4.3 | Astoria ✓

01 | 1993

IMPORTANT

Welcome to ASTORIA—the final instalment of my Harry Potter fanfic series. As you can see, this story is missing its cast and playlist. Rest assured they'll be added soon—there are just some minor changes I have to make. Before you begin, here are three things to note:

1. Astoria takes place before, during and after the events of Draconian and Finite. It is not necessary to read either story to understand this—in fact, most of you would not have read Finite at all. There aren't many spoilers for either story as well.

2. Finite will NOT return in the foreseeable future. And no, I'm not willing to bring back the existing chapters because they were plagiarised repeatedly. As I've explained many times before, Finite takes a tremendous toil on my mental health which I'm not willing to risk. Please respect that. If you cannot, there are many better stories out there for you to read.

3. Astoria is the final story of my Harry Potter fanfic series. I don't intend to add anymore to this series and I won't write any future HP fanfics unless it's a new series. As always, all credit goes to JK Rowling, for without her works this series could not have been written.

It's been a wild ride since Draconian began in 2015. And five years later, I'm closing the series. I hope to see you at the very end.

Happy reading!

x Noelle

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1 9 9 3

ASTORIA REMEMBERS THE first time it happens with perfect clarity. She is eleven and seeing Hogwarts for the first time. Everything looks splendid, from the vast collection of moving paintings to the Great Hall with fairy lights. The castle is like a labyrinth and she decides that she won't rest until she's explored everything.

Then she sees the Grand Staircase.

It is not Grand. It's Terrifying. She doesn't trust magic over gravity. A fall from this height will mean certain death. She bites hard on her bottom lip and clutches the bannister, trying to control her breathing. There is an echo of her mum's voice in her head: Chin up and hold your head high. Greengrass ladies show the world what they are made of, not what they lack.

Well, bollocks to that.

She takes one last glance at the group up ahead. The Slytherin prefect hasn't noticed that she's lagged far behind her peers. Good. She whirls around, ready to flee, only to collide into something.

Or someone.

A flash of red hair and bright blue eyes. She shrieks and promptly loses her footing on those bloody stairs. She stumbles head-first into whatever lies below (probably death). Just then, two hands latch around her elbows. The grip is firm, if a bit sweaty, and she finds herself back on her feet.

"Thanks," she breathes and looks up.

Her vision shifts.

It's unlike anything she's seen before. Everything in her peripheral fades to grey, and all that is left is a focal point. Zero. A singular object, or person, that her world revolves around. Those same blue eyes now fixed on her, but with the faintest lines of age at the corners. They're bright; almost gleaming with...amusement? No—affection. Tousled hair which, under the sunlight, take on varying shades of brown and red. Several locks fall into his eyes, and his rugged features are soft. His lips turn up in a smile so bright and happy that it reminds her of summer.

And she knows, she knows, that this will happen someday.

She blinks. Her vision clears. The boy in front of her is young; not the man that she had seen. Not yet. His blue eyes are wide as he mouths something she can't make out. What just happened? Her mind pounds as she tries to make sense of what she saw.

A sharp tug brings her back to her senses. She comes face to face with her older sister. Daphne purses her lips in disapproval, then narrows her eyes at the boy who just saved her. "Get your filthy hands off my sister, blood traitor."

Blood traitor? Astoria stares in confusion at first her sister, then at the boy, whose ears have gone bright red. "I saved her," he argues, a defensive edge to his tone. "If it wasn't for me—"

"If it wasn't for you, Weasel, the world would be a better place," cuts in a smooth voice. Draco Malfoy. She's only eleven, but any pureblood would know the heir to the Malfoy line. Draco struts forward and smirks at the redhead. "Nice uniform. How many of your brothers wore that before you got your turn?"

The boy opens his mouth to reply, but Astoria speaks first. "At least his clothes can be fixed with a bit of magic," she says to Draco, as nonchalantly as she can. "Unlike your personality."

There are gasps at that. Daphne looks horrified and Draco glares daggers at her. But Astoria's focus is on the boy with red hair, who stares wide-eyed and slack-jawed at her. She gives him a saucy smirk, then feels a rush of delight when his cheeks pink. Without a backward glance, she skips off ahead to join her peers.

Suddenly, she finds she isn't afraid of the stairs anymore.