The things you’ve said, well, maybe they’re true
I’m gettin’ funny dreams again and again
I know what it means, but…

Date: 31.10.1998

Location: Hogsmeade

Asteria Greengrass

Half a year. For almost half a year they were now rid of You-Know-Who and things were returning to normal. The majority of the Death Eaters had been caught and received fair trial, and all their laws and regulations were history. Hogwarts was fully functional again, and every seventh year had been able to take their final exams. They were all continuing with their lives after school, and suddenly he saw much less of people he had become used to having always around. All those he had shared a dormitory, a common room, and in the end the Room of Requirement with, they were all now going separate paths. Half a year ago, they had all been prepared to die for a better world, and now this world was taking place right here. Yet, everything was so normal. So like it used to be. It was almost as puzzling as it was comforting.

With McGonagall in charge, he would no longer have to fear on a daily basis for the lives of his sister and cousin — though he suspected that the latter would manage to get herself into an astounding amount of problems even without Death Eaters. But that wasn’t his problem anymore. Her life wasn’t in any angry letters would be addressed to her parents. And if someone would be supposed to look after her, it would be Fanny, not him, and he did not care that his sister would most likely fail at keeping Ilana out of trouble. He would be happy as long as she wasn’t behind their cousin’s scheme. He watched her retreating figure, chatting happily with her friends. She seemed to deal very well with the after-effects of living in constant fear and witnessing a battle. At least she never seemed to have nightmares, but then she also never had to carry corpses into Hogwarts castle.

He bit his lip as he could suddenly smell the stale scent of blood. It was only his imagination, no dead bodies were littering the street of Hogsmeade now. Never again would. Soon, the battle would cease to be a nightmare full of blood and become history. The younger students hadn’t witnessed much apart from some noises, and most of those who had fought had left Hogwarts. Few who were at the castle now had a clear picture of what had happened there, though some had lost relatives. He was almost glad that his parents hadn’t heard of the battle in time, they might have come and how that would have turned out… he didn’t want to imagine it. On the other hand, if he had known that his sister and cousin had not been Apparated out of Hogsmeade, then he would have worried far more during the battle. In retrospect, he hardly knew anymore how he had been functioning then. But it had worked and that was all that mattered.

Why was he brooding over such matters in the middle of Hogsmeade’s main street in full daylight? He had seen his sister, like he had intended when he had come here, so he could just as well Floo back to London. He had plenty of studying to do, and it would only do him good to distract himself. Deciding to head for the Three Broomsticks, he turned around — and almost collided with a girl. “I beg your par-” he started to say when he recognized her. Greengrass’ sister, the one who had… not tortured him. “-don.”

I Can't Explain

Forgive Me One Last Time

Astoria had not been in the Final Battle-- the Battle of Hogwarts, whichever name it was called by. Therefore, she'd missed much of the stink of death as it happened, had not seen friend and foe cut down by the other. She'd been the Hog's Head that night with the other students who had not been fully evacuated. She'd overheard a brief discussion over children like her-- the children of Death Eaters, of those attacking the school, trying to keep a grip on it. It had been short, mercifully, and decided against.

She had still gone into Hogwarts after the battle-with-whatever-name had ended, had seen the clean-up and the bodies. The stink of death lay heavy around Hogwarts, which had been once a home. Hogwarts broken and crumbling, Hogwarts caved in on those who had loved it. It still felt like half a dream, something only remembered because she'd told the story so many times. It was not quite real, and that almost made it easier to not dream of the battle, to not have flashes of it when she turned around. She didn't even see her parents-- though perhaps that was because they very well might have been moved.

She'd been on her own for two weeks, trying to hide out without using magic, before she'd gained the courage to beg Meredith Powell to take her in. Had Daphne not missing, she likely would have stayed with her sister for that period of time when there had been no Hogwarts, faced anything the Ministry had of them at her sister's side, silent and unmoving. It would have been worse, and they would likely have had it worse. Daphne still refused to mention where she was, what she was doing with Eudora. She'd made it clear she wanted little to do with her younger sister, and Astoria accepted that.

That had always been Daphne, after all, tiring easily of her unless she wanted her younger to do something to her, or to make some sort of fool of herself. It had been Daphne who called her over for Theodore Nott to smile, after all. Daphne liked the control she had and would always have over her younger sister, ironclad as anything. It had only strengthened-- Daphne was,after all, the Head of the House of Greengrass with their father's death at the Battle. Astoria was her heiress, for all good that did. It was rather more likely the name-- well, it wouldn't die out, as they did have Eudora as well as cousins, and they would be able to carry on the name even with her plan.

Daphne would be furious, she knew. She'd likely never be forgiven, and the thought shouldn't have stung as much as it still did. Daphne still had the magnetic pull, and Astoria might suspect an Imperius or some type of controlling curse, but this was how she'd always been. Morever, the Imperius Curse brought euphoria, and Daphne brought Astoria no such thing. Daphne knew this, of course. Daphne had been amused at Astoria's effort in burying her name under Meredith's once she had returned, and brushed it off. It didn't matter, she'd told Astoria. Astoria could play her little games-- she hadn't acknowledged it, it had not been done with her permission, and Astoria's pathetic attempt at hiding wouldn't last, not when everyone knew what she'd done. 

Astoria had gone back, and continued planning.

