[random alleyway] I'll pack my bags, I swear I'll run {Draco}

Astoria Greengrass was feeling rebellious.

The ruse was that she had arranged a meeting with one of her dressmakers in London that would require most of the early afternoon, to discuss and fit her for a few new styles and designs. While Astoria was planning to stop by the shop, that wasn’t her primary objective and certainly would not take several hours. No, her goal for the day was simple: to make it to her weekly (though more often than not it was closer to monthly) ballet class, unnoticed. It was a pathetic sort of rebellion, but the small sliver of freedom was a breath of fresh air for the nineteen-year-old. She had taken quickly to dance as a child; while her parents allowed regular lessons as she was growing up, they had recently made clear their express disapproval of the slight muscle tone and mass she had gained (apparently it was “unladylike”) as well as the time it took away from other “important responsibilities”: like attending parties, making connections, and having new dresses made. Not to mention that her condition tended to complicate things.
So the demure witch yielded effortlessly to her parents’ superior expertise, arranging a meeting with her dressmaker straightaway to please them without so much as a syllable of protest. She did, however, insist on attending the shop in person – as opposed to having the dressmaker come to the house, as her mother suggested – given that she was feeling rather well and the weather was mild. But all the while, her gears had been turning.

That was the beauty of being the obedient child all these years, she felt; of being observant, clever, careful. Any tenuous suspicion ended there, and Astoria was essentially free to do as she pleased – provided that she covered her tracks sufficiently. This was made substantially easier since she had come of age and, thus, no longer required a chaperone when she wanted to venture out. The young woman who ran the studio was in her late twenties and also from a more traditional Pureblood (or at least mostly Pureblood) family: she understood Astoria’s plight all too well, offering her private lessons to maintain secrecy. It felt ridiculous, to have to go sneaking about like she did for something so seemingly insignificant, but it was one of the few ways to guarantee absolute privacy. She needed to feel as though she exerted some degree of control in her own life, however covertly, at least for the time being.

Astoria could feel the tension leaving her shoulders as each stride brought her closer to the small studio, its teal blue awning fluttering a welcome in the harsh March gale. But her heart sank clear through the cobblestones as she drew close enough to read the sign on the door:

CLOSED TODAY DUE TO UNEXPECTED ILLNESS.
APOLOGIES FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.

“Perfect,” she muttered darkly, shaking her head at the irony. Certainly, the brunette was sorry that the older woman wasn’t feeling well – Astoria considered her a friend, after all – but the timing was especially unfortunate. Usually it was she who was unwell.

Now what?

But then, as if drawn by a magnet, the youngest Greengrass cast a glance over her right shoulder to a visually familiar intersection a few blocks ahead – and her pulse quickened. There was something inexplicably exhilarating about the potential to explore an area that had been heretofore forbidden to her…
Glancing about surreptitiously, Astoria drew the hood of her cloak closer around her face and set off towards the signage, feeling a tiny shockwave of excitement mixed with anxiety in the pit of her stomach. It was undoubtedly a stupid, reckless decision that the sensible witch would otherwise never pursue – but today was an exception.
Taking a steadying breath, she turned the corner and vanished.

The alleyway she had chosen was narrow – so narrow that two people would need to press uncomfortably close to pass abreast. Fortunately, the stretch before her was deserted, and she pushed ahead before she had a chance to change her mind.
It was uncanny how quickly the atmosphere changed from the wide, bright, bustling expanse of Diagon Alley to the dingy, stifling, deserted one that characterized Knockturn Alley. The air was heavy and damp, and Astoria couldn’t help but habitually step over the various substances of questionable origin pooled on the slick cobblestones. Perhaps this wasn’t such a grand rebellion, after all.
She was intent on visiting Borgin & Burkes, however. While not at all interested in performing dark magic, the nineteen-year-old was nothing short of enthralled by magical artifacts and the mere nature  and power of magic in general. It was common knowledge that the shop had many rare (and dangerous) objects, and the intellectual was determined to lay eyes on them herself.

She hadn’t gone much farther than the length of a Quidditch pitch before a faint rustling behind her announced the presence of someone – or something – nearby. Reflexively, her heart began to pound in her chest as her awareness heightened, palms tingling as a cold sweat broke out on them.
Just a rat, she tried to dismiss; but then she felt the presence of something much larger, immediately followed by a decidedly non-rodent articulation that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Weeell, now, aren’ ye a fine wee lass? Wot are ye doin’, all by yerself?”
Out of context, the words were harmless enough – but the tone in which they was spoken set off every alarm bell in her head. Astoria closed her eyes briefly in a mixture of shock, fear, and a twinge of annoyance; her step faltered and her knee-jerk reflex was to stop dead, but she forced her legs to keep moving at a regular pace. If she sped up, he would know he’d frightened her. If she ignored him, though… maybe he’d get bored and wander off. But even as she ran through the hypothetical options, she knew full well that the latter was extremely unlikely.

