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"Why does nobody talk about all the hurt that comes along with falling in love?"
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In the evening, it began raining again. Soon, the rain was so thick that it was difficult to see one’s own hand in front of them. Thunder rolled, occasionally lightning streaked the sky. The trees swayed and heaved like large, cloaked giants.

Draco packed up his things, ignoring the thunder and the raindrops that streaked past the window. 

When a particularly vicious and loud peal of thunder shook the surrounding air, Hermione jumped and hit her head on the underside of her desk. She had bent down to pick something up. She let out a small yelp of surprise, and a curse followed soon after.

“Scared, Granger?” Draco smirked.

“I was startled, is all,” she said, flustered, as she rubbed a spot on her head tenderly. 

“War Heroine is scared of thunder,” Draco continued to tease, “That’s awfully strange.”

“You’re so vile,” but she had a smile on her face as she said this. 

Draco fastened his cloak around his neck and headed for the door, not bothering to bid Hermione good night as was usual. Mr. Blak grunted in response to the "Good night" Draco mumbled when he walked past.

“Are you going to walk in that?” 

Draco turned at the door and looked at Hermione, who was determinedly avoiding his gaze.

“Not that I care, but if you fall sick I will have to do your work as well.” She said, and this time she did look up.

Draco shook his head, “And you say I’m vile.”

She grinned in some kind of hesitant way, but said nothing more. Draco noticed the conflicted look on her face when he swept out of the apothecary into the torrential rainfall. 

He was soaked to the bone within seconds. Remembering too late, he cast an Impervius charm on himself. Although it wasn’t much help because he was already soaked. He walked as quickly as possible up the slippery street to the Leaky Cauldron, from where he would floo home.

The dryness of the pub was extremely welcome. Draco headed straight to the fireplace, ignoring the barman who nodded in a way of greeting, leaving a trail of wet footsteps behind him. People jumped out of his path to prevent colliding. He grabbed a pinch of floo powder and tossed it into the fire. 

He was welcomed by the sight of Astoria seated on his couch, flipping through one of his novels. 

“Why do you always get home drenched in rain?” she asked conversationally, snapping the book shut and standing up. Painted nails, straightened hair, reddened lips. Handbag on ber shoulder. A look to her eyes that suggested that she was afraid of how he might behave next. Draco hated it.

Draco didn’t answer her, and instead muttered a charm under his breath. Hot air gushed out of his wand tip and within a few moments, he had dried himself off.

“I’ll be back in a while,” he mumbled to Astoria, who was checking her reflection in the mirror.

He quickly rid himself of his work clothes, and put on one of his suits. He had barely managed to do his last button up when Astoria peeked her head in. 

“Almost done,” he informed her. After fruitlessly trying to get his hair to lay flat in the direction he wanted (he had long since given up on using hair gel), he gave up and walked out into his small living room. 

“Do you have a place in mind?” he asked as he placed his hand in an inside pocket.

“There’s a fancy new place in Hogsmeade,” Astoria said, straightening his collar and fixing his tie, smoothing the shirt out with her fingers.

He gently pushed her hands away, “Great.”

They flooed to the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosemerta greeted Draco with a cold look of disapproval as was usual, and Astoria with a small smile and a nod.

The rain had considerably thinned. Draco cast an Impervious charm upon both of them before they stepped outside. Astoria led the way into one of the sidestreets. A little ways down it, they came to a stop at a quaint eatery, with glittering fairy lights at the entrance, and a creeper arching over the doorway. The premises had an air of superiority over the surrounding buildings, because of the brighter and cleaner look or the people inside, Draco didn’t know.

“I came here with Pans and Blaise yesterday,” Astorial said, and Draco was grateful, for the silence had become strained.

“Oh,” was all he said. They got themselves a table near the front window, and soon sat with food in front of them. The steam from the hot food fanned out across the ceramic of the plates and bowls.

They talked about trivial things as they ate just for the sake of outward appearances. Draco spotted Mafalda Hopkirk and her daughter, the Montagues, and several other notable purebloods. It was very well known that purebloods often had the fastest means of communication through rumours and gossip, and if wind got out that Draco and his fiancée did not get along, they and the Prophet would have a field day. 