To ask Meredith to take her to Order parties would be far too obvious, rather too dangerous, and truthfully, she wasn't sure she could curb her tongue so well at them. She could not aim too high, or it would become suspicious as well. Too low would be unworthy of all the thought and planning gone into her scheme, and unable to protect her. Ernie Macmillan would be the preference-- he was pureblood, from a good family and therefore the most acceptable, yet that in itself counted against him. She she so happen among another pureblood her plan would be horribly transparent.

The four possibilities were laid out and studied.

Seamus Finnegan, from Gryffindor. Halfblood, half Muggle, though even she'd had her suspicions about him and Dean Thomas. That rumor had always been one of the widespread from that year. Michael Corner from Ravenclaw, with the added benefit of a date or so with one of the Weasleys--the girl, she thought. She was relatively sure of that. Mostly, that was. Terry Boot, also from Ravenclaw, with relation to the Ilvermorny Founder, or so he'd heard, though she knew relatively little about him.

Lastly, Anthony Goldstein.

Him, she knew. Him, she'd talked to. She'd talked to him about . . potions or Herbology some years ago, tried to torture him two years after— the last school year. As things went, he likely wasn't the most likely to be able to be. . seduced or something. Something, by the way, she knew she had little hope in succeeding in. She wasn't her once-aunt the Widow Shafiq with seven dead husbands and mountains of gold, and though Daphne was her son's friend, she'd never passed on any lessons. Perhaps because Ganymeade had died before either she or Daphne had been born, but she'd been alive when Blaise Zabini's stepfather had been her Uncle . . .Fawley's wife for some time when she had been alive. Her mother hadn't been very much Seduce A Man And Rule By That, more of a Show Off Magic and Knowledge, which served fairly well with her three daughters, who were able to stand as heirs.

She'd mostly learned to flirt from Kate, and had had to practice on Kirk, after all. True, she'd watched older students-- Daphne, Pansy, Genevieve, Morag, Sloane, Blaise, and Donna to name a few-- but it simply wasn't something she'd learned. And Daphne's style was something far closer to their mother's, bared teeth and danger tucked in a cruel smile. Never something that promised enjoyment, preferring pain. That would definitely not work, and she knew well enough she didn't have the face for such.

Either way-- flirting or no, boys or no, she still had to fully plan how to get to them, how to get close, how to bloody talk. Somehow she felt Meredith wouldn't approve of what she was something, but she was an adult. Responsible for herself, after all.

She'd let herself drift off from the Hogsmeade crowd, took to the town by herself. Dangerous still, perhaps, but she could use magic. She was of age, and her wand could be checked for spells. If need be. By now, however, the clutter must have dropped as students settled into their activities. That meant large crowds, always easier to get lost in. She relaxed her pace, lengthened her strides. It was simple, easy movement, easy as breathing to weave around others.

That was until someone turned around, changed directions, and they nearly knocked into each other.

I beg your par--

She knew that voice. Older now, toughened. Aged, and by reasons other than the simple passing of years. And judging by his reaction, he recognized her as well.

--don.

"It-- it's no matter." Her eyes flicked down to the cobbles and she dragged them back up. This was a gift Threstal, and she must not lose it. "I-- is this one of the first times you've been back since?"

☆ Anthony Goldstein , 1217 words, maybe different socks☆

❤fai

So unexpectedly seeing the girl again was somewhat of… not a shock, that would be a too extreme word but… he knew who she was. He remembered her name, some of her backstory. Nothing too specific, but he had been in the same Herbology class as her sister for years and some information about her family he had learnt in passing. What he most remembered was that her parents’ names were among the casualties of the battle. It wasn’t something he had thought about before. He hadn’t had the least reason. They weren’t the only Death Eater parents of their year, and he had neither been close to Daphne nor ever had reason to believe that Daphne was capable of any sort of feelings. Of course, nothing was ever strictly black and white, but in their case, in their battle, right and wrong had been very easy to tell apart. Or, considering he had spent most of the time at school and not known much more than what his parents thought he should hear, it had at least been obvious why the Death Eaters were clearly in the wrong. They hunted down other wizards and witches because of their parents or because they had shown positive interest in Muggles. They made a sport out of torturing these people. They killed them without consequences. They taught a philosophy of hate and discrimination. And all of this without the least bit of fact backing them. There was no prove that a strictly magical background made for a better magician. He had two Muggle grandparents. The best in his year had been Muggleborn. Some of the dumbest were pureblood. It didn’t need more than moderate observation skills to understand that not only the Death Eaters’ methods were beyond criminal but also their cause was a farce. Nobody of even moderate intellect could take any of their claims remotely serious. There was no reason to pity people who had shown no respect of the lives of others. It would be a travesty to pretend that a killed Death Eater should be mourned.

It wasn’t like he was claiming that they, the DA, the Order, or any other rebels, had been perfect. Nobody ever was. But what he did claim was that even if they had tried, they could never have competed with the Death Eaters’ atrocity. And he did know that the DA never did anything worse than property damage. Whoever’s property Hogwarts was. But spraying messages on walls was not hurting anyone. Even Hogwarts walls were not sentient enough for that. And the castle was on their side anyway. The Room of Requirement had been their ally. Whatever they had done, they hadn’t hurt another human being until the very end in the Battle of Hogwarts where they had to fight for their lives. And even then, they had had far more dead than the Death Eaters. And You-Know-Who — Vol… Voldemort — had been killed by his own spell. Most of his followers were now in Azkaban, an Azkaban without Dementors. They would serve their time and then get released with a new chance to become useful members of society. It couldn’t really be a question of who had been in the right during all the time.

