Challenges #074, #039, #049.
Title: The Vanguard
Rating/Warnings: PG for death references, etc
Characters/Pairing: Moaning Myrtle, References to Harry and Voldy.
Summary: Myrtle had never liked to be the first to do anything. But after she died, things changed around her.
Word Count: 803
Author's Notes: For fic challenge #074: Don't Speak. There shouldn't be any dialogue in here.
Registered purchases?: Both
Myrtle had never been the first to do anything. She hated being the front of the line to enter the classroom. She would always duck her head down when a teacher asked for a demonstration. She would never even be the first person to take a bowl of cereal from the breakfast table, despite being a notoriously early rider. She even wouldn't dream of going down by herself.
Well, she certainly wouldn't have dreamt of going anywhere by herself in her final year. But that still didn't save her, as she stared down at her body outside the cubicle.
It had been her favourite cubicle. These particular girls' bathrooms were tucked away in a nice quiet corridor, the classrooms nearby only tended to have students come here in an emergency, because there were nicer ones downstairs. These only tended to accommodate girls who were faking illness, or who were hiding from boys, or wanted some peace and quiet to get away from that ghastly Olive Hornby.
It was also good at housing dead bodies.
Myrtle looked at her own body. She had since stopped crying from the shock of finding herself dead, and was looking at what she had become. The first student to die from the monster. The corpse lay splay-legged on the ground; Myrtle realised she was slowly decomposing before her own eyes. That was a weird feeling.
And after the constant threat of death and Petrification over the past few months, she had thought so much about those around her dying. Friends, family. Her parents. Her toad.
She didn't think the first one to die would be herself.
There was something strange about the body, she thought. No... it wasn't the body. It was her. Somehow, she didn't feel like a ghost; she just felt like herself (however miserable that was), but there was a twinge of spite within her very soul that felt alien. Like it belonged to somebody else.
When she thought about it, it was gone. She wondered if all ghosts felt like this. Maybe she could ask Professor Binns, or the Grey Lady.
And somehow, over the years, she became part of the tapestry. She watched her friends, her family and Olive Hornby each get older, have families of their own, move to new places, get jobs and careers, and here she lay, frozen forever, like a naughty student being kept back after school.
It wasn't fair, she complained to an empty bathroom. It wasn't fair that she would miss out on all those things, and people like Olive Hornby would live a rich and fulfilled life.
It would set her off into tears again. Students left her bathroom alone altogether now. It was fine for her; she would sometimes pretend it was her office.
And it wasn't until so many years later that that lovely Harry Potter boy came to explain to her what had happened the day she died that she finally understood the importance of her death, of her sacrifice.
Her murder.
Potter wasn't really a boy, now. He was a man, all grown up and weather-beaten from the year-long cat-and-mouse game with her killer. He was the Boy who Lived; she was the Girl Who Didn't.
But she found out she had been the one who started the Dark Lord on his way to atrocity (they called him Voldemort; she didn't know the name, or the boy Riddle. She preferred to keep her head down in her bathroom, though she did remember there being a war going on. It was strange how little current affairs bothered her when she wasn't alive). She had been the first witch he had ever killed.
She had been the one whose death bound Riddle's soul to that old diary.
That diary had been the key to the Dark Lord's undoing.
In a way, she had been the vanguard who set everything up for the rest of the army. She had helped in her own little way, from her own little bathroom.
She remembered that diary; how it made her feel when it passed through her body. She rememebered that wave of hot, alien spite pass through her too, connecting with something deep inside of her, something she barely remembered from the afternoon of her death: a fragment of soul that knew her own.
She wanted to thank Harry Potter, but he was too busy with the red-headed girl. Myrtle was forgotten about again, and she sat in the cubicle waiting for...
For what?
Everything was fixed now. Potter would move on, her killer had been found, resolved and explained, and Olive Hornby was out of the equation. Maybe that was it.
Maybe she could find her peace at last and move on. Was that even allowed?
Myrtle suddenly wanted to be the first to find out.
Title: Not Going Out
Rating/Warnings: PG for death references, etc
Characters/Pairing: Lily Evans, Alice Longbottom, references to James, Harry, Sirius, etc.
Summary: Lily spends most of her final year in hiding.