As the last topic of the Quidditch season died out, Astoria grew suddenly uncomfortable, and kept glancing at Draco more often than usual.

“Draco, I-” she paused, and looked reluctantly at him, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Draco laid his fork down and swallowed, before nodding.

She lowered her voice so that nobody would hear, “Look, I know you aren’t exactly happy with me-”

“Astoria, please, we have had this conversation,” Draco ran a hand over his face and sighed harshly, “You’re making things difficult for both of us.”

Her cheeks flushed an angry crimson, “I’m making things difficult? You’re the one who’s been acting up since last week.”

“Why are we talking about this?” Draco’s voice came out harsher than intended, “Why now?”

“Because I’m sick of it!” Astoria said acidly, “I’m sick of pretending, I’m sick of the lies and the secrets, and- I do not want to spend my life like this.”

Draco placed his glass of water down with unnecessary force, “Tell that to your parents and mine. Do you think I’m happy? Do you think I like pretending?”

Her eyes glistened in the light of the surroundings, and she turned away to hide the tremble of her lips. Before long, she had composed herself. Clean slate, no emotions.

“Pucey asked me to go with him to Pansy and Blaise’s engagement party,” Astoria downed her glass of water, “I said yes.”

Draco blinked at her. He was vaguely aware that his hands had balled into fists, “You can’t.”

Astoria stood and left a generous tip on the table. Her meaning was clear: not here.

Draco stood and scraped his chair back into place, not bothering to thank the landlord. He stalked out of the place after Astoria. Mercifully, it had stopped raining. The walk to The Three Broomsticks was silent and tense. Draco thought he heard Astoria sniffle a few times. It was so unlike her. 

They quickly flood back to Draco’s flat. 

“You cannot go with Pucey,” Draco said without waiting for her to speak.

She glared at him, “Don’t act like you care, Draco.”

“No, I don’t,” Draco said bitterly, “Are you so thick that you can’t understand the consequences of going with Pucey?”

“Enlighten me,” and even though the words were spat with vicious anger, it cracked.

“What will everyone think?” Draco’s voice was rising rapidly, “Our parents, what will they think? Do you think the Prophet will let it pass?”

“Do you really want to go on acting like everything is perfect every time we meet our parents?” Astoria asked, hastily swiping at her cheeks, “Because I don’t.”

“Why are you so selfish?” Draco walked around her to get to the kitchen. Without wanting anything, he started noisily going through the contents of the cupboards.

Why wouldn’t she understand? Draco could not - and would not - give the world more reason to scorn his parents. It had taken the past years to get back a scruple of their former respect. Draco was not about to go romping around and snatch it away from them again. Then there was the matter of the marriage bond, which was magically sealed. And there was also the fact that the Greengrasses would never agree to break the bond.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Draco,” she was crying freely now, “Look, you’re one of my greatest friends, but I just can’t love you. All this stupid- marriage bond rubbish- it's ruined our friendship, and I don't want that. I can’t. I pretended all I could and lied to myself, but now I’ve had enough.”

Draco’s lip curled, and he said what he didn't mean, “Then leave.”

There was a small sound of surprise from Astoria. 

“Do what you will, but if anything happens that puts my parents in a bad light,” Draco went to stand in front of her, and glowered down at her, “I won’t ever forgive you.”

Astoria held her head as high as she could in her state of turmoil, “I understand.”

Draco turned away and made his way to his bedroom, where he slammed the door and sank onto his bed. After a few minutes, he heard the front door open and close. 

They had, at certain times before when they had both been considerably drunk, talked about ways in which they could find a loophole in the marriage bond. Of course, they never succeeded in finding one. The only way to break it without both of them dying was for Alexander Greengrass and Lucius Malfoy to mutually agree to it and destroy it.

What had he done? She was undoubtedly still crying. Because of him. She was right, all the bitterness about the marriage bond had tainted their friendship. He wanted it back, that friendship. Just that. He missed how they used to be before Mr. Greengrass had dropped the shell of the marriage bond over them. They used to laugh together. Now they only...

He hated all of this, and realised just how unfair he had just been to her. He had been horrid.