Nought to Sixty (3/5) by enchantedteapot
Title: Nought to Sixty (3/5)
Author/Artist: enchantedteapot
Pairing(s): Draco/Astoria
Prompt number: #99
Word Count: 9,368
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bad language, scenes of a sexual nature.
Beta(s): My undying gratitude to NRC (at ff.n) and writermerrin
Summary: (To use the original prompt) ’There’s a reason we’ve never heard of the younger Greengrass sister - she’s a Squib.’
Author's Notes: My betas were both amazing. Any and all mistakes still in here are completely my own, due to last minute editing/rushing. Also credit to the genius writers of BBC's Sherlock Holmes from whom I *borrowed* a line or two for the first chapter. Enjoy!
23rd June 2004
The garden is awash with colour- bright purple buddleias, pink bursts of amaranths, and Astoria, radiant in the heat in a bright yellow sundress.
She is home once more, the wedding rehearsal looms ahead, scheduled for the evening, but right now she is left to her own devices. It is quiet in the garden, the sun warming her face as she lies on her back, hair splayed out above her in a fan of ebony silk. Her fingers lace into the grass, and she is at once ten years old again, taking lemonade on the lawn and being regaled by Daphne with tales of magic from a school that beckons, just around the corner, only one more year...
Astoria frowns; a cloud has covered the splendid sun, and sits up to reclaim her book from the wrought iron bench where it has fluttered open in the breeze.
Her father is here, which is a marvel in itself. What is even more of a miracle perhaps is that her mother has not yet descended into the gin cabinet (her usual refuge when the Greengrass patriarch returns to the family nest). Astoria has often wondered at her parents’ lives; seemingly out of orbit and yet forever entwined. Divorce was never on the cards, she supposes it simply wasn’t done those days, and yet for all intents and purposes they are wholly separate entities. Her mother here in Kensington, father in the city, ‘and never the twain shall meet’.
She doesn’t like to think of the hand she has played in the implosion that was their marriage- what daughter would? And besides, such trips down memory lane are counter-productive at best. (Then again, what is it they say? ‘Everything can be killed but nostalgia’. How very right they are.)
A distinct chill has cooled the air and Astoria heads back toward the house, wrapping her arms around herself. The rest of the wedding party will be arriving soon, and she doubts the grass stains now hemming her dress will be much appreciated.
She is almost at the terrace- only one row of box hedge to pass- when she hears the pantry door slam back against the wall of the house, a clatter of heels following heavy footsteps.
“Blaise, please!”
She recognises the tearful voice; it is Daphne.
Astoria hesitates. She has learnt from experience (such lovers tiffs have been a penny a dozen this past year) that it is best to keep one’s head not so much down as completely removed from the immediate area when the lovebirds are waging war.
“Please, let me explain!”
“Explain?” Zabini is snarling, sounding more unpleasant than Astoria has ever heard him. “There is nothing to explain. It’s quite clear that you and your wretched mother have trapped me into this sham of a marriage under false pretence!”
Astoria edges closer to the hedgerow for cover. This is not their usual fight. Blaise is not throwing out jaded, cruel puns just because he can; this time he is livid. She can only imagine what Daphne must have done or said. The first spots of rain glance off her bare arms.
“That is not true! That...that has nothing to do with me!” Daphne’s scream is shrill, she is becoming hysterical. “You’ve known me for over ten years, Blaise, you know perfectly well how capable I am.”
“That’s irrelevant and you damn well know it! There’s something rotten in your family and I’m not exactly ecstatic at the thought of it watering down my blood line.”
“How dare you!” her sister curses darkly. “We are just as much a pure-blooded family as any!”
Blaise begins to laugh, cruelly. “Oh, I see, and one of you just decided to go to some Mudblood boarding school for seven years for fun, did she?”
“I understand that you are upset, Blaise.” He manages something between a snort and a curse. “But I have had to cope with this for over ten years! And now you’re going to have to live with it just like the rest of us have.”
“Do you really think I’m going to take you now?” he yells. Daphne is silent. “What did you think I would do? Tell you it wasn’t an issue and cross my fingers our first born didn’t come out a dirty sq-?”
Astoria hears the crack of skin on skin. Daphne has slapped him.
Astoria is frozen to the spot, pressing herself into the hedge. She is vaguely aware that it has begun to rain in earnest now and that she is cold, her dress sticking around her knees, her hair clinging to her neck in black tendrils. But none of that really matters because he knows.