Word Count: 655
Author's Notes: For Challenge #039 Seasons - I am 85% confident the year described does not fit in with canon properly, but it's a rough dramatisation anyway, right? :P
Registered purchases?: Both
The winter came, and Lily fussed over her son, keeping him warm. There was no snow on the earth, but the chill in Godric's Hollow meant she had to keep indoors as often as possible, as she could not take her son around so freely. These times were dangerous; she and James had fought Voldemort three times now; the most recent time, they barely escaped with their lives. Had it not been for the intervention of Frank Longbottom, they would surely be dead; their son, and orphan.
She had seen Alice Longbottom just the once since them; the two mothers within the Order of the Phoenix, guarding their sons with their lives while building a safe future for them, too.
"How's Neville?" she asked politely.
"He's fine," said Alice with a faint smile, gazing at the naked tree outside- the stress of the war showing in the crows' feet around her eyes. "He's just going through that fussy stage right now. He's not sleeping very well."
"Have you tried using a potion on him?" Lily said. "I found that helped out Harry."
"I'm trying to go without potions," Alice explained. "Frank doesnt like using magic on babies. He doesn't think it's ethical."
The two women stood in the porch, watching their breath rise up in front of them. "Nearly Christmas."
The two women made small talk about their plans for the future, the hopes and dreams they dared to aspire toward because that was what drove them to keep fighting. Justice and righteousness alone wasn't enough; according to Dumbledore, they needed to love.
Springtime was the last time Lily saw Alice and Frank. She and James had joined the Longbottoms and Dumbledore for an important meeting in their headquarters: an order to stop fighting and hide.
She didn't have many visitors: they were protected by a wall of enchantments; they knew it would not last, but it would be enough to give them warning if somebody tried to get in. She watched the blossom on the tree sprout, one suddenly saw a card drop on the table.
"What is this?"
Opening it, she saw a pink floral design, proudly declaring 'HAPPY MOTHERING SUNDAY'; turning round, she looked at James.
"I know you must be thinking about your family right now," he said with a small smile, "so I went to a Muggle card shop and got you that."
Forgetting the heartfelt sentiment for a moment, Lily grabbed her wand and blasted every hex at her husband for doing something so reckless. She knew it was not in his nature to stay indoors all the time, but this was for their own good.
The late summer sun set on the solstace; Lily put up enchantments afresh around their house. Death Eaters had attacked them again, but to no avail; after going on the run for a while, they had returned, and it was now Dumbledore proposed the Fidelius Charm.
James was in talks with Sirius while Lily kept attending to their son. There was a sense of change in the air now; the mood was becoming more urgent, nobody even spoke of the Longbottoms now: it had become clear that Harry was the one Voldemort desired.
She looked at the tree in their front garden. Its leaves were thick and rich, but going dark in the shadow of the sunset. Finally, Sirius came out, bade farewell to her and his godson, Disapparating once outside of the field of protection.
The trees leaves turned golden and vanished, as October neared its end. Halloween festivities outside were brightening up the shortening days, and James, resigned to being stuck inside, entertained his son with a stream of bubbles. Lily, glowing with calm, prepared some food for them all- she expected a visit from Dumbledore some time soon.
There was a knock on the door, several flashes of green, and Lily never saw the final leaf fall from the tree.
Title: French Connection
Rating/Warnings: PG at most. Quite tame.
Characters/Pairing: Astoria Greengrass, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy.
Summary: Astoria is invited away by the Malfoys, who are still adjusting to life after the second war.
Word Count: 1025
Author's Notes: For Challenge #049 The Malfoys - A side of the Malfoys not portrayed in canon: them trying to maintain their position in high society while also planning an escape.
Registered purchases?: Both
The tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway was the only sound in the hall while the Malfoys ate their dinner. The days of having house elves prepare banquets for them were long gone, along with their pride and influence, which had been all but eradicated by the series of humiliating trials they had been forced to attend following the downfall of the Dark Lord.
They had a guest in their midst, but she had been here several times before, and knew better than to try and interrupt the silence. Lucius seemed to prefer it this way.
Draco looked up from his plate, and shot Astoria Greengrass a look, slightly apologetic, slightly affronted. It was as though he was challenging her to say something, while she was a guest in their manor. Narcissa opened a bowl of vegetables, and offered them around. Draco helped himself to a spoonful, before speaking:
"My father was discussing plans for the spring," he explained, looking to his father for acknowledgment, "we were hoping you would attend a gathering with some of the older, more refined French wizarding families."