But right or wrong, he had never been opposite someone whose parents had died because of his side. He didn’t know how or by who the Greengrass parents had been killed. He hadn’t even clear memories of the battle itself. All was a blur of smoke and dust, screams and blood, looking around to make sure his group’s number was still the same. What he remembered best was carrying one body after another into the Great Hall, knowing that only a miracle could make them survive the rest of the night. There had been no time to think about the few Death Eaters and their allies that might have been killed in the chaos. They had more than enough people to mourn themselves. But standing before the girl now, there was suddenly the feeling that the dead Death Eaters did not completely not matter. At least two of them had also been parents and left two girls as orphans. He had no idea how Daphne was and even in this very moment, he couldn’t make himself care. But this girl… he didn’t know. She still had lost both her parents, and though they had to have been horrible people, they still could have been good parents. And their daughter must have loved them. Just because of who her parents were, it didn’t mean that she felt anything less for them than he did for his parents. And if she had shared their horrible opinions, she was so very young that it would be unfair to blame her and think that she didn’t deserve some pity for her loss.

Then in addition, there was also the fact that she had helped him in the past. Once. Years ago in Herbology, which had embarrassed him at the time. Still was a little embarrassing. And then she hadn’t been able to perform a Cruciatus curse on him. Maybe on others. At least if the rumours he had heard from his sister were really about her. So she might even deserve praise. She had most likely been brainwashed into believing the pureblood nonsense from birth, and yet had had her doubts. Maybe. No matter how she had actually acted under the Carrows’ regime, she was still only a child and an orphan. And he was among the ones responsible for her parents’ death.

He would have understood if she had fled immediately. It had to be painful to be daily at a place where her family had died. Even for him, Hogwarts had become the place of the death of many of his friends. But at least he hadn’t to face those who were somewhat responsible for her parents’ death. So whatever reaction he had expected from her, the one he got surprised him. Small talk. If a question that referred to a battle could be called small talk. After all that had happened, there was something absurd about this. “No,” he said, painfully aware that almost anything he said might hurt her. And he didn’t want to do that. To enjoy the pain of others was a quality that he had no scruples leaving solely to Death Eaters. “I was here a lot in May. Cleaning up. Preparing NEWTs. But after that, yes, I haven’t been here for a while. I was visiting my sister.” That was about as inoffensive as he could put it. She had asked, so there was no way he could not have referred back to what had happened if she wanted an honest answer. He wanted to be polite and considered. Though he didn’t doubt Professor McGonagall’s fairness in treating the students, the child of Death Eaters would automatically be stigmatized. So many students had suffered torture last year, it was impossible that none of them would blame other students. It wasn’t like they would be wrong. There had been those who had enjoyed using the Cruciatus. He had first-hand experience of that. And yet, there would be no progress made if they didn’t learn to forgive one another. He felt no anger towards the girl before him, only pity. “How have you been? How’s school? Are you… it has to be more difficult for you than many others.” He didn’t want to enquire too much. He didn’t know why she had said as much as she had said in the first place. He couldn’t think of any reason why she would want to talk to him.

---

Words: 1284

I Can't Explain

Forgive Me One Last Time

May.

He'd been here in May-- after the Battle, after it all. She'd been there as well, but around the outskirts, trying to hide, to avoid people, see that she didn't attract attention. no doubt he'd helped rebuilt the castle, drag stones over holes and cover the wounds of the castle itself.

May.

The word, the name, lay heavy in her mind. No longer was May a mere month, a day, a might do, easily used in conversation. May was heavy now, loaded with connotations of the Battle of Hogwarts, of the defenders that outnumbered the attacking-- but was that in the dead or the reckoning? She couldn't remember. It didn't matter. Either way, the defenders of Hogwarts had won it all, fame and glory.

Enough months had passed that she could rationalize her parents not being buried in the usual places, headstones gleaming marble and intricately engraved, respectful inscriptions set in gold. They had invaded the castle, they had came to kill because they were summoned, and they hadn't cared about who might be in the way of their wands. Likely they never had. You didn't go to a school full of children for a battle and expect to walk away with only the blood of other battle-tested adults. She hadn't bothered to find out what had happened-- were they in a mass grave? had they simply been burned, abandoned to Threstals?

It wasn't too difficult to recognize her parents as the Death Eaters they had been. After all, had they not given her an exquisitely rare and banned plant when You-Know-Who had risen? She had never asked where it came from, what blood it had been brought with, how it had been smuggled in. All she'd cared about was that it was beautiful, it was rare, it was useful, and set to experimenting with it. Still, Chimera's Joy had been banned in most of Europe for centuries for very good reasons. It was a gift that no parents would get a child without expectations as to how it would be used.

She didn't know who they had killed, if they had even gotten to that. It was a strange thought, her parents killing others. They must have, she knew. You didn't earn the Dark Mark without at least killing Muggles, and those were lives too, weren't there? It was even more likely they'd killed Muggle-borns, both before she'd been born and the nine months the Death Eaters had been in power.

And they'd loved their three daughters. Her father had refused to make them feel any less loved than they would have been had they been sons. They'd been distant, like all pureblood parents of their sort, but family had been important. Her father kept confirming Daphne as his heir, and her mother had swung between training them as future wives and training them as heirs who were freer than expected. Their passions had been encouraged and approved of, her own in particular. They'd loved from a distance, and they'd killed the children of others. The thought was odd, but still fit.

"May," she said at least, puzzled. "They made you take your NEWTs, even after everything? There-- there was a war, you were in a battle, and still it was required for you to sit examinations that surely had little value--" Too late, she remembered he had been a Ravenclaw. "--or was it routine? Something of normalcy."