And that was before his grip closed around her small wrist, evidently annoyed at having been ignored.
“Don’ be rude. I gave ye a compliment – now, wot d’ye say?”
Astoria bit back a gasp of pain as his grip tightened; she could already feel her hypersensitive skin bruising, contouring his grimy fingers.
‘Mother wouldn’t like the look of that,’ she thought dryly, feeling oddly detached from the situation despite her mounting fear. She was certainly in a very uncompromising position; her wandwork was quite good, but she would need to actually reach her wand first, and without drawing attention to it. If it came to needing to run… well, she was clean out of luck on that one. A surge of lightheadedness pulsed through her, and she clenched her jaw tightly.
‘For the love of Merlin, now is not the time,’ she told her body irritably.

Summoning every ounce of courage and poise, she turned slowly to face her aggressor, her hazel eyes boring into his muddy brown ones.
“Might I suggest, sir, that you kindly release me.” Her normally friendly tone was now edged with steel; she could only hope that the jackhammering of her heart wouldn’t give away her fear. She made no move to pull away but her fingers twitched ever so slightly for her wand, her mind whirring as she weighed her options. “I have an appointment to keep presently. Woe be to you if you make me late.”

Astoria was so dialed-in to her current predicament that she almost didn’t detect a second set of footsteps approaching from behind her. Her pulse quickened and her mouth went dry: her situation was about to get markedly better – or markedly worse.

It was a chilly day, but that also meant that the streets of Diagon Alley had been quiet, as were the streets of Knockturn, perfect for those who wanted to be left alone – perfect for someone like him – and, he was feeling good today too, or about as good as he could these days. Draco had learned to appreciate the smaller things, or at least he thought he was learning, if nothing else. Though the ex-Slytherin had refused to let anyone see the way the events of the war had affected him, and that had included keeping his wardrobe as up to date as possible, despite the fact that his style never changed much.  He’d dressed for the broody weather, glad that it matched his mood, wearing a white dress shirt and black pants underneath an elegant looking wool pea coat, perfect for fending off the lingering chill of the season. Without too many people around, he hadn’t felt the need for a cloak and, enjoyed the small bit of normalcy the day had afforded him.

He had stopped by Grimli briefly to see what Niska wanted him to do for the day, since he was going to be gone that evening, and had left him in charge. Draco appreciated that Niska gave him some free-reign when it came to setting the shop and underground club’s hours. It made him feel a bit more human than he’d felt in a long time. And, after he had finished up with his boss, Draco had made his way by Borgin & Burke’s, wanting to see if an item he was hoping to acquire on behalf on Niska had arrived yet, otherwise the blonde tended to stay away from the shop that he’d once frequented with his father. Not liking the memories it brought back, and the things that he’d done with items he’d gotten there. When he turned up empty handed after stopping at Borgin & Burke’s the wizard hade decided to play it safe by cutting through a narrow, often forgotten alleyway, just to ensure he didn’t see anyone he wasn’t expecting to.

When he’d neared the mouth of the alleyway, Draco almost turned around, his ears picking up the sounds of some sort of conversation, which was likely to be some sort of illicit trade, nothing he felt like being privy to today, despite his current profession. But then it had occurred to him that one of the voices was distinctly female, and whoever the speaker was, she didn’t sound thrilled. Before he realized what he was doing, the wizard’s feet were carrying him soundlessly, or nearly, towards the voices, his wans carefully concealed in the sleeve of his coat, but already in the palm of his hand. The war had taught him to always be ready, and it was a habit that was dying hard. When he rounded the corner, he found himself having to squeeze himself down the narrow path, still unsure of what exactly he was doing, he had certainly proven that he was no Gryffindor.

Draco was only a handful of steps away from the back of the cloaked figure when he realized not only was the voice feminine, he had recognized it. He was fairly certain it was Astoria, although he was slightly confused as to why she would be here in this part of the street. Pushing his mounting number of questions aside, the man closed the distance between he and the woman in front of him, his eyes carefully watching the offending vagrant. It was then that he realized he recognized that face too, he was always harassing passersby for change, and generally making people feel uncomfortable or at least inconvenienced. And at the moment, Draco was feeling very much the latter, by both of the individuals in front of him.