Astoria looked up. "French, you say?"
"Oh, certainly, yes," Narcissa said, joining in the conversation. "Every few years, a dear friend of the Malfoy family from Lyons organises a gathering, usually in April, when the weather is more pleasant. It is rather like a dinner party: formal yet enjoyable, an excellent opportunity to meet new people. It usually goes from Friday to Monday, to allow those coming from further afield a chance to travel in comfort and be relaxed.
"That certainly sounds fascinating," Astoria said, in her most refined voice, one she always found herself speaking in whenever she was around Draco's mother. She saw her boyfriend smirk a little, though nothing like the smirks he used to have in the Slytherin common room when something humoured him, the ones her older sister used to be so disdainful about. "Yes, I am certainly interested. Has a date been arranged?"
"The first Friday of April," Lucius said, with clipped tones. "I can arrange a boat to sail us from here to the coast of Brittany, whereafter we can journey through the countryside."
"We couldn't just apparate there?" Astoria said. The Malfoys looked at her, as though she had made a faux-pas.
"It is not considered proper to Apparate to functions such as this," Lucius said, in a tone that implied it ought to have been obvious. "Any common wizard could do that. It is more appropriate to approach in a more, ah, refined manner."
His use of the word 'refined' sat uncomfortably with Astoria; he had made it clear on many occasions that he did not think her worthy of his "most sacred and jealously-guarded possession". Draco spoke to diffuse the tension.
"They sent us four invitations, you see, but..." Draco looked uneasily at his father, "but I don't think they realised Grandfather Abraxas had passed on a few years ago. So we have one place free, and travelling as a group of four is so much more appealing than a group of three, wouldn't you agree?"
Astoria nodded, before realising what Draco's implication was; Narcissa jumped on the signal before Astoria realised what had happened:
"Excellent! I shall write back to Monseiur and Madame Lafarge after this meal."
Astoria opened her mouth to speak, but realised it was not worth it. Once somebody has promised a Malfoy something, no matter how indirectly or minor, crossing them by renenging was a foolish thing to attempt, even at the ebb of their influence.
After the meal, Draco spoke to her in the parlour.
"Thank you for agreeing," he said, much more relaxed than he ever seemed to be around his parents. "Father has been particularly eager to get back in favour with the French wizarding world. It is a particularly good opportunity for him."
She smiled compacently. "Is that so?"
"Yeah, well..." Draco checked down the corridor, to ensure neither of his elders were in earshot, "between you and me? Father hopes to move to France when the family retire."
"Oh?" Astoria hadn't expected this. "Has he wanted to move there for a while?"
"Sort of," Draco sighed, looking the window. "There's nothing here for them any more. Not since... you know. Not since they lost everything in the war. The dishonour upon our house, it lingers on, even if nobody dares say it to our faces. We still hear things whispered behind our backs, things that make my father so angry, and he can't do anything, because..."
Astoria understood. Her father had been present during the trial beneath the Wizengamot, and she knew the sanctions upon Lucius and Draco Malfoy, and the sacrifices Narcissa had to make to keep them out of Azkaban.
It was one of those things they didn't talk about. For a family this proud, it hurt them terribly.
"You don't have to explain," she said. I am sure that the families your father knows abroad will welcome them. If they are inviting you all to their gathering, there must still be something in it for you."
"Yeah, I suppose," Draco said with a smile. She understood how his world worked; this was why he had chosen her over the other girls he knew. She just knew Draco wanted a friend more than a companion, and she was sure she could be both to him.
She would be what he needed.
"You'll like the Lafarge family," Draco said encouragingly, walking her down the corridor. "They have a daughter our age. She reminds me a lot of yourself, if what Mother tells me is true. She speaks excellent English, so don't worry too much about the language barrier."
"I wasn't," Astoria smiled. "I have been working on a potion to help with language."
"Of course," Draco smiled, remembering her fondness for experimenting with ambitious Potions, which brought her in favour with Slughorn. "They are very much like my family, but don't worry. As a guest of ours, and as a pureblood, you will be made welcome."
Astoria kissed him on the cheek and departed later that evening. Draco looked at the engagement ring he had guarded under enchantment, and hoped the journey through France would be as memorable as he hoped it would be.
803 + 655 + 1025 = 2483
2483 /30 = 82.77
83 points + 30 bonus GET!!