She had said too much, she was sure; the words had tumbled out like stones caught in a river. She hadn't known of the exams though, even if it had been at the time she'd been hiding on the Hogwarts grounds and the surprise had loosened her tongue. Clumsy of her.

"Your sister, yes." Had she known he had a sister? She couldn't remember. There were a handful of Goldsteins in Hogwarts; she had supposed it a common name. It had the ring of muggle about it, something heavy and solid and below, and there were students with similar surnames to mark it as even more ordinary. "She's around my younger sister's age, I think some bit older; Eudora is thirteen. . ."

How accurate that was, she didn't know. Still, it was a good enough assumption as she didn't recall a Goldstein in the year above her, and there was certainly none in her year. O did come before R, after all, and likely the student in front of her for the Sorting. If he was visiting his sister, she was likely at least in her Third year, and if she was that young, he would have been eager to meet her, having already brushed her off. She couldn't remember the Carrow twins mentioning a Goldstein, though she wouldn't bank on the assumption they'd known anyone but cousins, wrapped up in each other as much as they were.

Then again, he was considered a hero, a surviver. Exceptions would likely be made for him, rules bent. He was no Potter, Weasley, Granger, Longbottom, or Lovegood, but he had been an active member of Dumbledore's Army. He had been in the battle, on the winning side. If he wanted to see a second year sister, likely Headmistress McGonagall would allow it. It was, of course, only fair.

"I'm doing. . .well." What was the use of mentioning that she lived in the greenhouses half the time, or seeing Kate spiral apart and being unable to fix her because she was shattering herself? Of seeing Jocelyn coil tighter and tighter, exploding when alone, of Eudora simply showing up on the Hogwarts Express after months of being missing, and refusing to answer any questions? Grief and anger hanging heavy in Slytherin, of the subdued rivalries of the betrayers of those who had returned to fight-- but on the side of the defenders? There were those disowned by still-living parents, and Astoria didn't know if she envied or pitied them more. Slytherin lay subdued, not poised to strike but with the lankness of a serpent half-dead.

She didn't know how much longer it would last. She knew that the other houses would have fixed it by now, but that wasn't the Slytherin way. Gryffindor would have fought it out and came to conclusion, Ravenclaw debate, and it never would have happened to Hufflepuff. Still, there was something about seeing the scarred castle and knowing that those you had loved had caused this, that those who had given you life had sought to take the life of others in the castle. The half-fall of guilt that blossomed up over broken stones, because of people like her parents, who'd had choices, and chose to attack a place of children.

"It's difficult," she admitted, knowing she had to do so. She couldn't close herself off, not fully. "I have it easier than some, it might be said. We all. . .live together with what happened." It must, she supposed, seem so insensitive. "We were evacuated though, so we haven't lived through the worst of it. I still expect, sometimes, to see the Great Hall in shambles when we go for meals though."

☆ @please, 1180 words, ☆

❤fai

It wasn’t guilt that he was feeling when he looked at the girl before him. Her parents might be dead, and he was part of those who had caused their deaths — most likely not directly as their side didn’t kill. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. But he didn’t know the spell and was perfectly fine with this knowledge gap. To think in Muggle terms, it was more or less the same as with the nuclear bomb. At a certain point, studying could take a wrong turn, and as Ravenclaw as he was, he could still stop being curious when it was obvious that he was entering dark territory. It was what set a normal person apart from a villain — the knowledge when it was necessary to stop. So he couldn’t tell what had happened to Astoria’s parents. He had seen a few Death Eaters dying from their own misdirected spells or lying under debris or being trampled on — also mostly by other Death Eaters. He neither knew what her parents would have looked like nor was it likely that this would have helped him recognize them, seeing as they were all masked.

He had always found it far easier to fight a masked opponent. They became an anonymous something. It was easy to forget they were humans when staring at a metallic oval without any emotions. It was just a thing, hardly more than a puppet to train on. He didn’t have to think that maybe this person had a family and was capable of something other than murder. A mask made less human, and he was more than once glad during the fight that he couldn’t see the faces. He was convinced that they were just distorted with rage and hate, but he neither wished to have his theory confirmed not refuted. The masks helped him to concentrate on what was important: defending the castle because not only their lives depended on it but the entire future of the wizarding world. They had to do this, and they would have done it for strangers if they could only have saved innocent lives. But they had more. Friends. Family that they loved. They couldn’t let those they loved live in constant fear and suppression.

He couldn’t think of what the Death Eaters might be fighting for. A megalomaniac who wanted to rule everybody and wipe out those with the wrong parents. How could anyone be motivated by that? As far as he could tell, they were in because they liked to sun themselves in the fear that their membership in… Voldemort’s (it was hard to get over the habit of not saying the name, but he’d get there) gang of lapdogs. Maybe they were fond of the idea that normal laws didn’t apply to them as long as they were in power. Whatever reason he could think of, he couldn’t imagine that anybody would really lay down their lives for such petty reasons. And he still more or less thought he had a point, but looking at the girl, he couldn’t not think that these faceless power-chasers had had a family. And their daughters still missed their parents, no matter what they had done. It made it even less sensible why they should have hurried into a battle to throw their lives away for nothing when they had something to live for. But they were dead, and there was nothing he could do about it or even would do if he could. They had had the best possible outcome of last year’s nightmare.