Grey eyes blinked once and then again as he waited to see what the homeless man would do, and when he did nothing but grin at him, and display his badly decaying teeth, Draco sighed, the annoyance he was feeling palpable within it “This may come to surprise you, sir, but I’m not feeling particularly friendly today. And, as luck would have it, I believe this fine young lady you’re trying so hard to impress is a friend of mine.” He paused wanting to make sure his message was clear “I suggest you let her go along on her merry way, otherwise I may be forced to show you how friendly I can be…”  He let his words drip with the same arrogance he’d used as a boy, finding it easier to slip back into his old skin more than he would have liked. Although, he no longer felt the need to lash out like he used to, and instead recognized that this was a game of timing and of wits. Niska might have even been proud of him, he thought, mildly amused. Now though, they waited.

Upon recognizing the familiar drawl, Astoria felt instantly calmer. She hadn’t the foggiest idea of what – if anything – Draco would do, but the fact that this new arrival was somewhat she knew was some small comfort. Astoria kept her expression as impassive as possible as Draco attempted to diffuse the situation.

“…this fine young lady you’re trying so hard to impress is a friend of mine.”

‘Friend.’
Astoria’s mouth curled ever so slightly in wry amusement at his word choice. ‘Betrothed’ would have had a more powerful impact – and it was a more accurate description, to be sure. The arrangement had been made in December, and their courtship had officially begun just last month: the two of them were effectively still strangers, acquaintances as best. Still, she couldn’t deny a tiny ripple of satisfaction – ‘friend’ was certainly a much more personal word, at least in her mind.
The nineteen-year-old had been primed for an arranged marriage her entire life; she had no objection to the notion and all that came with it. But planning for such a thing and actually living it – she was coming to find – were quite different in practice. Astoria knew what to expect, but the confident young witch caught herself feeling mildly apprehensive or even a bit intimidated at times. She had a significant responsibility to uphold; and yet she also wanted to make the process her own. While she had resigned herself to any number of possibilities, she covertly hoped that something much more substantial than a political power move would result from their union.

She was rudely reminded of the situation at hand by a guttural sort of grunt from the grubby man who still had hold of her wrist. He eyed Astoria appraisingly for a moment – a gesture that made her skin crawl – before refocusing on Draco.
“Mmph. I know ye,” he waved a hand dismissively, “yer the Malfoy lad.” He leered at Draco and gave him a mocking bow, then turned and spat. The soft SPLAT it made on the grimy cobblestones made Astoria’s stomach clench involuntarily. To her surprise, however, something Draco said had apparently struck a chord: he did loosen his grip and Astoria withdrew her hand quickly, resisting the urge to scrub it against her skirt.
“Fallen on hard times, haven’ ye, to be skulkin’ ‘round here? A right shame for such a, ah, respectable family. I’d want better company than him, lass, if I were ye.” The man raised a hand as if to touch her face.

Astoria looked up sharply at that and, without thinking twice, slapped his hand away with as much force as her comparatively frail body could muster; never in her entire life had she acted so impulsively. Her fear had dissolved entirely, giving way to a surge of white-hot rage as she fixed the vagrant with her iciest glare. She had taken a deliberate step back, such that Draco’s arm was barely touching hers. His solid presence was reassuring, despite her increasing lightheadedness and the subtle throbbing beginning behind her eyeballs.
“I much prefer Mr. Malfoy’s company; I thank you for your concern.” Her tone held not a shred of gratitude, of course; uncharacteristically, it shook ever so slightly with barely-suppressed rage.

Hardly seeming deterred by her reaction, the man looked from her to Draco and back, once again displaying what was left of his teeth.
“Mmph. A right shame.”
And then he had turned and left without another word.

Astoria stood stock-still for a long moment, hardly daring to breathe as her mind whirred, desperately trying to catch up with her emotions. His sudden exit unsettled her; had he really gone? Or was he trying to catch them off-guard? A few more heartbeats passed in silence, and she let out a long, slow breath.
Once she’d gotten a better hold of herself, she turned slowly to face Draco, giving him a faint smile.
“You have the most impeccable timing; clearly, I do not.”

Her head gave an almighty throb just then, and she winced involuntarily. Reaching into the pocket of her cloak, Astoria withdrew two small chocolate candies. She unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth, closing her eyes briefly before wordlessly offering the second to Draco.
It was uncommon to find Astoria in public without a few of the candies: over the years, she had found the restorative effects of Honeydukes chocolate to be invaluable short-term fixes in the event that she had a weak or dizzy spell – which was, unfortunately, not at all uncommon for her. She took a cocktail of several different specially-made potions every day to help maintain her health and prevent ‘episodes’ brought on by her condition. Most of the time they worked quite well, but other days her body decided it did not feel like cooperating. Astoria did carry a tiny vial of a potion designed for acute usage if necessary, but she preferred to save that for emergencies only as it was significantly more potent. For minor symptoms, chocolate did just the trick – which she desperately needed at the moment.