Of all the people in all of the world, Daphne has told him her darkest secret, her only secret. The secret Astoria herself has never told a soul. The secret she was never allowed to tell for it would ruin them all. And now Blaise fucking Zabini knows.
She is at once deaf and blind to her surroundings, silently begging for the garden to engulf her entirely, to let her sink into the green folds until she is no more. Her sister is still shouting but it is muffled now, the words unintelligible, and the rain is beating her shoulders with a relentless determination that she cannot feel. Her pulse is echoing in her ears making her temples throb, her stomach is twisting into knots, her mouth dry.
She lurches forward, the hedge scraping her hands, as she pushes herself towards the house, blinded by the rain and the furious shame now burning up like bile in her throat. She stumbles up the garden steps, emerging onto the terrace, where her sister and Blaise stare at her, aghast. The look of horror on his face is almost as bad as the guilt emanating from Daphne, and so Astoria ploughs on, her sandals sliding on the tiles as she wrenches open the pantry door and trips into the hallway.
Her feet leave muddy prints in her wake, and water is running from the hem of her dress onto the carpet as she tears through the house. Her sister is behind her- she can hear her screeching her name- but she pays no heed, until she is grabbed by the wrist and swung against a wall.
Daphne is suddenly above her, face ablaze and equally sodden. “I had to ‘Stori! He’s going to be a part of this family; he’d have found out soon enough!”
But Astoria can only shake her head, eyes wide in wild panic. Her mother appears from a side door, empty gin glass in hand (‘Why in Merlin’s name is everybody so wet?’) and she takes the chance to wrench herself from her sister’s grasp, sprinting down the hall like a rat on a doomed submarine, desperate for an exit.
She bursts through double doors into the entrance hall, hair swinging wildly around her shoulders. There are people here, guests, chattering aimlessly as they all file in through the front door (‘Weather like this, and it’s supposed to be Summer!’) and they all turn to stare as Astoria lurches towards them, a rag doll in distress.
The front door is opening once more, and Astoria falls into the arms of a familiar stranger. He holds her upright on the top step, slate grey eyes sharpening at the sight of her struggling against him, till he feels her go limp against his chest.
“Take me home, Draco,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse, and at once he is turning, holding her tightly against him as he takes her away from the house, away from the prying eyes of these countless guests she barely knows, and away from her family who have kept her secret for so long and have finally betrayed her.
Chapter Four
Author/Artist: enchantedteapot
Pairing(s): Draco/Astoria
Prompt number: #99
Word Count: 9,368
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bad language, scenes of a sexual nature.
Beta(s): My undying gratitude to NRC (at ff.n) and writermerrin
Summary: (To use the original prompt) ’There’s a reason we’ve never heard of the younger Greengrass sister - she’s a Squib.’
Author's Notes: My betas were both amazing. Any and all mistakes still in here are completely my own, due to last minute editing/rushing. Also credit to the genius writers of BBC's Sherlock Holmes from whom I *borrowed* a line or two for the first chapter. Enjoy!
23rd June 2004
The garden is awash with colour- bright purple buddleias, pink bursts of amaranths, and Astoria, radiant in the heat in a bright yellow sundress.
She is home once more, the wedding rehearsal looms ahead, scheduled for the evening, but right now she is left to her own devices. It is quiet in the garden, the sun warming her face as she lies on her back, hair splayed out above her in a fan of ebony silk. Her fingers lace into the grass, and she is at once ten years old again, taking lemonade on the lawn and being regaled by Daphne with tales of magic from a school that beckons, just around the corner, only one more year...
Astoria frowns; a cloud has covered the splendid sun, and sits up to reclaim her book from the wrought iron bench where it has fluttered open in the breeze.
Her father is here, which is a marvel in itself. What is even more of a miracle perhaps is that her mother has not yet descended into the gin cabinet (her usual refuge when the Greengrass patriarch returns to the family nest). Astoria has often wondered at her parents’ lives; seemingly out of orbit and yet forever entwined. Divorce was never on the cards, she supposes it simply wasn’t done those days, and yet for all intents and purposes they are wholly separate entities. Her mother here in Kensington, father in the city, ‘and never the twain shall meet’.
She doesn’t like to think of the hand she has played in the implosion that was their marriage- what daughter would? And besides, such trips down memory lane are counter-productive at best. (Then again, what is it they say? ‘Everything can be killed but nostalgia’. How very right they are.)
A distinct chill has cooled the air and Astoria heads back toward the house, wrapping her arms around herself. The rest of the wedding party will be arriving soon, and she doubts the grass stains now hemming her dress will be much appreciated.