Still, many had suffered, and it had to be even harder for the children of Death Eaters, for he supposed they might not be as free to mourn their dead as the rest of them. So what he felt towards the girl was pity, only disturbed by wondering why she had stopped to talk to him. “Er,” he said, as puzzled as she sounded at the question. “Of course I took my NEWTs. How else would I apply for a job or university? I don’t think what I did non-academically…” Participating in a battle was, put like that, a rather extraordinary thing to do but… it had been the same for everyone, their whole year. Hogwarts’ primary reason for existence still was to give them an education. That was why he went there for seven years. He couldn’t see the connection between participating in a battle and getting his degrees. “It’s… it was… just… necessary… I’ve started as a Healer-in-training, so of course I needed the necessary NEWTs for that,” he said. “That’s got nothing to do with… battles and stuff.” It did have to do with it insofar as seeing the wounded had convinced him of what he’d do after school. But he didn’t want to dwell on memories of the battle, of blood and pain and death, for both his and the girl’s sake.

“Some bit older, yes,” he replied, increasingly perplexed why she kept standing before him and making small talk. It had to be unpleasant for her, and there was no reason why she should care about his sister. He hadn’t known there was another sister. The older one, Daphne, of her he had known, and that not for positive reasons. He had no interest in the family relationships of strangers. He had had Terry and Michael, Padma to a certain extent, and then later on the whole DA. These were the people he cared about apart from his own family. None of them was of interest to any of the purists. They only cared about one another anyway. But Astoria was one of them, so there was no reason for her to care about him.

He nodded, not knowing what else he could do. “I’m glad to hear it.” Admittedly, from how she had said “well”, it could just as well mean the opposite from its conventional meaning. But as an outsider, he had no right to be made her confidant. He had no idea how it was for her as daughter of Death Eaters back at school, and he trusted that the teachers and most students were doing their best to help them, but there remained both their own demons and vengeful other students. Or that was how he imagined how things were for the Slytherins.

He inhaled deeply at her next words. It had made such a lasting impression even upon the evacuated? But when had she returned to see the hall? What had happened to her anyway after the battle? No, that was none of his business. He wouldn’t intrude upon her privacy and force her to tell him about such painful memories. “Many of us have nightmares,” he said, not entirely sure whether this was really a comforting reply. It sounded rather negative though he had only wanted to make her feel not silly… or alone… or whatever she was feeling that she was entrusting so much of her to him, someone she knew little more than by sight. “It’s not unusual. There are Healers at St Mungo’s that deal with psychological traumas. Not that I know much yet about this. I mean, I’ve just started there…” He didn’t know whether this was helpful. He had done a lot of talking with his friends and parents about what had happened, and he felt that it had helped, but it might be a far less good suggestion for the Slytherin, who he didn't know what friends or family she had left.

“Listen,” he said finally. “You don’t have to talk to me, you know? This must be painful for you and… If there is anything I could do for you… but I don’t want to have you stand here for so long and catch a cold. Should I accompany you to the Three Broomsticks or wherever you need to go? Not that I want to intrude on you…” Had he now given her the opportunity to dismiss him (what she had to be yearning to do ever since she first saw him a few minutes ago) or had he just forced his company on her? He started to really regret that he had entered into this conversation in the first place though he didn’t know how he could have avoided it.

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[attr="class","title-astoria"]Forgive Me One Last Time

[attr="class","subtitle-astoria"]I Can't Explain

[attr="class","wordz-astoria"]
Smile in iron or velvet, her mother had always said, never glass. Your smiles must be edged or comforting, never brittle. Daphne had taken the advice easily, soaked it in like a flaming rose did the sun. Asteria had often found difficulty in training her face to respond the ways she was taught, though it had became simpler the past few years. The weights of age, perhaps. Different influences, heavier responsibilities. Still, she'd had decent enough responses drilled into her that when her smile wavered, she could hold it in place for a few moments. The decision to let it happen was . . .

She didn't know Anthony Goldstein well. The greatest conversation she'd had with him was over two years ago, the most recent time she'd seen him was as she was supposed to put on an Unforgivable and had failed to do so. She'd perhaps seen him in passing before then, in the Great Hall or in corridors. Enough for the vaguest sort of recognition, not truly enough to know what he was like. She couldn't interview his friends, after all. She couldn't ask around, no. All she had were her instincts, little as she might trust them. The only thing she could do was try to read his body language, measure it up to the usual signs.

"I. . I suppose, yes." It made her skin crawl to not wrap herself in confidence to a near-stranger, but she'd had little enough of that since the Battle of Hogwarts. Confidence, she could. . .not quite tell, but comfortably assume, was not something that he would respond overly well to. This was setting up the long game. Two, three, four years, if the tables didn't turn. "I suppose I thought. . .no, it's foolish." She glanced down, tugged at her lower lip with her teeth. React. Feel something, damn it. "I suppose I'd thought, since you had been a defender of the school, there would be some excused reasons for exams, some . . . instant acceptances. I was told end-of-year exams were cancelled after the Chamber of Secrets was opened."

She'd remembered that well enough, giggling with Kate and Lucretia and Kirk, hoping that their exams would be canceled as well. It had been so unfair, she'd said then, that they had missed that great gift by only one year. "I haven't sat my own OWLs, though I suppose that they might still have us take them soon enough." The professors might have mentioned them often enough in classes, she really had no idea. The only she might be sure to pass would be Potions and Herbology. She ought to stop spending so much time in the greenhouses, perhaps . . . she didn't know, she realized with a jolt. She didn't know who was most likely to know of those she could still bear to talk to. Kirk likely only paid attention to Sinistra enough for poetry. Nerys, perhaps. Brigid disliked talking to her, the only Slytherin she knew to be unaffected. Perhaps Davina McCrae might know, though she doubted the Hufflepuff would happily speak to her. She only knew the only girl in the usual fashion of purebloods, after all, and it was said Davina's family had washed their hands of her. They were similar in that way, perhaps, as Daphne had abandoned her. But she was still a Greengrass, had not yet let down her family.