Draco narrowed his eyes, barely resisting the urge to offer the man a retort. He may not have been proud of what he had done, or what his family name had come to represent, but he would be damned if some street urchin was going to get away with bad mouthing his family, in front of his betrothed at that. And in that moment, Draco wanted to hurt the unwelcome man, really hurt him, like he’d been learning from Niska, but rather than acting on the impulse the blonde felt his free hand ball into a fist at his side. He wasn’t worth the trouble, and if he had been, he knew that hurting the man would have only served to make what people liked to say about him true. He couldn’t afford that now, not when things were starting to look up, even marginally.

So he settled for giving the vagrant the most arrogant look he could muster, pairing it with a cruel, cold, smile, just like the one his father had worn regularly. He refused to let this man, this nobody, see his pain, his suffering “I assure you, sir. The only one skulking around here is you.” He could play the part of a villain well, he knew, he was a Malfoy and his father’s son – all he had to do was remember. But before he could say more, Astoria had stood up for the both of them. And the young man was both surprised and impressed at the woman’s ability to scathe with her words, he hadn’t been sure she had it in her. He didn’t move his gaze from the retreating form of their unwelcome company until he’d disappeared around another corner.

Out of reflex, Draco gently grabbed her elbow in a silent gesture of support, half noticing and half guessing that she was shaken by the encounter. She had to be, he reasoned, to have such a strong reaction to the man’s words and actions.  He wasn’t yet sure how he felt about her words, whether he trusted them or not. After all, the people that liked him only really tolerated him outside of his mother and his father. He wasn’t stupid enough to think otherwise, although he liked to think that maybe the few people he’d gotten to know at Grimli hated him a little less than everyone else.

“You have the most impeccable timing; clearly, I do not.”

At Astoria’s words, Draco favored her with a small smile, allowing himself to appreciate the levity of the situation now. “Some might call it dumb luck” he noted mildly before gesturing for her to go ahead of him. He didn’t want to stay in such a confined alley in case the beggar came back, or if someone else came along looking for trouble. When they were in a more open, and survey-able section of Knockturn the ex-Slytherin turned his attention back to his companion eyeing the proffered candy for a moment before popping the sweet into his mouth, savoring its flavor. It had been awhile since he’d bothered to indulge in such a luxury, it seemed odd to enjoy something so simple after everything that had happened, even now.

Once they’d both had a moment to chew Draco nodded in thanks for the chocolate before speaking, his tone mild and mostly relaxed “First of all, are you all right?”  He gave her a moment to answer before he questioned her again, somewhat curious to hear her answer “Secondly, what are you doing here?” Not that he was about to judge her, but it had, in retrospect been a careless move on her part, even he knew that. 

Beside her, she had felt the muscles in Draco’s arm go taut as he clenched his fists in response to the vagrant. She had felt a flare of empathetic anger, then, in addition to her own that was in response to the direct assault on her person. However unsavory Draco’s reputation had been or would continue to be, they were in this together now. And that meant she’d need to maintain some thick skin, because she had come to realize that people neither forgot nor forgave easily.

His grip on her elbow was a welcome anchor once she’d recovered from the initial surprise of his touch, and she nodded mutely as he gestured for her to go ahead of him. The chocolate had helped considerably, but Astoria was still feeling a bit unsteady. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d last felt exceptionally unwell; sometimes the ‘episodes’ were brought on by emotional shock, and sometimes by nothing at all. She fervently hoped that neither would be the case, at least until she returned home for the day.
She laughed softly at his comment.
“Dumb luck or not, it was good luck. Thank you,” she added quietly, glancing up at him once they had reached what he had apparently deemed a safe stopping place. It was finally beginning to dawn on her what might have happened had Draco not shown up when he had, and it felt like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach.

Her mouth curled in a half-smile as he asked if she was alright.
“I’m fine, thanks.” Then she remembered. Drawing back her sleeve to inspect the site where the vagrant had grabbed her, she wrinkled her nose in displeasure. Sure enough, there was already a hefty purple bruise beginning to form around the small bones of her wrist. She could have sworn she could discern individual fingerprints.
“Well enough, at least,” she amended, dropping her sleeve back down to cover the mark. Astoria bruised easily, that was no surprise, but as long as it wasn’t significant blunt trauma it didn’t seem to pose much of a threat; among her arsenal of potions was one that quickly healed fresh bruises.

