a while, but that many months without wine may just drive her insane. Astoria’s trying not to think about it when she hears the door open. 

     She doesn’t move from where she’s sitting, only gestures for Draco to sit down on the couch beside her, and once he’s done that she clears her throat and tries to speak, and fails spectacularly. Astoria shifts, casts a glance towards the waddling penguins moving together across the ice, takes a long breath. Tries again. Fails. 

     “So. Uh.” She runs a hand through her hair, clears her throat once more. Her voice is hoarse, now that she’s managed to say something. She should have planned something cute. She should have planned something with a world’s best dad mug, but she’s only just wrapped her brain around it herself. Astoria folds her hands in her lap and looks up at him again. 

Enough was enough. And she’d hit enough six months ago when the third overdue notice hit their doorstep. 

Hermione could be... persistent when she wanted to be and it was what landed her on his doorstep two weeks after the resolution that she had to find a way through this (and after some gentle bullying of his assistant). She got here though, nerves suddenly lodging her heart in her throat even through her righteous indignation. 

@potterstillstinks​

Given her time as a captive of the Malfoy residence, Luna knew why her friends were surprised when she remarked she planned to visit Draco. Other then the whole captivity thing, he was in Azkabam for the moment.

Neither of these actually bothered Luna. He was one of their peers. A classmate. He’d wanted to prove his worth, especially to his father. (No, he hadn’t said as much. But she was quite the clever young witch, so Luna knew it to be true). What wouldn’t anyone of them have done in his position?

Now Lucius Malfoy, Luna didn’t much like him. He was an adult. He should have known better. Worse, she didn’t even think he truly believed the Dark Lord’s cause so much as followed a fad. Of course she thought Voldemort had been all wrong about almost everything. But she could respect a believer more then an idle follower. Even if she would avoid them.

But she didn’t believe Draco fell under any of those categories. He was only a year older then Luna. Her classmates seemed to miss that point often. She blamed the general British idea of legal maturity. Mortals-Luna had been avoiding the term muggles lately. It felt...derogatory. English Mortals considered 16-Year-Olds to be legal adults. English Wizards thought it was 17. She’d read that American Mortals considered it to be 18. Yet another book she’d read-wizards and witches were awfully dismissive of Mortal Scientific Discovers-said a human mind didn’t finish forming until somewhere in one’s 20′s.

The short version of all this was Luna believed Draco’s story was only beginning.

The Dementors didn’t bother her all that much. She understood why they bothered others. But she only smiled and waved. (Did they seem to glide a little away from her?). She supposed her mentality was particularly unusual. All the same, she’d filled out all the paperwork to request the visit, and made sure it was quite all right.

“Hello, Draco!” She smiled warmly once led to his cell. Luna harbored little to no ill will. But, she wanted to see how her classmate was doing. She knew she couldn’t bring food items to him, or magical ones. However, she did carry a lumpy parcel under one arm.

She was also mentally taking notes about the prison itself. A piece of her would always unconsciously be a journalist.

█  @𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔  did  the  ﹙  ♡ » ❤  ﹚  ！                    ◟ * ･ ｡ ՙ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄 has been summoned ！»  JUNIOR！

     From the grand room of entertainment she can see the peacocks and thinks them all too telling– once pompous and proud like her hosts. Little did she know of the terror that still clung to Narcissa Malfoy. She too feels suffocated, all that she’d built had crumbled to ashes in the war. Were women of their status taught to be vocal, they’d have found kinship in one another, but instead they’re left merely guessing. They’d heeded the call and Joffrey’s roar had been the loudest. And then there’d been a flash of sickening green. She’ll close her eyes but for a moment, gather herself, legs crossed and fingers tapping against knee to keep her grounded. Narcissa has busied herself in an adjoining room, and Cersei Lannister is left alone with the Malfoy boy.