"Though for a Healer, yes, that does make sense. You're to be saving people, I suppose unless you were at Madam Pomfrey's side the entire battle--" Aghast at herself for letting her filter fall so freely as she would with Draco, Kate, Kirk, or Lucretia, she contented herself to a simply breath to swallow her sudden panic. He might leave at that, and then avoid her should she find him again. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean any offense. Healing and defending are great tasks and I twisted my own words to poor meaning."

She gave a nod, letting him speak as he confirmed his sister's age, if only barely, as he let her response for her emotional well-being lie. It only made sense-- he had no reason to care, as she had no reason to be truthful, as a girl from Death Eater parents, a girl he knew to be similar to others he had quite possibly fought. That he had not left yet was a blessing. A sardonic smile flickered over her face at his mention at psychological Healers; that had always been something her parents scorned for weak-minded fools and simpletons who could not control themselves. All that was needed, they'd always said, was an iron will and composure. Those who sought out the Healers who had loved Muggles well enough to take in their practices deserved little and less. That St Mungo's had allowed in such a false type of Healing was a disgrace. She would never visit that type of Healer, she knew. She was still the daughter of an old and respected line; control was in her bones. Her mind was not weak enough to talk to someone as if that might do something, swallow a few potions and think all would be well. Psychologists and the like were quacks, her father had always said, charlatans not talented enough in spellwork or potions to become true Healers. "I suppose," she allowed, keeping the disdain from her voice.

Moreover, there wasn't truly a steady source of funds she might be able to use. She would not ask Meredith to spend more on her, not when she'd already been taken into the house and adopted as her daughter. The family gold was locked up somewhere, and there were not keys she could access, after all, secure as they most likely were in the hands of the Ministry or Daphne.

"No, of course. I do hope. . ." he wanted to take his leave of her, of course. It only made sense. She'd let herself ramble like a naïf, and he wanted his sister, who likely loved him, who looked forward to seeing him with untainted motivations. "It is. . . no more painful for me than it must be for you. You're no intrusion, though I must apologize for being one." She gave another smile, letting it be glass rather than steel or velvet, uncertain and false. "There is no place I'm truly wishing to be. I'd only thought to walk some, though with the weather as it is, it might be just as well to head back to some shelter." He could take that as he liked, if she meant to head back or forward. She'd let him, agree with it pleasantly enough.

[attr="class","tags-astoria"]☆ @i don't deserve you, ~1100 words ☆

[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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There might be some who’d say it was a waste of sympathy to feel sorry for the child of Death Eaters. After all, it was a good thing her parents were dead. It was a cruel thing to think, in any situation but especially with the girl right in front of him, and yet, there was no denying the truth. They had been fighting for their lives. There had, as cliché as it sounded, only been the choice between doing everything to render the opponent ineffective or dying. None of them had wanted to murder the attackers, but they had wanted to survive — which was hardly a motivation that they could be criticized for. They had not exactly known why they were fighting. There hadn’t been much time to think of it. A whole year they had spent trying not to let the Carrows have a moment of peace while not getting caught. The last had not always functioned all that well, not exactly something that would make one think it would be inspirational. Then they also lost Luna and Ginny during the Christmas and the Easter holidays respectively. Still, the DA was known, and Neville let no one doubt who was behind it — not to say that it was all Neville, but Anthony didn’t think that they would have been able to keep as spirited were it not for him.

Still, nothing they had done up to this point when they were all stuck in the Room of Requirement to hide had prepared them for a Potter, Weasley, and Granger bursting in and talking about needing Ravenclaw’s diadem. And then going again? He didn’t really understand this point up to this day. All he knew was that about half an hour later, You-Know-Who was attacking and Hogwarts was evacuating the students. So then he had a stressful next half hour of making sure that his cousin and sister were actually leaving, though it got a little simpler after he had decided that he could deal better with Ilana hating him for the rest of her life than with her dying and then Confunded her. What happened afterwards… a lot of dust and bright lights flashing all around them and screaming and lifeless bodies that they had to climb over because there was no time to look closer and… By now he wasn’t sure anymore what had happened for real and how much his nightmare had added.

That had been the night of the first to the second of May to him. How and why it had ended with their victory was still beyond reason. But they had. The Death Eaters had fled, Kingsley Shacklebolt had become Minister, and as far as he was concerned, he didn’t want to hear or see anything ever again. But he had his friends around him, and the knowledge that they didn’t need to fear anymore. And then there were still his sister and cousin stuck at the Hog’s Head, so there had been reasons to get up again and look into the brighter future that had begun this morning. There had been grief and pain, but ultimately — mostly hope.

Why think about the other side? The new Ministry would deal with them fairly. Those who had committed crimes would be kept away from the rest of society they had harmed, which was only fair. It was fair, no matter how much he right now pitied the girl in front of him. She seemed insecure. Lost. The few times he had seen her before, she had seemed confident to an almost comical degree. A third-year threatening to turn him in to Umbridge. It almost made him smile. The time when Umbridge was a threat. “Yes, they were,” he said after some hesitation. “But I don’t think the OWLs and NEWTs were? Or at least they were repeated at some later point? Just for progressing to the next year, we didn’t have to take the test, but the ones the Ministry are responsible for — that’s not — was not — for Dumbledore to decide.” That hadn’t been something he had been worried about when the announcement was made, and then it had slipped his mind.