At his second question, she let out a small sigh of resignation. She was half-hoping he wouldn’t ask, but she knew better; though she did appreciate his mild curiosity in lieu of criticism. A witch of her standing was too out-of-place in such a setting to pass unnoticed. A barrage of excuses and partial-truths tumbled through her mind as she deliberated, then she abruptly dismissed them all. If she couldn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth, then they would be in for a bad time in the long run. Astoria had pondered such things increasingly of late, especially since their betrothal had begun in earnest. If she had to choose the one thing that drove her the most insane, it was the constant façade of niceties in the face of any circumstance. It was critically important to be able to control one’s emotions, certainly, but even the most stoic person needed an outlet of sorts from time to time. Normally a very private, guarded person, there were only a few people that Astoria spoke so openly with. Sometimes Daphne was one of them, depending on how the sisters were getting along that week, though of all her friends she would have to say that Finn was the most constantly reliable. Coming from a decidedly non-traditional Pureblooded family, he seemed to understand just enough for it to be therapeutic; but he couldn’t completely understand. Her way of life was effectively foreign to him, and Astoria sometimes struggled with not having someone she could fully and truly relate to.
Her hazel eyes found his slate-gray ones and she shrugged slightly, unapologetic. What did she have to lose?

“I told Mother I was only meeting with my dressmaker, but my goal was to make my ballet lesson – as of a couple of months ago, Mother and Father don’t approve of it anymore, so I’ve had to come in secret. But the studio was closed today, so I got it in my head that I’d take a trip down here and have a look at some… less conventional artifacts since I’d never been allowed down here before.” She wrinkled her nose again. “But, as you’ve noticed, that backfired spectacularly.”

Astoria watched him curiously for his reaction. She fully expected him to be surprised, at least initially, but was most interested in what would come after that. After giving him a few moments she added her own follow-up, her tone light and inquiring just as his questions to her had been.
“And what brings you to this delightful part of town?”

At her thanks the blonde shrugged nonchalantly not particularly wanting the praise, they were going to be married, which made it the right thing to do. He was far from being as considerate and compassionate as she was making him out to be in that moment. But when he saw the already darkened bruises on her wrist, it wasn’t hard for him to feel the tiniest sliver of compassion.  And, before he realized what he was doing, he had gently gripped her wrist and pulled the sleeve back to examine the bruises once more. With a soft, subconscious “tsk” the blonde pulled out his wand, and muttered “Episkey” only dropping her wrist once he was satisfied they had been healed.

Realizing what he had done, Draco offered her a sheepish shrug “Wouldn’t want to upset your mother” he said, drawling slightly. He was far from being perfect, that much had been made painfully clear in the last several years, but he hoped that maybe over time he could try to make up for everything he’d done, even if it’d never really be enough. Not to mention, he didn’t like to see Astoria suffering because of him, even if only in part. Setting all of that aside, too, Draco still knew all too well what it was like to deal with parents, no matter how well meaning they might be, especially with their daughters.

Her explanation pulled his attention back to the present and a golden brow arched with interest as he listened to her tale. So, she was gutsy and a fairly good liar, Draco found himself impressed for the second time that day, and commended her for the effort, despite the fact that it backfired. He tilted his sympathetically and then thought for a moment. He couldn’t really get on board with the whole idea to walk around Knockturn all by herself – not because she wasn’t capable – but because of what had happened. As far as her ballet lessons went though, he had an idea.

Tugging the collar of his coat up against the wind Draco spoke as he worked “Tell your parents you’re having tea with me, whenever you’ve got a lesson” He said simply letting the offer hang in the air for a moment before continuing “And occasionally we could actually have tea, so you wouldn’t be lying to them completely.” While Draco didn’t understand what anyone could enjoy about something so muggle as ballet, or most muggle things in general, he knew that being denied something so simple was often more stress than it was worth. And, as her future husband, he supposed it was one of the more decent things he could do while also making an effort to get to know her, too.

“I can’t say I advise you to repeat this whole venture again, but we can certainly walk around. Though, I should warn you, Knockturn isn’t all it’s cracked up to be” he offered with a small smile. It was mostly true too, after the war, it was a resource for all things dark magic, but one couldn’t find the same dark dark artifacts or illicit spells that they could have a few years earlier, though that wasn’t likely to stay that way forever, he supposed.

He offered her his arm and answered her question in turn “I work at Grimli” he said honestly before continuing “And I had some business to look into at Borgin and Bourke’s for my boss, so I swung by before heading back to my flat, and running into you.” It was likely far less exciting than she had been expecting, considering his reputation, but for once Draco Malfoy had honestly been doing nothing nefarious, and it was an odd feeling to have. “Not nearly as exciting as your day, I reckon” he teased gently, not wanting them to lapse into an awkward silence.