Rating/Warnings: PG for death references, etc
Characters/Pairing: Moaning Myrtle, References to Harry and Voldy.
Summary: Myrtle had never liked to be the first to do anything. But after she died, things changed around her.
Word Count: 803
Author's Notes: For fic challenge #074: Don't Speak. There shouldn't be any dialogue in here.
Registered purchases?: Both
Myrtle had never been the first to do anything. She hated being the front of the line to enter the classroom. She would always duck her head down when a teacher asked for a demonstration. She would never even be the first person to take a bowl of cereal from the breakfast table, despite being a notoriously early rider. She even wouldn't dream of going down by herself.
Well, she certainly wouldn't have dreamt of going anywhere by herself in her final year. But that still didn't save her, as she stared down at her body outside the cubicle.
It had been her favourite cubicle. These particular girls' bathrooms were tucked away in a nice quiet corridor, the classrooms nearby only tended to have students come here in an emergency, because there were nicer ones downstairs. These only tended to accommodate girls who were faking illness, or who were hiding from boys, or wanted some peace and quiet to get away from that ghastly Olive Hornby.
It was also good at housing dead bodies.
Myrtle looked at her own body. She had since stopped crying from the shock of finding herself dead, and was looking at what she had become. The first student to die from the monster. The corpse lay splay-legged on the ground; Myrtle realised she was slowly decomposing before her own eyes. That was a weird feeling.
And after the constant threat of death and Petrification over the past few months, she had thought so much about those around her dying. Friends, family. Her parents. Her toad.
She didn't think the first one to die would be herself.
There was something strange about the body, she thought. No... it wasn't the body. It was her. Somehow, she didn't feel like a ghost; she just felt like herself (however miserable that was), but there was a twinge of spite within her very soul that felt alien. Like it belonged to somebody else.
When she thought about it, it was gone. She wondered if all ghosts felt like this. Maybe she could ask Professor Binns, or the Grey Lady.
And somehow, over the years, she became part of the tapestry. She watched her friends, her family and Olive Hornby each get older, have families of their own, move to new places, get jobs and careers, and here she lay, frozen forever, like a naughty student being kept back after school.
It wasn't fair, she complained to an empty bathroom. It wasn't fair that she would miss out on all those things, and people like Olive Hornby would live a rich and fulfilled life.
It would set her off into tears again. Students left her bathroom alone altogether now. It was fine for her; she would sometimes pretend it was her office.
And it wasn't until so many years later that that lovely Harry Potter boy came to explain to her what had happened the day she died that she finally understood the importance of her death, of her sacrifice.
Her murder.
Potter wasn't really a boy, now. He was a man, all grown up and weather-beaten from the year-long cat-and-mouse game with her killer. He was the Boy who Lived; she was the Girl Who Didn't.
But she found out she had been the one who started the Dark Lord on his way to atrocity (they called him Voldemort; she didn't know the name, or the boy Riddle. She preferred to keep her head down in her bathroom, though she did remember there being a war going on. It was strange how little current affairs bothered her when she wasn't alive). She had been the first witch he had ever killed.
She had been the one whose death bound Riddle's soul to that old diary.
That diary had been the key to the Dark Lord's undoing.
In a way, she had been the vanguard who set everything up for the rest of the army. She had helped in her own little way, from her own little bathroom.
She remembered that diary; how it made her feel when it passed through her body. She rememebered that wave of hot, alien spite pass through her too, connecting with something deep inside of her, something she barely remembered from the afternoon of her death: a fragment of soul that knew her own.
She wanted to thank Harry Potter, but he was too busy with the red-headed girl. Myrtle was forgotten about again, and she sat in the cubicle waiting for...
For what?
Everything was fixed now. Potter would move on, her killer had been found, resolved and explained, and Olive Hornby was out of the equation. Maybe that was it.
Maybe she could find her peace at last and move on. Was that even allowed?
Myrtle suddenly wanted to be the first to find out.
Title: Not Going Out
Rating/Warnings: PG for death references, etc
Characters/Pairing: Lily Evans, Alice Longbottom, references to James, Harry, Sirius, etc.
Summary: Lily spends most of her final year in hiding.