He had nothing to do with how Hogwarts worked now. They had helped repairing the castle, but nowadays he preferred not to think about Hogwarts too much. He wasn’t sure how the sixth-years that had thought with them could deal with going down to breakfast into the Great Hall every morning. The same hall where all the corpses- He should pay attention to the person he was talking to and not to what he’d see anyway in the night. “I’d think so,” he said. “The professors will certainly mention it often enough until you’ve got to write them. But good luck in advance.”

The encouraging smile he had decided would be most appropriate at the moment wavered a little when suddenly words started gushing out from her. He hadn’t exactly expected that. Nor that she’d talk about the battle. Maybe that he’d have no idea what she meant. “You didn’t offend me…” Why did she think that? Because she had said something about staying at Madam Pomfrey’s during the battle? He hadn’t, but even if he had, there would be nothing wrong with that. “It’s all good, don’t worry.”

Why she was still standing before him was starting to worry him. Maybe she needed something that she hoped — as she seemed to think of — a member of the victorious army could help her get. And that would hardly be the case. He had nothing to do with the political changes, or whatever kind of power she’d need. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “It’s not painful. I don’t blame you for anything, you were only- don’t feel bad, it’s all good.” How had this conversation led to this point for the second time that he had to try to boost the confidence of Death Eaters’ daughter? She didn’t use to be like that, judging from the very few times he had met her. She wasn’t also supposed to be like that if he had ever learnt something about purists’ principles — and with the Carrows he had enough of these for all time. She also was still not telling him that she’d rather be alone even though he had given her the opportunity to say so — unless he was missing some non-verbal communication that he couldn’t read. But as far as he could tell, she was nothing but lonesome, and he hated the idea of leaving her in this state. “I don’t mind accompanying you, be it for a walk or for a butterbeer, if you’d like the idea,” he said, half offering his arm though he was as much as ever convinced that, before the direct choice of spending time or not with someone like him, she’d now decline.

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[attr="class","title-astoria"]Forgive Me One Last Time

[attr="class","subtitle-astoria"]I Can't Explain

[attr="class","wordz-astoria"]
"That would make sense," she admitted. Still, a battle in the country's only school, a war spread out throughout the country-- that was far more than a Basilisk Petrifying people. Still, that was rather interesting. . .and, she realized, how desperately grateful she was that the great snake had been slain before she attended school, much less that the Carrows could not have used it as a weapon. They would have enjoyed that well enough, she thought, the ability to simply Petrify students who were difficult and resistant to torture. Though was she truly? It was doubtless less painful for the victim, and she would not have had to grow all-too-accustomed to the power of an Unforgivable.

But she chose that, did she not? She had found the pull inside her, the anger, the desire, and thrust it out. Doubtless if she'd failed a few more times with other people, they would have given up, called her too young. She'd used her position as a torturer to try to spare the younger children, but almost all-too-often that she hadn't been able to convince older students to participate. Their pain was on her hands, and it was her fault. So yes, a Basilisk might have very well preferred-- though, admittedly, she have the distant fear she might have missed on her OWLs altogether while she was hiding in the greenhouses or off with Draco. But sure Kate might be at least somewhat aware? She and Kate would have been pulled in together, surely. Surely.

"He had. . .rather a lot of freedom, didn't he?" The memories of her parents discussing the old bat were clear, their many complaints and dissatisfactions. How many headmasters would have been able to-- no, Snape had done more, truly. After all, what he had allowed others to get away, what he had allowed was a freedom she hoped future headmasters would never have again. Then again, the subject on which the surface part of the conversation was resolved-- she'd asked questions about exams, which had already been postponed. It had no true reason to go on, and it was a rather silly topic besides.

Her face was still, her confidence wavering. Steel, she must be, armored as a dragonsfoot mushroom, while she waited for him to pronounce his opinions on her apology. If she had offended-- if she had mistaken him so much, if she had. . . she did not quite know who she might. Perhaps that was some sign of sign that what she was doing was foolish and unnecessary, that she had no need to do what she was doing, that she might--

But that was not to be, and Astoria did not know if the realization gave her more relief or dismay. Relief, she hoped. This was only a simple first conversation, after all. She must leave enough of an impression to be more memorable than the other time they had talked, enough that he would not respond ill to her seeking him out, or enough of an impression that he would-- but no, she was no Daphne. But she must establish herself as . . .

She knew enough of the girls in his year that he would not be impressed with her with her stumblings, her apologies. She must be more mature-- more commanding. No, not more commanding, as that would surely cause him to flee. Assertive, perhaps. Yes, that would do. "There is no need for you to apologize." She gave a small smile, glancing up to meet his eyes. It had truly taken far more than she had thought it would to keep pressure from dropping on the word you, to keep it light. "I do not know you well enough to know if you would take it as some insult. There are enough students I would know who would certainly take it as so, seeing it as if I have accused them of being cowards, though admittedly, most of them are Gryffindors." She did not know how that joke might land; she hoped the barb about the House of recklessness was not enough to send him away.

