Catharsis

Chapter Five: Demons

Now

Draco brushed a sprinkling of ashes from the sleeve of his suit jacket as he stepped out of the fireplace, turning to offer a hand to Astoria, who was just a moment later in stepping out after him. The low glow of the candlelight in the sitting room they had arrived at flickered, casting a mix of shadows and warm light across her soft features.

She gave him a shy smile as her hand lingered in his just a moment longer than necessary.

He broke the contact first.

As he always did.

A flicker of doubt flashed across her perfect features before she skillfully mastered her expression once again. She had grown up surrounded by the wizarding wealthy, like he, and she understood the importance of being in control of every aspect of oneself, also like him.

On paper, Astoria Greengrass was a perfect match for him.

She was from a well-respected pureblood family, who had somehow managed to escape aligning themselves with Voldemort, without repercussions. She was intelligent, polite, and well informed. She understood proper etiquette and manners, how to handle herself in nearly any situation – how to deal with the dragons that lurked and slithered throughout the wizarding elite, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of weakness.

And she was beautiful, truly. Her nearly onyx, brunette hair fell in soft, sleek waves down her back to stop at the small sway at the bottom of her spine. Her brown eyes were wide, and round. The color of freshly tilled soil in the spring. Her voice was like a lilting song – it drew you in and made you want to hear more and more and more of it. A pleasant, floral scent seemed to float after her as she moved, drawing most men to her wherever she went.

On paper, she truly was perfect. In every meaning of the word.

It didn't matter, though.

He preferred wild, untamed curls he could bury his hands and face in.

He preferred flecks of gold in his brown eyes, a warmth and determination that reflected the ferocity of a wild lion.

He preferred a voice that melted like honey, dripping over his skin and sticking to him long after it was gone.

He preferred the smell of leather and fresh pages, reminiscent of exciting worlds and heroes that he could never hope to emulate.

He didn't want "perfect".

But he couldn't have what he wanted.

So for the time being, he could try to settle.

He gave a forced smile to Astoria. She didn't indicate she could see through the facade, but he didn't doubt that she knew.

Everyone knew about his and Hermione's brief romance.

Not the details of what went on at the manor.

But, afterwards. How hard he had fought for her in the battle. The two of them wrapped up in each other in the middle of the chaos.

That they were nearly inseparable for the few months following.

They had been photographed with each other too many times to count, plastered across the pages of every paper and tabloid. The golden girl who had helped turn the tide of the war, and the disgraced prince of the death eaters. She had fallen into fame overnight for her bravery and courage, her intelligence and strength. He had fallen into infamy from his ties to the Malfoy name and his actions done on behalf of the wrong side of the war.

Hermione had tried to tell anyone who would listen of what he had done for her and her friends. She had desperately told everyone she could that he had been brave and good. Most didn't outright argue with her, of course. They nodded politely and quoted her correctly in the printed interviews.