A ripple of shock went through her at his unexpected gesture, and despite herself her catlike eyes widened infinitesimally as he took hold of her wrist and pushed up her sleeve. She froze and, unbidden, a memory surfaced: Word had gotten back to the Greengrass household that Daphne had been caught sneaking about with a boy; in the present Astoria could distinctly hear her great-grandmother in that moment, carrying on about impropriety and indecent advances, and gaining nothing but a bored expression from Daphne.
Astoria bit the inside of her lip discretely to stifle a giggle – though she was having trouble discerning if it was out of amusement from the memory, or due to her present situation. How could such a casual gesture feel so personal? It did, nonetheless, though as the seconds passed Astoria found herself relaxing. His fingers were warm on her perpetually chilled skin; firm, but gentle as they inspected the nascent hematoma – and healed it, with a flick of a wand.
Then he released her, and the moment passed; hopefully, without his notice.

But Astoria couldn’t help but smile reflexively at his suddenly sheepish response. Had he noticed, then?
“Certainly not,” she agreed, nodding her thanks as she rubbed her wrist absently. “That would likely have send her over the edge. She means well, of course, but she… worries.”
She glanced up at him, a wry smile distorting her small mouth. She felt she hardly needed to explain further; surely he – like the rest of Pureblood society – was well-acquainted with her condition and its subsequent limitations.
A sudden thought struck her, unbidden. Was it at all possible that he wasn’t familiar with her state of health? Or the extent of it, rather? Granted, she hardly could be certain herself – some days she felt incredible and other she couldn’t leave her bed – but surely there had been full disclosure before the betrothal agreement had been made? Not that she was particularly thrilled about having her private information discussed during what amounted to a business arrangement, but it was only fair. Draco was the last of the Malfoy line. There was a strong possibility that her body couldn’t handle pregnancy, and if he had entered into the agreement without knowing…
Not to mention, breaking off the engagement would likely cast a dark shadow on both families.

The notion made her feel slightly ill.
‘Stop it,’ she scolded herself firmly, reaching for her familiar expression of calm assurance. This was hardly the time or place for such a conversation – but now that it had occurred to her, they would be having it, if she had anything to say about it.

His expression had turned contemplative after she recounted how she came to wandering Knockturn, and after a moment he made her an offer. Astoria looked up at him and smiled, her cheeks dimpling gently.
“I’d like that,” she responded genuinely, then tilted her head slightly. “They don’t need to be mutually exclusive. Why don’t we have tea once a week, then? If you’re not busy,” she amended, though she hoped not too hastily. Sometimes it was all too easy to forget that most people had jobs, even though it was a lifestyle she desperately wanted for herself.
“The only potential… issue… I can foresee with telling them I’ll be meeting you is that Mother will likely want to send Pompey along as a… chaperone.” Pompey was the family’s House Elf, a detail she hardly felt was necessary to explain given their respective upbringings. She pursed her lips slightly, thinking. “Though I’m inclined to believe Pompey’s company may be short-lived, provided that he has nothing particularly riveting to report.” Astoria’s mouth curled in a half-smile. “With a bit of planning and excellent behavior… I tend to have some say in the terms.”

The brunette laughed softly at his next comment.
“I can’t say I’d advise myself to repeat this whole venture again… though, at the risk of curiosity killing the cat, I would like to see a few things. Just the once – and then I can consider myself that much less ignorant of the world. And then I do actually need to make an appearance at the dressmaker’s in about an hour or so,” she added ruefully. Hopefully she could make-do with a short visit– worst-case scenario, she could blame feeling unwell for an expedited exit.

Astoria accepted his proffered arm gratefully (she was still feeling a bit off), tucking her small hand comfortably into the crook of his elbow. At the mention of his employer, her brow furrowed slightly as she tried to place the name. She had heard it mentioned here and there, but had to admit she knew next to nothing about the establishment itself, aside from the fact that it was – presumably – located in Knockturn. Her ears pricked at the mention of a more familiar name, however.
“Borgin and Burkes, hmm? That’s was where I was hoping to end up,” she commented mildly, with a casual glance over her shoulder. Astoria wrinkled her nose in a most unladylike fashion in response to his gentle teasing. “Quite. Sounds positively dull by comparison.”

A brief silence fell, and Astoria deliberated. She was quite curious about his job, but dreaded sounding incredibly ignorant for not recognizing his place of work. She also didn’t want to pry if he wasn’t in the mood to explain; and was acutely aware that it could involve some potentially shady things, if it was indeed located in Knockturn and associated with a place such as Borgin and Burkes. As per usual, though, her curiosity got the better of her.
“Forgive me,” she began a bit delicately, habitually sliding into the phrasing she tended to use in a more formal setting, “but I’m not particularly familiar with Grimli. Would you tell me about it?”