He was a Ravenclaw after all, and did not their House also value lofty pursuits? Was it not Hufflepuff that was most similar to Gryffindor, who would take the joke as an insult? Surely most Gryffindors would, but Ravenclaw and Slytherin alike valued self-protection. This was ridiculous, how nervous he! not the situation! made her. She was-- he was only a boy, for Circe's sake. He'd been a soldier, perhaps, but he was a boy all the same. She had expected nerves for what she was attempting to do, but entirely situational-based. Look at her, worrying about a joke. Still, she knew enough to have it not show on her face, keep the smile light and wait for his reaction.

Butterbeer, perhaps, was too intimate, and she could be seen. Someone could tell Draco, and it was of course out of the question to take the half-offered arm. Still, it was only half-offered, and that might save the situation. He was well-mannered enough for that, at least. But she must keep him with her-- she had to. Where then, might be acceptable? Which shops might be the most harmless, keeping rumors at a minimum, while fostering a sense of intimacy? "The. . .the Post Office? Or Dervish and Banges, either would do. Have you a preference for either?"

[attr="class","tags-astoria"]☆ @don't leave me☆

[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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He nodded wordlessly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He had to admit to himself that he hadn’t given any thought about the older students’ exams in his second year. All he remembered was going to bed with the knowledge that the train to London would depart tomorrow morning only to wake up in the middle of the night from voices and doors slamming. He even remembered the moment during which his sleepy self had been convinced that Slytherin’s monster had eaten the sun until he and the rest of his dormitory had found their way down to the common room where Professor Flitwick announced a feast was about to happen. And once they were in the Great Hall and eating and welcoming the petrified students back, there had been too much going on to waste any thought on exams. As far as thirteen year old him was concerned, Dumbledore’s decisions were beyond question.

Her question, though, made him frown. It sounded more accusatory than anything else. But he shouldn’t be judgemental, he reminded himself. She was a Slytherin, she must have heard a lot of negative talk about him in the common room. That Malfoy guy and his cronies alone had been one hundred percent insufferable in their fifth year. At least, there had also been the scuffle on the train home that would never let him forget the look of satisfaction on Ernie’s face. “Dumbledore?” he asked though it was obvious enough that she had to mean him. “I think the Hogwarts headmaster traditionally has a lot of freedom. The school’s so much older than the Ministry, so I guess it makes sense that there are still a lot of traditions left from before the Statute of Secrecy. The wizarding world has always changed slowly.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t have the impression you called me a coward,” he said. Was that something other people thought about? Looking back at his years at Hogwarts, he couldn’t remember a time he had ever decided to be brave. If Michael hadn’t dated Ginny, maybe he’d never have joined Dumbledore’s Army? But once he had, there had never truly been a choice, not when it was so crystal clear what was right and what was wrong. But maybe, if he hadn’t known that there was a choice, he wouldn’t have had the initiative to do something himself. After all, he couldn’t remember the Hat considering Gryffindor back then. He had never, during no DA-mission, no matter how risky, thought of himself as brave. A duty was not bravery. So it sort of made sense that he’d not think of himself as a coward either, he supposed. “You might be right,” he conceded, almost smiling. “That sounds like a Gryffindor thing.”

This was getting awkward, increasingly so. He wasn’t the sort of person who loved to chat with whoever they met. Smalltalk was a necessary social skill — he knew that much —, but this didn’t change that it always felt more like a chore to him than anything else. It didn’t come naturally to him, he had to think far too much. At the same time, if someone was talking to him, he couldn’t just be curt and abrasive, turning away as he wished to do. Especially not now. Not to a girl who most likely was as scarred as he was — as almost everyone who had spent their last year at Hogwarts was. Yes, she was a daughter of Death Eaters, one of those who had terrorized them. But, yes, she was also an orphan, and the last months had to have been traumatizing for her. And she was being… well… nice? Friendly even? Despite what she had obviously done during the Carrows’ reign, there was enough ground to interpret what he had heard more positively. And as a principle, it was better to think well of others.

Still, that didn’t mean he wanted to spend an afternoon with her walking around Hogsmeade. Yes, he had offered it, but he had meant it for her to turn him down so that he didn’t have to. Because he couldn’t. The longer the less. She just seemed so… alone. It might not even be true, and yet, here he was caring ridiculously much about hurting her feelings. He didn’t want to go to any of the places she had suggested, but it was impossible to say so. The Three Broomsticks would at least have been a place where he needed to go. It was an uncomfortably large distance to Apparate from Hogsmeade to London, so a place with a public Floo would have been most convenient. Now it was too late to back out without appearing rude and insensitive. And maybe hurt her. He had never before been this aware of how much he wanted to avoid causing someone (or just her? No, he was being silly) pain.

“Certainly,” he said in the end when he felt that his silence had been already long enough to be awkward. “Dervish and Banges then, unless you need to go to the Post Office.” He could get his mother something there. That would not make the whole thing completely superfluous — though it was very far away from explaining why she hadn’t just declined his offer and instead suggested these other places. He felt like he was missing some important piece of information to understand her motivation. “But, just to be clear, and, please, don’t be angry if I’m completely misunderstanding you-” Okay, saying politely that he had zero influence in the Ministry or anywhere where any cause of hers could be helped. Implying that she was only friendly for her own profit’s sake. He should just hope that this didn’t sound as scheming to a Slytherin as it did to him. “-you do understand that I’m just a Healer-in-training. Nothing more. If you need help, I can’t do anything. I mean, I could probably talk to someone but… I’d be happy to help you, but I can’t promise you anything. You can be honest with me, I won’t be offended.”