She is almost at the terrace- only one row of box hedge to pass- when she hears the pantry door slam back against the wall of the house, a clatter of heels following heavy footsteps.
“Blaise, please!”
She recognises the tearful voice; it is Daphne.
Astoria hesitates. She has learnt from experience (such lovers tiffs have been a penny a dozen this past year) that it is best to keep one’s head not so much down as completely removed from the immediate area when the lovebirds are waging war.
“Please, let me explain!”
“Explain?” Zabini is snarling, sounding more unpleasant than Astoria has ever heard him. “There is nothing to explain. It’s quite clear that you and your wretched mother have trapped me into this sham of a marriage under false pretence!”
Astoria edges closer to the hedgerow for cover. This is not their usual fight. Blaise is not throwing out jaded, cruel puns just because he can; this time he is livid. She can only imagine what Daphne must have done or said. The first spots of rain glance off her bare arms.
“That is not true! That...that has nothing to do with me!” Daphne’s scream is shrill, she is becoming hysterical. “You’ve known me for over ten years, Blaise, you know perfectly well how capable I am.”
“That’s irrelevant and you damn well know it! There’s something rotten in your family and I’m not exactly ecstatic at the thought of it watering down my blood line.”
“How dare you!” her sister curses darkly. “We are just as much a pure-blooded family as any!”
Blaise begins to laugh, cruelly. “Oh, I see, and one of you just decided to go to some Mudblood boarding school for seven years for fun, did she?”
“I understand that you are upset, Blaise.” He manages something between a snort and a curse. “But I have had to cope with this for over ten years! And now you’re going to have to live with it just like the rest of us have.”
“Do you really think I’m going to take you now?” he yells. Daphne is silent. “What did you think I would do? Tell you it wasn’t an issue and cross my fingers our first born didn’t come out a dirty sq-?”
Astoria hears the crack of skin on skin. Daphne has slapped him.
Astoria is frozen to the spot, pressing herself into the hedge. She is vaguely aware that it has begun to rain in earnest now and that she is cold, her dress sticking around her knees, her hair clinging to her neck in black tendrils. But none of that really matters because he knows.
Of all the people in all of the world, Daphne has told him her darkest secret, her only secret. The secret Astoria herself has never told a soul. The secret she was never allowed to tell for it would ruin them all. And now Blaise fucking Zabini knows.
She is at once deaf and blind to her surroundings, silently begging for the garden to engulf her entirely, to let her sink into the green folds until she is no more. Her sister is still shouting but it is muffled now, the words unintelligible, and the rain is beating her shoulders with a relentless determination that she cannot feel. Her pulse is echoing in her ears making her temples throb, her stomach is twisting into knots, her mouth dry.
She lurches forward, the hedge scraping her hands, as she pushes herself towards the house, blinded by the rain and the furious shame now burning up like bile in her throat. She stumbles up the garden steps, emerging onto the terrace, where her sister and Blaise stare at her, aghast. The look of horror on his face is almost as bad as the guilt emanating from Daphne, and so Astoria ploughs on, her sandals sliding on the tiles as she wrenches open the pantry door and trips into the hallway.
Her feet leave muddy prints in her wake, and water is running from the hem of her dress onto the carpet as she tears through the house. Her sister is behind her- she can hear her screeching her name- but she pays no heed, until she is grabbed by the wrist and swung against a wall.
Daphne is suddenly above her, face ablaze and equally sodden. “I had to ‘Stori! He’s going to be a part of this family; he’d have found out soon enough!”
But Astoria can only shake her head, eyes wide in wild panic. Her mother appears from a side door, empty gin glass in hand (‘Why in Merlin’s name is everybody so wet?’) and she takes the chance to wrench herself from her sister’s grasp, sprinting down the hall like a rat on a doomed submarine, desperate for an exit.
She bursts through double doors into the entrance hall, hair swinging wildly around her shoulders. There are people here, guests, chattering aimlessly as they all file in through the front door (‘Weather like this, and it’s supposed to be Summer!’) and they all turn to stare as Astoria lurches towards them, a rag doll in distress.
The front door is opening once more, and Astoria falls into the arms of a familiar stranger. He holds her upright on the top step, slate grey eyes sharpening at the sight of her struggling against him, till he feels her go limp against his chest.
“Take me home, Draco,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse, and at once he is turning, holding her tightly against him as he takes her away from the house, away from the prying eyes of these countless guests she barely knows, and away from her family who have kept her secret for so long and have finally betrayed her.
Chapter Four