Tea once a week? Draco hadn’t had that much regularly scheduled human interaction in months, and had come to quite like it that way, but he supposed something had to give, particularly when he had been the one to offer up the suggestion in the first place. The blonde returned her smile with one of his own, aiming for one that appeared genuine, even if he hadn’t smiled whole heartedly in years “Once a week it is, then. Though, fair warning, I don’t have the most regular of schedules, it could make things last minute.” He told her, honestly,  even though he had more control over his schedule, working at Grimli was far from a job at the Ministry, which is why he supposed he liked it so much, but it made things more unpredictable than not.

“As for Pompey, we’ll make sure to be incredibly boring then, hmm?” He added with a small laugh. If there was one thing he and Blaise, and the rest of the gang had gotten good at in their youth, it was boring, deceiving, and slipping away from their numerous chaperones.

A part of Draco wanted to argue with Astoria, knockturn was not a place for anyone with any kind of self-respect to be, especially a lady. But he knew that they didn’t know each other well enough yet for it to do any good, instead the argument would likely serve to push her away more than anything. Instead he elected to make a sweeping gesture with his free hand “You tell me where you’d like to go, and we’ll go, I’ll even be chivalrous enough to walk you to the dressmaker’s afterword” He said, his voice filled with a touch of sarcasm. Having become disillusioned by the charade that was pureblooded life long ago, he found it difficult not to approach it with a bit of cynicism and sarcasm, even in good company.

Why did everyone always want to make Borgin & Burke’s their first stop on their journey to discover the darkness that was knockturn alley, he wondered? When it came right down to it, it was an old, dark, musty shop that supplied people with things they largely shouldn’t have, himself included. He felt himself shiver involuntarily at the mention of the place, it was always managed to feature in his nightmares, one way or the other. He supposed it was thanks to the vanishing cabinet business. And, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t managed to get a handle on his reluctance, he had to go there regularly for work, but typically he had time to adjust to the idea, and it wasn’t so impromptu. Shaking himself mentally, Draco nodded and turned to lead them back down the street he had come from just before discovering Astoria “Borgin & Burke’s it is then” praying that Astoria hadn’t noticed his reaction.

He should have lied.  Draco knew just minutes earlier he had been thinking about ways to make their transition into their courtship easier, and that Astoria would likely come to find out about his work with Niska at Grimli, but his baser instinct was still to lie. Honestly, it wasn’t even that much of the work he’d been doing was nearly as illicit as some of the things he’d done in the past, but Draco didn’t want Astoria thinking she was marrying who he had been before the war, not when he’d managed to come this far, even if that wasn’t terribly far to begin with.

Instead though the blonde girded himself and made himself answer her question honestly “Grimli? Without getting into great detail, it’s Niska’s base for all of his day to day ‘business’, if you will. It’s kind of hard to explain, and I can’t say much.” He said, shrugging lightly before he concluded “If you’re asking if it’s illicit business, it is.” He looked at her then, not unkindly, but simply to show her that he was serious, and to gauge her reaction. “It was rather difficult to find er…employment after the war, with the shift in assets and etcetera, but Niska was hiring.” He finished somewhat softly, struggling to identify all the emotions he was feeling suddenly. He knew he was partially ashamed, but also proud that he’d managed to do something despite his surname, rather than because of it, but he wasn’t sure how Astoria would react, and he hoped it wouldn’t be with pity.

His simple agreement to meeting regularly for tea loosened a knot in her stomach she hadn’t even noticed was there. Chances were it was more out of courtesy than out of a genuine interest in getting to know her… but it was a start, at least, in any case. Her dark brows raised with interest at his mention of an unpredictable schedule, and a hint of a smile crossed her carefully-lined lips.

“If that schedule happens to get me out of one of Madame T— ah, one of the ladies’ sorry excuse for a salon, you won’t hear me begrudge it.”

Apparently even Astoria – lover of routines and all things orderly – did have her limits after all. It was an inviting prospect, after months of the same sort of routine: entertaining, attending dinner parties, and other such rigid things. Salons were usually a saving grace for the Ravenclaw, as they were meant for more philosophical discussion and exchange of ideas, but they were becoming less and less frequent – and the one woman who did still hold them treated them more like gossip circles anyways, which was beyond disappointing.
Astoria hadn’t realized just how much school had buffered her from becoming jaded to such things before now; while she had still been at Hogwarts, she could honestly say she had enjoyed the social events while she was home, because they still felt like a novelty. But now that it was her life, day in and day out, and not particularly what she wanted for herself… it was safe to say that the socialite lifestyle was quickly losing its luster for the youngest Greengrass.

