fearless || d.m. x a.g.

06 - crying on the staircase (now)

2004

—

The growing pile of clothes landing on Astoria's bed is an indication of two things — her simple taste in fashion and the anxiety seeing her parents causes.

She thought it was normal to spend this much time deciding on what to wear to family dinner. Not only has she been trying on different combinations of blouses and cardigans and skirts and pants and dresses for an hour, but she has been mapping out potential outfits every night for the past two weeks. But to her surprise, Ivy had told her very plainly that she never changes out of whatever she's previously been wearing to go to dinner with her parents.

Astoria conspired with Daphne earlier in the morning, who said very nonchalantly that she would be wearing a cream blouse with a deep sienna blazer and matching pleated trousers. Daphne had a much more sophisticated style than Astoria, not just because she cared more for fashion, but because she had the confidence to do it well.

The younger Greengrass sister has a million fears running through her head as she looks back in the mirror. She doesn't want to dress too plainly, or she will be called disrespectful. She doesn't want to dress too extravagantly, or she will be called vain. Her mother has always had an opinion on fabrics, and her father has always had an opinion on, well, everything.

In the end, more as a heed to time than satisfaction, she decides on a dark ribbed shirt and a long belted skirt, throwing on a cardigan with large buttons with the logic that it can be removed or kept on depending on the feedback of the evening. Astoria doesn't typically pay much attention to her hair, not minding if it flowed freely where it wanted to part or was hastily kept out of her eyes in a messy bun. Tonight, she brushes it carefully, pinning back the pieces in the front with a claw clip. She trims the tops of her brow hairs, which have gotten unruly in the weeks she's been ill. Astoria has always seen the irony in her father critiquing her features, all of which are thanks to him. She wonders what he has to say when he looks in the mirror.

When she reaches near the door, she slips her feet into a pair of black sock boots that reach about an inch above her ankle, and she smiles to herself as she remembers the night Draco stumbled into her flat in a pair of boots. Even the next morning, although it was much closer to noon, it was hard to watch him slip back out, but not before giving her another firm kiss on the mouth. The rest of the week as Astoria recovered, he and Daphne took turns sending meals to the flat in Surrey.

"Don't let any strangers in, Po," Astoria grins as she bends down to scratch the gray and white cat's head. A few loose pieces of long fur fall off his back and onto her hand. "If I'm not back by midnight, assume I've been held hostage."

The last bit is meant as a joke, but as she locks the flat she wonders if it holds any truth.

By some miracle, it isn't raining tonight, but the wind makes its presence known as Astoria walks up to the apparition point.

The cold air bites at her joints; even though she's not currently sick, the weather still has its effect on her body. She remembers watching longingly as Daphne played in the snow in their teen years over winter holiday, Astoria having no choice but to stay inside unless she wanted to be rendered immobile.

She feels a rush run through her body and exit her feet as she apparates, a pop signalling she's arrived at the Greengrass Manor in Chelsea. The property looks the same as always, the way it was when she grew up. The cobblestone that lines the driveway welcomes her in coldly, and as she walks up to the doorway, the vines reach down to brush her shoulder. Ahead of her, she hears the clacking of Daphne's shoes from a distance. Astoria sees her waiting on the porch as the younger sister makes her way over.