Porcelain Perfection
written by Skye Nightingale (3rd Yr)
Draco and Astoria, aged 12 and 14, were destined to be one of the happiest and most prosperous couples in the Wizarding World, just as soon as Voldemort conquered all. According to nobody sensible, that is. My name is Astoria Greengrass, I'm not your average 15 year old witch. My perfectly planned out life (as done by my mother) has collapsed along with Voldemort's body. I'm now engaged to the son of a criminal in Azkaban, soon to take a name tarnished by the blood on Lucius Malfoy's hands. I'm officially screwed.
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
4
Reads
471
Here Goes Nothing
Chapter 3
" - and now, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my daughter, Astoria Greengrass, and my soon-to-be son-in-law, Draco Malfoy!"
Mother, champagne glass in one hand, beckons at me with the other as the terrifyingly large crowd applauds. Very, very carefully, I step forward, linking my arm begrudgingly through Draco's. Okay, It's just four hours of torture. I will survive this, even if my feet are suffering in the low-heeled, strappy green sandals. If I'm lucky, maybe I'll trip and sprain my ankle and be released from my 'marital duties'.
The crowd claps again as we emerge from behind the dark green satin curtains. Draco's hand tightens around my arm and I wonder if he's as nervous as I am. He has other things to be nervous about though, not like death by gossiping old ladies with pureblood sentiments. More like his father's impending trial. I should be worrying about that, given that he's my future father-in-law, but honestly, the less I see of Lucius Malfoy, the better (for me). I think if he got to know me better, I'd be on the receiving side of a deadly jet of green light. The only reason I'm marrying his son is because I'm a pureblood, as far as they know. I think, technically, I might be a blood traitor. I don't believe in this 'purge the world of mudbloods' rubbish. That's just twisted.
"Astoria!" Draco hisses, and I realize we've reached the staircase. Here goes nothing.
***
"Toast #37," I mutter quietly, as glasses meet glasses and then lips. Beside me, Draco chuckles quietly. He, like me, has a good taste for sarcasm and irony, but his sense of humor is considerably lacking. He squeezes my hand under the table (I thought it was a good idea, since my mother is monitoring my every move). Speaking of my mother, she's clanging a fork against her 7th glass (I counted) of champagne so hard I'm slightly concerned it'll shatter.
"A few more words!" she cries. "To Draco and Astoria, the perfect pureblood couple! May you live in prosperity and happiness as long as you're together!"
And with that, she downs the entire glass, then passes out.
Mother, champagne glass in one hand, beckons at me with the other as the terrifyingly large crowd applauds. Very, very carefully, I step forward, linking my arm begrudgingly through Draco's. Okay, It's just four hours of torture. I will survive this, even if my feet are suffering in the low-heeled, strappy green sandals. If I'm lucky, maybe I'll trip and sprain my ankle and be released from my 'marital duties'.
The crowd claps again as we emerge from behind the dark green satin curtains. Draco's hand tightens around my arm and I wonder if he's as nervous as I am. He has other things to be nervous about though, not like death by gossiping old ladies with pureblood sentiments. More like his father's impending trial. I should be worrying about that, given that he's my future father-in-law, but honestly, the less I see of Lucius Malfoy, the better (for me). I think if he got to know me better, I'd be on the receiving side of a deadly jet of green light. The only reason I'm marrying his son is because I'm a pureblood, as far as they know. I think, technically, I might be a blood traitor. I don't believe in this 'purge the world of mudbloods' rubbish. That's just twisted.
"Astoria!" Draco hisses, and I realize we've reached the staircase. Here goes nothing.
***
"Toast #37," I mutter quietly, as glasses meet glasses and then lips. Beside me, Draco chuckles quietly. He, like me, has a good taste for sarcasm and irony, but his sense of humor is considerably lacking. He squeezes my hand under the table (I thought it was a good idea, since my mother is monitoring my every move). Speaking of my mother, she's clanging a fork against her 7th glass (I counted) of champagne so hard I'm slightly concerned it'll shatter.
"A few more words!" she cries. "To Draco and Astoria, the perfect pureblood couple! May you live in prosperity and happiness as long as you're together!"
And with that, she downs the entire glass, then passes out.
