(Drastoria, for anon.)
Astoria Greengrass made Draco distinctly uncomfortable, and it was starting to grate on his nerves. They were only casual acquaintances, almost friends; they knew each other well enough to justify Draco being invited to a party at her parent’s large and opulent home. Once, Malfoy Manor had hosted such parties, but no longer.
Astoria was standing across the room in an emerald green gown that tumbled to the floor, a glass of sparkling liquid in her hand and her dark hair piled up in an artful arrangement of curls on the top of her head. A diamond on a silver chain glimmered at her breast. She was elegant and undeniably beautiful, and more than that, Draco wanted her. He wanted Astoria in a way that he had never wanted Pansy Parkinson, or indeed any of the other girls he’d met during his time at school. Astoria, he thought, was in a class of his own. She shared his status; she was graceful; she was intelligent and occasionally witty. And sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t looking at her, he saw a look in her eyes that suggested she had heard a great many terrible things about him (most of them true) and she pitied him for them. When they talked, the conversation ran away with them.
If people had been dancing in the hall, he would have asked for her hand. But no one was dancing, and the other side of the room seemed an awfully long way away. Still, as he watched her, Astoria glanced away in the middle of laughing at a balding old wizard’s joke and caught his eye. It could have been a trick of the light from the chandelier, or wishful thinking, but Draco thought she winked. She definitely smiled at him.
He turned, defiantly, away from the young woman. Yes, he wanted her like he’d never wanted anything else. it made him feel powerless, like he was caught under an enchantment. He disliked not being the one in control, and yet her ability to take control was one thing he loved about Astoria.
She made him incredibly uncomfortable. In the very best way.