Word Count: 655
Author's Notes: For Challenge #039 Seasons - I am 85% confident the year described does not fit in with canon properly, but it's a rough dramatisation anyway, right? :P
Registered purchases?: Both
The winter came, and Lily fussed over her son, keeping him warm. There was no snow on the earth, but the chill in Godric's Hollow meant she had to keep indoors as often as possible, as she could not take her son around so freely. These times were dangerous; she and James had fought Voldemort three times now; the most recent time, they barely escaped with their lives. Had it not been for the intervention of Frank Longbottom, they would surely be dead; their son, and orphan.
She had seen Alice Longbottom just the once since them; the two mothers within the Order of the Phoenix, guarding their sons with their lives while building a safe future for them, too.
"How's Neville?" she asked politely.
"He's fine," said Alice with a faint smile, gazing at the naked tree outside- the stress of the war showing in the crows' feet around her eyes. "He's just going through that fussy stage right now. He's not sleeping very well."
"Have you tried using a potion on him?" Lily said. "I found that helped out Harry."
"I'm trying to go without potions," Alice explained. "Frank doesnt like using magic on babies. He doesn't think it's ethical."
The two women stood in the porch, watching their breath rise up in front of them. "Nearly Christmas."
The two women made small talk about their plans for the future, the hopes and dreams they dared to aspire toward because that was what drove them to keep fighting. Justice and righteousness alone wasn't enough; according to Dumbledore, they needed to love.
Springtime was the last time Lily saw Alice and Frank. She and James had joined the Longbottoms and Dumbledore for an important meeting in their headquarters: an order to stop fighting and hide.
She didn't have many visitors: they were protected by a wall of enchantments; they knew it would not last, but it would be enough to give them warning if somebody tried to get in. She watched the blossom on the tree sprout, one suddenly saw a card drop on the table.
"What is this?"
Opening it, she saw a pink floral design, proudly declaring 'HAPPY MOTHERING SUNDAY'; turning round, she looked at James.
"I know you must be thinking about your family right now," he said with a small smile, "so I went to a Muggle card shop and got you that."
Forgetting the heartfelt sentiment for a moment, Lily grabbed her wand and blasted every hex at her husband for doing something so reckless. She knew it was not in his nature to stay indoors all the time, but this was for their own good.
The late summer sun set on the solstace; Lily put up enchantments afresh around their house. Death Eaters had attacked them again, but to no avail; after going on the run for a while, they had returned, and it was now Dumbledore proposed the Fidelius Charm.
James was in talks with Sirius while Lily kept attending to their son. There was a sense of change in the air now; the mood was becoming more urgent, nobody even spoke of the Longbottoms now: it had become clear that Harry was the one Voldemort desired.
She looked at the tree in their front garden. Its leaves were thick and rich, but going dark in the shadow of the sunset. Finally, Sirius came out, bade farewell to her and his godson, Disapparating once outside of the field of protection.
The trees leaves turned golden and vanished, as October neared its end. Halloween festivities outside were brightening up the shortening days, and James, resigned to being stuck inside, entertained his son with a stream of bubbles. Lily, glowing with calm, prepared some food for them all- she expected a visit from Dumbledore some time soon.
There was a knock on the door, several flashes of green, and Lily never saw the final leaf fall from the tree.
Title: French Connection
Rating/Warnings: PG at most. Quite tame.
Characters/Pairing: Astoria Greengrass, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy.
Summary: Astoria is invited away by the Malfoys, who are still adjusting to life after the second war.
Word Count: 1025
Author's Notes: For Challenge #049 The Malfoys - A side of the Malfoys not portrayed in canon: them trying to maintain their position in high society while also planning an escape.
Registered purchases?: Both
The tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway was the only sound in the hall while the Malfoys ate their dinner. The days of having house elves prepare banquets for them were long gone, along with their pride and influence, which had been all but eradicated by the series of humiliating trials they had been forced to attend following the downfall of the Dark Lord.
They had a guest in their midst, but she had been here several times before, and knew better than to try and interrupt the silence. Lucius seemed to prefer it this way.
Draco looked up from his plate, and shot Astoria Greengrass a look, slightly apologetic, slightly affronted. It was as though he was challenging her to say something, while she was a guest in their manor. Narcissa opened a bowl of vegetables, and offered them around. Draco helped himself to a spoonful, before speaking:
"My father was discussing plans for the spring," he explained, looking to his father for acknowledgment, "we were hoping you would attend a gathering with some of the older, more refined French wizarding families."