She firmly suppressed a rather unladylike snort. “Dull as ditchwater, indeed,” she agreed, instead laughing softly at the sarcasm that laced his next comment.
“Well, aren’t you the paragon of magnanimity?”

If there was one thing Astoria prided herself on the most, it would likely be her attention to detail – and had to owe it largely to her health, or lack thereof. It had begun with simple introspection: waking up in the morning but with her eyes still closed, reaching out in the tendrils of her mind to probe at her body and try to gauge how the day was going to proceed. Did her head hurt yet? How bad was the nausea today? Would she be fine to pop right out of bed, or was it going to be one of those days where every little movement would send her head spinning? She had gotten quite good at getting a mostly reliable prediction for all of this in her first few minutes of consciousness each morning, and after some time had translated this to “reading” other people.

With her hand still nestled in the crook of his arm as it was, she detected the small shudder that ran up it; reflexively, her fingers tightened on his arm before she’d even fully processed that – or why – she’d done it. Keeping her eyes downcast as best she could so as not to give herself away, she glanced at him covertly under her lashes (quite a feat, considering he was several inches taller than she.)
‘Everything alright?’ she’d been about to ask, but the words died on her lips. His face gave nothing away; but she thought she had sensed a subtle shift in his body language. Discomfort? Concerning her? Or something she had said? Or something else entirely, from the inner workings of his own mind?

No, she wouldn’t say anything. If he asked… well, she would blame it on a sudden chill from the damp, or having trodden on a loose cobblestone. She let the silence fall between them, allowing him to lead her down the dank alleyway.

The slight brunette was rather surprised, then, when he chose to answer her question about his employment. She had heard the talk, of course, but she didn’t trust that further than she could throw it – which was, incidentally, a woefully short distance after all. And in any case, she had to admit she had half-expected him to sidestep the question entirely or give her the briefest of answers and be done with it. But her fiancé – Merlin, that was still strange to think about – surprised her.

Illicit.
The word skittered down her spine like an electric shock. So the talk did have some shred of truth behind it.
Astoria barely quelled the urge to ask an airheaded question like ‘Niska… would that be your employer?’ out of habit, or to buy herself some time. His blue-gray eyes found hers and she kept her face carefully blank for the moment, lest she give a hint of any unintended reactions. He had more to say, though, and she was glad she’d held her tongue for that extra moment as she sorted through her emotions – and his. What he was involved in now was shady business, undoubtedly; he’d all but confirmed that himself, and naturally it made her uneasy. But such things were rarely as simple as black-or-white and it certainly wasn’t her place to judge (something she often had to remind herself of in other situations), especially when she herself had such a comparatively sheltered view of the world during such a tumultuous time. Two things stood out to her at this point in time: 1. he had, in fact, gone out in search of employment after all this, when he could have fled the country or holed up in Malfoy Manor and shut himself off from the world; and 2. he told her all of this when he could have refused to answer her altogether, and the pair of them nearly strangers.

That had to count for something, didn’t it?

She took a deep, quiet breath; and when he met her eyes again, she was ready. Her small mouth curled slightly in a half-smile.
“I wasn’t exactly asking about legalities, no. I’d not heard of Grimli, and wasn’t feeling particularly keen on pretending I knew what you were talking about.” She arched a well-groomed eyebrow for emphasis; relishing in the feeling of another tiny knot in her chest loosening with the sensation of blatant honesty with someone other than her sister or cousins.
“But…” – here her tone softened, to match his earlier cadence and sincerity – “I do appreciate your telling me.” She hesitated for a fraction of a moment before continuing, voicing her thoughts from just a moment ago.
“If I had to guess, I’d say it takes a certain degree of strength – and gall, to be sure – to do what you did, in seeking employment in… the face of everything. You could have hidden away; and yet here you are, still standing. Creating your own identity.” Astoria allowed herself the smallest of shrugs, adjusting her grip on his forearm slightly. “For what it’s worth: that says quite a bit, to me.”

Astoria stopped speaking then, to allow him an opportunity to comment if he wished. After a moment, however, something else occurred to her as the pieces began to fall into place. A small frown creased her brows, and she turned her thoughtful expression on him. No point in beating around the bush, especially with how their conversation had been proceeding thus far.
“If you were to be seen with me there, at Borgin and Burkes… would it have negative repercussions for your work?” she asked curiously. Perhaps that would explain his earlier reaction.