Sour Grapes

Chapter 11 - Not Sure What To Say

Draco put his hand on the door knob and took a deep, steadying breath. He waited for the characteristic CRACK to sound from his upper floor before twisting the knob and pulling the door towards him to reveal Astoria standing a few feet back, looking up quizzically at the little house. Her dark hair was perfectly quaffed, as usual, in a neat chignon. She wore a traditional witches dress, managing to look as though she was from a different century, white gloves and all, while still seeming "in" with today's fashion. She was a trendsetter, never a follower. She could also be a judgmental, supercilious twat, and her comments a few minutes ago about his "hovel" were obviously no exception.

She regarded him with a confused grimace as she took him in from head to toe. Then, seeming to remember herself and the precarious circumstances under which where was there, she wiped the look of disdain from her face and said, "Hello Draco," with a curt nod.

"Hello Astoria, you're looking well," he drawled, and stood back to allow her entry.

"Thank you," she said as she walked forward. It wasn't lost on Draco that she hadn't returned the compliment, and he smiled to himself as she passed. He pulled the door shut as Astoria rotated her gaze from the kitchen to the sitting room in an exaggerated manner as if to say, "oh, is this all?" Then she spun around to face him while taking a deep breath as she plastered a false grin of contentment on her perfectly powdered face. "Thank you as well for agreeing to see me."

Her letter had read as desperate and humble, yet her manner here and now was everything but. He wondered if she was simply so used to putting on airs that she was unable to embody her true feelings in anything other than writing. He certainly was no stranger to that particular affliction.

"My pleasure," he said, only half lying. It actually was good to see her, in the way that seeing any old friend is pleasant, even if it's at a funeral or some other such unpleasant reason for meeting. They had grown up together, and as kids he had chased her around the gardens at Malfoy Manor and gotten into all manner of trouble with her, for which their parents had scolded them harshly. They shared the experience of having cruel and unusual "caretakers" in their lives, and had both been held to a level of maturity unbefitting a typical child. They had each learned early on to play a part relentlessly, and he could only assume that she was well in character in this moment.

"Please, come sit. I've made tea," he said, gesturing to the couches. She nodded and strode into his sitting room, placing herself right on the edge of one of the sofas, as if she was worried it would bite her were she to lounge into its cushions. He stifled a laugh and thought to himself that if Hermione were there she'd have rolled her eyes up and out of her own head. He had to take a deep breath at the thought of her, and he used the moments he needed to spend in the kitchen preparing the tea to think back on what had just occurred in his foyer only minutes ago.

He felt a bit dizzy at the thought of her... of re-living the electric sensation of their lips connecting. The way she'd emphatically run her fingers over the back of his head and grasped his hair in her hands.

She was heaven, there was nothing else to it.

He needed to get Astoria out of there as quickly as possible so that he could owl her and let her know his thoughts about what had just transpired. Perhaps he could go see her, and they could finish what they'd started. Or perhaps they could talk, it seemed that had things to talk about. But also, they could finish what they'd started. He didn't care which happened first, honestly, he just desperately wanted to be near her. To hear her, to see her, to smell her, to feel her pressed against him again-

"Draco have you gotten lost in that tiny kitchen of yours or is this some exceptionally strong tea you're preparing?" Astoria called from the sitting room, snapping him out of his reverie.