Astoria looked up. "French, you say?"
"Oh, certainly, yes," Narcissa said, joining in the conversation. "Every few years, a dear friend of the Malfoy family from Lyons organises a gathering, usually in April, when the weather is more pleasant. It is rather like a dinner party: formal yet enjoyable, an excellent opportunity to meet new people. It usually goes from Friday to Monday, to allow those coming from further afield a chance to travel in comfort and be relaxed.
"That certainly sounds fascinating," Astoria said, in her most refined voice, one she always found herself speaking in whenever she was around Draco's mother. She saw her boyfriend smirk a little, though nothing like the smirks he used to have in the Slytherin common room when something humoured him, the ones her older sister used to be so disdainful about. "Yes, I am certainly interested. Has a date been arranged?"
"The first Friday of April," Lucius said, with clipped tones. "I can arrange a boat to sail us from here to the coast of Brittany, whereafter we can journey through the countryside."
"We couldn't just apparate there?" Astoria said. The Malfoys looked at her, as though she had made a faux-pas.
"It is not considered proper to Apparate to functions such as this," Lucius said, in a tone that implied it ought to have been obvious. "Any common wizard could do that. It is more appropriate to approach in a more, ah, refined manner."
His use of the word 'refined' sat uncomfortably with Astoria; he had made it clear on many occasions that he did not think her worthy of his "most sacred and jealously-guarded possession". Draco spoke to diffuse the tension.
"They sent us four invitations, you see, but..." Draco looked uneasily at his father, "but I don't think they realised Grandfather Abraxas had passed on a few years ago. So we have one place free, and travelling as a group of four is so much more appealing than a group of three, wouldn't you agree?"
Astoria nodded, before realising what Draco's implication was; Narcissa jumped on the signal before Astoria realised what had happened:
"Excellent! I shall write back to Monseiur and Madame Lafarge after this meal."
Astoria opened her mouth to speak, but realised it was not worth it. Once somebody has promised a Malfoy something, no matter how indirectly or minor, crossing them by renenging was a foolish thing to attempt, even at the ebb of their influence.
After the meal, Draco spoke to her in the parlour.
"Thank you for agreeing," he said, much more relaxed than he ever seemed to be around his parents. "Father has been particularly eager to get back in favour with the French wizarding world. It is a particularly good opportunity for him."
She smiled compacently. "Is that so?"
"Yeah, well..." Draco checked down the corridor, to ensure neither of his elders were in earshot, "between you and me? Father hopes to move to France when the family retire."
"Oh?" Astoria hadn't expected this. "Has he wanted to move there for a while?"
"Sort of," Draco sighed, looking the window. "There's nothing here for them any more. Not since... you know. Not since they lost everything in the war. The dishonour upon our house, it lingers on, even if nobody dares say it to our faces. We still hear things whispered behind our backs, things that make my father so angry, and he can't do anything, because..."
Astoria understood. Her father had been present during the trial beneath the Wizengamot, and she knew the sanctions upon Lucius and Draco Malfoy, and the sacrifices Narcissa had to make to keep them out of Azkaban.
It was one of those things they didn't talk about. For a family this proud, it hurt them terribly.
"You don't have to explain," she said. I am sure that the families your father knows abroad will welcome them. If they are inviting you all to their gathering, there must still be something in it for you."
"Yeah, I suppose," Draco said with a smile. She understood how his world worked; this was why he had chosen her over the other girls he knew. She just knew Draco wanted a friend more than a companion, and she was sure she could be both to him.
She would be what he needed.
"You'll like the Lafarge family," Draco said encouragingly, walking her down the corridor. "They have a daughter our age. She reminds me a lot of yourself, if what Mother tells me is true. She speaks excellent English, so don't worry too much about the language barrier."
"I wasn't," Astoria smiled. "I have been working on a potion to help with language."
"Of course," Draco smiled, remembering her fondness for experimenting with ambitious Potions, which brought her in favour with Slughorn. "They are very much like my family, but don't worry. As a guest of ours, and as a pureblood, you will be made welcome."
Astoria kissed him on the cheek and departed later that evening. Draco looked at the engagement ring he had guarded under enchantment, and hoped the journey through France would be as memorable as he hoped it would be.
803 + 655 + 1025 = 2483
2483 /30 = 82.77
83 points + 30 bonus GET!!